There was a knock at Catriona's stateroom door, and Alice came in with fresh towels.
"The ship's leaving!" Catriona told her. "Why didn't somebody wake me up?"
Alice fussily arranged the towels in the bathroom, and turned on the faucets. "The young gentleman said not to, Miss Keys. He said that nobody was to disturb you on any account at all, not until the ship had sailed."
"Nigel? But why?"
"He said something about not wanting to give you the chance to change your mind. Something about everybody having to go their own way. Well, it wasn't for me to argue."
"No," said Catriona. Then, more slowly, "No, it wasn't. You were right not to wake me. Besides, I've got a hangover like a herd of elephants."
Alice made a show of laying out a pair of blue silk step-ins on the end of the bed. She plainly didn't approve of young girls tripping around with no underwear. Catriona was just about to tell her to put a record on the gramophone when there was another knock on the sitting-room door.
"It's Mr. Philips, miss," called Alice, "the first officer. Ought I to tell him to come back later?"
Catriona tightened the sash of bet peignoir. "Yes, could you? No—don't worry. Ask him in. And can you please tell Trimmer to come down and make me a drink."
"A drink, miss? Are you sure you're up to it?"
"Of course I'm not up to it," said Catriona. "But if I don't have one now, I'll never be able to touch another drink as long as I live. Come in, Mr Philips! Excuse everything. I'm still not sure if I survived last night's party or not."
Rudyard Philips, the first officer, was a broad-shouldered, short-legged man of forty-one, with a large handsome head that looked as if it had been hewn out of Bath stone and then left in a field to weather for a century or two. He had short fair hair—"short-back-and-sides" the barbers called it—and fair bushy eyebrows, and a fleshy nose that was deeply creased at the tip.
Being so broad, and having that slightly bandy stance of a man who has been standing on tilting decks ever since he was fifteen years old, Rudyard Philips could never wear a uniform smartly. His jacket was as wide as it was long, and his braided trousers seemed to crease in at least eleven places. Nigel would probably have dismissed him with a remark like "Broad shoulders are the indisputable sign of a small willy', but Rudyard Philips had a strong masculinity about him that had attracted many unaccompanied lady passengers to book on the ships which he commanded time and time again.
"Miss Keys," said Rudyard Philips, taking off his cap. His accent sounded slightly Welsh. "I only came by to present you with my comliments."
"I didn't see you at any of the parties last night, did I?" asked Catriona.
"I was officer of the watch, Miss Keys."
"And they didn't even send up a glass of champagne for you? That's a bit thick."
Mr. Philips looked around for somewhere to put down his cap. He laid it at last on the arm of the sofa. "Officers of the watch are not allowed to tipple, Miss Keys. Obvious reasons."
"I don't see why not. The ship wasn't going anywhere."
"All the same, Miss Keys. Someone has to keep a clear head."
Catriona sat down and took out a cigarette. Rudyard Philips stepped forward with a gold Dunhill lighter and lit it for her.
"Do you mind acting as first officer, instead of captain?" she asked him through the smoke.
Rudyard Philips shrugged. "I was either going to act as first officer or stay at home."
"And you didn't want to stay at home?"
He didn't answer that. He smiled tartly and briefly to show that he had heard her, but that was all. He looked around the stateroom, noting the flowers, and the plumped-up cushions on the sofa and the wine cooler. As first officer, it was part of his personal responsibility to take care of the first-class passengers, and to make sure that they never had any reason to irritate the captain with complaints about rattling chests-of-drawers, or champagne that didn't arrive when it was ordered, or noisy private parties in next-door cabins.
Catriona watched him, and smoked, and then said, "Sir Peregrine was blowing his top about you yesterday."
"Blowing his top?" asked Rudyard Philips. "I can't believe that."
"Can't you? He seemed very steamed up indeed. He seemed to think that if you had half a chance you might do something rash, just to make him look silly."
Rudyard Philips took a long time to reply. Then he said, "I believe he can easily manage to look silly without any extra help from me."
"You don't really think that," teased Catriona. "Or do you?"
Slowly, Rudyard Philips circled around the stateroom until he was standing only a few feet behind Catriona with his arms folded and his face as inscrutable as a terracotta jug. Catriona felt that if she were to unbutton his uniform jacket, she would discover that his chest was absolutely white. Only his face would have been exposed to years of wind and salt and seawater. The rest of his body, under his uniform, would be as pale as that of a prisoner serving a life-sentence.
"I usually keep my opinions of Sir Peregrine to myself," he said. "If you work for Keys Shipping, it's wiser."
"You don't get on with him, then?"
"That's not what I said."
"But if you have opinions about Sir Peregrine, they must be either adverse or favourable. Which are yours? Sir Peregrine's opinions about you are definitely adverse."
"Yes?"
"Oh, certainly. Sir Peregrine seems to think that if there was an emergency you might put your ambition first and the safety of the Arcadia second."
Rudyard Philips tried a smile, but failed. "And you believe him?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I don't think you'd have the je-ne-sais-quoi."
There was a difficult silence. Catriona watched Rudyard Philips through the smoke of her cigarette and kept on smiling. There was something so awkward and uncomplicated about him that she couldn't resist a naughty and almost uncontrollable urge to tease him. It was like prodding a bull with a sharp stick just to watch it toss its head in frustration, and ripple its brutish muscles.
"You're not stirring the pot a little, are you, Miss Keys?" Rudyard Philips asked her.
"I could be," said Catriona.
"There's no need," Rudyard Philips told her. "Sir Peregrine's a fine commodore and a good captain. Don't make any mistakes about that. The passengers think the world of him."
He is a boozer, though?"
I didn't say that. And, in fact, I'd rather you didn't either, with all due respect."
"Oh," said Catriona, pretending to be chastened. "I'm really very sorry. It was just that after what Sir Peregrine said about you, I imagine that you might feel the same sort of way about him."
"He's the captain of this vessel, Miss Keys. Between us, we have the largest and the most expensive luxury liner in the whole world to take care of."
"I know that. But you don't get on with him very well, do you?"
"He's not a particularly easy man to get on with, Miss Keys. But that's just part of the job. Few great sea captains are very amenable."
Catriona drew long and leisurely on her cigarette. Then she said, "Supposing the ship was in terrible danger, Mr. Philips, and Sir Peregrine was blotto. What would you do?"
"Miss Keys—"
"Supposing, Mr Philips."