“You may have a point,” Maura agreed easily.
“But of course I have a point,” the older woman snapped, reminding Maura once more of her great-aunt.
“A fresh sea breeze can be very pleasant,” Maura said diplomatically.
“Yes. Tell me, Maura, what do you think of the Athena? Has she lived up to your expectations so far?”
“I think so. In some ways, the decor, the well-kept decks, and the streamlined cleanliness, she has even surpassed them. There may be a small problem with the location of the cabins, but I’m sure it will be fine as soon as everyone begins to know their way around. It’s really a beautiful ship.”
Mrs. Papoulas sniffed, but it seemed to Maura that in some curious way, she was pleased with the answer she had received. They spoke of other things, sketching in their backgrounds. Mrs. Papoulas was traveling alone and, it seemed, though she did not put it into exact words, she was doing so in defiance of her relatives, particularly a domineering grandson. Maura listened sympathetically, giving a hardy endorsement to the elderly woman’s independence.
They reached the door of Mrs. Papoulas’s cabin. Maura inserted the key in the lock and turned the knob, before handing the door key back to the other woman.
“Thank you, Maura. You have been very kind.”
“Not at all. I was glad to be of aid.” She smiled, and turned to go as the older woman opened the door. At that moment, she saw it, the dark cloud of smoke that hung inside the room. With a sharp exclamation, she swung back.
Mrs. Papoulas cried out, then with a mutter of exasperation in her native tongue, hurried into the cabin and leaned over to yank the plug of a small coffee pot from the wall.
“My own stupidity,” she said fiercely. “How could I have forgotten? Though, if I had not been so long in finding my way, if this ship had been arranged in any sensible fashion, I would have been in time, and this would not have happened!”
Coughing a little from the acrid smoke, Maura moved to the telephone on the bed console to summon a steward. At a sound behind her she swung back. The elderly woman had slumped against the wall with her eyes closed.
“Mrs. Papoulas,” Maura said sharply, “are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, it’s nothing,” the elderly woman said. “Just — the excitement. Sailing, and now this.”
“Here, sit down.” Maura reached, with the phone still in one hand, to draw the elderly woman to the edge of the bed. The color was returning to her cheeks, and she was able to hold herself erect, yet as a precaution Maura took the smoking, hot pot from the woman’s weak grasp.
Glancing at it as she waited for the ringing phone on the other end to be answered, she noticed that the dangling cord end was designed to be used with the European direct current that the ship utilized, instead of the alternating current common in the United States. Most tourists traveled with an adaptor that made it possible to use their American-made appliances, such as shavers, hair dryers, and curling irons, instead of buying special equipment. It crossed her mind that Mrs. Papoulas might not be a foreign-born citizen of the United States, as she had assumed. It was even possible that the woman had flown from Europe for the cruise, though Maura could see no reason why it should be necessary. There must be any number of ships leaving Europe for pleasure cruises if she just wanted to get away. And if it was the Caribbean that attracted the other woman, there were much closer ports than New Orleans.
The next instant, Maura dismissed the subject as she became involved in trying to explain that there was smoke in the cabin, but no fire, and no need for alarm.
If Mrs. Papoulas’s cabin had been stuffy and smelly before, it was doubly so now. The steward, scolding about the use of unnecessary appliances, signified his complete willingness to bring coffee or serve his passengers in any way. He aired out the room, but it helped little. He was sorry, but there were no other cabins available; the cruise was booked solid. Yes, he would check to be certain, but he was almost positive that Mrs. Papoulas would be disappointed.
The steward was correct. Maura watched the discouragement that settled on the strong face of the older woman. On impulse she said, “It may not be an ideal solution from your point of view, but my cabin was fresh and airy earlier, and I would be happy to have you share it until your own has cleared out a bit, or as long as you like.”
Surprise was mirrored on the older woman’s face as she stared at Maura. “It is extremely generous of you to offer, my dear,” she said. “But I couldn’t impose.”
“It would be no imposition, I assure you. I spoke to you about my Aunt Maggie, if you will remember? I am quite used to sharing hotel rooms, and that sort of thing, with her, and the accommodations in my cabin are ample for two.”
“I am a stranger to you.”
“So am I, to you. If you can bear with me, I’m certain we will get along fine.”
“There aren’t many girls your age who would dream of making such an offer,” the other woman said, tilting her head with its weight of gray hair to one side.
“I’m sure you’re wrong, but I’m accustomed to company, and I enjoy it.”
“I wouldn’t think of crowding you, except I am almost certain to be abominably sick when we reach open water later tonight, if I have to endure these odors. It is a mortifying thing to have to admit, under the circumstances, but I have little stomach for sailing.”
“Under the circumstances?”
“Did I say that?” Mrs. Papoulas asked, color tinting her cheeks. “A slip of the tongue.”
“Well, never mind. It’s no crime to be susceptible to motion sickness. We’ll get settled, and get a bottle of pills for you. I saw the office of the ship’s doctor just down the corridor from my cabin.”
Mrs. Papoulas had not unpacked. In a short time, her luggage was sitting in Maura’s cabin. The door had hardly closed behind the steward from the forward cabin, when Maura’s steward appeared with her missing suitcase.
Mrs. Papoulas stared after the man when he had gone away again, pocketing his tip. “The rascals. They hold back one piece of luggage for each cabin instead of placing everything inside as they should before the ship sails. The poor passengers are so happy to see their missing suitcase that they are generous with their tips. The stewards are collecting handsomely for doing what is no more than their jobs.”
“You may be right, but it seems to be the way of the world to exact extra payment for service.”
“That doesn’t make it right, and I don’t like tipping, though I see little to do about it.”
Maura glanced at the brooding look on the older woman’s face, then with tactful determination, changed the subject.
Dinner the first night out on the ship was a casual meal. The passengers were not expected to get into formal wear so soon after boarding, and most opted not to change at all. Maura considered wearing the soft brown knit pant suit she had on, then seeing Mrs. Papoulas laying out a dress, decided instead on a long skirt and sweater. The skirt was a favorite paisley print with a matching shawl trimmed with gold fringe. With it was paired a short-sleeved knit top in material with a satin sheen that featured a scooped neckline.
The approval in her companion’s expression as they left the cabin was her reward. The other woman strode along with a firm step free from any sign of her earlier weakness.
As they entered the dining room, Mrs. Papoulas spoke quietly to the dining-room steward, giving him the number of the table she had reserved earlier. With smiling deference, both she and Maura were led toward a quiet corner near the large picture windows.
Their waiter arrived in time to seat them, whipping open pristine, newly printed menus to place before them. He wished them a good evening as he filled their water glasses from a silver carafe, then stood with easy grace as he waited their pleasure. In his early twenties, classically handsome, there was a certain pride in his bearing, and not the least sign of boredom on his face. Other waiters much like him moved here and there, their movements swift, practiced, economical, each wearing
a brown coat that blended with the brown, cream, and salmon color of the table setting.
As Maura and Mrs. Papoulas studied their menus, one of the other waiters hurrying past with a tray balanced on his shoulder lifted a brow at Maura then made a quick, curious, backward gesture of his head, as he spoke in liquid Greek syllables to their waiter.
Mrs. Papoulas sent a glance at Maura, a smile curving her mouth, before she beckoned to the young Greek whose name tag proclaimed him to be called Stephen, asking his opinion of a dish. Thereafter, they had more attention than would have been accorded royalty. Three different waiters vied to fill their coffee cups and keep them filled. Their water glasses were topped again each time they took a sip. The fresh carnations in the center of the table were straightened, moved a fraction of an inch closer to the center. They were provided with more chilled butter than they could possibly eat, and enough hot, crusty rolls for an army. Stephen worked with quiet competence, bringing course after course, changing the table setting between each one, brushing every fallen crumb from the linen cloth almost as soon as it fell, plying them with meats, vegetables, sauces, and all the while keeping up a barrage of banter with his constantly passing fellow waiters.
Maura exchanged a look of wonder with the Greek woman. She had never been so pampered in her life, though she was used to the excellent service of the gourmet restaurants of New Orleans. The older woman returned her look with laughter lurking in her eyes.
At last, the patience of the Greek woman showed signs of wearing thin, especially when a man carrying a tray filled with dessert plates brushed her chair as he sidestepped to avoid a pair of waiters heading for their table, one with hot coffee, the other with ice water.
“Deliver me,” she said, brushing at a spot of water on her skirt, “from such love-struck fools. They are certain, Maura, that you are an angel set down among them, or a movie starlet at the very least. They are all jealous that you are seated at Stephen’s table, and fail to see why he has all the good fortune. In addition, they wonder if you have a man, also if you are a modern young lady, or if I am sitting with you to guard you like a dragon. They say your hair is like fire, and they wonder — well, never mind. Suffice it to say that the Greeks are a curious people; they are fascinated by the intimate details of the lives of those around them.”
Stephen stood like a statue, staring at the Greek woman, then with a groan of mock anguish, he began to apologize in accented English.
“No, no,” Mrs. Papoulas said, holding up her hand. “No harm has been done, and I don’t know when I have had a more diverting evening. I would suggest to you and your friends that you do not become too complacent, however. There are a few Americans who speak more than one language.”
With that, Mrs. Papoulas and Maura rose to their feet and left the dining room. Maura was just as happy to get away. Such attention, though flattering, was also embarrassing. She did not quite know how to accept it, or what to think of it.
With the elderly woman, Maura sipped a glass of white wine in the main lounge, and watched the evening show. It included an informal welcome aboard the ship, a rundown of their itinerary of ports of call and the main attractions at each, an exhibition of several dances of the Caribbean, and a fine performance of Calypso music by a female singer from the island of Aruba.
When the show was over, Mrs. Papoulas elected to return to the cabin. “It’s been a long day,” she said, “and these seasickness pills always make me sleepy. You mustn’t think of coming with me, my dear. I’m sure that for someone your age, the night is only beginning. The ship has planned any number of activities for young singles, from disco dancing in the lido bar, to the midnight buffet.”
Maura wasn’t sleepy at all; she was still much too excited for that. She did walk with Mrs. Papoulas to the cabin they were sharing, over protests of the elderly woman, to be certain she did not lose her way again.
Returning to the lounge once more, she sat watching the dancing, enjoying the mellow, old-fashioned instrumentals. She was asked to dance several times, but refused, not being in the mood, somehow, for casual socializing. When one man, who was more than a little drunk, became too importunate, she left the lounge and made her way up to the lido bar. There, the decibel level of the disco beat was incredibly high, and the overhead lights in changing rainbow hues pulsed in time to the music, reflecting in a floor of polished steel.
The disc jockey, who was also one of the announcers from the show in the lounge, came to her table, insisting that she have a drink with him. She accepted a glass of wine, her second for the evening, and they tried to talk, a near-impossible feat over the noise. She danced once with the disc jockey, whose name was Brian, before he had to return to his musical equipment. Then, filled with an odd restlessness, she made her way from the bar.
The night wind was cool on the deck, and still damp, though the rain had stopped. Maura gathered her shawl around her and strolled along the wooden planking, listening to the hollow echo of her own footsteps. Lights shone from the windows and portholes of the cabins, reflecting on the water. Standing at the railing, watching the gliding, rippling wake, Maura thought that the muddy river water was becoming darker, giving way to the salty blue of the gulf.
Turning to walk once more, she let her light and easy treads take her to the prow of the ship. Here, there was a definite rise and fall to the railing. The night darkness stretched ahead of the great ship, though it was ringed on the horizon by red and orange lights that blinked off and on, with portions that burned steady in the shape of squares, like low-lying, fiery constellations against the black of night. The wind flapped the ends of her shawl and whipped her skirts about her knees. It blew her hair away from her face, lifting the long strands in the stylized, backward-flowing tresses of a figurehead. She was alone on the forward deck, and yet not alone, for behind and above her were the subdued lights of the bridge where the officers could be seen moving back and forth in the dimness.
Growing chilled, she started to move away, to go back inside. Further along the starboard side, a door opened, and a ship’s officer appeared, the man she had met earlier in the day.
He came even with her, then with a word of greeting, turned to walk beside her, matching his pace to hers. He asked her name and with whom she was traveling, introducing himself as Third Officer Alexandros Maratos. Pointing out the lights she had noticed, he told her they marked the locations of oil rigs in the gulf, the drilling platforms and living quarters for the crews that searched for offshore oil.
“We are nearly in the gulf then?” “Yes, that is so.”
“I’m glad. It doesn’t seem as if the voyage has really begun until we get beyond land.”
He grimaced. “You may not be so happy in an hour or two. The sea is choppy beyond the river’s mouth and the protection of land.”
“That doesn’t matter. I will enjoy a little rough weather.”
“I will remember you said that,” he told her, a smile touching his full lips.
Maura tipped her head to one side, alerted by something in his tone. “Remember, then, that I said only a little. We aren’t in for a storm, are we?”
“Who can say?” he replied evasively, then pointed toward a fast-moving light approaching the ship. “Look there, it’s the boat to take off the river pilot.”
“A river pilot has been guiding us since we left New Orleans?”
“Yes. The course of the Mississippi is changeable, especially at this time of the year, in the spring. It takes a man with special knowledge to navigate it. Also, this is an American regulation of the Mississippi River Authority that we must follow.”
The pilot boat sped across the water, rising and falling, wallowing a little with the swells. “Could I watch the transfer of the pilot from the ship to the boat?”
“Yes, certainly. It will take place just below us here.”
The pilot boat, looking about the size of one of the ship’s lifeboats, eased up alongside an open entryway in the lower portion of the cr
uise ship. Watching it roll in the waves gave Maura a much more accurate idea of the roughness of the water than she was able to get from the higher deck. A small platform on a metal framework was extended out from the ship. The uniformed pilot stepped out onto the platform, then judging the swell, swung from it onto the heaving deck of the small boat.
There was a brief commotion on the boat down below, and another man emerged onto the deck of the lighted cabin cruiser. Dressed in a gray business suit, carrying a small suitcase not much larger than an attaché case, he scarcely paused as he reached the space of open water between the two crafts. With a single lithe and muscular movement, he swung to the platform of the Athena, and disappeared inside. The motor of the pilot boat roared, and she sped away again, back toward the lights on the distant shoreline.
At the first sight of the new arrival, the officer beside Maura had stiffened. Now he straightened. “I am afraid I must leave you. It has been most pleasant speaking with you, and I hope you will allow me to see you again.”
“What is it?” Maura asked. “Who is the man who came aboard?”
“I’m not sure,” Alexandros answered, his dark gaze moving over her shoulder. “But if it’s who I think, then he is trouble.”
Two
Trouble for the Athena appeared to be coming from more than one quadrant. Maura had been asleep in her bed in the cabin for perhaps two hours when she came awake with a jerk. For an instant she lay disoriented. The running lights of the ship cast a dim glow through the portholes into the cabin. She stared into the gloom, feeling the pitch of the ship, listening to the steady thrum of its motors from somewhere nearby.
Abruptly, a wave struck the portholes above her. It spun around the circular casings in a hard rush of salt water. For the space of a breath, it was like being under the sea, before the portholes cleared as the ship breasted the next wave. The heartbeat thumping of the engines increased its tempo, and there was a peculiar sense of strain in the movement of the Athena as the ship’s stabilizers came into action to keep her on an even keel.
Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets) Page 18
