Three
Della unlocked the door to the ship’s library and led the way, flicking on the lights as she went. The room was usually staffed by a crew member for the few hours a day it was open, and outside those times it had become her secret space.
Luke glanced around at the shelves of books and nodded. “Will we be interrupted by people needing a book for nighttime reading?”
“Opening hours are long over. No one will come in until ten tomorrow morning.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is it normal for the ship’s doctor to have a key to the library?”
“Not especially,” she said and felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile. “My father used to be captain of this ship, and he gave me the key because he knew how much I loved it in here. I let the new captain know after Dad’s retirement and he was happy to leave the arrangement as is.”
The librarian had also told the new captain that Della helped keep shelves in order on her frequent visits, so on that point alone he’d been keen to keep her access unfettered. When she couldn’t sleep, she liked handling books. Putting them in their proper place. Creating calm and order from chaos. She’d also occasionally bought books when she went ashore and donated them to the library, loving the feeling of being part of this special place.
“Of course,” Luke said. “Your father is Dennis Walsh. Patrick mentioned him occasionally.”
She wasn’t surprised Patrick had mentioned his friend, but she didn’t want to discuss her family with Luke Marlow. So she indicated two upholstered armchairs, arranged at right angles to each other, and they sat. Then she waited.
Luke rested an ankle on his knee and steepled his fingers. “I’ve been thinking. For whatever reason, Patrick wanted to leave you something more than, say, a rare bottle of wine. He didn’t have much cash or other assets since most of his wealth was tied up in the Cora Mae, so by giving you half the ship, knowing I’d buy you out, he was able to leave you a generous financial gift.”
Luke seemed so sure, so confident of himself and his words. It was in the set of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw. She hadn’t had that sort of confidence in years—and she certainly didn’t have it about Patrick’s intentions.
She tilted her head to the side as she studied him. “What makes you think he didn’t want to leave me half a ship?”
“Patrick’s father was Arthur Marlow, my grandfather,” he said without hesitation. “He started a company called Marlow and Sons. It owned many ships, including the original Cora Mae, which was named after his wife.”
She knew the ship’s history from Patrick, and had a feeling where Luke was going with this. “There’s a portrait of your grandmother hanging in the lobby. I’ll show you later if you like.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” He nodded in acknowledgment of her offer. “When Arthur died he split the company equally between his two sons. My father sold his ships and bought hotels instead, which he passed to me when he died. Patrick stayed in ships—he started with several but during some lean times, consolidated down to the flagship, the Cora Mae. After it became apparent he wouldn’t have children of his own, Patrick made it very clear that he wanted to reunite the family company through me.”
She leaned back in her chair. There was logic to his story, to his sense of expectation of inheriting, but life didn’t always fit into neat boxes, or sit on the shelves in the correct order like the books that surrounded them. Sometimes the unexpected and the irregular were part of life, too. She had no idea what Patrick had been thinking, but he must have had some reason for leaving her half a ship. She just had yet to understand his purpose.
“So,” she said, choosing her words with care, “because the Cora Mae has been in your family, it should simply stay in your family?”
His eyes narrowed. “Cora Mae was my grandmother. We’re talking about more than an asset owned by someone I’m related to. This ship is part of the fabric of my family.”
“And you think Patrick didn’t intend for me to keep the half he gave me?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ll buy your half-share and you get the windfall my uncle wanted you to have.”
She glanced through the porthole at the moonlight glinting on the rippled surface of the ocean. Allowing Luke to buy her out was the easiest option, sure, but she wouldn’t be railroaded.
“What happens if I don’t sell my half to you?” she asked, turning back to him.
“An untenable situation is created. Both of us would have 50 percent so neither would have a controlling interest. We’d have to agree on all major decisions for any real management to happen.”
She could see his point, and understood the inherent problems in the current arrangement, but one thought kept floating to the surface—what if Patrick had wanted her to have half the ship for some reason? He’d known how much Della loved the Cora Mae. Della had grown up on the ships her parents worked on, and her father had been captain of the Cora Mae until his retirement twelve months ago. When he’d offered her a job as a doctor working alongside her mother, she’d jumped at the chance, then spent a year working and cruising with her family. Her mother had retired at the same time as her husband, but Della had stayed. She felt more at home out to sea than she did on land. And the Cora Mae was her favorite of the ships she’d lived on, so the sense of ownership she had for the ship probably wouldn’t surprise anyone.
She stood and smoothed her hands down her dress. “I’m going to have to think about this, Luke. Selling you my half isn’t something I’d do lightly.”
In a flash, he was standing beside her. “How about this. Sell me a 10 percent share. I’ll pay double its worth, so you’ll still end up with a substantial lump sum.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is the valuation of the ship that I had done a few days ago. Take 10 percent of that bottom figure and double it.”
Della felt her eyes widen as she gripped the page. It was more money than she’d dreamed of.
“There will be stability to the management,” Luke continued, “and you’ll still get to keep your connection to the ship, plus the cash. Everybody wins.”
Her breath caught. The idea of having a hand in the future directions of her beloved Cora Mae, the promise of the money and the freedom that would bring…it was overwhelming.
Yet, what if Luke was wrong and Patrick had wanted her to have half the ship for some reason? The will reading had only been a few hours ago and in that short time there had already been twists and turns to the situation. It was too much to take in at once.
“I need to think it over.” She refolded the page and handed it back to him. Instead of taking it, he enfolded her hand in his, crumpling the paper inside their two sets of fingers and infusing her hand with warmth.
“The longer this draws out, the worse it is for the ship and her crew. They need stability,” he said, his voice and eyes both urging her to agree.
Her stomach dipped. So many people would be affected by her decision. But that only made it more imperative that it was the right one.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Marlow,” she said, straightening her spine. “This is too big a decision to rush. I’ll contact you when I’ve made up my mind.”
He gazed at her for a long time, far from happy. “I won’t wait forever,” he said, and walked out, leaving her in the library alone.
* * *
Thirty-six hours later—thirty-six hours in which he’d neither seen nor heard from Della—Luke walked along a path in the Sydney Botanical Gardens. They’d docked in Sydney that morning, and before he could find her, Della had left the ship. He was out of time and patience, so, after finding out the direction she’d headed in, he’d followed her.
He didn’t have the luxury of time to sit around and wait any longer. Even with
out the mess of Patrick’s will to sort out, he had a full-time job running Marlow Hotels. He would not twiddle his thumbs waiting for a summons from Dr. Della.
Scanning the crowd, he finally saw her up ahead. The graceful way she moved, the cloud of soft brown hair that sat like a halo around her head. His pulse picked up speed and for a few dangerous seconds, he forgot why he needed to see her and simply appreciated her. But he wouldn’t allow himself the indulgence for long. Too much was at stake.
“Nice day for a walk,” he said when he drew alongside her.
As she turned, her eyes flared in surprise then narrowed. “Mr. Marlow. What a coincidence.”
“Not so much,” he said with a casual shrug. “The captain told me you had the day off.”
“And you guessed that in a city of four and a half million I’d be in this exact spot.” She arched a dark eyebrow. “Impressive.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth despite his best intentions. “The captain might also have mentioned that you have a fondness for the Gardens.”
“Ah.” She glanced across at a display of native flowers. “Considerate of him to throw that information around. Crew privacy is usually respected.”
“I’m not a random passenger. And you’re no longer a mere crew member of the Cora Mae.”
“Perhaps, but I am still the ship’s doctor.”
Yes she was, but a young doctor with the world at her feet cloistering herself away on a ship made about as much sense as Patrick’s will. He glanced over, looking for a clue, but he found nothing. He needed to understand—to work out what had happened with his uncle, it was important to figure out the woman who was at the center of it all.
“I’ve been wondering something,” he said and dug his hands into his pockets.
Her eyes flicked to him then back to the trees they were passing. “I have a feeling I’ll regret this, but tell me.”
“I’ve seen your résumé. Why are you wasting your medical skills on a ship where you’re hardly using them?”
“I see patients every day.”
“For seasickness and sunburn?”
“Some of the issues are minor, but we’re trained to handle outbreaks of contagious diseases and disasters out to sea. And passenger death is not unheard of. It’s imperative that the ship’s medical staff is highly trained and capable.”
“I don’t doubt it. But why would someone as young as you, with her whole promising career ahead of her, want to settle into a job where she could do ninety-nine percent of the tasks with her eyes closed?”
“I like the job,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Is that what you tracked me down to ask?”
Cupping her elbow, he led her to the side of the path so he wouldn’t have to share her attention with the plant life of Sydney. “We need to resolve the ownership of the Cora Mae sooner rather than later. I have a job to get back to—I’d only planned to sail this first leg to Sydney then fly back to Melbourne. I need an answer to my offer.”
Her hand fluttered to circle her throat. “So soon?”
“Our situation has been reported on the news and if we leave it much longer, the uncertainty could affect my company’s shares on the stock market.”
“I don’t know—” she began, but he cut her off.
“How about this? The ship is scheduled to leave Sydney at midnight. Come to my cabin for dinner tonight. We’ll have privacy to thrash this out and come to an agreement. Then I’ll disembark before the Cora Mae sets sail for New Zealand.”
A tiny frown line appeared between her brows, then she blew out a breath. “You’re right. How does five-thirty suit?”
“Perfect,” he said and relaxed his shoulders. He’d resolve this and be on a flight to Melbourne in the morning.
They walked for a minute in silence, Luke’s thoughts dwelling on Patrick and what he could have intended by leaving half the ship to Della Walsh, if he’d been thinking at all when he wrote the will. But the other thought that had been pestering at the edges of his mind was why Patrick had felt it necessary to keep his illness a secret from his own family. That’s what family was for—to support each other in the hard times.
And if Patrick hadn’t made the call, then his doctor should have.
He planted his hands low on his hips and found the gaze of the doctor in question. “I need to know something. Once you knew how serious Patrick’s cancer was, once you knew he wouldn’t survive it, why didn’t you override his wishes and ring his family?”
Uncertainty flashed across her features. It had been fleeting, but he’d seen it. Then she found her calm composure again and crossed her arms under her breasts. “I have a question for you. Why didn’t you ever visit Patrick?”
Regret and grief and guilt coalesced into a hard, hot lump in his gut. “That’s irrelevant,” he snapped. He didn’t have to justify himself or his actions to a virtual stranger.
“Patrick invited you often.” Her voice was soft, probing. “If you’d come aboard, especially in the last year or so, you would have found out for yourself that he was seriously ill.”
“I’ve never been fond of sailing. Besides, I saw him when he came ashore so there was no reason.” But that answer didn’t satisfy the guilt that was eating at his gut, so he offered her a tight smile. “I need to get back to the ship to make some calls. I’ll see you at five-thirty.”
He turned on his heel and left.
* * *
At five-thirty, Luke showered and changed for dinner with Della. Walking down the stairs of his duplex suite, delicious anticipation sizzled through his bloodstream, making him pause. How long had it been since he’d looked forward to dinner with a woman this much? Della intrigued him—every word she’d said, every action, raised questions that begged him to find answers. Or challenged him the way she had this afternoon about Patrick. Either way, he was thinking about the lovely doctor far too often.
There was a danger in this.
He straightened his spine. He would not be distracted by a woman. His ownership of the Cora Mae was at stake.
He glanced around the suite’s dining room. The concierge had offered him staff from the butler service for the night, but he’d declined. These negotiations were delicate and they’d need privacy.
He strode from the carpeted staircase to the living room bar and found it well stocked with spirits, wines and soft drinks. All contingencies covered. He knew little about Dr. Della other than that she lived on a ship and had medical training, but at least he’d be able to cater for whatever drinks she preferred.
As he was reaching for a bottle of white wine, there was a knock at the door. Bottle in hand, he crossed the room and drew the door open. His breath caught deep in his throat. She wore a simple floral summer dress and heeled sandals that accentuated her shapely calves. Her loose hair shone in the hall lights, and his hand twitched, wanting to reach out and wrap one curl around his fingers.
Della smiled, but her eyes remained wary, as if still considering the wisdom of this meeting.
He cleared his throat and opened the door farther to allow her to pass. “I’m glad you came.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, but didn’t enter.
Placing a hand under her elbow, he gently guided her over the threshold. “Come in.” When she took two small steps into the room, he closed the door and held up the bottle still in his hand. “Would you like red, white or champagne?”
She swallowed, her posture watchful and guarded. She was obviously deciding whether this meeting would be strictly business or whether she’d concede to a certain level of social nicety. He held her gaze, not pushing, not giving her the easy escape, either.
She nodded once, decision made. “White, please.”
A spark of satisfaction zinged through his system—she was going to play nice. It would a
llow him more opportunity to resolve the situation just between themselves, without getting courts and lawyers involved.
He poured them both a glass of sauvignon blanc and showed her to an armchair. “Are you hungry?”
“I only had a light lunch, so yes, I am,” she said.
He offered her the in-suite dining menu. “Since you’re hungry, we should order now.”
Della took the spiral-bound booklet but didn’t open it. He realized she lived here—she probably knew the options by heart.
He leaned back on the couch and laid an arm along the top. “What would you suggest?”
“Depends what you like. Everything is delicious so you can’t make a bad choice.” She shrugged a shoulder then sat, still and watchful. He saw a way to create some trust that could move them past her guardedness and help the negotiations that would begin soon.
He closed his menu. “Why don’t you order for both of us?”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction, assessing the sincerity of his suggestion. “How do you feel about Italian?”
“I could be tempted.”
“Can I use your phone?”
“Please.” He reached for the handset on the table behind the lounge and passed it to her.
She dialed, then lifted her gaze to him. “Hi, Angie, it’s Della. Is Edoardo on tonight?” She smiled. “Can you ask him if he has enough of his eggplant parmigiana to send two servings up to Luke Marlow in the starboard owner’s suite?” There was a pause. “Excellent,” she said and disconnected.
He took the phone from her outstretched hand. “Am I right in assuming you’ve ordered us something that’s not on the menu?”
“You would be right.” She inclined her head, acknowledging his guess. “Edoardo used to occasionally make this dish for himself, then as people started tasting it, they’d put in a request for some the next night and it grew into a bit of a legend. Now he comes in early for his shift and makes a dish for any of the staff who want some. So he usually has a few plates’ worth of it at the back of the kitchen.”
Countering His Claim Page 4
