Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  The cruise director was in the middle of an announcement when Maura entered the darkness of the lounge. Drawing as little attention to herself as possible, she took a seat in the corner farthest from the polished floor of the stage. The tour of the ruins of Tulum scheduled for the following day in Cozumel, the cruise director was saying, had been canceled due to lack of interest. At least fifty passengers needed to have signed up for the side trip before the ship could travel out of its way to put the tour ashore. The Athena would then have had to sail on to Cozumel, stay there until the passengers had gone into town, then steam back to the coast once more to pick up the Tulum tour group. The cancellation was understandable, a simple matter of economics. If less than fifty people signed, the money collected from them would not cover the cost of hiring land transportation to the ruins, paying guides, providing a meal, or the price of the extra fuel for the ship to go nearly twenty miles out of its way. It was understandable, but still disappointing.

  The show was entertaining, featuring a stand-up comic and an excellent magic act, as well as the calypso singer and the dancers who had performed the night before. One of the most fascinating aspects of the dance number was watching the performers keep their balance on the shifting floor while remaining in perfect time with the music.

  When the show came to an end, the band took over, playing music for dancing. Maura sat listening for a time. As she was debating going to her cabin, she saw the group at the captain’s table rise, saw Nikolaos detach himself from the others and stride from the lounge. Almost imperceptibly, she relaxed.

  People began to move around, to shift their chairs and form laughing, talking groups. The ship’s officers circulated about the room, stopping here and there to exchange a word, though the captain had departed not long after Nikolaos.

  Maura looked up to see the third officer, Alexandros, coming toward her. The light of a small overhead spot shone on the gold of his insignia and glinted on the wiry, light brown hair that curled over his head. There was about him a look of confidence that just missed being swaggering. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he stopped before her.

  “You are alone?” he inquired, his tone soft.

  There was no sense in denying the obvious. “Yes,” Maura agreed.

  “You would like to dance, perhaps?”

  How much of her decision was taken in defiance of Nikolaos, how much from her own desires, she could not have said. For an answer, Maura placed her fingers in the hand of the Greek officer, allowing him to draw her to her feet and lead her toward the dance floor.

  Alexandros moved well to the music, though there was one awkward moment when at a sudden rise of the ship, and because of the nearness of his height to her own, he had to catch her close against him. Off balance, Maura was pressed along the length of his body for long seconds, a position he did not seem anxious to change. He released her, setting her on her feet, and apologized, however. Shortly thereafter, he complimented her on her appearance and the scent she was wearing then spent the rest of the dance trying to persuade her to promise she would attend the singles party in the lido bar after midnight.

  Maura was smilingly evasive. She was growing tired of the constant music, the blue-gray haze of cigarette smoke in the dimly lit room, and the smell of liquor from the mixed drinks on every table. More than anything else, she longed for a breath of fresh air, and then her bed. It might be the sea air, or perhaps the effect of the pill she had taken as a preventative against sickness, but she was growing unbelievably sleepy.

  Alexandros, still talking, led her from the dance floor back toward her table. Maura turned her head to answer as she threaded her way through the chairs, refusing yet again to be persuaded that she would enjoy the singles gathering. A man loomed before her, and she swung around, stopping abruptly.

  “I see you did return,” Nikolaos Vassos said. “We missed you at the captain’s table.”

  “I — wasn’t certain it would be correct to join you again.”

  “You had my invitation.”

  “Given for your grandmother’s sake. There was no need for you to bother with me. I can manage on my own.”

  “So I see.”

  “Yes,” she said, her own voice as even as his. Turning, she attempted to introduce the officer beside her.

  “Alexandros and I have met,” Nikolaos said.

  “Yes, indeed,” Alexandros agreed, his tone formal.

  There was a moment of silence. His face bland, Nikolaos looked at the officer. “I will take care of Maura now, if you have other duties to perform.”

  “Of course.” Alexandros’s tone was stiff. Turning to Maura he said, “Until later.”

  “Later?” Nikolaos inquired as the other man walked away.

  “The singles party in the lido bar, though I’m not sure I will be there. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of calling it a night.”

  “A sudden decision, wasn’t it?” he asked, a hard note entering his tone.

  “Not at all.” It was true enough, though it was plain he did not believe her.

  “I won’t keep you, then.”

  The meeting, brief though it had been, had effectively banished all feeling of sleepiness. When Maura left the lounge she turned toward the upper deck in search of air after the staleness inside. The entire ship seemed more stuffy than usual to her. It was possible, of course, that it was no more than her imagination.

  Emerging from the head of the stairs on deck three, Maura stood a moment staring out through the upper-glass portion of the heavy outside door that gave onto the promenade deck on the starboard side. The thunder and lightning had died away, and the rain had moved on over them. The seas were just as rough, however, and the wind just as high.

  The urge to be outside was strong, despite the instinct that told her there was an element of danger in it. She pressed down on the wide bar of the door handle.

  Nothing happened. She tried again.

  This was the windward side of the vessel. Perhaps the force of that wind was holding the door shut? No. The handle could not be depressed completely. The door was locked.

  No doubt there was a good reason for it. It might even be a precaution to insure the safety of passengers foolhardy enough to want to venture out on such a night. Regardless, the barred door gave Maura a feeling of intense frustration combined with a sense of claustrophobia. Locked in on a ship in stormy seas; she did not like it.

  There was another door across the passageway directly opposite. Maura moved to it with quick footsteps.

  The door handle depressed easily; it wasn’t locked. But the wind was so strong she could not push the wide, steel door open more than a few inches. The air rushed through the crack with marvelous freshness, whistling and whining in its passage. So great was the noise that she did not hear the approach of footsteps. When Nikolaos spoke beside her, she jumped so the door slammed shut, pushing her backward.

  “What are you trying to do?”

  Maura raked back her hair with one hand. “I wanted to go outside just for a moment.”

  “It’s far too dangerous. You could be blown overboard.”

  “I don’t care. I — I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like, a storm at sea. And — and the other door was locked.”

  He stared down into the emerald-green depths of her eyes that still mirrored vestiges of the panic she had felt moments before.

  “Why? For this book your great-aunt is going to write?”

  “No — no, for myself.”

  A moment longer he stood, then abruptly he nodded, and turning, pushed the handle of the door down and put his shoulder to the steel panel.

  An instant later, Maura was outside. The chill, damp wind caught at her, tearing at her hair, whipping her dress around her, driving tears from her eyes and the breath from her lungs. It spun her around and would have sent her stumbling if Nikolaos had not closed his fingers around her arm and swung her back against the bulkhead beside the door. He stood over her, breaking the force of th
e wind with his broad shoulders, taking the brunt of it so she could breathe again, even open her eyes.

  In the faint light through the glass of the door, she could see the ruffled waves of his hair, the point of his shirt collar slapping against his cheek, the flapping of the lapel of his evening jacket. His expression was shielded by the thickness of his lashes as he watched her with narrowed eyes.

  The noise of the storm was around them, the howl of the wind through the struts and braces, the crash of the waves and wash of the wake. The blackness of the storm-threatened night was a primitive thing, stretching around them, reaching toward endless howling horizons. And the storm-rinsed cleanness of the briny deep was in the wind, an elixir whose freshness rose to the brain with the intoxicating essence of fine old wine.

  Suddenly she smiled in a brilliant surge of joy and exultation. His face lightened, and the chiseled firmness of his lips curved in answer. Then with deliberation, he leaned to press his mouth to hers.

  Firm, yet gentle, tasting of salt from the fine spray that hung in the air, the kiss lasted no more than a moment, but when he raised his head, Nikolaos Vassos was not smiling. Nor was Maura.

  Four

  The sun felt warm and gentle on the lido deck, making the wooden planking steam where it had been washed down by the crew. It dried the wetness of the sea spray on the mahogany railing, leaving a white crusting of salt. It sparkled on the deep-water blue of the gulf, and drew the passengers from the depths of the ship. It heated the cushions placed in the deck chairs by the stewards, and sent the smell of suntan lotion wafting on the morning air.

  Maura leaned back in her deck chair with closed eyes, letting the rays of sunlight pour over her face. It was growing hotter with every passing moment. She had been right to opt for leaf-green shorts and a sleeveless terry top this morning, and it seemed fairly certain that she was, at last, going to have a use for her sunglasses.

  She stretched in sublime relaxation, kicking off her crepe-soled sandals. The movement dislodged the notebook that lay in her lap, and she caught it quickly before it could fall to the damp deck. She had meant to make a few notes for Aunt Maggie on the storm, the activities so far, and the accommodations. Somehow, she could not summon the energy.

  She had not slept well the night before. Memories of the tall director of Vassos Shipping Lines had intruded on her rest, disturbing the night hours. It was foolish of her to allow him to upset her. She must not place too much importance on a kiss; she knew that. It had been brought on by no more than the impulse of the moment, something elemental in the night and the storm. It would not happen again.

  Not that she wanted it to, of course. She had no interest in Nikolaos Vassos. The less she saw of him, the better.

  The sea was calmer this morning, though there was still more movement than was usual. That was proven by the water in the swimming pool. It moved back and forth in heaving waves, now and then sloshing out over the rim to run into the scuppers. The surge and flow was enough to discourage swimmers, though a number of passengers lay about in their swimsuits, soaking up the sun.

  By all rights, there should have been little time for swimming this morning. The Athena was scheduled to arrive in the harbor of San Miguel on the island of Cozumel by ten o’clock. Because of their late departure from New Orleans, and the slow headway made during the storm, it would be after lunch before they could reach port. Some time would be made up due to the cancellation of the tour to Tulum, but the hours allotted for shopping in San Miguel would be cut short.

  Coffee, tea, and bouillon was served with cookies and crackers at a buffet beside the pool. Maura opened her eyes to watch the other passengers line up as though breakfast had not been over only a scant two hours, but she felt too somnolent to make the effort to sample this midmorning repast. The rumble of the engines was a soothing monotone. The rise and fall of the ship gave her deck chair a gentle, rocking motion. The lapping noise of the water in the pool was soporific. The breeze, warm and fresh with the scent of salt air, lifted her hair, moving over her with a soft caress.

  “Maura? Maura, wake up. It would be a shame for such lovely skin as yours to be burned to a crisp.”

  Maura lifted gold-tipped lashes, a dazed look in her emerald eyes. An instant later, she frowned. The voice that had spoken belonged to Mrs. Papoulas, but it was Nikolaos who leaned over her, one warm brown hand touching her bare shoulder.

  “There now,” his grandmother said from the other side of her chair, “come into the shade, my dear. This tropical sun is stronger than you realize, and blistered skin can be most uncomfortable when you are sightseeing.”

  Nikolaos released her, extending his hand to help her to her feet. Short of outright rudeness, there was no way to refuse. She came quickly erect however, removing her fingers from his grasp at the earliest possible moment.

  With a brief murmur of thanks, she turned to the older woman. “I’m happy to see you looking so well this morning.”

  Mrs. Papoulas grimaced. “I am better, though still a little wobbly. Hopefully, I will be back to normal by tonight.”

  “Do you feel up to going to San Miguel?”

  Nikolaos had drawn deck chairs into the shade cast by the overhang of the bridge. “Frankly, I don’t believe it would be wise,” the elderly woman said as she dropped down onto one of the chairs.

  Nikolaos stretched out on a chair next to his grandmother, a quirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Maura draw up a chair on the opposite side, well away from him. “The ship will drop anchor in the harbor at Cozumel,” he pointed out, “and the passengers will be taken ashore by tenders. Standing in line to embark, making the transfer from the ship to the tender, walking into town, is all a bit strenuous.”

  Mrs. Papoulas lifted a hand in protest. “It’s the ride in the tender that I object to, nothing more. I am perfectly capable of the walking, and the standing too, for that matter.”

  “The tenders,” Maura asked in a tactful change of subject. “Are they some type of boat?”

  “Actually, the closed, motorized lifeboats the ship is carrying. They may not look it, hanging on their struts, but each is capable of carrying fifty passengers in comfort.”

  “I suppose,” Mrs. Papoulas said as Maura nodded her comprehension, “that you intend to explore San Miguel, shop for the famous black coral?”

  “I suppose I will have to, since the tour to Tulum has been cancelled.”

  “You had signed up for that? How disappointing.”

  Maura gave a nod. “I like seeing old places where people have lived, whether it’s old houses, or ancient ruins. I’ve never cared that much for shopping.”

  “Such a shame,” the older woman said, then turned to her grandson. “Nikolaos, this cannot be a good thing for the line, raising the expectations of people like Maura, and then withdrawing the promise of such outings at the last minute. Surely something can be done.”

  “I was just thinking that I could hire a boat to take Maura to the mainland to see Tulum.”

  “She couldn’t go alone,” his grandmother objected.

  “Naturally I would go with her to see that everything went smoothly.”

  “No, really—” Maura began.

  The elderly woman ignored her protest. “I was thinking of how we could avoid such disappointments in the future, actually, but it would be wonderful if you would escort Maura.”

  “I’ll be glad to do it; shopping has no appeal to me, either.”

  “No!” Maura said. “I don’t want you to go to that trouble for me.”

  “But why? It’s a small thing, after all,” Nikolaos’s grandmother said.

  “It isn’t. It would entail all kinds of arrangements and scheduling. We might even miss the sailing of the ship.”

  “That isn’t likely. Captain Spiridion would wait for you and Nikolaos, I’m sure.”

  “The expense—”

  “Matters not at all, since Nikolaos would take care of it.”

  “I couldn
’t allow that,” Maura said firmly. “I prefer to be obligated to no one, least of all a man.”

  “My dear, there is no question of that, though I applaud your attitude.” An anxious frown between her eyes, Mrs. Papoulas looked to her grandson. “Even so, that’s the way I feel,” Maura insisted, a flush rising to her cheekbones.

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault, grandmother,” Nikolaos broke in. “I had a few things to say yesterday about people who take advantage, and it appears Maura is set on proving me wrong.”

  “That isn’t the only reason,” Maura said, “but if it satisfies you, and persuades you to drop this entire idea, then I won’t argue with it.”

  “That’s something, at least,” Nikolaos replied, his tone silky.

  Mrs. Papoulas looked from Maura to her grandson, distress mirrored in her fine old eyes. “Maura, my dear, are you sure you won’t reconsider? Think what an opportunity you are refusing.”

  Maura sent her a wry smile. “I have thought, but though I wouldn’t upset you for the world, I can’t accept this from you.”

  “Nikolaos,” the older woman said, rounding on her grandson as he lay with his arms crossed over his chest beside her, “what have you done to Maura?”

  His answer came slowly as he allowed his dark gaze to move past his grandmother to where Maura sat on the other side. “Nothing,” he said, “that you wouldn’t approve, or that I wouldn’t enjoy doing again.”

  Cozumel was flat, a low-lying island set down in the turquoise waters of the gulf. The town of San Miguel was not large. Little more than a village, in fact, it was gaining some small reputation as a tourist attraction because of its beaches, its quiet, slow-moving atmosphere, and its inexpensiveness.

  As the Athena glided into the harbor, another ship, large and white, perhaps a little larger than the Athena, could be seen, one bearing the red flag of the U.S.S.R. and with the hammer and sickle emblazoned on its smokestack. From the port of New Orleans also, it had left the dock well ahead of the Greek ship. The first thing Maura noticed about it was that its lifeboats were open and without visible sign of mechanical propulsion. Her interest was aroused because she had been inspecting the Athena’s tenders. These were substantial, solidly constructed boats with glass windows set into the covered top, a built-up housing for the controls, and inside, rows of cushioned seats. It was fascinating watching the great boats being swung out from the mother ship on their hydraulic arms, then lowered to the water.