"We did leave Irish waters at an unusually high speed," Rudyard reminded him.
"Unusually high speed, Mr Philips?" asked Sir Peregrine. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean we were steaming full ahead, sir, when we were still within the three-mile limit, and we had been warned of the presence of small craft. Also, the visibility wasn't particularly good."
Sir Peregrine stared at him glassily. "If that is so, Mr Philips, then I would like to know who was on the bridge at that time."
"I was, sir. Acting under your specific instructions."
"What?" said Sir Peregrine. "What instructions? To steam out of Irish waters like a bat out of hell? Did I specifically instruct you to do that? To proceed at full speed without paying any attention whatsoever to the presence of small craft? Did you hear me say that?"
"Not in so many words, sir."
"Then what? What were these specific instructions that led you to believe you could run down anyone you liked, willy-nilly?"
"You said slow ahead for one mile, sir, and then full ahead. You said we should show those Irish barbarians what a modem express liner could do."
Sir Peregrine clasped the back of his library chair, and his fingertips dug into it as if he were gripping an Irishman's neck. "In that case, Mr. Philips, I believe you misheard me. I believe we have a misunderstanding here, and that's putting it charitably. I don't know how things were run on the Aurora, God help her, before she went into dry-dock; but I don't want them run like that on this vessel. I specifically told you slow ahead for three miles, and to pay particular attention to small vessels."
"I have to disagree with you, sir. You clearly said slow ahead for one mile, and when I continued to sail slow ahead as a precaution, you criticised me for disobeying your orders. The impression you gave me was that you wanted to vacate Irish territorial waters as quickly as humanly possible."
"Impression?" screamed Sir Peregrine. Spit flew from his lips, and he stalked around the library chair and confronted Rudyard from only six inches away. "Impression? You're the captain of your own ship, Mr. Philips, and you talk about sailing the world's largest passenger liner on an impression?"
Rudyard said dully, "We've had a collision, Sir Peregrine. A man may have drowned. All you're trying to do is lay the blame on me instead of on yourself, where you know it belongs."
Sir Peregrine turned away. "I see," he said. "You're reduced to snivelling now, are you, and blind accusations? Is that it? You won't accept the responsibility of your own foolhardy actions? Is that it? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"You gave me clear orders to sail slow ahead for one mile, and then to sail full ahead thereafter," repeated Rudyard.
"Rubbish!" Sir Peregrine expostulated. "Rubbish and double-rubbish! How dare you suggest that I could do such a thing! You pathetic, spineless, lukewarm, nattering sea-creature! How dare you! I order you confined to your quarters until further notice!"
Rudyard took a deep, unsteady breath. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you? You've been waiting for any opportunity to get me out of your way. Well, you can do your worst, but I can remember your orders to the last letter. If someone's drowned, then it's your responsibility, and however much you bluster and fuss, I'm going to make damn sure that you get just what you deserve. You're a puffed-up, ridiculous incompetent, and it's about time this company realised it. You no more deserve to captain a ship like the Arcadia than Captain Bligh deserved to command the Bounty."
Sir Peregrine stood upright and still, as white and as brittle as a fossil of himself might be, if it were excavated from the chalk cliffs of England in some far and unrealised future.
"You are confined to your quarters," he repeated. "Mr. Peel will take over your duties until further notice."
Rudyard was shaking with wrath and nerves. When he spoke, his voice wavered uncontrollably. But he managed to say, "You've made a serious mistake, Sir Peregrine. This isn't an ordinary voyage, by any means. It's the Arcadia's maiden voyage, and the slightest mishap will be investigated with ten times the ordinary amount of rigour. What's more, Mr. Edgar Deacon is aboard; and so is Mr. Fearson; and so is Miss Catriona Keys. They will want to know what has happened in the utmost detail."
"And you will tell them, I suppose?"
"It's my duty."
"I forbid you."
"You can't forbid me to do anything."
"I forbid you! Go to your quarters! You're under arrest!"
"You're a madman," Rudyard told Sir Peregrine. "You're a complete and utter madman."
"And you, Mr. Philips, are worse," retorted Sir Peregrine. "You, Mr. Philips, are a bore."
TWENTY-THREE
Halfway through the last waltz, Catriona had known already that she was in love. She hadn't meant to be, not so drowningly, not so helplessly. She had thought that the affection she still felt for Nigel might have saved her from being swept away, a lifebelt to which she could cling when Mark Beeney's sheer masculinity threatened to overwhelm her. But as the orchestra played a torrential version of "Over The Waves" waltz, and as Mark danced her slowly and elegantly around the floor of the Grand Lounge, she leaned her head against his starched white shirtfront and allowed him to hold her close. She didn't care about Nigel any more; her feelings wouldn't let her. Neither did she care about Marcia, whom she saw leaving the lounge with a face——as her father would have put it—"as cheerful as a cracked dinner-plate'.
Mark said, "You tried to fight me, didn't you?"
"Fight you?" she murmured. "What do you mean?"
"You wouldn't wear my orchid. You're not even wearing my diamonds."
She looked away. "There were too many rubies. They wouldn't have gone with my gown."
"Nonsense. You were fighting me. And I'm glad that you did."
"Glad? I don't know why."
"Of course I'm glad," Mark told her. "If you hadn't tried to fight me, I wouldn't have thought that you cared. I would have thought that you were playing with me—teasing me just for fun. But you weren't. You were serious. That's why you fought. And that's why I'm even more pleased now that I've won."
Catriona raised her head. "Who says you've won?"
Mark grinned ingenuously. "I do. You're not going to snatch my victory away from me are you, at the last crucial moment?"
She said nothing, but pretended to admire the reflecting pillars as they danced past. Then she leaned her head against him again and whispered, "I think you're the bee's knees. You know I do. It's not even worth denying it."
"Are you sorry you flushed away my orchid?"
She laughed. "No. Pleased. Anything to teach you not to be so arrogant."
The orchestra brought "Over The Waves" to a tired close, and Mark "and Catriona applauded. Mark looked at his watch. "It's almost too late to go to bed," he told Catriona.
"Almost," she said. Her heart, after she had spoken, expanded inside her chest like one of those mud bubbles in a New Zealand geyser, and then collapsed again. She couldn't have said anything more suggestive if she had sat down and thought about it all week. She took Mark's hand as if to reassure him that she really wasn't as fast as all that, and that she still needed his guidance and protection. For an instant, she was frightened that she might have put him off.
"My stateroom or yours?" he asked her, abruptly. Then he smiled, and she knew that everything was perfect. The morning sun was shining, the ship was running fast and smooth, and she was intoxicated with champagne and affection.