Mark raised his eyes. "Yes," he said. "Rare. To be strong, and beautiful, and understanding all at once, that's rare."
Catriona paused, silent for a long time. The dining lounge was clattering with the Castanet sound of soup spoons. Then she said, "You don't know if I'm understanding or not."
Mark grinned. "You must be to have answered that way."
Catriona glanced along the table at Marcia. "Your friend has been trying to catch your attention ever since you sat down. Don't you think you ought to wave at her, at least?"
"Oh, sure," said Mark, and leaned over to give Marcia a little finger wave down the rows of empty soup plates. Marcia mouthed something, but Mark cupped his hand around his ear, and mouthed back, Cant hear you. Talk to you later. Marcia huffed in irritation and gave up.
"Is she your secretary?" asked Catriona.
"Marcia? Oh, no. Marcia's my nemesis."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that one day, whether I like it or not, Marcia will hold the key to my entire fate."
"Do you really believe that?" smiled Catriona.
Mark made a moue. "Maybe. I don't know. I think everyone has a nemesis. Sometimes, it's a person. Other times, it's a thing. The Titanic had a nemesis in the shape of an iceberg."
"You shouldn't say that," said Catriona. The idea of it made her feel cold, and she glanced across at Sir Peregrine for reassurance. If the captain was calmly finishing his soup, then everything must be all right.
"You're not scared, are you?" asked Mark, amused. "You think it could happen again? You think it could happen just because I happened to mention it? You're nor superstitious, are you?"
"Yes," said Catriona. "Have you ever met a girl who isn't?"
Mark pressed his ringers to his forehead and pretended to spend a long time thinking. Then he said, "No, you're right. I haven't."
"Did it take that long to remember all the girls you've been out with?" Catriona asked him. "Were there really that many girls?"
"Of course," Mark told her. "I'm rich, I'm good-looking. You think I sit home all evening, listening to Barney Google?"
"I'm glad to discover you're self-effacing as well," said Catriona.
Mark laughed out loud, leaning back in his chair, but as he leaned back, Marcia caught his eye again, caustically, and his face remoulded itself instantly to serious. "You see what I mean by nemesis?" he asked Catriona, under his breath. He finished his turtle soup in silence.
Edgar Deacon said dourly, "I hope you're enjoying yourself so far, Mr. Beeney."
"Oh, sure," said Mark. "The Arcadia's a beautiful vessel, and no doubt about it. As a matter of fact, Miss Keys, I very much envy you. I wish she were mine."
"I don't think she's for sale," said Catriona; but she wasn't so slow that didn't catch the displeased exchange of glances between Mark and Edgar Deacon. But she smiled, in the kind of Queen of the Atlantic way which she knew would please Edgar Deacon, and held her tongue.
Now the ship's orchestra played Viennese waltzes, and the soup plates were gathered up with a systematic clattering. Fresh plates and fresh cutlery were laid, and the stewards brought round transparently thin slices of Prague ham. Sir Peregrine began to tell a "guests, in tedious and impeccable accents, like someone in the MCC clubroom describing an entire cricket match, over by over, about the time when the Aurora had been hired for a round trip to Florida, for the birthday party of a Chicago beef-baron's daughter, and how five guests had fallen overboard and been swept away by the currents. The beef-baron had asked for a discount of $250 for each swept-away passenger, plus a refund for two dozen bottles of Mumm's Cordon Rouge which had been shattered in the storm.
Douglas Fairbanks, far too loudly, explained how he had been accidentally swept up in the rigging of a pirate ship during a rehearsal, and become inextricably entangled there. He had missed lunch with him agent, but "that didn't matter—I would rather have spent the rest of the week stuck up that mast than five minutes with that miserable cuss."
Mark Beeney said to Catriona, "My hobbies are horseback riding, hunting, sailing, chess, skiing, and beautiful girls. What are yours?"
Catriona said, "Mystic experiences."
"What do you call a mystic experience?" asked Mark.
"Falling in love. Having a revelation. Watching the sun rise."
"When was the last time you did any of those things?"
"I watched the sun rise this morning. I had a revelation when my father died."
"What was the revelation? What did you see?"
Catriona laid down her knife. "I saw myself. My real self, I mean. The self I'd been hiding. Once my father had gone, you see, I realised that I wasn't so very different from him, after all. That's why I'm here, instead of back in London."
"You're really going to take an active interest in Keys Shipping?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Shipping is such a hell of a risky business these days."
"Shipping always was."
"Well, sure," said Mark, "but you're a pretty young girl of twenty-one with the whole of your life ahead of you. Why the hell should you want to spend your life in stuffy offices, running a shipping line?"
"I'm different. I'm a man. Besides, I'm ten years older than you. I've sown all the wild oats I'm ever going to sow."
"You mean to tell me you're a has-been already? You disappoint me."
Mark held his wine glass while the steward poured him more Perrier-Jouet champagne. "I disappoint myself. I own one of the fastest and most efficient fleets of passenger liners in the world, and yet I don't own anything like the Arcadia. I have dozens of pretty girlfriends, and yet I don't have anyone like you."
Edgar Deacon heard that last remark, and stared at Catriona from under his beetling eyebrows like an irascible bishop. Catriona gave him an uncertain and not wholly reassuring smile in return. She couldn't be wholly reassuring because she wasn't wholly reassured. Mark Beeney was too handsome and too confident and too ebullient to be resisted for very long. She couldn't dislike him if she tried. His hair was curly and his teeth were white, and even his arrogance about girls was strangely innocent and disarming.
"I'm being taken on a tour of the Arcadia after lunch," said Catriona. "Perhaps you and your nemesis would like to come."
"I'll come for sure," smiled Mark Beeney. "But I believe my nemesis has an appointment in the beauty salon."
After the ham, the stewards served chicken Kiev with wild rice and fresh asparagus, and followed up with raspberries and cream, button mushrooms on toast, cheese, and crackers. Mr. Willowby came over to the captain's table during the dessert to kiss Catriona's hand and bow to several of the passengers he already knew. Douglas Fairbanks insisted on slapping Mr. Willowby on the back, which Mr. Willowby clearly found unpleasant in the extreme.
"Your luncheon met up to your expectations?" Monty Willowby asked Catriona.
"It was marvellous, thank you, Mr Willowby."
"Thank you, Miss Keys. There's even better to come."
Mark admitted, "This was excellent, Mr Willowby. If I can persuade my staff to do half as well, then I think I'll be well on my way."
"Mr. Beeney is too kind," said Mr Willowby. He gave the impression that he didn't care in the slightest if anybody was kind to him or not.
"You have to buy so much food," said Catriona.
Mr. Willowby nodded, with considerable pleasure. "On this maiden voyage alone, we have 195 pounds of truffled pate-de-foie-gras on board, 500 pounds of Scotch smoked salmon, half a long ton of fresh asparagus, 250 pounds of fresh-picked strawberries, as well as 250 pounds of the very best grey Malossol caviar. We also stock eighteen different French champagnes, sixty-one vintage wines from Chateau Branaire-Ducru in the Medoc to Chateau Haut-Bailly in Graves, thirty different varieties of cigar, and sixteen different ales and lager beers. In case of particular demands we are also carrying frozen stocks of venison, woodcock, quail, duck, and hare."