by Conrad Allen
“We haven’t seen you since we came aboard,” she complained with a good-natured smile. “Have you been hiding from us, Mr. Dillman?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Goss. My cabin is on the main deck. Where are you?”
“On the promenade deck.”
“That explains it, then,” said Dillman.
“Not really. Polly went looking for you and couldn’t find you anywhere.” She switched her gaze to her daughter, who was seated beside Dillman. “Could you, Polly?”
“No, Mother,” said the girl.
“Did you search the main deck?”
“Yes, I did. Twice.”
It was disturbing news. Dillman did not like the notion that someone was on his tail, especially when she happened to be an impressionable seventeen-year-old girl. Polly Goss was taller than both her parents, and, though still rather gauche, was both attractive and personable. When Dillman turned to her, she gave him a smile of frank admiration.
“Did you enjoy your trip to London, Miss Goss?” he asked.
“Very much. It was wonderful.”
“What did you do?”
“Mother and I saw all the sights and we went shopping. Oh, and we saw a play one evening. Father, of course,” she added, glancing across at him, “spent most of his time at the British Museum or at the university.”
“What play did you see?”
“Major Barbara,” replied Rebecca. “Do you know it?”
“Yes,” said Dillman. “I’m very fond of George Bernard Shaw’s work.”
“It was so funny,” said Polly. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.”
“I managed to catch that production myself and enjoyed it hugely. The problem was that I went into the theater to see Major Barbara but I came out remembering her father.”
“That’s odd. So did we.”
“It’s the way that Underwood’s part is written, Miss Goss. He’s a villain who’s made to sound like a hero. I think that Shaw was making the point that the devil always has the best tunes.” He looked over at Goss. “Do you agree?”
“Don’t ask me, Mr. Dillman. I slept through the last act.”
“Morton!” scolded his wife. “You always do that.”
“I get tired, Rebecca. And I don’t have the same interest in theater as you.”
The first course arrived and they suspended the conversation while they were being served. Dillman found the Goss family pleasant companions. Rebecca Goss hailed from Boston and her husband had been born only forty miles away. At their first encounter with Dillman, they had been able to trade comments about the city and its people. Goss was on his way to Cairo to return some relics that had been loaned to the museum in Boston. Since his wife and daughter had come with him, he had decided to visit London en route to Egypt. After a first spoonful of soup, he peered over his glasses at Dillman.
“You never did tell us what you’re doing on this cruise,” he said.
“Exactly the same as everyone else, Mr. Goss,” said Dillman. “Enjoying myself. As you may recall, I worked in the family business for some years, designing and constructing yachts. I decided that it was time I saw what steam-powered vessels could do. Sailing with P and O gives me the ideal opportunity to do that.”
Rebecca beamed at him. “I’ll bet you didn’t expect to do so with royalty.”
“No, Mrs. Goss. That’s an added bonus.”
“I was hoping that we’d see them in here this evening but they must be dining in their own cabin. We simply must catch sight of them before we get to Egypt. It will be something to boast about when we get back to Boston.”
“Yes,” said Polly. “I never thought I’d travel with members of a royal family.”
“But that’s exactly what you did on the voyage to England,” said her father.
“No, it wasn’t. We had no princesses aboard the Saxonia.”
“You had something far better, Polly.”
“Did I?”
“Of course,” said Goss. “What’s more, you got much closer to them than you’ll ever get to the royal party on the Marmora. You sailed in the company of two pharoahs of ancient Egypt—or, at least, with treasures from their respective reigns. They had far more power than a mere princess. Amenemhet was founder of the great eleventh dynasty and Rameses I founded the nineteenth dynasty. These men were like gods in their day.”
“But all they left behind,” said Polly, “was a handful of carved stones.”
“Wait till you get to Egypt. You’ll see some of the greatest monuments ever built by men with supreme power over a civilization. A handful of stones?” Morton Goss gave a dry laugh. “That’s not how I’d describe the Pyramids or the Sphinx.”
“How many times have you been to Egypt?” asked Dillman.
“Too many,” replied Rebecca.
“Now, that’s unfair,” her husband protested. “In my dreams, Mr. Dillman, I’ve been a hundred times. In actuality, alas, I’ve only made five trips.”
“Five extremely long trips, Morton,” his wife reminded him.
“It’s a requirement of my job, Rebecca. You understood that.”
“I didn’t understand how lonely Boston could be while you were away.”
“That’s why I brought you with me this time, my love,” he said, trying to appease her. “And I included a visit to England so that you could see what the Old Country was like. Except that, compared to Egypt, of course, England is not really old.”
“Don’t start again, Father,” begged his daughter. “Please!”
“I can see that you’re not going to follow in your father’s footsteps,” observed Dillman. “Does archaeology hold no interest for you, Miss Goss?”
“Not really, Mr. Dillman.”
“Polly’s talents are musical,” Rebecca explained. “She plays the flute.”
“I try to play it, Mother,” said the girl.
“And you do it very well. She’s won competitions, Mr. Dillman.”
“Congratulations!” Dillman said with sincerity. “I know how difficult it is to play a wind instrument. When I was a boy, my parents bought me a horn and they lived to regret it. I produced the most dreadful sounds from it. You have to be able to do so much with your mouth.” Polly’s eyes ignited in agreement but she said nothing. “In the end, they sent me off to have piano lessons instead. That was kinder on their eardrums.”
“You must hear Polly play sometime,” announced Rebecca.
“No, Mother!” said the girl, though the prospect clearly thrilled her. “You can’t inflict me on Mr. Dillman like that.”
“It would be a pleasure to hear you,” Dillman said graciously. “We have a small orchestra on board so you’ll have ample opportunity to enjoy live music. However,” he went on, looking at Goss before swallowing a mouthful of soup, “I’d like to come back to these relics you’re returning to Cairo. They must be very valuable.”
“Priceless.”
“Then I hope that you’ve had them locked away in a safe.”
“The larger items, yes,” said Goss, “but I like to keep some of the smaller ones with me so I can gloat over them like a miser with his hoard of gold.”
“What happens if you lose them?”
“They’re quite irreplaceable, Mr. Dillman.”
“Then I’d suggest you have them put in a safe, as well.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” said Rebecca, “but he won’t listen to me.”
“You should, Mr. Goss,” said Dillman. “The relics might be stolen.”
“Come now, Mr. Dillman. That’s hardly likely, is it? Secrecy is the best protection for anything valuable. That’s why I’ve been careful to say nothing to anyone else. Apart from us, the only person who knows about them is the purser, and he’s not going to sneak into our cabin when we’re not there, is he?” Goss waved a dismissive hand. “Even if a thief were to stumble on them, he’d never recognize what they are. He’d take the same view as Polly here—that I collect little stones wit
h strange carvings on them. There’s no danger, believe me. They’re as safe as if I had them on a string around my neck.”
* * *
It was ironic. When her engagement was broken off, Genevieve Masefield had sailed on the maiden voyage of the Lusitania with the intention of starting a new life on the other side of the Atlantic. She had been eager to get away from the man she was to have married and liberate herself from all the many associations with him. In the event, she had met Dillman and finished up working in harness with him. It meant that she had not escaped Nigel Wilmshurst at all. Having tried to flee from him on one ship, she was now trapped with him on another. The irony had a cruel edge to it.
After delaying her arrival in the dining room until the last moment, she took the vacant seat that had been kept for her between Myra and Lilian Cathcart, feeling that, under the circumstances, the women might act as a useful camouflage. But she did not need them. When she finally plucked up the courage to survey the room, Genevieve saw no sign of her ex-fiancé. She started to relax. By the time the main course was served, she even began to enjoy the meal.
Myra Cathcart was at her most voluble, joining in every conversation with gusto and scattering her opinions freely. Lilian was more subdued but even she was making a conscious effort to take part in the exchanges. Now that they were afloat, she seemed to have shed her earlier fears about the ship’s safety. Disappointed that the royal party was not dining in public, she shifted her attention to Genevieve instead.
“It’s nothing like I ever imagined,” she confessed. “There are moments when it feels more like being in a hotel than sailing at sea.”
“That’s what the best cruise ships are,” said Genevieve. “Floating hotels.”
“Filled with delightful ladies,” ventured the man on the opposite side of the table, sharing a benign smile among the three of them. “I could not have chosen a better seat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dugdale,” Myra said sweetly. “Though I don’t pretend that I can compete either with Miss Masefield or with my daughter.”
“Oh, but you do, Mrs. Cathcart. Mature beauty is without compare.”
Myra laughed gaily and Lilian blushed—unused to coping with compliments herself, she found it even more difficult to handle those paid to her mother. Genevieve was interested to see how the two women reacted. She found Walter Dugdale, who had made the comment, to be amusing company. He was clearly a man of eccentricities. He was the only man in the room who wore a Norfolk jacket, and his beard was so long and pointed that it made him look like a sorcerer. Genevieve put him in his mid-fifties but he could well have been much older. He sat directly opposite Myra. A native of Chicago, the thin, almost emaciated Dugdale had the easy manner of a veteran traveler.
“What a pity I’m to lose you and your daughter in Egypt!” he sighed.
“There’s a long time before we get there, Mr. Dugdale,” said Myra.
“I know, and I’m going to make the most of every second of it.”
“You sound very decisive.”
“I’m the sort of man who can make up his mind quickly, Mrs. Cathcart.”
“Have you sailed on P and O ships before?” asked Genevieve.
“Oh, sure,” he replied, “Many times. I ought to buy shares in the company. I might get back some of the money I’ve spent on them over the years. I love the experience of a cruise. Nothing to beat it, in my view.”
“And you’re going all the way to Australia?” said Lilian. “It will take you ages.”
“That’s the attraction, Miss Cathcart. Where better to be than in a floating hotel with no sense of rush and no pressure of work?”
“Does that mean you’re retired?” Myra probed.
“More or less,” said Dugdale, stroking his beard. “More or less.”
The American was attentive to both Genevieve and Lilian but his real interest seemed to be in Myra. He kept fishing gently for bits of personal information about her, and she was doing the same with him. Genevieve tried to strike up a conversation with the man opposite her but it was difficult. Stiff and solemn, Karl-Jurgen Lenz was a taciturn German in his fifties, with a quiet intensity. He limited himself to curt replies but listened carefully to what was being said. Like Dugdale, his gaze drifted most often to Myra Cathcart. A photographer by trade, Lenz was on his way to Egypt.
They were halfway through the main course before Genevieve finally managed a word with the young Englishman who sat on the other side of Lilian. He had been too busy talking to the elderly couple opposite him to pay much attention to those beside him, and Lilian was too shy to initiate a conversation with a stranger. When Genevieve leaned forward to eat, she could see him out of the corner of her eye. He was slim, fair-haired, and had an almost boyish face. His voice was educated and his manner open. Genevieve was glad when she eventually had the chance to speak to him. She introduced herself and Lilian Cathcart, then waited to hear his name.
“Delighted to meet you both,” he said with a smile. “I’m Roland Pountney.”
Genevieve was jolted without quite knowing why. Then she remembered where she had heard the name before. It was on the list of shipboard acquaintances that had been given to her by Mrs. Prendergast. The man was a suspect.
Nigel and Araminta Wilmshurst dined together in the privacy of their cabin. They wanted nobody else to intrude on their wedding night. When they retired to bed, the ship was dipping and rising gently over the waves. The bride had had far too much champagne to feel nervous and she yielded up her virginity to the man she loved with a mixture of innocence and urgency. Afterward, cradled in his arms, she purred with contentment. The evening was everything she had hoped it might be.
“Have you ever done that before, darling?” she whispered.
“No, of course not,” he lied.
“You seemed to know exactly what to do.”
“Only because you helped me, Araminta.”
“My brother did it before he was married,” she confided. “I wasn’t supposed to know about it but one of his friends told me. They took Tony off to this place and paid a woman to …” Her voice trailed off. “I thought it was the most shameful thing to do, but, apparently, it’s not unusual. I just hope that his wife never finds out about it.”
“I trust you’ll have more sense than to tell her.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Nigel. She’d be cut to the quick. I can imagine how I’d feel if anyone told me something as revolting as that about you.”
“Well, they’re not going to,” he said, “because there’s nothing to tell.”
“I’m so glad.” She kissed him. “What will we do tomorrow?”
“Exactly the same.”
“Nigel!” she said with a giggle.
“Isn’t that what a honeymoon is for? It gives us the chance to get to know each other properly, and I certainly want to know my wife a lot better. If it was left to me, I’d spend the whole voyage in bed with you.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
He pretended to be hurt. “Are you tired of me already?”
“Don’t be silly!”
“You’d rather we slept apart?”
“Never!” she cried, clinging tightly to him. “But I would like to see something of the ship. And you did say we’d dine with the royal party at some stage. We can hardly do that if we stay in here all the time.”
“Are you saying that you prefer the Duke of Fife’s company to mine?” he teased.
“Why can’t I have both?”
He grinned indulgently. “You shall, Araminta. You shall.”
“You’re so good to me, darling. Thank you.”
She kissed him on the lips and he responded with ardor. It was some time before he let his head roll back on the pillow. His wife nestled up against him.
“Nigel …”
“Yes?”
“That other woman you were engaged to once—”
“This is hardly the moment to talk about her,” he said with irritation.
&nb
sp; “I just want to ask you something. You did say that we’d have no secrets, and I’m bound to wonder. I simply want to know the truth then put it firmly behind us.”
He was brusque. “You know all there is to know, Araminta. I made a ghastly error and drew back, the moment I realized it. I’ve been grateful ever since.”
“But you must have got close to her at one point,” she persisted. “Close enough to want to do with her what you and I just did as husband and wife. There must have been some love and tenderness between you.”
“Well, there wasn’t,” he said, sitting up. “Now, please, let’s drop the subject.”
“Just answer me this.”
“Araminta—”
“One last question, I promise you. Supposing you met her again …”
“There’s very little chance of that happening.”
“But suppose that you did, Nigel. How do you think you’d feel?”
“I know damn well how I’d feel,” he said harshly. “My stomach would turn at the very sight of her. See her again? I’d run a mile!”
FIVE
On their first night afloat, the royal party found the Marmora surprisingly comfortable. Once they had grown accustomed to the pulsing rhythm of the engines and the undulations of the vessel, they slept soundly in their beds. Over breakfast next morning, served in the salon that connected their two cabins, they were full of praise for the vessel. Lady Maud, in particular, was anxious to explore it further.
“Can we go out on deck now?” she asked, swallowing a last piece of toast.
“Don’t be so hasty, Maud,” said her mother.
“But I’m dying to see the ship properly. So is Alex.”
“Yes,” said Lady Alexandra. “We’ve been cooped up in here far too long.”
“There’s so much to see, Mother, and we’re missing it all.”
“Not if you look through the porthole in your cabin,” said the Princess Royal.
Maud pouted. “That’s not the same.”
