Several of the company's directors had fiercely opposed Sir Peregrine's appointment as captain of the Arcadia. But Sir Peregrine had allies in exalted places. His younger sister, Hattie, was married to Cecil, Duke of Ashurst, chairman of Maritime Finance, which had underwritten thousands of pounds of Keys debts; his closest friend, Roger Wellington, was one of the louder noises at Lloyds; and after entertaining the Prince of Wales on board the Aurora, he had regularly made up shooting parties at Sandringham. The pressure on Stanley Keys to appoint him master had been, in the end, irresistible; particularly since it was essential for the captain of a luxury liner to have high social ton. But privately he had made Sir Peregrine swear to give up the bottle.
The man most sharply disappointed by Sir Peregrine's appointment had been Rudyard Philips, the energetic young Welsh captain who had taken over the Aurora. Since the Aurora was presently in dry dock, Mr Philips was sailing on the Arcadia's maiden voyage as Sir Peregrine's first officer, but Sir Peregrine had made it transparently clear that he would put up with no interference and no quibbling, especially from a sprat like him.
Sit Peregrine's crustiness did little to intimidate Edgar, however. Edgar Deacon knew most things that went on in Keys Shipping and he knew just how heavily the commodore could drink. That was why Sir Peregrine had reluctantly answered Edgar's summons to Catriona's staterooms: he wanted to keep the Arcadia for himself and go down in history with a shining reputation for being a great and glorious master of the Atlantic. It was that fear, and that ambition, that Catriona had immediately sensed in him. "
"It's a considerable pleasure to have you aboard, Miss Keys," said Sir Peregrine with exaggerated formality, coming over and taking Catriona's hand. "I was, you know, a lifetime admirer of your father, and you have the sincerest condolences of myself and my crew. A sad, sudden demise. He should have been here today, so that he could have rejoiced with the rest of us."
"Thank you, Commodore," said Catriona. "Won't you have a drink? I'm having one."
Sir Peregrine, his cap wedged under his arm, glanced uncertainly towards Edgar, who was standing by the bar. Edgar shrugged as if to say that one drink wouldn't hurt.
"I'll have a mineral water, if you don't mind," said Sir Peregrine.
"Miss Keys caused quite a stir when she came on board," remarked Edgar, "I think she's going to bring us luck."
"I heard the ballyhoo," Sir Peregrine nodded. He took his glass of sparkling water and said, "Thank you. Let's drink to the Arcadia, shall we?"
"Arcadia," they said in unison.
"Sit down for a moment, Commodore," Catriona told him, and when he actually did, she was so pleased with herself that she couldn't hold back a smile. From being nobody more important than Nigel Myer's flapper girlfriend to queen of the Atlantic in one week was more amusing than she could have imagined. "Aren't you nervous?" she asked Sir Peregrine. "I would be, having to steer a ship as expensive as this, especially for the first time."
Sir Peregrine gave her an embarrassed grimace. "I have sailed her before, you know. She has undergone quite extensive sea-trials. So, I'm not quite as nervous as you seem to think that I may be. She's expensive, yes. But each liner has to be handled with equal care, no matter how many passengers she has aboard, and no matter how much she cost."
"Like the Aurora," put in Edgar.
Catriona raised an eyebrow. She had read about the Aurora in the newspapers. She looked at Edgar and suddenly began to understand that there was more behind Sir Peregrine's welcoming visit to her stateroom than the dutiful homage of an old company retainer to the bright new company figurehead.
"Well," said Sir Peregrine, "the Aurora always was a quirky old girl."
"What about the Arcadia?" asked Catriona. "Is she quirky, too?"
"Every vessel has her particular fancies," said Sir Peregrine. He wasn't looking at Edgar directly but he was obviously conscious of every move that Edgar made as he paced up and down the stateroom behind him. "The Arcadia lists very slightly to starboard, and probably always will do. But she's fast and lively and less inclined to roll than the Mauretania, or some of the Frenchies. There won't be so much seasickness on the Arcadia, I dare say; and since the carpets cost so much, that's probably just as well."
"I'm told that champagne is the best preventive against seasickness," said Catriona. Her mother had told her that, actually, the day before yesterday: drink as much champagne as you like, dear, but on no account eat ice cream.
"Champagne and silk pyjamas, that's what they say," Sir Peregrine asserted, and fixed Catriona with such a penetrating stare that she felt she had to turn away. It was almost as if he were trying to imagine what she would look like dressed in silk pyjamas, or even less. What a funny old bird he was.
"There's no sure cure, of course," put in Edgar. "Even aboard the greatest and grandest liners people get sick. The Berengaria's one of the worst: a very tender ship. I once saw sixty or seventy third-class passengers in a row, on board the Berengaria all being sick at once, like an orchestra."
Sir Peregrine stood up. "I'm sure Miss Keys doesn't really want to be disturbed by that kind of talk, Mr Deacon," he said. "But can I have a quiet word of business with you, before I get back to the bridge?"
"Anything you can say to me, I'm sure that you can say in front of Miss Keys," said Edgar, his voice very steady. "She's going to be more than just a figurehead, don't y'know. More than just a company mascot.
Sir Peregrine turned around and looked at Catriona, then back at Edgar. It was clear that he mistrusted Edgar in the way that he mistrusted submerged rocks, or icebergs. You could never be absolutely sure when you were going to glance against them, and have your hull ripped out.
"It's a personal matter, Mr Deacon," insisted Sir Peregrine.
"All the more reason to confide in Miss Keys," smiled Edgar coldly. "She has a very personal touch."
Sir Peregrine's string-like sinews tightened in his neck. "Perhaps this is the wrong moment," he said. "I'm sure Miss Keys must be impatient to meet the press, just as they are obviously agog to meet her."
"It's about Mr. Philips?" asked Edgar.
Sir Peregrine breathed deeply, but didn't answer.
"You know my feelings about Mr Philips already," said Edgar. "I have complete faith in him. Just as I have in you, of course."
"Mr. Philips," said Sir Peregrine, as if the name were two fairy-tale toads which came out of his mouth when he spoke, "is the kind of first officer who might well put his ambition before the safety of his ship."
"What does that mean?" asked Catriona, pointedly. She knew nothing of the rancour between Sir Peregrine and Rudyard Philips—in fact, she didn't even know who Rudyard Philips was. But she thought, as the heiress to Keys Shipping, that she ought to sound authoritative and sharp.
"It simply means," said Sir Peregrine, drawing up his pointed shoulder-blades so that his gold epaulets bristled, "it simply means that Mr Philips, in a moment of crisis, might conceivably put his career before the principles of good seamanship, and not assist me to the best of his ability. He might prefer to see me take the blame for any mishaps, and thereby enhance his own prospects of commanding this ship."