"Don't you ever write to her, or telephone her?" Catriona asked.
*I write to her every day."
"Does she write back?"
George Welterman glanced at her. "Why is it that women have such a knack for asking exactly the right question?"
"You mean she doesn't?"
George Welterman lowered his head. "No," he said. "Never."
"Do you tell her you love her?" asked Catriona.
"I tell her everything. Where I'm going, what I'm doing, what I'm thinking about. Myrtle is the only person in the whole world to whom I reveal myself completely, and she never answers."
Catriona said, "You don't seem embarrassed to tell people about it."
"Why should I be?"
"I don't know. It all seems rather personal to me, and yet it was almost the first thing you talked about when we were sitting down at dinner last night."
George Welterman shrugged, but didn't say anything.
"Do you want people to feel sorry for you?" asked Catriona.
"People?" queried George Welterman.
"Oh, I'm sorry if I misunderstood," said Catriona, with pursed lips. Do you want me to feel sorry for you?"
"You're a very exceptional young lady," said George Welterman. "You have the ability to understand people, as well as your beauty."
"It was something I inherited from my father. Our only blind spot was we could never understand each other."
George Welterman said, "Would you have cocktails with me later, in my cabin? You can bring your maid, of course, if you want a chaperone."
"Would I need to be chaperoned?"
'lt depends how much of a stickler you are for appearances."
"Oh, I'm always a stickler for appearances."
A string quintet from the ship's orchestra struck up with a cranky little piece by Debussy called "Le Chanson deBulitis', and the sparse audience began to applaud.
George Welterman said, "At six, then? Would that suit you?"
"Six-oh-three," said Catriona teasingly.
George Welterman stared at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable, and then nodded.
The far end of the Grand Lounge had been curtained off with scalloped gold curtains, which were illuminated in green and red, like the proscenium of an Eve Leo picture-palace. Eve Leo was the wife of Mr. Fox of Fox Pictures, and she had already set a worldwide trend by decorating her husband's movie theatres like princely palaces, with epic murals, gilded columns, glittering chandeliers—every imaginable architectural style and sumptuous sensation piled one on top of the other.
Monsieur Detain emerged from the curtains and clapped his hands for attention. "Lords, ladies, gentlemen. Today I was to have presented for you the latest and most secret Paris styles for the fall and for the winter, a preview of several famous collections. Alas, the ocean has not been kind to us, and three of my mannequins are suffering mal de mer." (At the very mention of seasickness, even in a foreign language, yet another lady rose from her little gilt chair and tilted off to the Ladies.) "But with the facilities I have left," continued Monsieur Delain, "I will do my best to please your eye, and to entertain you. The music, please."
It was the most extraordinary fashion show that Catriona had ever attended, although she hadn't attended many. Gorgeously gowned in daring new creations by the cream of Paris designers, five leggy and elegant girls attempted to parade up and down a floor that kept rising and falling and leaning from side to side. One minute they would be toiling up a one-in-six hill; the next they would be tottering on their tiny high-heeled suppers down a slope that was steep enough to launch lifeboats. As the Arcadia rolled, one girl lost her balance and sat down very hard in the lap of Dame Clara Butt, who promptly swallowed the mint imperial she had been surreptitiously sucking and almost choked.
The dresses, though, were fabulous, and could be bought for fabulous prices. Catriona adored a sleeveless dress by Doeuillet of black muslin printed with red and yellow flowers, with a wraparound front which swept all the way down to the very low waistline, where it was fastened in a scarf-like knot. She also made a note of a violet crepe day dress by Lelong, with a three-tiered skirt trimmed with scarlet ribbon, and a plaquet of red ribbon down the bodice. Neither gown would cost less than 700 pounds.
The most stunning dress of the show, though, was unquestionably a black lace evening dress by Doucet, exquisitely fragile, with an overdress with tight sleeves which flared out at the elbow like wilting convolvulus flowers. It was trimmed with diamonds, and its sash was fastened with a silver and garnet buckle.
"You like it?" asked Goerge Welterman, as Catriona applauded.
"It's exquisite," said Catriona. "I love it."
"Then it's yours," said George Welterman. He picked up his silver propelling pencil between his sausage-like fingers, and asked, "Who's the designer?"
"Doucet. But you can't possibly buy it for me."
George Welterman wrote down, "Doosay'. Then he looked at Catriona without smiling at all. "If you really hadn't wanted me to buy it for you, you wouldn't have told me the name of the designer before you refused it."
"So! You're just as hep to human nature as I am," said Catriona.
"I certainly am," nodded George Welterman. "And three times as experienced."
"I suppose, when you've bought it for me, you'll want to see me wearing it?"
"Of course."
Catriona made what she thought was her world-weary-femme-fatale face. Nigel had always thought that it made her look like someone at a party whose eyes had been caught half closed in a Kodak flash photograph. Sexy, but goofy. She said, "It just goes to show, doesn't it? No matter how sophisticated he is, every man comes out with the same old lines."
"So what?" said George Welterman quite roughly, "You have a special objection to lines?"
"Hoary old lines like "I want to see you wearing it", yes."
"Well," said George Welterman after a moment's thought, "how about a different kind of line?"
"Such as?"
"Such as, will you approve the selling-up of Keys Shipping to IMM?"
"Not that again. I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime. You all seem so frantic about it."
"Frantic?"
"Well, nobody ever seems to talk about anything else. It's really too dreary for words."
George Welterman said, "I apologise. We must all seem like very tedious old men to you. But, of course, the future of Keys Shipping is extremely important to very many people in the shipping business; a you, young lady, by an accident of hereditary and fate, have a a important part to play in its destiny."
"Edgar said I wasn't to meddle in business affairs," said Catriona. "Oh, look, look at that beautiful ottoman."
George Welterman had half-turned to look at the sleek black Martial et Armand three-piece before he realised that he wasn't really interested, and he turned back to Catriona.
"Do you know what I'm offering you for Keys?" he asked her.
"I think so."
"Well, whether you understand anything about shipping or not, you have to recognise that it's an excellent offer. More than excellent. It would solve all of your problems, not to mention a few of mine."
"You don't look like a man with problems, Mr. Welterman."
"George, please. But of course I have problems. Many White Star ships are growing elderly and need replacing. Many White Star routes I running at a loss. If I were able to buy up Keys, I would be able to modernize our fleet overnight, and also cut down on many of our more unprofitable routes, where Keys and White Star are running competitive services for too few passengers and too little freight. These are modern times, Miss Keys. We can no longer afford the luxuries of the Edwardian era, when liners used to sail with only twenty passengers aboard, and nearly two hundred staff to take care of them."