Love at Sea Read online

  A man stood on the deck below. Maura stopped, then descended more slowly, recognizing Nikolaos Vassos even before he turned. Grimness settled over his face as he saw her, and his gaze flicked over the windblown wildness of her hair, but he came forward to give her his hand down the last few slippery steps.

  His grasp was warm and firm, sending a small sense of shock along Maura's arm. She released her fingers the instant her feet touched the deck. Her murmured thanks were swept away by the stiff breeze.

  “May I buy you a drink?” Nikolaos asked, lifting his voice above the sound of the wind, indicating the glass doors of the lido bar. As she hesitated, he went on. “I would like to talk to you."

  “I'll have a cup of coffee then,” she said in short, reluctant agreement.

  The mugs of heavy, earth-colored pottery sat steaming before them. The bar was full of passengers watching the sea from the comfort of padded seats and through draped picture windows, or staring longingly at the swimming pool with its plastic cover and the shining wetness of the sun deck around it. Most nursed drinks of some kind, though in one corner a noisy game of cards was in progress.

  “You have gained a great deal of influence over my grandmother in a short space of time."

  The words were measured, purposeful. Maura met the dark eyes of Nikolaos Vassos without evasion. “I doubt that's true, but even if it is, that was certainly not my intention."

  “No? I suppose you are going to try to tell me you make a habit of befriending elderly women?"

  “Not exactly."

  “Then explain to me, if you can, why an attractive girl like you would spend your time with her, instead of with a man."

  “I could tell you, though I would be surprised if you believed me."

  “There is always a possibility."

  “Should I be grateful for that concession?” Maura inquired, honey in her tones as she tilted her head to one side.

  “As you please."

  She studied him a long moment. “I see no reason why I should answer your questions. I assure you, I have no designs upon the Vassos family fortune, or whatever it is you think I expect to gain."

  “What's the matter?” he asked, a soft taunt in his voice. “Surely you haven't forgotten the tale you spun for her."

  She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “Tell me,” she said, her own tone equally soft, “do you cultivate that look of world-weary cynicism, or is it natural to you?"

  He straightened, anger surfacing in the black, depths of his eyes. “It was put there by women like you who attach themselves to people like my grandmother like leeches, people who, for the sake of a free meal and swimming-pool privileges, pretend to friendliness and affection, until a better prospect comes along. The trouble is, my grandmother has always believed the best of people; she can't tell which are sincere, and which are play-acting. She is hurt by every defection. I prefer to save her the pain rather than watch her try to forget it."

  “You, of course, never mistake the sham for the real."

  “Not often enough to matter."

  His gaze rested on the gentle curves of her mouth. After an instant, he seemed to collect his thoughts. “You don't intend to repeat your story to me?"

  Maura reached up to run her fingers through her tangled hair. “Six days from now we will leave this ship and never meet again. What is the point?"

  “Tonight is the captain's cocktail party and welcome dinner,” he informed her. “Grandmother has requested that an invitation be issued to you to sit at the captain's table."

  “That—was kind and thoughtful of her, but unnecessary."

  “She insists."

  “And you would like to be certain that I am worthy of this honor?"

  He sighed, toying with his coffee cup with strong brown fingers. “I am only trying to see to it that she isn't disappointed again."

  “I can't quarrel with your motives,” Maura said carefully, “but your methods are arrogant, overbearing, and egotistical."

  “You forgot self-serving. Having made it clear that you don't like anything about me, could you now answer my questions?"

  His determination was boundless, unshakable. Maura stared at him as he sat across from her. A virile man of supreme confidence, the dark waves of his hair were sculpted to the classical shape of his head. His features were well proportioned, and yet with a cragginess that gave him a look of iron will. There was a certain satisfaction in thwarting him, but it suddenly seemed petty to withhold the information that he wanted for such a reason. It might be more interesting to confound him by telling him the exact truth, just as she had given it to his grandmother.

  “So,” he said when she had finished, “you spend your days with an elderly relative, typing manuscripts of romance while you have none of your own?"

  “That does not necessarily follow,” Maura declared, searching her memory, uncomfortably certain she had told Mrs. Papoulas her great-aunt's motives for sending her on this cruise, including her concern that Maura was meeting so few eligible young men.

  Nikolaos shrugged. “Perhaps not."

  Meeting his sardonic gaze, she said, “Romance is the last thing on my mind."

  But though he acknowledged her statement politely, she knew very well he believed not a word of it.

  The rolling of the sea worsened as the day advanced. The Athena sailed into a gray bank of rain clouds. At some time in the early afternoon, while Maura was out, the steward entered her cabin and bolted the heavy cast-iron covers over the portholes. As the hour drew near for the captain's cocktail party, thunder was crashing about them, and lightning forked down into the sea.

  On deck seven, the portholes were submerged with a regular rhythm as the ship cut through the waves. The water could not be seen for the porthole covers, but the rush and gurgle of it sounded loud, and the thick, well-insulated sheet metal of the ship's hull seemed as thin as paper.

  In Maura's cabin, the floor tilted this way and that. As she made her way back and forth across the cabin, trying to dress, she had to cling to the edge of the bed or the vanity table, or take sudden quick steps to keep her balance. Each time she opened a door, it swung back and forth on its hinges. In the stormy darkness, the lights in the cabin seemed dim, and they flickered with the muted vibrations of the thunder. It seemed only wise, under the circumstances, to take a precautionary seasickness tablet.

  The captain's cocktail party and the dinner that followed required formal dress. Maura had packed a gown of pleated sea-green chiffon with a slight Grecian influence for the occasion. Free-flowing, floor length, it needed the graceful height of heels to look its best. She strapped on a pair of silver sandals with a rueful smile for the folly of women. She could wear her deck shoes under her gown, of course, but it was so long the skirt would drag along behind her like a train. If she was going to break her neck, she might as well do it in style.

  As a final touch, she added a necklace of pearls, the jewels of the sea, and slipped pearl earrings into her ears. Ready at last, she debated carrying an evening bag, then decided against it. On a night like this, she needed her hands free.

  It was a wise decision. In the narrow corridors of the ship, the movement seemed magnified. The polished aluminum handrails that lined the walls proved their usefulness. Despite the uncertain footing, however, there was a lighthearted atmosphere in the companionways. The people Maura met were laughing even as they staggered along. They smiled as they called greeting, and exchanged wry comments about their hopes for sailing into warmth and sunshine, and the ridiculousness of getting dressed in their best finery on such a night.

  The prospect of being shut up in an elevator where the action of the ship would be combined with an upward glide had no appeal for Maura. She had not, so far, been affected by the seasickness making itself felt on board, but she intended to take no chances. Lifting her skirts with one hand, holding to the rail with the other, she mounted the stairs. By the time she had reached deck four where the main lounge was located, she had
begun to get the hang of balancing on her high heels as she swayed with the rolling of the ship.

  The doors to the lounge were closed as preparations were made for the cocktail party and the formation of a formal receiving line. People were gathered in the open area, or vestibule, outside the doors, the women in long gowns, diamonds, and an occasional fur; the men in somber evening dress. A few had found seats on the cushioned hassocks fastened to the floor in the corners, though most stood. Maura was not alone in her problems with unaccustomed long skirts and heels; more than one husband stood with feet spread, clutching the handrail, while with the other hand he grasped the arm of his tottering wife.

  At the sound of her name, Maura turned her head to see Mrs. Papoulas sitting on a hassock near the lounge doors. Nikolaos stood at ease nearby, his shoulders braced against the wall. Smiling, Maura started toward them across the open floor. She was just reaching out to clasp the hand the elderly woman held up in greeting, when the ship pitched once more.

  There was a cry behind her. Before Maura could sidestep, a woman in teetering heels and a dress of close-fitting crepe came trotting helplessly down the tilting floor. The woman brushed against her, throwing her off balance. Maura felt herself falling, and then arms with the strength of iron bands closed around her.

  A gasp rose to her lips. For an instant she was aware of the ruffled front of a dress shirt beneath her cheek. Then she drew back, her hands pressed against a broad chest, and her wide emerald gaze on the face of the man who steadied her. Not far away, the woman who had caused her to fall was declaring herself unhurt, and showering the dining-room steward who had caught her with her expressions of gratitude.

  “Maura, my dear,” Mrs. Papoulas was saying, “are you all right?"

  “Yes, I'm fine,” she answered over her shoulder. Then she spoke in firmer tones, forcing a smile for Nikolaos Vassos. “I must thank you for being so quick."

  “The pleasure,” the dark Greek said, releasing her with slow reluctance, “was mine."

  Chapter 3

  Going through the receiving line under such weather conditions was an experience. The master of the vessel, Captain Petros Spiridion, swayed back and forth on his well-adjusted sea legs, smiling and shaking hands, waiting with practiced cordiality each time for the introduction and the flash of the souvenir photograph. The passengers, by contrast, moved past him in jerky fits and starts, a few stumbling toward him so his handclasp became a means of support. For Nikolaos Vassos and his grandmother there was a special greeting. The captain had spoken to Nikolaos earlier, it appeared, for there was no surprise in his manner, and the exchange between them was warm and bantering. Maura herself came under frank scrutiny, enough to make her wonder what Captain Spiridion had been told about her.

  Nikolaos directed Mrs. Papoulas and Maura to the captain's table, in the front and center of the lounge, at the edge of the raised dance floor that also served as a stage. This was, it appeared, the only table of honor on the ship. The captain did not take his meals in the dining room, but in his own quarters with his family who traveled with him. Once seated, Maura watched with interest as the waiters performed feats of legerdemain, racing up and down the darkened, constantly rising and falling room, avoiding unsteady passengers while balancing trays laden with the complimentary drinks provided by the captain, placing them on tables the size of pocket handkerchiefs. Their dining-room waiter, Stephen, was on duty, and Maura smiled in recognition as he passed. Glancing at Nikolaos, she found him studying her with a frown between his thick brows.

  It was his grandmother who broke the silence. “If what Stephen told us this morning is true, I am afraid there are going to be a great number of very sick people on this ship soon."

  She was referring to the waiter's theory that drinking liquids, especially those containing alcohol, contributed to seasickness. Few, if any, of the people in the lounge were refusing the free liquor.

  “Seasickness,” Nikolaos said, “is caused by the effect of motion on the fluid of the inner ear. What a person eats or drinks has little to do with it."

  Regardless, Mrs. Papoulas refused to allow Nikolaos to request any kind of beverage for her, though he ordered for Maura and himself.

  The cruise director, an Englishman, acted as master of ceremonies to formally introduce the captain and his officers. They stood on the stage in white dress uniforms, their bearing erect, yet easy. Third Officer Maratos, stepping forward as his name was called, singled Maura out, inclining his head in a slight bow as he smiled. The attention made her uncomfortable, especially as she sensed the interest of Nikolaos Vassos in the byplay between the ship's officer and herself. She refused to look at him, however, just as she made no acknowledgment of the officer's covert greeting.

  Champagne, also compliments of the captain, was served with the gala welcoming dinner. With it went pâté de foie gras, beluga caviar, and numerous other delicacies. As they were waiting for the appetizers to be placed before them, a great wave thrown up by the plunging bow of the ship was caught by the wind and dashed against the dining-room windows. Maura glanced at Mrs. Papoulas. The elderly woman's gaze was fixed on the salt spume running down the glass. In the dim overhead light, her skin had a moist and pale cast.

  “Grandmother, are you ill?” Nikolaos asked, placing his hand on hers where it lay on the table.

  “No, certainly not,” she answered, smiling.

  It was a valiant effort, but it was undone by the arrival of the fish course a short time later, an offering of cold, ungarnished lobster. Mrs. Papoulas took one look, then rose to her feet.

  “I—you must excuse me,” she murmured. “I don't feel so well, after all. I will just go to my room and lie down."

  “Shall I come with you?” Maura asked, half rising.

  “No, no,” the other woman said, waving her back down. “I can manage."

  “I will see you to the door,” Nikolaos said, and paying no attention to his grandmother's protests, took her arm as he helped her from the dining room.

  He returned minutes later to report that she was better away from the smell of food, and intended to make an early night of it.

  Mrs. Papoulas was not the only one to forgo the evening meal. A large percentage of the passengers went straight from the cocktail party to their cabins. More still, like Nikolaos's grandmother, succumbed to illness at the sight of food. By the time dessert was served, less than a quarter of the dining tables were occupied.

  Maura looked up quickly as once more a wave struck the windows beside the table. Elsewhere along the wall, the drapes had been pulled to close out the wild night. Nikolaos, however, had signaled his displeasure when Stephen had started to do the same for those beside their table. Now the man across from her flicked a glance in her direction.

  “Does it bother you?” he asked, nodding at the windows.

  Maura shook her head. It was true. Though the thought of waves high enough to reach these windows at nearly the height of a four-story building was amazing, it was not frightening. The ship seemed small in the vast, storm-tossed blackness of the sea, but the fact that it might sink had no reality. If she felt anything, it was a need to be closer to the wind and waves, to feel their strength against her, instead of having it shut away from sight.

  The ship rolled. The vase of carnations in the center of the table rocked, then toppled slowly toward Maura. The spice-scented blossoms spilled into her lap as the water gurgled out onto the bright salmon linen of the tablecloth.

  Nikolaos reacted instantly, snatching up the tall pottery vase. Stephen was there a moment later, apologizing, blotting up the water with a fresh napkin, making certain her gown was unsullied, then gathering up the flowers and bearing both them and their vase away. Within a short few minutes every table in the room had been swept clear of flowers to prevent another such occurrence.

  Stephen's manner that evening was efficient and oppressively silent, proof that he realized he was serving the managing director of the line. His deference toward
Maura was an indication that he considered her in some way attached to the Vassos family also, possibly even to Nikolaos himself. The implication troubled Maura, but for the moment there seemed no way to correct it. She could only attempt to keep up her end of the strained conversation, and hope fervently that the change in Stephen escaped the notice of Nikolaos Vassos.

  It was, naturally, too much to ask.

  “I think,” Nikolaos said deliberately, as he watched Stephen whisk away the plates from their final course in the direction of the kitchen, “that my presence has dampened the spirits of the young man who serves our table, and also those of his friends. Perhaps I should apologize for spoiling your fun."

  “My fun?"

  “You seemed to be so entertained by their attentions this morning when I first came into the dining room."

  Maura toyed with her wine glass. “Did I? I suppose it's because I am not used to being treated that way."

  “What do you mean?"

  “With such—obvious admiration,” she answered with difficulty.

  “No? You surprise me. You are a beautiful woman.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze disconcertingly intent.

  “Hardly,” Maura objected. “At any rate, few American men care to make their appreciation for an attractive woman so plain."

  “But then, these are not American men. My countrymen are well-known for their directness, among other things."

  Maura looked up, caught by an odd inflection in his voice. “Other things?"

  “Their amorous nature, for one. Miss O'Neal. Something you might keep in mind."

  “That has the ring of a warning,” she suggested.

  He inclined his head. “It could save trouble if you would remember it."

  “What are you implying?” Maura's winged brows drew together as his ironic tone grated on her nerves.