There was a lengthy and difficult silence. John Crombey cleared his throat several times, a worrying little noise, as if he were trying to start up the engine of a model boat.
Mark said, "You realise that if your father was involved in sinking the Orange for the insurance money, then Edgar Deacon was probably involved, too."
"And Philip Carter-Helm?" said Catriona. "Perhaps Philip Carter-Helm was the one who put them up to it."
"I don't know. John, what do you know about the Kyoto Shipping and Trading Company? Is there anybody there we could contact by telegraph? How about Takemitsu? Didn't he use to work for them once?"
"Well, he used to," said John. "But Kyoto Shipping was taken over about four years ago by International Mercantile Marine, or at least by their Far East people."
Catriona frowned. "But that means that IMM probably know about the Orange too."
"They very well might," agreed John Crombey. "But a ship that's sold off after an insurance fraud usually comes pretty cheap; and it's not like IMM to look a gift horse in the mouth. Ask no questions, hear no lies."
The waitress brought them China tea and a silver plate arranged with crystallised plums and apricots, Bakewell tarts, and Maids of Honour. Mark took a Bakewell tart and bit into it unselfconsciously, with crumbs on his chin. "Who was Far Eastern director of IMM in those days? Don't tell me it was George Welterman."
John Crombey smiled tightly and nodded. "Who else? George Welterman."
"So, let's work this out. Why is Edgar Deacon so anxious to let Keys go for eighteen million to George Welterman? And why is George Welterman so wonderfully anxious to buy? IMM could certainly do with some of your ships, but do they really need the whole fleet, including the Arcadia, when they've already got the Mauretania? And why does it all have to be done in such indecent haste, so that the fleet's sold off before anyone has a chance to do any real deep digging in the company's books and records?"
"This may be hogwash. Edgar Deacon may be the honest man that Diogenes was always looking for. But it wouldn't surprise me if Edgar Deacon is so enthusiastic to sell and George Welterman so enthusiastic to buy because both of them were parties to the Orange fraud, if there was a fraud; and because the only way in which they can keep it quiet is to keep the books to themselves. What do you think about that, John?"
John Crombey peered at the illustration of the SS Orange and shrugged. "It's impossible to say. But the facts do appear to speak for themselves, don't they? There's no question in my mind that the Orange and the Funabashi are one and the same ship."
"Catriona?" asked Mark.
Catriona reached over and plucked the Orange's menu out of John Crombey's hands. "I don't know," she said. "But I'm going to find out. I think I've allowed myself to be Edgar Deacon's ornament for a little too long."
Mark encouragingly held her hand. "You may have to face up to the fact that the Orange was just the tip of the iceberg."
"The Titanic was sunk by an iceberg,' said Catriona, in a level voice.
"Well, let's make sure that the Arcadia doesn't go the same way."
"What will you do now?" John Crombey asked, picking an S-shaped thread from the knee of his immaculately pressed trousers. "I mean, I'm not trying to be presumptuous. We are rival companies. But since you've been so open with us..."
"I'm not sure," said Catriona. "But I expect that you'll be the first to know."
They finished their tea, and then Catriona said, "Let's continue that walk on the deck, Mark. I feel like some fresh air."
They walked along the starboard promenade deck, sheltered from the wind, with their hands in their pockets, a little way apart.
"You realise that all of this Orange business may be nothing more than an uninformed guess,' said Mark. "We may all end up eating Embarrassment Pie."
"I don't think so," said Catriona, staring at the sea.
Mark took her arm. "If it's true, well, there are hundreds of guys who have done the same kind of thing, to keep their business going, to protect their families. Life is a jungle, you know that already; and businessmen are the lions and tigers."
"And the jackals," said Catriona.
They walked on a little further, until they were sheltered from the wind by the gymnasium. The clatter of mechanical horses and rowing-machines could be heard through the open ventilators, and the intermittent squeaking of plimsolls on the polished oak floor.
Mark said, trying to be encouraging, "You'll love Boston. I have a house on Commonwealth Avenue. We can take the old horse-drawn carriage out and have codfish and brown bread and beans at the Bell in Hand."
Catriona said, "Can I trust you?"
"Trust me? Of course you can trust me. I'm the soul of discretion, incarnate."
"I didn't really mean that. Can I trust you not to take advantage of the way I feel about you? I know it sounds awful, but I don't want to wake up from some romantic dream, only to find that you've taken everything away from me without my knowing."
"Catriona, I can't make any secret of the fact that I want the Arcadia."
"I know. But don't do it sneakily."
Mark held her hand. Then he bent forward and kissed her, quite lightly, on the lips. He looked very closely into her eyes, and said, "Do you really think I could do anything to harm you?"
"No," said Catriona. Then, "I don't know. You've got so many other things to consider."
"I've fallen in love with you, Catriona."
She turned away, and looked out across the ocean. She felt alarmed by Mark's affection for her, but proud and happy at the same time. When she turned back to him, and saw him standing there with such a warm and caring expression on his face, and the breeze blowing his curly hair, she knew that if she didn't love him already, she easily could.
"You know what my father used to say?" she said.
Mark shook his head.
"He used to say, 'Never fall in love with anybody you don't feel a little bit frightened of'."
"Are you frightened of me?"
"A little. Not too much. But a little."
It wouldn't have been proper for them to kiss on deck, in front of everybody, but Mark took her hand and squeezed it, and the look on his face was as good as a kiss. They walked hand in hand to the forward part of the promenade deck, which was enclosed, and there they sat for another half hour, talking softly and laughing, and never taking their eyes off each other. Sir Peregrine, who was limping around the deck with Nurse Queensland to show everybody that he was still in command, saw them from the companionway amidships a and let out a grunt of disapproval.
"Damn canoodling with the enemy," he remarked.
"Well, I think it's wonderful," said Nurse Queensland. "I think everybody should fall in love when they cross the Atlantic. I wish I could fall in love myself."
"Not with me, I sincerely trust," said Sir Peregrine.
Nurse Queensland said nothing, but thought of what Sir Peregrine had murmured in his coma, about Maude; and she forgave him his crustiness, because she knew how deeply his devotion really could run.
FIFTY-NINE
George Welterman was taken down to the automobile hold by Monty Willowby so that he could inspect Mark Beeney's car. Maurice Peace came along, too, eating a peach, and walked around the gleaming length of it with undisguised admiration, and not a little jealousy.