Love at Sea Read online

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  Copyright ©1980 by Patricia Maxwell

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Other works by Jennifer Blake and Maxine Patrick also available in e-reads editions

  THE STORM AND THE SPLENDOR

  GOLDEN FANCY

  ROYAL SEDUCTION

  FIERCE EDEN

  BRIDE OF A STRANGER

  SOUTHERN RAPTURE

  SPANISH SERENADE

  SWEET PIRACY

  THE SECRET OF MIRROR HOUSE

  BAYOU BRIDE

  NOTORIOUS ANGEL

  NIGHT OF THE CANDLES

  THE ABDUCTED HEART

  ARROW TO THE HEART

  SNOWBOUND HEART

  CAPTIVE KISSES

  APRIL OF ENCHANTMENT

  Chapter 1

  The cruise ship nudged against the dock, tugging at its hawsers with the pull of the Mississippi River current that ran to the gulf. Clean and sparkling white, even in the drizzling rain, the MTS Athena of the Vassos Lines towered above the slow moving line of boarding passengers. Maura O'Neal tilted her head to stare up at the ship. The rain dewed the creamy skin of her face and tangled her long, gold-tipped lashes. It ran from the brim of the bright yellow rain hat that shielded her emerald eyes, and traced in rivulets down the yellow poplin of her waterproof cape. A few drops caught in her hair, jeweling the shoulder-length auburn waves. A wry smile curved her mouth. It was a beautiful ship; of that there could be no doubt, but this was definitely not an auspicious beginning for a sunny Caribbean cruise.

  The rain was not the only problem that had plagued this sailing. The Athena had been late coming into port; most of the passengers had been waiting since one o'clock for a departure scheduled for two in the afternoon. It was now well after four. Disaster had struck first much earlier, however. It was three weeks ago that Aunt Maggie had stepped off a curb in the French Quarter near their New Orleans apartment in her platform heels and fallen, breaking a small bone in her foot.

  Aunt Maggie was no longer young. The injury was not serious, but it would prevent her from walking comfortably for some time. It was useless to hope to enjoy a cruise ship when one could not promenade the decks, the elderly woman insisted. And then there were the shore excursions, always enough to test the stamina of a long-distance runner, to say nothing of his arches. She would not go. Maura must make the cruise alone. Maura knew what information was required and would probably be much better able to collect it without an old woman at her elbow every moment.

  Maura's protestations were given no heed. Aunt Maggie was a headstrong woman. Actually Margaret O'Neal, famous writer of romance novels, she had been enthralling her readers with tales of love and adventure for twenty-five years, and trotting the globe looking for new, romantic locales equally as long. For the past ten years, since the death of her parents in an automobile accident when she was a lanky eleven year old, Maura had made her home with the elderly woman, her great-aunt. For the last three of these, she had acted as Aunt Maggie's secretary-typist, unofficially after she left high school and completed a business course at a good college, officially for the past several months.

  It was true, however, that Maura's job included much more than taking dictation, typing manuscripts, and filing correspondence. It was she who supervised the frequent moves her great-aunt found necessary, both for her restless personality and her need for new backgrounds for her books. It was Maura who hunted apartments, saw that the utilities were turned off and on, and that milk and newspaper deliveries were commenced and canceled. It was she who did the general cleaning until a maid could be engaged, and in her spare time combed the book stores and libraries for research material to give her great-aunt's novels authenticity.

  It was this last task that Aunt Maggie had been speaking of in connection with the cruise. For all her success, Aunt Maggie would no more think of taking a trip or vacation without an eye to story possibilities than she would read a book without noticing the author's style and command of words. Everything was grist for Aunt Maggie's mill. For this reason, she had fully intended, when she booked this Caribbean cruise aboard the Greek ship Athena, months before, to develop a romance around the voyage. She was determined that nothing should interfere with that plan.

  “Really, Aunt Maggie,” Maura had said when she was told she must go alone, “there's no need for you to pass this up. We can request a wheelchair and I can push you anywhere you want to go."

  “I am not an invalid, Maura, and I refuse to be forced to answer all the asinine questions sure to be put to me concerning my lower limbs and my ability to get about by myself."

  “I know very well how independent you are, not to say stubborn, Aunt Maggie, but I should think a cast on your foot would be self-explanatory."

  “Possibly, but they would still want to know how I came to have it, and how can I say I fell off my shoes? It sounds senile."

  “It will be pretty obvious if you wear one of your three-inch platform sandals on the other foot!” Maura said, smiling.

  Aunt Maggie lifted a brow. “Yes, well, I despise old-lady shoes with squatty heels and laces. But before you wander even further from the point, let me tell you I don't particularly care about this cruise. I am already familiar with the atmosphere of a cruise ship and the Caribbean. There was that trip to the Bahamas we took that became Island Magic, if you remember?"

  “That was years ago!"

  “You needn't suggest there's anything wrong with my memory."

  “I wasn't, and you know it, but things may have changed since then."

  “Possibly,” the older woman conceded, “and I will expect you to make careful and detailed notes."

  Maura eyed her aunt suspiciously. “You are up to something, I know; I'm just not sure what. I have this feeling you are trying to get rid of me."

  “Maura, no! I would think you would prefer a little time to yourself. You should get out more, make friends. I love you like a daughter; you could not be more precious to me. But I worry that in following me about from pillar to post you have so little time to meet young men."

  “I have had my share of beaus,” Maura said, a teasing light in her eyes as she deliberately used the old-fashioned term.

  “None of them serious."

  “If you mean none I want to marry. I'll have to agree. I fear, Aunt Maggie, that you taught me to be too discriminating in my tastes."

  “That's a good thing, of course, but there is a point past which a girl can be entirely too choicy."

  Maura smiled. For all her pretense of hard-headed practicality, her great-aunt was a romantic of the highest order. “You don't really expect me to go on this cruise to find a husband?"

  “Stranger things have happened,” the older woman said, a defensive note in her voice.

  “But shipboard meetings are notoriously short-lived."

  Aunt Maggie sighed, looking with disfavor at her great-niece. “So sensible, and such a pity. I only thought if you were alone you would be more approachable. You would meet new people, have fun, go dancing without having to feel you were on duty every moment."

  “I never feel like that!"

  “I don't mean to command all your time,” the older woman said with a shake of her head, “but you are so willing, so involved with the books, that it is difficult. I don't want you to neglect your own life for the sake of the imitation I
create. I would be a monster of cruelly if I allowed it."

  “I wouldn't worry,” Maura said, her green eyes soft.

  “Nevertheless, I do,” Aunt Maggie answered. “That's why you will oblige me by taking this cruise. When you get back, I can then take advantage of you with a clear conscience!"

  There was much more in the same vein. It became apparent, finally, that Maura's great-aunt was in earnest, that her determination to have Maura experience a little carefree gaiety was immovable. No obstacle was to be allowed to stand in the way. The current book was completed on time and put in the mail. A suitable female was found to stay with her great-aunt to help her dress, fetch, and carry, and be generally bullied. Maura could only agree at last, and begin to pack her bags.

  The line of passengers inched forward. As Maura neared the gangway the reasons for the slow movement became obvious. Boarding the ship was to be accomplished upon little more than an old-fashioned gangplank. So narrow it had to be ascended single file, sheeted with embossed aluminum with cross-strips for footholds and with railings on either side of rope strung between supports, it presented no small difficulty. The aluminum sheeting gleamed wet in the dim light from the interior of the ship, and rain dripped from the looped rope. It scarcely looked wide enough for a wheelchair, even if one could have been maneuvered on the steep and slick incline, and her great-aunt would have been hard put to negotiate in on crutches. Perhaps, Maura conceded, it was just as well she had not tried to come. Aunt Maggie could not have stood another fall.

  At the top of the gangplank, the ship's personnel were helping the embarking passengers, steadying them, giving them a hand. They could not reach those nearer the bottom of the narrow plank, however. Just ahead of Maura was an older woman who eyed the boarding arrangement askance, then took a deep breath and set her foot on the slippery aluminum. Almost as a reflex action after so many years of traveling with her aunt, Maura moved closer as she followed after the elderly passenger, on guard in case help was needed.

  At that instant a gust of rain-laden wind swept the gangplank. The metal-clad incline swayed slightly. The older woman lost her footing and clutched at the rope railing. Maura moved swiftly to her side, catching her arm, supporting her until she was steady once more.

  “Thank you,” the woman said on an indrawn breath.

  Maura shook her head, her smile polite, yet warmly encouraging. “This method of boarding leaves something to be desired, doesn't it?"

  “Especially in this weather,” the older woman replied with a grim nod.

  “That's New Orleans for you, always raining, threatening to rain, or just drying out"

  “All the more reason to be prepared for it."

  There was a faint foreign inflection in the woman's voice that was difficult to place. A frown drew her brows together in a look of infinite disapproval. Dressed simply, but with a look of distinction in a black suit beneath a gray all-weather coat, the woman's dark hair was streaked with soft silver and drawn back from a center part to be confined in a knot on the nape of her neck. Though a little shorter and more portly than her own relative, there was something indomitable about the other woman that reminded Maura of her great-aunt.

  Before they could speak again, they were greeted by the ship's personnel. The cruise director offered his strong arm to the elderly woman, bending solicitously over her as he asked for her cabin number and steered her in the proper direction.

  The Athena was much like a floating hotel, with a lobby opening out from the entrance at the gangway, a purser's desk for reception, carpeted corridors leading to cabins branching off it, and the hum of an elevator to one side. For those too impatient to wait for the latter, there was a staircase that led to the upper decks towering the equivalent of seven stories above the waterline. Instead of being numbered from bottom to top, however, like a high-rise building, the decks were numbered from top to bottom. The lobby was, therefore, on deck six with cabins on the deck both above and below. The ship had only one class. Because of this, there was one great dining room and one main lounge. These were located on the deck four, along with the library and shopping mail. Above these were the more expensive staterooms, the promenade deck and lifeboat stations, and higher still, the lido deck with its bar and swimming pool.

  Maura, glancing around her, trying to remember the layout of the ship from the brochure she had been studying while she waited to go on board, was aware that there were correct, nautical terms for the stairways and corridors of the ship. However, what she saw before her was so like hotel accommodations that they seemed unnecessary.

  Aunt Maggie was not one to waste money on frills. The convenience and luxury of a topside stateroom was not for Maura. The cabin booked for her was on deck seven, the lowest passenger level of the ship. With a quick glance at Maura's ticket, the blonde assistant cruise director indicated the stairs, calling a steward to lead Maura to her room.

  The reason for the guide soon became obvious. The elevator, did not descend to deck seven. Once down the stairs, the narrow, well-lighted corridors branched off with the multiplicity, the sharp turns, and sudden endings of a labyrinth. Quiet, warm, smelling faintly of diesel oil from the engine room Maura suspected was in the vicinity, the stretching companionways with their shining, brushed aluminum handrails and textured, cloth-covered walls seemed confusingly alike.

  The steward stopped before a door, opened it for her, then waited for her to precede him inside. With accented English and smiling friendliness, he indicated the room's appointments. Maura thanked the man, tipped him, and closed the door after him as he went out

  As if to compensate for its location, the cabin was extra large, or at least it seemed large in comparison to the cubbyhole she had shared with her aunt on the first cruise they had taken together. It boasted not one porthole, but two. Glancing out, Maura could see the muddy water of the Mississippi River slipping past at what she judged to be twenty feet or so below the closed porthole openings.

  The furnishings of the room were durable, and of excellent quality. There were short drapes of heavy, jutelike material in earth and sea tones to be drawn over the portholes while in port. The spreads on the beds were of similar rough-feeling cloth in brown with rust and turquoise strips. The beds were turned at right angles, one beneath the portholes, and the other against the wall, with a console between them as a headboard holding a stationary lamp of heavy earthenware, a telephone, and incorporating a radio for piped-in music and news. At the moment, the strains of Greek taverna music were issuing from it.

  Putting her shoulder bag down on the bed under the portholes, Maura made a quick inspection of the rest of the room. There was a long vanity dresser with another lamp on its surface, along with a brown pottery water carafe with a matching cup as its cover. The remainder of that wall was taken up by a double closet with drawers for clothing between them. The attached bathroom had a streamlined, European look in its fixtures, but these included a full-size tub instead of a shower. All in all, Maura thought, surveying the deep turquoise carpet, and the large mural of an Athenian owl on one wall, Aunt Maggie had not done too badly in her choice of a cabin. It was really too bad her great-aunt was not going to be there to enjoy it.

  Maura was far too impatient to remain below for long. She changed into deck shoes and removed her handbag from her carry-on luggage. Putting everything else away, she took out the ship's brochure to use as a guide, then locked the cabin door behind her and made her way back to the lobby.

  There was such a crowd of embarking passengers gathered around the elevator that Maura turned to the wide rail-lined stairs in order to reach the upper decks. As she stepped out onto the promenade she heard the announcement warning visitors to go ashore. She circled the deck, her footsteps sure and swinging, even on the rain-wet planking. A fine mist of rain still hung in the air, keeping most of the other passengers inside. The rails were nearly deserted as she leaned to watch the last of the supplies for the ship being loaded and the lines that held the vess
el to the dock being taken in. The Athena's engines were idling with a low, rumbling noise. At the sound of a harsher motor, Maura moved to the port side of the ship where a tug belching black smoke was beginning to tow the great white liner out into the river, swinging her around, turning her downstream.

  The ship's engines shuddered into life, sending smoke billowing in a rich black cloud from the back-swept stacks high above the decks. The ship's whistle blasted out a deep, vibrating warning. The tug answered in a sharper reply, then began to pull away from them in a churning, boiling froth of muddy water. They were moving under their own power. Big, white, and powerful, they were gliding away from New Orleans, leaving the city and its cares behind, reaching toward the one hundred and fifty miles of curving river that led from the port city to the open gulf, heading toward a week of unknown, unknowing pleasure.

  Maura stood at the rail, her fingers gripping the wet, polished surface, her green eyes bright with unexpected elation. Excitement swelled in her chest and bubbled like wine in her veins. She had agreed to this cruise under protest, feeling in spite of her aunt's assurances that she was deserting her. Now, no matter how she might deny it, she felt curiously light and carefree, ready for whatever might happen. There was every possibility that she was going to enjoy the next few days. With a smile of irrepressible happiness curving her mouth, she took off her rain hat and shook back her hair, letting it blow in the damp and exhilarating wind of their passage.

  The gray March evening drew in and lights began to appear along the river bank, the lights of the houses on the far outskirts of New Orleans and of the cargo ships anchored along the river, waiting their turn to load or unload at the docks. Tiring finally of watching the river traffic, the long lines of barges, the fishing boats, and the endless stream of ocean-going freighters from every port in the world, Maura left the rail at last

  She climbed the outside stairs to a higher level, wandering around the lido deck, skirting the swimming pool with its wet canvas cover, tilting her head to stare up at the glass windows of the bridge high above. She discovered the game deck marked off for shuffleboard, and located the exercise gym and the sauna. Passing through the lido bar, she took the inside staircase back to the promenade deck, noting with a smile the names of the various decks, each called after one of the Greek muses. On this level she found the movie theater and the children's nursery and, suitably set apart, the most luxurious staterooms, one or two with its own access to a small forward promenade.