He still missed Toy, he knew that much. But the powerful Valkyrie image of Mademoiselle Narron had swelled almost overwhelmingly in his mind, until she blotted out all rational thought. She alarmed him enormously; but at the same time she had a fierce elemental sexuality which disturbed him like nothing had ever disturbed him before. Perhaps he had discovered a sexual quirk in himself that up until now had remained repressed. Perhaps he really preferred his women to be frightening.
Catriona had felt rather sulky. She had tinkered with the spatulas and spoons while Monsieur Vincent had been effusively explaining the delights of Dover sole Montgolfier (a Channel sole, smothered in a sauce of champagne, crab meat, diced shrimp, egg yolks, onions, thyme, butter, and fish stock, cooked in a bag of oiled paper like one of the celebrated air balloons of the Montgolfier brothers). She had felt tired, after last night's party, and after today's considerable luncheon; and she had also felt the hour of her father's burial approaching, like the impending visit of an unpleasant relative, with nobody around her to understand her sense of loss.
Mark Beeney had been disappointing, too. He was very tall, and solidly built, and even under his blazer she could tell that he was well-muscled and physically fit. But during Rudyard Philip's tour of the ship he had seemed far more interested in the Arcadia's catering supplies, and stocks of wine, and how many miles of steampipes wound their way around the various decks, than he had been in Catriona.
He had asked question after question about the Arcadia's construction, her handling, her budget; where her furniture and fittings had come from; how much the carpets cost per square yard; how Lalique had been persuaded to supply all the glassware at two per cent above cost. He was still asking questions as Catriona stopped by the window of Van Cleef & Arpels, and looked over the displays of diamond necklaces. She yawned, half out of tiredness and half out of nerves. The clock at the end of the shopping galley said three minutes of three. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
She was looking with her eyes only half-focused at a necklace of diamonds and rubies when she became aware that Mark was standing right beside her. He had left Rudyard Philips a few feet away, tactfully inspecting the toes of his shoes, and had approached her so quietly that she hadn't heard him.
"It's three o'clock," he said, gently.
She looked up at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes moist. "Well?" she said.
"I'm not such a dumb ox that I don't know what's happening at three o'clock today," he told her. "And you're not so tough that you're going to be able to walk around this ship pretending that nothing is wrong."
Catriona said, "I'm not going to cry, if that's what you're thinking."
"Why not? I cried when my father was buried."
"Perhaps I've cried enough already." She was lying, of course, flagrantly, for as the minute hand shuddered to XII the tears were already running down her cheeks.
"Miss Catriona Keys," said Mark Beeney, and held out his arms for her.
She stayed where she was for a moment, trying to be strong. But she couldn't hold the sobs back, couldn't stop the tears, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and dung on to him and wept. Mark said nothing, but held her close to him, one hand around her waist, the other stroking the back of her short-bobbed hair.
"I should have been there," she said, miserably. "I should have been there."
"He wouldn't have wanted it," said Mark. "If it was a choice between him doing what you're doing now, and attending his funeral, then you can bet your bottom dollar he wouldn't have wanted it."
Catriona raised her head. Her eyes were smudged with tears. "I was so mean to him, I can't even tell you."
"I was mean to my daddy, too. But that didn't mean that I didn't love him. He always knew I loved him, just like your daddy always knew the same about you. You don't seriously think he was so stupid he didn't realise how deeply you felt about him? You—a passionate person like you?"
Rudyard Philips took one or two steps nearer, and asked politely, "Are you all right, Miss Keys?"
"I'm all right, thank you," said Catriona. "I just felt a little giddy, that's all."
"We could finish the tour tomorrow, if you'd prefer."
Unselfconsciously, she took Mark Beeney's hand. "No, thank you, Mr. Philips. I think I'd prefer to carry on. I know Mr Beeney would."
"Why don't you take a couple of minutes to fix your eyes," Mark suggested. "There's a powder room right there. We'll wait for you."
Catriona went through the swing door into the pink-lit, scented ladies" room. An attendant in a lace-edged apron ran water into the marble basin for her, and set out a soft white towel. The shelves were crowded with bottles of French colognes, pots of rouge and foundation and moisturiser, and there was a set of silver-backed hairbrushes and hand-mirrors. Catriona sat down on the pink velvet-seated stool and looked at herself in the gold-framed looking-glass. The shadows under her high cheekbones made her look beautiful but haunted, the sad Queen of the Atlantic.
"Oh, father," she whispered. The powder room attendant looked up sharply and said, "Did you want something, Miss Keys?"
Two girls came bustling into the powder room, spiffily dressed in Dior day suits and smoking with impossibly long cigarette holders. One of them went into one of the cubicles, while the other sat down beside Catriona and began to lavish purple and silver eye-shadow on her half-closed eyelids.
"I really haven't made up my mind yet," called the girl from the cubicle, in a marked North Shore accent. "It's either the dark one with the pencil moustache or the ginger-haired one with the muscles."
"Well, I know which one I'm stuck on the most," replied the girl next to Catriona. "The young one who stutters. Don't you think that stutter's just the bee's knees?"
There was a short silence, and then the girl from the cubicle said, "Do you think that Wilma was right, about getting pregnant on board ship?"
"Of course she was, silly," replied the other girl, puckering up her lips to apply her vivid red lipstick. "Wilma's had more boys than anyone in the whole class. Including Miss Lipschitz."
They both giggled loudly. But then the girl in the cubicle said, "The trouble is, I can't remember which way you have to do it."
"Wilma was quite clear about it," said the other girl. "If the ship's pitching, you make sure you do it with your head to port and your feet to starboard. If the ship's rolling, you do it with your head to the pointed end and your feet to the blunt end. That way, the man's—"
The girl hesitated, suddenly aware that Catriona was listening. Catriona blushed, and stood up, and said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping."
"Well, I don't mind if you do," said the girl with the purple eyelids. "You might learn something."
"That's funny," said Catriona, "I always thought that if you wore a silk scarf around your neck and sneezed four times when it was over, you wouldn't have to worry about anything else."
The girl from the cubicle thought about that for a moment, and then called out, "Are you trying to be cute?"
Outside, Mark Beeney was waiting for her with his hands in his pockets and a self-satisfied look on his face. Rudyard Philips, a few yards away, appeared to be slightly ill. "Is he all right?" Catriona asked Mark, as she came across the shopping gallery.
"Search me," said Mark. "I asked him if he felt okay, and he told me yes. Maybe he's sick because he's been told to take you and me on a tour of the ship, instead of fixing himself up with a sheba. The way most of these officers work, the best girls are all cornered by the time they dock at Dublin. Well, with some notable exceptions, of course."