Maiden Voyage

SIXTY-FOUR

Marcia Conroy had been watching Catriona and Philip from further along the deck. When Philip left, she was almost tempted to go and talk to Catriona. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps she wanted to reassure her that she didn't really blame her for what had happened. But then Catriona turned away, too, and disappeared inside, and Marcia decided that perhaps it wasn't quite the right moment anyway.

Marcia was allowed out now for a quarter of an hour twice a day, but although she didn't know it, Dr. Fields had asked Sir Peregrine to detail a crew member to keep a watchful eye on her, particularly when she went close to the rail. Dr. Fields believed that her suicidal mood was past; but he knew from experience that real suicides can be cunning, and that they frequently mislead their friends and relatives into thinking that all their difficulties are over, simply for the chance of being left alone again.

She felt melancholy, as a matter of fact, but not despairing. In her white cloche hat and her fur-trimmed afternoon coat, she looked like a mannequin, elegant, aloof, slightly world-weary. She had taken breakfast that morning, two lightly-scrambled eggs, and a cup of China tea, and a fig, and she surprised herself by thinking that she would enjoy doing something erotic.

She had already decided that she had inhaled enough fresh air when Sabran came back on deck, and leaned against the rail quite near her, aggressively posing in a tight black military-style jacket and flappy white silk trousers. He wore rope sandals, and his toenails were painted.

"You are looking sad," he said.

Marcia gave him a brief British smile.

"I too am down in the clumps."

"Dumps," she corrected him.

"Dumps?" he frowned. He lit a cigarette, and breathed smoke out of his nostrils. Marcia had the feeling that he would have blown it out of his ears as well if it had been possible. "That Baroness, she expects a slave, not a lover. Do I look like a slave? I am too spee-fee to be a slave."

"Yes," agreed Marcia, "I think you are."

"I will be a picture star, like Valentino, only many more women will swill at my feet."

"I think you mean swoon."

"Yes, very swoon. As swoon as I get to Hollywood, USA. Besides, I think you are hotsy-totsy."

"You do?" smiled Marcia.

"Please, do not misunderstand. I am not saying you are a pullover."

"I'm not," said Marcia, and found herself laughing for the first time in two days. "I'm not a pushover, either."

Quite unexpectedly, Sabran dropped to his knees and held her hand. "Please, I wish you would have a gin feez with me."

Marcia touched his cheek with her fingertips. His skin was smooth, quite soft. "All right," she agreed. "Let's go and have a gin feez."

"And then...?" asked Sabran.

"Oh, I don't know," said Marcia. "Let's just have the feez, and think about the after after."