As the door closed behind his steward, he came to her and took both her hands in his. He was bare-headed, and Catherine noticed for the first time, as a shaft of sunlight from the porthole struck it, that his fair hair was flecked with grey at the temples.

  “Catherine, I have to offer you my apologies. I offer them in all humility. I behaved in a most unpardonable way to you yesterday.”

  “That’s—all right,” she said, in a small voice. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” He sighed. “I wonder if you do. Catherine, you’ve made up your mind, havent you? You’re coming on with the ship?”

  “Yes. I— I told you so, at breakfast. I think you are right— if— if the story about Hugh is going to be spread, it’s the only way to fight it.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “That is the only reason you are staying?”

  She hesitated, conscious of her own heightened colour, of her inability to meet his oddly pleading gaze. She loved him so desperately that she longed to say the words—any words—that would bring his arms about her. But she knew that she could not say them. He believed the story, the one they were to fight together. There was an abyss between them which only he could bridge. She could not force him to believe her, she had no proof.

  Tony had believed her—Tony hadn’t asked for proof. But Hugh had not been Tony’s brother.

  She looked up at him at last and saw that his face had hardened and that his mouth was set in its characteristically taut line.

  “I see.” He released her hands, walked away from her to the wide expanse of glass which overlooked, from a commanding height, the Claymore’s forecastle, and stood there, his fingers drumming on the panes. The sun glinted on the top of his head.

  Catherine waited, strangely apprehensively, for him to speak.

  Suddenly, he seemed to reach a decision. He spun round to face her. “Catherine, I asked you to come up here this morning in order to suggest that you should marry me.”

  Her astonishment was mirrored in her eyes.

  He went on, before she could answer him: “It seemed to me the least I could do, under the circumstance. You considered that I had insulted you, although that was not my intention. It—it was the very last thing I intended. Any more—” his tone was rueful—“than I would have chosen this moment to propose to you! I meant to ask you to marry me last night, after I had kissed you, but you—you did not make it very easy for me, did you?”

  “Robert, are you—do you love me?” Catherine’s voice was a faint whisper of sound. He hesitated for a second too long and Catherine drew back, all the colour draining from her cheeks. Tears filled her eyes as Robert came towards her, moving a trifle stiffly.

  “Catherine, I—”

  “No.” It was a cry from her heart. “No, I can’t marry you. I—”

  “Catherine, wait—” He reached for her, drew her fiercely into his arms.

  There was a knock on the door and Robert released her abruptly. He looked shocked. “Who the devil—” And then, recovering himself. “Good God, the Agent! Infernal fellow, I’d completely forgotten about him. Sit down, Catherine, will you? I’ll have to see him.”

  “No, I— I’d rather go.” She was confused and agitated, struggling against her tears but he shook his head.

  “You can’t go now.” He led her to a chair, pressed a firm hand on her shoulder for an instant and then called out in a peremptory tone: “Yes? Who is it?”

  Rickaby answered him. “Mr. Adams, sir. And the First Officer.”

  “Right. Ask them to come in. And you can serve coffee, Rickaby.”

  “Ay, ay, sir.”

  The door opened and Rickaby stood aside to allow Adams and Morley to pass him. Neither of the newcomers noticed Catherine at first. The Agent, in any case, was too full of his news to pay much attention to anyone but the Captain.

  He advanced with outstretched hand. “Captain Blair, allow me to congratulate you.”

  Robert regarded him coldly. He did not like Mr. Adams and the Agent’s effusiveness was in sharp contrast to his manner of the previous day.

  “Thank you,” he said uncompromisingly. “May I know what I have done to merit your congratulations, Mr. Adams?”

  The Agent held out a cable form and Robert read it with knitted brows.

  “Oh, that. Yes, I got a radio message about it yesterday.”

  Catherine, watching him, could not guess, from his expression, whether the news pleased him or not. But she supposed, from the Agent’s hand-wringing, that it must be good news.

  Robert turned to her. “Catherine, this is Mr. Adams, the Company’s Agent. Miss Duncan, Mr. Adams.”

  Adams shook hands with her. His hands were plump and white, the palms moist.

  “I have heard of you, Miss Duncan.” His small, dark eyes regarded her with undisguised curiosity. “In fact, I read about you in the Gazette last night. Yours was a splendid achievement at Oslo—splendid! And what a happy coincidence that you should be travelling in Captain Blair’s ship. I am sure that the Captain must be delighted to have you on board.”

  In the slight pause that followed, Catherine heard Morley say: And may I offer you my congratulations on your appointment to the permanent command of this ship, Captain Blair?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Morley,” Robert said. “Though I must confess that my pleasure in the appointment is marred by the knowledge that it has only been made possible by Captain Maitland’s retirement. I’m sure you must regret that, even more than I do.”

  His tone was sincere. Morley hesitated and then said, stiffly: “Yes, sir, I do regret it, for Captain Maitland’s sake. But I am glad to know that you have been offered the appointment.” He smiled briefly.

  Rickaby came in with a tray of coffee which he set down on a table in front of Catherine.

  Robert looked at her. “Would you like coffee, Catherine?”

  “I—I don’t think so, thank you—I’ve only just had breakfast.”

  The desire to escape, to be alone became intense. Hardly caring what any of them thought of her, Catherine made her excuses. Robert went with her to the door, his hand resting lightly on her arm.

  . “I’m sorry we were interrupted, Catherine,” he said softly, closing the door, so that they were out of earshot of the other two. “I shall be busy until some time this afternoon but—come and have tea with me, will you? About four? Please, Catherine, I must talk to you.”

  “I—” She looked up at him, panic in her eyes.

  “Catherine, you must come.”

  She could not refuse the appeal in his voice and inclined her head, her lips too stiff to form any words.

  “Thank you, my dear.” He smiled at her and then, opening the door of his cabin, called peremptorily:“ Rickaby!”

  “Sir?”

  “Escort Miss Duncan below, will you? Au revoir, Catherine.”

  He stood watching her until she disappeared from sight. Then, with a sigh, he returned to his day cabin.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  There was a queue outside the Purser’s Office, waiting for the mail which the Agent had delivered. It wasn’t a long queue, as many people had gone ashore, and Catherine joined it, hoping for a letter from her father, which had not been amongst the batch of mail she had received yesterday. Anything, anything to distract her thoughts from Robert.

  One of the Assistant Pursers was on duty and, recognising her, he gave a friendly smile.

  “Three for you, Miss Duncan. Will to take Dr. Grant’s, too?”

  “Yes, all right. Has she gone ashore, do you know?”

  Leonie had mentioned that she might make a last-minute dash to the shops and the fact that she hadn’t called for her mail seemed to indicate that she must have gone. Leonie was always eager for the letters she got from Peter Forrest.

  The Assistant Purser passed her a bundle of letters addressed to Leonie. The top one bore a Hong Kong postmark and was addressed in pencil, in a rather shaky hand.

  ’“I don’t know, Miss Duncan. I haven’t seen her. There’s a cable for her, by the way. I sent it along to her cabin. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to tell her, if you see her before I do?”

  “Yes, of course.” Catherine thanked him and moved out of the way of the queue. The third of her letters was from her father—a long one, by the feel of it.

  She wondered, as she slit open the envelope, how her father would feel if she married Robert. And then realisation of what Robert’s completely unexpected proposal meant to her made her catch her breath suddenly. Last night, she had been in the depths of despair, convinced that he did not love her and that marriage between them was impossible and now? Now he had asked her to be his wife. It scarced seemed possible. But—why had he asked her? Because, under the circumstances, it was the least he could do? He had said that, he hadn’t said he loved her.

  Did he still believe that Hugh had been her lover? Did he still think that she had gone with him to the chalet at the foot of the Matterhorn, that she had sent him to his death? Could he believe that and yet be willing to marry her?

  She would have to ask him. Hugh’s ghost was still between them. It had to be said, once and for all, before she dared to give her life into Robert’s keeping. No matter how much or how desperately she loved him.

  Catherine went to the cabin but Leonie was not there. The cable lay, unopened, on her bunk. Catherine put the letters on it and went on deck to read her own. It was nearly eleven. It was not worth while going on shore now, as passengers were warned, by notices at the head of the gangway and outside the Pursers Office, to be back on board by 11:30. They were sailing at mid-day.

  Catherine drew up a deck-chair close to the rails, from where she could look down at the crowded wharf.

  She read her letters, even smiling over her father’s. He was looking forward immensely to her arrival, he said, and he outlined his plans for her entertainment.

  Only at the end of the letter did he mention Hugh.

  “I hope you’re feeling better about things now, my darling,” he wrote. “One can’t live in the past, you know— the dead are dead—the living must go on. You showed that you had all the courage in the world by going to Oslo and doing so well. Bring that undefeated spirit with you and I’m sure you’ll find happiness again out here.

  “Meantime, I am counting the days until I see you.”

  Catherine folded the letter and returned it to its envelope, leaning forward to watch the scene on the wharf. She saw Leonie and Tony pushing their way through the crowd, loaded with parcels, and waved to them.

  They both waved back and Leonie joined her, ten minutes later, still carrying her parcels.

  “Hullo, darling! Tony and I were looking everywhere for you to come ashore with us.” She fell into a deck-chair beside Catherine.

  Catherine flushed. “I was busy,” she evaded.

  Leonie patted her hand. “You’re looking pale, darling. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Oh, yes, I am. Perfectly all right, thanks. I—”

  “Bless you, Cathie.” Leonie hugged her. “Tony’s bringing us some cold drinks. Look, here he comes. Catherine, I must show you what I’ve been buying.”

  They sipped at the iced beer Tony had brought and examined Leonie’s purchases. The last tender came alongside, the ship’s siren sounded and gradually the crowd sorted themselves out, the last passengers came hurrying on board and, in response to the raucous cries of “All for the shore!” there was a scurry down the gangways.

  People waved and shouted, the gangways were pulled inboard and secured and slowly the gap between ship and shore widened, as tugs eased the liner out of her berth.

  Catherine suddenly remembered Leonie’s cable. She said: “Did you go to the cabin before you came up on deck? There’s some mail for you and a cable.”

  “A cable? Oh, good, it’ll be from Peter, I expect—” but there was a hint of anxiety in her tone. “I’m going down now. Coming, Catherine?”

  They went down together, Leonie silent and preoccupied, her smooth brow furrowed. “I’m always afraid,” she confessed to Catherine. “He writes so cheerfully but with T.B. one never knows. But he promised he’d cable if he wanted me to fly or anything. I hope this isn’t to say he does want me to—”

  They reached the cabin and Leonie went to her bunk and picked up the cable with a hand that shook a little. She tore open the envelope and impatiently unfolded the form, going to the porthole to read it.

  Catherine watched her, some instinct warning her that Leonie’s forebodings had been justified.

  Leonie stood quite still for the space of a minute, her back to Catherine. Then she said, in a frozen, unnatural voice: “Catherine, he died yesterday. Peter...died yesterday. He died whilst I—whilst I was fooling around buying a—a bathing dress. I—I—oh, Cathie, I don’t think I can bear it!”

  “Oh, Leonie darling, I’m so dreadfully sorry—”

  Leonie turned a stricken face to her.

  “It’s a bit hard to take, isn’t it?” she said. “When I was so near. I wish I’d flown now only—they probably wouldn’t have let me see him if I had. It must have been a pretty virulent infection, to be as quick as this. Peter never did know how to—to take care of himself—”

  The next moment, her face puckered and she was sobbing brokenly in Catherine’s arms. The last letter Peter Forest had written to her—the last he would ever write—lay, unopened, on the bunk. Catherine stared at it and the tears were in her own eyes, blinding her.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  Leonie’s courage, in the face of the heartbreaking news she had received, moved Catherine deeply.

  After her first storm of weeping, when she clung to Catherine as if she were the one hope left in her shattered world, she dried her tears and almost fiercely asked to be left alone.

  Catherine hated leaving her but she saw that Leonie wanted to fight a battle with herself and knew that her presence would only embarrass the stricken girl.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Leonie whispered. “I don’t want anyone to know. Please, darling, promise—”

  “Of course I promise, if that’s what you want,” Catherine assured her. “But isn’t there anything I can do? Anything at all?”

  “Well—” Leonie hesitated. “I—Cathie, I’m going to take a couple of sleeping pills and I’m nearly out of them. Could you possibly ask Dr. Alfree for some more? He’ll give them to you, if you say they’re for me—he knows I take them.”

  “Darling, of course I will. I’ll go for them now.”

  Leonie shook her head. “No, look, I’ve got three left.” She reached for the tiny bottle she always kept on the shelf above her bunk and tipped the three small white tablets into her palm. Her hand shook as she gave the bottle to Catherine. “Leave me alone now, Cathie, there’s a dear. I shan’t want any more till to-night.”

  Her smile was tremulous but determined.

  Catherine took the bottle. “All right, Leonie. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want? Some soup or—or a drink perhaps?”

  Again Leonie shook her head. “Just the pills. And don’t say a word to Ted Alfree, will you?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Catherine heard the bolt shoot home as she closed the cabin door behind her.

  She went up to the surgery and found Dr. Alfree by himself, reading. He put down his book at her approach.

  “Hullo, Catherine! Have you come to consult me? If so, you’ve chosen the right moment—I’m unemployed.”

  Catherine explained her errand, careful to obey Leonie’s injunction to give no hint of what had happened.

  The doctor regarded her thoughtfully as he took the little bottle from her. “She takes too many of these things,” he said. “Still, she’s qualified, she knows what she’s doing. Right-oh, Catherine, I’ll give them to Leonie at lunch.”

  “She isn’t having any lunch,” Catherine said. “She—she’s not feeling very well. I—I said I’d wait for them, Dr. Alfree, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’ll get them for you now.”

  He heaved himself out of his chair and went to unlock his drug cupboard. “She’s not ill, is she?” he asked.

  “No, I—I don’t think so. That is, she’s tired. She told me she was going to try and sleep this afternoon.”

  He nodded sagely. “Good idea.” He filled the bottle and, as an afterthought, took another bottle from the shelf above his head. “From what I hear, we’re likely to run into a spot of bad weather by to-night. You’d better take these as well. Tell Leonie to take a couple after tea, to make sure of keeping her sea legs. They’re quite harmless and extremely effective. Leonie was looking forward to the Fancy Dress dance this evening. I don’t want her to miss it.”

  The Fancy Dress dance—oh, heavens, she’d forgotten about the Fancy Dress dance. It was quite an occasion on board the Claymore, with a parade round the ship and the presentation of the prizes by the Captain.

  Poor Leonie, she’d been joking about it only yesterday and, in the privacy of their cabin, had shown Catherine the lovely Victorian ball dress she intended to wear.

  She would not feel like wearing it now....

  Catherine took the two little bottles which Dr. Alfree was holding out to her and, after thanking him, made to escape before he could question her further. But, as she reached the door of the surgery, he called out to her. “Oh, Catherine! Leonie and young Urquhart and one or two others are having a drink with me before the dance. About seven. Would you care to come along? I meant to ask you yesterday but I forgot.”

  “I— thank you very much, Dr. Alfree. If— if Leonie’s going, I’d like to.”

  “Here, wait a minute, Catherine.” He came to the door. His shrewd, kindly eyes were on her face, searchingly. “What do you mean, if Leonie’s going? She is going, isn’t she? What are you trying to hide from me? Is Leonie ill?”

 

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