Hold her long
No matter how much tenderness you've shown her.
Apart from the posh young wolves, there were dozens of famous faces. Anybody with even a modest title who lived within driving distance of Liverpool was there; so were such diverse talents as Judge Basil Fuchs, business tycoon and owner of the Boston Braves; Helen Wills, the tennis champion; Princess Lowenstein-Wertheim, the lady aviator; Madge Bellamy, the motion picture star; and Sir Alan and Lady Cobham. Champagne corks were popped like artillery, and the sound of ice being rattled in cocktail shakers was shattering.
Still trailing her escort of attentive young men, Catriona was taken him the Grand Lounge to the first-class dining-saloon, where Sir Peregrine Arrowsmith was presiding with undisguised testiness over a party for the Arcadia's designers and engineers, and what he described as "a Mongol horde of advertising agents, licensed victuallers, and fiends of the popular press'. The buffet here was less imposing, although the dining-saloon itself was one of the most magnificent interiors that Catriona had ever seen: it was a modernist interpretation of the great hall at Mentmore Towers, the Buckinghamshire home built by Baron Mayer Rothschild, and it was hung with yards of Venetian tapestry, and lit by sparkling reproductions of the huge lanterns from the Doge's barge in Venice. All around the upper level of the dining-saloon was an open gallery, where guests in evening dress promenaded, drank champagne, and waved to their friends below. A string quintet played Schubert, although a jazz-band was waiting in the wings.
"Sir Peregrine," said Catriona, offering her hand.
"Miss Keys," replied Sir Peregrine, taking her hand and kissing it with exaggerated humility.
Edgar remarked, "Quite a jolly party you've got here, Sir Peregrine."
"I suppose the swine have to be fed," said Sir Peregrine.
"Swine?" said Catriona, looking around. "I thought these were the men who designed the Arcadia. It doesn't look as if she's been designed by swine."
Sir Peregrine cleared his throat uneasily. "Merely a humorous remark, Miss Keys. That's all."
"Oh," said Catriona, coldly. "A joke. Well, as long as the swine themselves don't overhear you."
Edgar tried to smile reassuringly at Sir Peregrine as he ushered Catriona away.
"You don't have to provoke him," he whispered to Catriona, as they made their way between the tables. "He's desperate to keep the Arcadia as it is."
"I'm just making it clear who's boss," said Catriona.
"To whom? To Sir Peregrine, or to me?"
"To both of you."
"Well, all right," hissed Edgar, clutching her arm more tightly. "But just remember that you have responsibilities, as well as privileges."
In quick succession, they visited three more parties. At the reception in the second-class dining-room, Catriona danced a frantic and hilarious shimmy with the man who had supplied all the Arcadia's sheets and bedspreads, and Edgar watched with humourless appreciation as the crowd of guests clapped in time to every bounce of her breasts under her cobweb dress. Young, vivacious, and unpardonably erotic, he thought. Much more captivating than he could have hoped, and far more enthusiastic about acting as a figurehead for Keys Shipping than he could have imagined. But troublesome. Wilful, aggressive, and unquestionably troublesome.
They had almost finished their tour of the ship's parties, and were making their way back along the starboard promenade deck by the open doors of the first-class verandah, when a slim young man in evening dress stepped out in front of them, and bowed.
"Good evening, old girl,", he said, brightly.
Catriona shrieked out loud. "Nigel!" she said. "How marvellous!" She threw her arms around his neck and danced around and around with him, to the amusement of the guests on the deck, who had all eaten quite enough quail now and drunk far too much champagne but the suppressed chagrin of Edgar, who hated surprises, and wanted everything to be tightly under control, including Catriona.
"What are you doing here?" Catriona asked Nigel. "I didn't know you had an invitation. I thought you were in London, sulking."
Nigel looked Edgar straight in the eye, although he addressed himself to Catriona. "As a matter of fact, old thing, I didn't actually have a legitimate invitation in the sense that I was actually invited. But the chap on the gangplank was a fan of mine. Saw me three times in The Road To Rome when we were touring. Said I was red-hot and asked for my autograph."
"This celebration is by invitation only," said Edgar.
"Oh, Mr Deacon, don't be so stuffy," Catriona protested. "Nigel would have been invited anyway, if I'd thought that he'd actually come. But you haven't been introduced. Mr Deacon, this is Nigel Mayers. Nigel, this is Edgar Deacon, the big noise at Keys Shipping. After me, of course," she laughed.
Edgar reluctantly shook hands. "I'm familiar with your work, Mr. Mayers," he said in a heavy tone.
"Well, if the Arcadia's your work, then I'm familiar with yours, too," said Nigel. "I must say she's a ripping tub."
Edgar momentarily closed his eyes as if to keep whatever feelings were boiling up inside of him well damped down. "Yes," he said; and then, "I suppose you two would like a minute alone together."
"If you don't mind, old chap," said Nigel. "Haven't seen the lovely Catriona for four days."
"Well, four days is a long time, sometimes," said Edgar. "Can you rejoin us in the Grand Lounge in five minutes, Miss Keys? I want you to make a presentation."
Catriona blew Edgar an impudent kiss. "Of course, Mr Deacon. Take care now. I'm sure that fat alderman's wife has an eye on you. I'd hate you to be eaten alive before we'd even cast off."
When Edgar had stalked off along the promenade deck, Nigel held out his arms for Catriona, and said, "Well? Is this the new you?"
Catriona took his hands, and gently squeezed his fingers. "I'm really surprised that you're here," she told him.
"Not half as surprised as I am. Once you'd gone, I thought to myself, that's it, she's gone for good. We're finished. But a chap can always change his mind, can't he?"
"I suppose so."
"Of course he can. Chap's prerogative. But the real question is, can a chap change his girl's mind, too? That's the real question."
Catriona looked at Nigel for a moment or two, and then released his hands. She went to the ship's rail and leaned on it with her arms folded under her breasts, watching the crowds of people who were still milling around on the landing stage. There was the mingled, discordant sound of music in the air, music from five or six different bands and orchestras.
"The fact is," said Nigel, joining Catriona at the rail, "the fact is that I have to admit that I love you."
Catriona reached out and touched his arm so lightly that he scarcely felt it.
"I can't force you to do anything," said Nigel. "It's not my way, anyhow, to force people to do things. I'm not that kind of a chap. But what I'm really asking is, well, is this the sort of life you actually want for yourself? All these steamboats and all these Good and Honest Folk in tweed? It just doesn't seem like you."
"The Arcadia's very glamorous," said Catriona. "Do you know that Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford are joining her tomorrow? And Princess Xenia of Russia? And Sir Alan and Lady Cobham are here tonight."
"You could just as easily meet all of those people in London," said Nigel.
"Not like this," said Catriona. "This is magical. And, besides, I'm a celebrity now. The young Queen of the Atlantic liners. Come on, Nigel, you know what it's like to be popular. I'm just finding out for the first time."