'The stench in here!' Jolival exclaimed, hurrying to open the porthole. That's the best way to get seasick.'
'Sickness is very rarely agreeable,' Leighton retorted sourly, making for the door. Marianne stopped him with a gesture to the damask curtains round her bed.
'I trust you had enough towels, doctor,' she said with heavy irony. 'You appear to have missed these, and my dresses, too.'
The thin, parchment-coloured face was rigid but there was a cold glint in the man's eyes and an extra tightness about his lips. In his dark clothes, with the lank hair falling to his collar, John Leighton was as stern and unbending as a Quaker. Perhaps, indeed, that was what he was, for the look he bestowed on the elegant Marianne bordered on revulsion. She wondered again how such a man could be Jason's friend. He would have got on much better with Pilar!
Furiously Marianne thrust away the disagreeable thought of Jason's wife. It was bad enough to know the woman was still alive, even though in the depths of some Spanish convent, without having to think about her!
Leighton, meanwhile, had mastered his evident spurt of anger. He bowed with, if possible a greater coldness and contempt than before and went out, followed by a look from Jolival suggestive of feelings strongly divided between laughter and indignation. In the end he shrugged it off and merely remarked:
'Can't say I'm much taken with that fellow. I hope to God I shan't need his services. Being doctored by him can't be much fun. To think we've got to face that at mealtimes!'
'Not me!' Marianne declared. 'Since I'm forbidden to set foot on the quarterdeck, I'll not enter the cabin either! I shall take my meals here… and I shan't object if you do the same.'
'I'll see. In the meanwhile, come and take another turn on deck. I'll send for Toby to clean up this mess, or else your appetite will suffer. But, if I were you, I'd not go to earth. You won't get anywhere by skulking in your tent, you know. Show yourself! Let him see you in all your glory. The sirens never went back to their caves until they'd made sure of their victims.'
'You may be right. But how can I make myself look beautiful when I'm being shaken about like a cork in a saucepan of boiling water?'
'It's only a summer squall. It won't last.'
He was right. Towards the end of the day, the wind and the sea subsided. The gale became a pleasant breeze, just enough to swell the sails. The sea, which had been so grey and turbulent throughout the day, was now smooth and flat as shimmering satin, laced with little white flecks. The tall blue lines of the Dalmatian coast were now to be seen in the distance, while in the foreground lay a chain of islands coloured green and amethyst in the light of the setting sun. It was warm outside and Marianne indulged in the melancholy luxury of musing alone at the rail, watching the changing shore and the red-sailed fishing boats heading for home.
For all the beauty of the evening, her heart felt heavy, sad and lonely. Jolival was somewhere else, probably in the company of the first-officer, with whom he seemed to have struck up a friendship.
The first-officer was a convivial soul, an Irishman by birth, whose red nose betrayed a fondness for the bottle and who could not have been a greater contrast to the chilly Leighton. Since he knew something of France and a good deal more about the produce of her vineyards, it did not need many words to assure him of the vicomte's regard.
But it was not the absence of Arcadius which troubled her, as Marianne privately admitted. Her temper had subsided with the squall and she felt in her heart a vast longing for peace and quiet and tenderness.
From where she stood, she could see Jason standing on the poop, next to the man at the wheel. He was smoking a long clay pipe, as tranquilly as though there were no lovely woman in love with him on board his ship. She wanted, oh so very much, to go to him! Already, earlier in the day, when the bell had rung for luncheon, it had cost her a struggle to stay firm in her decision to eat alone, solely because there would have been nothing between them but the width of the table. Her throat had ached so that she could barely touch the meal Toby had brought to her. Tonight it would be even worse. Jolival was right. It would be nice to make herself beautiful and then to take her seat opposite him and see if she could still exercise some power over that unshakeable will. She was burning to go to him but her pride refused without a formal invitation. After all, he had banished her from his private territory and in such a way that she could scarcely go to him now without loss of face.
A foreign body interposed itself between her and the happy poop. She had no need to turn her head to know that it was Arcadius. He reeked of Spanish tobacco and Jamaica rum. Perceiving that she was still wearing her day dress, he clicked his tongue reprovingly.
'Why aren't you changed?' he asked quietly. 'The bell will go soon.'
'Not for me. I am staying in my cabin. Tell Toby to bring my dinner to me.'
'This is nothing more than a fit of the sullens, Marianne. You are simply sulking.'
'Perhaps I am but I shan't budge from what I told you before. I'm not setting foot in there – not unless I'm asked as clearly as I was thrown out.'
Jolival laughed.
'I've often wondered what Achilles did in his tent while all the other Greeks were away fighting the Trojans. And especially what he thought. It looks as though I'm going to find out. Very well then. Good night, Marianne. I shan't see you again because I've promised that fire-eating young Irishman I'd teach him how to play chess! Do you want me to carry your ultimatum to the captain, or will you?'
'I forbid you to mention me to him! I am staying in my cabin. If he wants to see me, he knows where to find me. He knows me well enough – and he's no coward! Good night, Arcadius. And don't fleece your young Irishman. He may drink like a fish but he looks as green as a girl.'
To say that Marianne slept well would be an exaggeration. She tossed and turned in her cot for hour after hour. How many hours, she had no difficulty estimating, thanks to the regular chiming of the ship's bell. She felt stifled in the narrow space, filled with the sound of Agathe's snoring penetrating the thin partition which divided them. It was almost dawn before she fell into a dreamless sleep from which she woke to dismal reality and a cracking headache round about nine o'clock, when Toby tapped discreetly on her door.
Hating the whole world and herself most of all, Marianne was on the point of dismissing both the negro and his tray when he picked a large letter off the cup on which it had been balanced and held it out to her silently between finger and thumb, while she glared up at him through the tangles of her hair.
'This from Massa Jason,' he said, grinning. 'Ver' ver' important.'
A letter? A letter from Jason? Marianne snatched it eagerly and ripped open the seal, stamped with a ship's figurehead, while Toby stood with his tray on his arm and the grin broadening on his round face, making a careful study of the ceiling.
The note was not a long one. It took the form of a brief, formal apology from the captain of the Sea Witch to the Princess Sant'Anna, begging her to overlook his lapse from good manners and to reconsider her decision to take her meals alone in her cabin and honour his table in future with the feminine charm of her presence. Nothing more. Not one word of affection. Precisely the kind of excuses he might have sent to any distinguished passenger with whom he had exchanged words. Part disappointed, part relieved because at least he was offering her the necessary bridge, she addressed herself to Toby who was still gazing heavenwards, apparently lost in a beatific vision of his own.