Tidal Wave (10 page)

The
maître d’
showed Missy to her table. Xu was already there and he stood up to greet her. He remained standing there while the
maître d’
introduced Missy to Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Tillman. Missy chatted with Xu, ordered her breakfast, and began looking through the brochures, eager to see what events were on offer.

“Do you play any of the games or sports that are available to us on this voyage, Miss Yeats?”

“I don’t know what they are, Mrs, Tillman. I must look them up.”

“Don’t bother. I can tell you what they are.” Looking at the paper in her hand, she read: “‘For your leisure and pleasure: shuffleboard, deck quoits, golf driving, putting, and tennis are located on the upper deck aft. On the forward deck is skeet shooting and a target range. Indoor games such as chess, draughts, Scrabble, dominoes, jigsaw puzzles, and a variety of card games are available from the library. There is also a running and jogging track on the deck. There are exercise classes and, of course, the health
club with Nautilus equipment, a sauna, a steambath, and a regular gym, and an indoor pool.’ The outside pool is only for the very brave and strong-hearted. It’s freezing cold on the North Atlantic this time of year.”

“Oh,” said Missy. “I might just about bring myself to a game of shuffleboard, but that’s about it except for a swim in the indoor pool.”

“What a relief that’s all there is,” said Mrs. Davis. “I’ve looked all through these brochures and I promise you it’s a joy to see they don’t have those endless schedules from the moment you open your eyes to the moment you close them.”

“God, Tessie, do you remember on our last cruise those endless quizzes, dance lessons, lectures — my God, the lectures! I thought I was back at school! The classes — swimming lessons, golf lessons, bridge lessons, archery lessons, shooting lessons, table-tennis and tennis lessons; arts and crafts,
all
of the arts and crafts, I might add. Teachers for flower arranging and knitting and embroidery and God knows what. Then there were the cards, the bingo, and the casino. By the time that cruise was over, I was exhausted and had to go away for a complete rest to the milk farm — sorry, these days they call it the health spa.”

Missy could not help but laugh and a wide smile broke out across Xu’s face. Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Tillman looked at their table companions, then looked at each other and they too broke out laughing.

“This is much better, far more humane for us poor travelers!” said Mrs. Tillman. “Mr. Xu, how will you pass your time on this crossing?”

“Oh, I will spend a great deal of time with the dogs and birds we have on board, and I will try to learn how to play golf.”

“And something else, Xu,” said Missy. “I have a surprise for you.” Then, turning to the ladies, she said, “Xu is an archer of extraordinary ability, and I have arranged for his target to be set up on a secluded part of the signal deck. Just ring the purser’s office and they’ll send someone along to help you with your things and set you up.”

“Thank you, Missy. I appreciate that.”

“It was partly selfish, Xu. May I come and watch?”

“Of course.”

“And maybe have a lesson?”

“With pleasure, Missy.”

“Would you mind,” said Mrs. Davis, “if we came to watch one day?”

“Not at all,” Xu replied graciously. “In fact, why don’t we all meet on the signal deck this afternoon at three? I will give you all instructions, or you may just observe, as you wish. Missy, why don’t you invite Mr. Peters to join us?”

“And then we can all have tea together at four,” said Mrs. Tillman.

“We haven’t heard what else you two ladies are going to do,” said Missy.

“I’m going to swim every day,” said Tessie Tillman. “I’m a movie addict so I’ll go to the movies every day. All of the important new films will be shown and some of my old favorites. Did you know that the famous movie star, Nicholas Frayne, is on board this very ship with us? I’ll spend some time reading and fill the rest of it playing cards. I do adore playing cards.”

“What do you play?” asked Missy.

“Singles and doubles in gin rummy, duplicate bridge, canasta, can can, and, if I have to, solitaire. You name it, I’ll play it. I’m a card player. You see, Sophie — Mrs. Davis here — and Libby Katz, whom you’ve yet to meet, and I are from the age of the social card players, a time when socially there was little else to do but play cards or go to a concert of some touring symphony orchestra. That was before television and the new American addiction for sport and the sporting life.”

Sophie interjected, “I think I played cards less before I became a widow and even less than that when I was a mother. But for my husband and myself, cards were always a social occasion as well as a chance to gamble on one’s skill. There were times when it helped pay the bills!” They both laughed knowingly.

“Where are you all from?” Missy inquired.

“Mrs. Davis and I,” Tessie began, “together with her brother Isador Katz and his wife, Libby, were all born on the same street and grew up in the same neighborhood in West Hartford, Connecticut. We never left our immediate circle of friends and neighbors. We married people we’d known all our lives, made our families at the same time, spent vacations at the same beaches, grew rich together, and have shared tragedies together. Why, Sophie and I even became widows within six months of each other.” She looked around the breakfast table and continued, “Imagine being clever enough to create a small orangerie for a breakfast room! You know, I’m sure it’s a close copy of the one in Versailles. I suppose it’s the glass roof that allows the orange and kumquat trees to flourish. Just look at them!

“This room makes me think of my husband, Louis,” Sophie said. “We were childhood sweethearts. I wore his fraternity pin in high school and we were married before he graduated college. Then we settled down in West Hartford with our friends and raised a family. It was a very cozy world, even though, at first, there was little money.”

“What kind of business was your husband in, Mrs. Doria?”

“Well, my father-in-law had a furniture store in West Hartford. He sold everything from andirons to fake Louis Quinze bedroom suites. My husband, who had studied art history in college, spent his life developing the antique end of the business, buying both American and foreign pieces at bargain prices — long before they came into vogue. He turned the shop into one of the best in New England. We made two buying trips to Europe every year for twenty years. Sitting here reminds me of the last time Louis and I went to Versailles together.”

“What a wonderful story!” Missy exclaimed. “But how did he ever have the foresight or the talent to determine what to buy?”

“My Louis was a man of exquisite taste; sometimes, when he looked at an old handcrafted piece of furniture, he was in a world of his own, all alone. He and my brother,
Izzy, had an understanding of craftsmanship and European art which, I admit, surpassed mine and that of most of our friends. They were marvelous together because they never put on airs or phony graces. My Louis was a special man; Izzy still is.”

They were all quiet for a moment, while Sophie smiled at a memory.

“Yes, Louis would have liked this room. He had plans for his own orangerie. A place to house a swimming pool and grow lemons, oranges, and kumquats just like these. He used the original plans of Versailles’ Orangerie scaled down. It was to have been in the clearing behind our house. He never lived to get more than the foundations of it laid. Ah, but that was years ago. And here we are today!” Sophie brightened once again. “Louis really would have enjoyed the
Tatanya Annanovna
with all her glamour and elegance. He would have found it in the best of taste and he would be right, as he always was.”

Missy listened to all this and thought, How extraordinary and warm Americans are. You say, “How do you do,” know them for three minutes, and they tell all, can’t wait for you to know them.

Mrs. Davis turned to Missy. “This ship is enormous and yet there’s an atmosphere among the passengers of privacy and nonpressured camaraderie. Don’t you agree, Miss Yeats?”

“Yes, I do, Mrs. Davis. It’s an amazing accomplishment when you consider the catering staff alone is over nine hundred. What a monumental task it is to float a hotel like this and still have it remain an elegant and intimate ship.”

“As many as that?” said Tessie. “That’s nothing — think of the total staff; it’s mind-boggling.”

“The orchestra is twenty-two pieces and look at this,” said Xu, passing across one of the pamphlets he was looking at.

“How extraordinary! Just listen to this,” Missy read.
“ ‘The S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
must be capable of meeting the demands of an international clientele. The basic catering requirements detailed below for a normal transatlantic run include such varied items as twenty-five thousand pounds of beef, twenty-two thousand pounds of fresh fruit, one hundred fifty pounds of caviar, six hundred jars of baby food, fifty pounds of dog biscuits. She carries forty-one brands of whiskey and forty-three brands of cigarettes.’”

“It’s staggering!” Mrs. Davis said.

“Shall I go on?” asked Missy.

“How much coffee?” one of them asked.

Missy looked down the list. “‘Two thousand pounds of coffee, five thousand pounds of sugar.’ My liver will do a turnover and go green and so will yours,” she went on, “when you hear this. ‘Three thousand five hundred pounds of butter, three thousand quarts of cream.’”

“Oh, my God!” said Mrs. Davis. “My cholesterol!”

“Well, there’s plenty of what I like,” said Missy. “There are fifteen hundred pounds of lobster.”

The four tablemates were now hooked on statistics.

“If there are twenty-five thousand pounds of beef,” said Xu, “how much meat is there altogether?”

“Just a minute,” said Missy, running her fingernail down a long column of numbers, adding them up in her head as she went along. She looked up and said, “Fifty-three thousand five hundred pounds of meat, turkey, duck, and chicken.”

“That’s disgusting! It’s enough to turn me into a vegetarian,” said Mrs. Davis, chuckling.

“If I can remember these statistics at mealtimes, it might make me eat frugally,” said Mrs. Tillman. “Forget the food, it’s giving me indigestion just hearing about it. What else is listed there?”

“Sheets alone,” said Missy. “Ready for this? Twenty-three thousand, two hundred — and they do laundry on board every day!”

Xu stood up and said, “Excuse me, ladies. I am going up to the kennels.”

Missy said, “I’ll go with you.”

Tessie said, “You have a good day. We’ll see you at three.”

Chapter Eight

While the others were having breakfast and planning their activities, Arabella was lying on her side, wandering in and out of easy stages of sleep. Nicholas was lying tight up against her, one arm draped over her hip, his hand cupping her mound, his long, beautiful fingers entwined in her silky blond public hair, the tips of his fingers nestling between her legs.

She lay there, her eyes closed, luxuriating in the warmth of his body, the touch of his skin, the beat of his heart against her back. She was seduced by him yet again. She felt the pale, soft warmth of his light, even breathing on the back of her neck as he slept. His long, beautiful, thick penis, partially erect, rested between the cheeks of her buttocks, his knees were tucked up under the back of hers, his shins touched her calves, and her feet rested on top of his. His thighs were tucked up under the back of hers. His other arm was draped over the pillow and arched over the top of her head; her golden hair was spread over it and her hand lay in his, held firmly in a tight grip, even as he slept.

In her half-sleeping, half-waking state she was aroused, electrified by their closeness. Not wanting to disturb these exquisite moments, she dared not even open her eyes. Arabella lay there, content to relive the night before while he slept on. She conjured up pictures of every step she had taken after her return from the captain’s dinner.

Arabella thought she felt a change of pressure on her hand, as if Nicholas had squeezed it in his sleep. She listened for a change in his breathing, any movement. There was none; he remained in the world of dreams.

Only while reliving what had happened after she had
slipped into Nicholas’s bed did Arabella realize they had barely spoken a word to each other. Yet through the hours of lovemaking they had discovered parts of themselves and each other that no one else in their lives ever had.

Now, as she relived the very first kiss after he had woken to find her in bed with him, it brought butterflies to her stomach, fire to her loins, and an aching desire to be loved.

His first kisses were gentle and when he felt Arabella give way through them, the kisses became more passionate. Wherever he touched her with his hands she felt as if her flesh was melting, the marrow of her bones liquefying. He put his hands on her breasts, stroking them upward toward the nipples. He took her erect nipples between his thumb and forefinger, twirled them and stretched them. She reached down, found his cock fully erect and throbbing.

His arms wrapped around her and he lowered his mouth to her nipples, sucking and licking long and hard. He stopped only long enough to put his mouth to her lips, kissing her deeply. In one, slow continuous motion he rolled her on top of him. He spread her legs apart and felt her sweet warm wetness as he went between them with his thick penis, fast and hard. He filled her completely, and his swollen balls lay pressed against her. He pulled her to his chest tightly and they kissed, filling their mouths full with each other’s tongues.

Once inside, he allowed his cock to rest there, throbbing against her soft wetness while he kissed, sucked, and fondled her. She reached over his flat buttocks and found his balls damp with her wetness. She fondled and played with them, massaging them gently.

Arabella was aroused as never before when he began to press into her with deep slow strokes. He kissed her tenderly, aware of just how much she had come. He licked her ear and whispered to her, “You are so wet, so tight, so wonderful. I want to keep you like this always.”

Their beautiful, fierce lovemaking seemed endless and made their heads and senses swim. Arabella was giving and demanding, yet soft and passionate, and Nicholas was just
as giving and demanding, just as soft and passionate. They were equally matched. He devoured her femaleness; she could not get enough of his maleness. Only when they were dizzy with exhaustion and satiated from their orgasms did their passion subside and they fall asleep entwined.

They had dozed off in the position they were lying in now. As Arabella was listening to his heartbeat against her back, she wanted him all over again. She felt a kiss on the back of her neck and in one easy turn he had her on top of him, encircled in his arms.

He kissed her and said, “Good morning.”

She kissed him back and answered, “Good morning.”

He put his hands around her waist and lifted her high above him and pulled her down slowly over his morning erection. Just as had happened half a dozen times the night before, they surrendered to each other body and soul. This time their very bones seemed to melt and they dissolved together in a crashing roll of orgasm. As the wall of waves broke from somewhere deep within them he called out, “Arabella, I love you!”

She whispered, “I love you too, Nicholas.” They were both startled by the intensity of their passion and the depth of their feelings. Their declarations of love seemed premature, as they were virtually strangers to one another. As if by mutual agreement, neither spoke and they parted in silence.

On the way back to her cabin, Arabella smiled and said hello to various people, from a stiff, sour-faced stewardess, to a young, somewhat harried cabin boy, to the ship’s doctor, to Marcia McKay. Arabella used the same tone with each — all too happy to greet them, or anyone for that matter. So filled with the joys of life, she smiled and greeted all who passed by.

Henry, her steward, saw her approaching the cabin and rushed forward to open her stateroom door. Her heart was singing. When she heard Henry click the door closed behind her and she knew she was alone, she broke into a two-step
and danced over to the flowers Nicholas brought the previous day. Sinking to her knees on the carpet, she buried her face fully into the bouquet and inhaled its perfume. She moved her head from side to side among the blossoms and scooped up the few petals which had fallen onto the table and put them in her coat pocket.

She had come back to the cabin to change clothes and make her face up before going with Nicholas for a stroll around the decks and a visit to the kennels before lunch. She suddenly thought of Anthony, but quickly erased the image from her consciousness. She wanted no trace of conflict or reflection of reality to mar these precious moments.

There was a knock at the door. She opened it to a delivery boy in a smart gray uniform covered in round silver buttons; he presented Arabella with a parcel wrapped in shiny gray paper and a pretty white silk bow. She rushed to the dressing table, sat down and opened it, thinking it was a gift from Nicholas. She was overwhelmed when she saw the lush gray velvet necklace box with the neat lettering,
VAN CLEEF & ARPELS
. She pressed the catch open and was dazzled by a magnificent dark-blue sapphire as large as her thumb. Square cut and very deep, it was set in an octagonal double row of diamonds and strung on a chain of octagonal platinum links an inch wide set in magnificent blue-white diamonds.

Arabella knew without question that something was wrong. Nicholas would never give her such a gift. His would have some sort of emotional content. She was sure of that. She quickly opened the small white envelope tucked inside the satin lining of the lid. It read, “Arabella, my love, remember Alexandria. Anthony.”

She sat staring at the magnificent necklace, quite speechless, unable to cope with the coincidence of her vivid memories yesterday in the bath and Anthony’s own remembrance. How extraordinary that they were both thinking of the beginning of their affair almost at the same time!

She noted, of course, that the card was not in his handwriting. He had probably dictated the message over the
telephone. What did it all mean? Why was he beginning it all again?

As she was mulling it all over, the telephone on her dressing table rang. She picked up the receiver distractedly.

“Hello.”

“Do you like it?” It was Anthony.

“Well, of course I like it, Anthony. It’s magnificent. What are you doing, Anthony? Why the necklace?”

“It’s a bribe.”

“Why do you think you have to bribe me? You never have before.”

“That’s true. But I sense that I’m losing you. I couldn’t bear that. Do you remember Alexandria?”

“Of course I do, dear, just like I remember the house you bought me in Wiltshire to keep me close to you, just as I remember all the years of happiness we had together.” Arabella was very aware that he was still able to excite her with his intimations of their past, his voice, his arrogance.

She went on. “Just like the other gifts you’ve given me and the love. How can I forget the world you showed me that I might never have known or seen without you? Do you think I could ever forget those wonderful years? But surely you aren’t sending me this magnificent necklace because of the past?”

“No, I told you, my lovely Arabella, it’s a bribe. I’ve something to tell you that I should have before. Arabella, Fiona is dead. My wife died nearly three months ago.”

There was a long silence between them and then Arabella said, “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“I couldn’t tell you sooner. It was so sudden. It was an accident. I was devastated and I just could not talk to anyone or see anyone. I needed time to sort out my feelings, to recover from the pain. I wanted to call you, to see you, but I wasn’t strong enough. The necklace is a bribe so I don’t have to talk about my not telling you. I know it may have been a mistake not to have told you sooner and I know I can’t expect you to understand. But I’m telling you now. I
am free, Arabella. There is a new and wonderful Alexandria coming up for us again. A new beginning.

“Please don’t say anything now. Think about what this means and I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll talk then when you’ve had time to absorb and digest all this. Just wear your lovely new necklace this evening and remember how very long we’ve loved each other and how well.”

Arabella closed the lid of the box as she hung up the telephone. The news of Fiona’s death shocked her, but at the same time, the new sense that she was truly free from Anthony — who behaved as if he still possessed her — made her more able to appreciate Nicholas and his loving courtship of her.

She put the thoughts of Anthony out of her mind and concentrated on remembering the events of the previous night.

She saw herself using her stateroom key. As she had turned it in the lock, she had pressed her forehead against the polished walnut door, weary from trying to rid herself all evening from that dreaded feeling, fear of loss. Despite the fact that they had made no specific arrangements, she had been certain he would appear at the party.

She pushed the door open and, stepping into the darkened room, closed it and leaned against it. Eventually she stretched her arm out and switched on the lights. She tried being rational, explaining to herself that she had been seduced by a famous movie idol. She blamed herself for falling for his style, his sexiness, his being a movie star. But the rationalizations would not work. It was something more.

Arabella was reacting to the man, Nicholas Frayne. The handsome, intelligent man who had come courting her. That was what she had been drawn to; it had nothing to do with his image.

There it was again, that tear at the heart. Where was he? Had he used her up so quickly? For her it had been a beginning. Was it vanity alone that made her believe it had been the same for him?

In her anxiety, she had swung around and looked on the floor by the door, hoping he had slipped a note under it. The carpet remained bare and obstinate. It held no message for her.

Disgusted with herself, she had walked toward her bedroom. Visions of his lips, his ears, the taste of him bewitched her, made her ardent, passionate for him.

She stood before her dressing table, reached around to her back, and unzipped her evening dress. It fell around her feet. She crossed her arms and ran her hands over her naked shoulders, arms, and breasts, sighing with relief at the caress, even if it was only from her own hands. She wanted him so much; no one else, just him. How could she have been so mistaken? She had been so sure they were to be together. No call, no word, not even a note. There was nothing. Best to forget it. Just another one of those affairs that happens and dies because no one nurtures it, she thought.

She walked across the room naked, in the dark, to her bed, remembering scenes of their erotic afternoon. She thought she was left with no choice but to slip between the crisp linen sheets and touch herself, pretending it was him. She switched the lamp on next to her bed and lifted the peach satin eiderdown. Just as she was about to crawl between the sheets, she saw a large brown envelope lying on the pillow; her name was written boldly across it in dark-blue ink.

Her reflex action was to put her hands to her face and cover her lips with her fingers. She knew at once it was from him. It had to be Nicholas Frayne’s handwriting. It was a handsome, sensitive, sure, and sensuous script. She grabbed the envelope, pressed it to her bosom, and slipped into the bed. She closed her eyes, trembling with joy and relief. She relaxed against the pillows and opened her eyes. Inside the envelope she found a key and a small leather-bound book, worn with age, and a note written on ship’s stationery.

The book was
Abelard and Heloise
, the story of a powerful passion and enduring love between a man and a woman from vastly different worlds.

Arabella read the note a second time, then lay it gently on the bed next to her. Consumed with emotion, ecstatic and excited, she slid down the bed until she was lying down with her head resting on the pillows. She pulled the soft eiderdown up over her shoulders and slipped her arms under it into the warmth of the bed. Arabella had always liked the sensuous feeling of lying on crisp, cool linen sheets and being cocooned in satin and the warmth generated by the eiderdown and body heat.