"It's hard to t-tell from f-far away," Dick told her.
"But it's awful," she said. "Have you always had it?"
"As long as I c-can remember."
" "Couldn't you be cured? I mean, surely hypnosis is good for stutters? Or acupuncture? Or even mah-jong? I don't know. It seems so awful."
Dick shrugged. "My mother once t-took me to a pee — to a pee — to a pee — '
"Oh, my God," said Lady FitzPerry. "Is it always like this?"
"Almost always," Dick told her. Then added, "Paediatrician'.
"Well," said Lady FitzPerry, with a resigned sigh, "It looks as if I'm in for four days of coitus interrupts."
"I beg your pah —" said Dick Charles.
"Never mind, my love," smiled Lady FitzPerry. "We all have our crosses to bear. Can you find me some more champagne?"
Dick Charles beckoned to one of the stewards, feeling not unlike a nine-month-old mink who is immediately destined to become the collar of a wealthy society lady's fur-coat. The steward came speeding over with a tray of champagne and a lascivious leer that Dick Charles didn't care for at all.
Ralph Peel, the second officer, was doing rather better. He had found an innocent and enthusiastic admirer in Alison Cabot White, a seventeen-year-old Cape Cod heiress with big eyes, buck teeth, and an urgent desire to dispense with her virginity. She adored hairy men (having glimpsed, at the age of fifteen, the dark pubic curls which strayed out of the bathing costume of a Hyannis lifeguard) and the sleek sea-lion whorls of hair which emerged from Ralph Peel's stiff white collar were enough to enthral her for the whole evening.
Ralph Peel was telling her, "I went to sea because I was lonely. I thought, the sea's a lonely place, it'll suit me, if you know what I mean. I never thought that I'd meet anyone like you. I suppose if I never thank the sea for anything else, I'll thank it for introducing me to you."
Monty Willowby overheard him as he was passing by, and rolled his eyes up in mock-prayer. Monty, looking like a sartorial Humpty-Dumpty in his immaculately-pressed full-dress uniform, was on his way to have a quiet word with the bar steward about putting aside one bottle of Perrier-Jouet for every five bottles opened. Normally, Monty expected a lay-away ratio of one-to-10, but it was unlikely that the company accountants would miss fifty cases of champagne, when more than 500 would be poured down the privileged throats of the passengers.
Similarly, Monty operated a complicated network of "savings', as he called them, on every level of the nine-storey liner, in every class, and in every department. If only one spoonful of Malossol or Beluga caviar were "saved" from every order that was sent from the kitchens to the first-class staterooms, then by the end of the four-day voyage, there would be six ten-ounce jars of caviar which would technically not exist, and which therefore could be sold at premium prices to Monty's friends in the New York restaurant trade. There was one fashionable restaurant on East 49th Street which served its customers almost exclusively with provisions which had been originally intended for the kitchens of White Star, Cunard, and American TransAtlantic — fillet steaks, fresh vegetables, and fine French wines.
The Keys company were quite aware of the extent of Monty Willowby's operations, although no official word was actually spoken about them. The simple truth was that they preferred to have somebody powerful and efficient in charge of the "savings', rather than let the crew and the kitchen-staff pillage what they could. On one Keys steamer, the Elite, the passengers had been reduced to eating sausages and meat pies after the ship's entire chilled-meat store had been stripped and sold at bargain prices to a wholesale butcher in Sydney, Australia, in the middle of a cruise. Monty Willowby would never have allowed that kind of daylight robbery, nor would he countenance the pilfering of glassware, linen, cutlery, ropes, brass fittings, or hot water bags. His "savings" business was profitable, and clean, and he wanted it to stay that way.
As he walked with rotund dignity across the Grand Lounge, however, he was abruptly arrested by a dapper little man with no medal miniatures (hence: no class) but a look about him which immediately gave the impression of money. He was slightly Latin, this man, with a close-clipped moustache, drooping eyelids with long eyelashes, and an expression on his face of permanent amusement, as if he had just thought about something very private but very funny. He was smoking a cigar which Monty recognised at once as a Partagas Flor Special Cabinet No. 7.
"You're Mr. Willowby, aren't you?" asked the man, in a flat Michigan accent.
"That's correct, sir. And you must be Mr. Fribourg, of New York, unless I'm badly mistook."
"You know your passenger list, Mr. Willowby."
"It's my job, sir. Everything to your satisfaction, sir?"
"Eminently," said Mr Fribourg. "In fact, I don't think I've been spoiled so outrageously since I dined at the Men's Cafe at the Waldorf-Astoria with James A. Patten."
"We're flattered, sir," nodded Monty Willowby. "Now, if there's nothing else...?"
"Just one thing," said Mr. Fribourg, "It strikes me, as a businessman, and as an entrepreneur, that a voyage of such historic importance is sadly lacking in souvenirs."
"Souvenirs?" asked Monty Willowby, suspiciously. "Souvenirs" were what some of the Belfast ship-fitters called such sentimental memorabilia as three hundredweight of brass stopcocks, or a complete set of mahogany wardrobes.
Mr. Fribourg puffed briefly at his cigar to keep it burning, and then smiled at Monty Willowby with the same close-up candour that dentists radiate when they size up a badly-decayed molar.
"You know the kind of thing," he said. "Facecloths with "Arcadia" sewn on them. Cutlery with the company crest."
"There is a souvenir shop in the gallery, sir," said Monty. "They do an excellent line in Arcadia teaspoons, and emblazoned luggage. Not to mention hand-coloured postcards."
"Well, those kind of things are all very nice," said Mr. Fribourg, resting one hand on Monty's left epaulet, and guiding him out of the mainstream of the reception. "But what makes the money is originality. Originality, coupled with intimacy."
"I don't get your drift, I'm afraid," said Monty, doubling up his chins to stare uncomfortably down at the nail-polished hand which continued to clutch at his gold-braided shoulder. "And I'm afraid that I'm terrifically pushed for time just at the moment. Perhaps we could talk this over in the morning."
"Come on, now, Mr/ Willowby, the moment I saw you I guessed that you were the kind of man who always had his ears open for an interesting deal. I'm talking big money. Thousands of dollars. You think I'm kidding?"
"Not for a moment," Monty told him, with a sigh.
"Good," said Mr. Fribourg. "Because this is my idea. You have several hundred famous people aboard this liner, right? Well, you know that better than I do. Each of these people occupies a stateroom, and each of these staterooms has a bathroom which is lavishly equipped with the very latest Crane fittings, right?"
"I'm not sure of the brand," said Monty. "But, yes."
"Well, I happen to know they're Crane fittings, because Crane were the only people who could make them in the right shapes and the right colours. So — these fittings are very desirable. The kind of fittings that nobody would be ashamed to have in their own home. But just think how much more desirable they are because they're fitted to the first-class staterooms of the Arcadia on her maiden voyage, and because they've been used, intimately, by motion picture stars and big financiers and famous sports personalities."
Now Mr. Fribourg's voice dropped to an amused whisper, and he brought Monty so close to him that Monty could smell the brandy and tobacco smoke on his breath. "Think, Mr. Willowby, of owning the actual toilet seat that Princess Xenia of Russia — well, the actual toilet seat. Think of being able to say to your dinner guests: "You see that toilet seat, that toilet seat is the very same toilet seat which Mary Pickford — well, it was fitted in Miss Pickford's bathroom on the maiden voyage of the Arcadia". That's what I am talking about when I say originality and intimacy. It's original, and it's intimate. It's the very next best thing to having that famous personality kiss you. Well, isn't it? It actually means that you, the toilet seat's new owner, can sit where a motion picture star sat. I've even thought of a romantic name for it. Cheek-to-Cheek. Now, isn't that genius?"