Separate Cabins

All too soon, it seemed, the last call requesting all visitors ashore had sounded and Rachel was leaning on the railing on the port side of the Promenade Deck and waving to her friends on the pier below. Passengers were lined up and down the railing on either side of her. Some, like herself, had friends or relatives in the crowd on the wharf while others merely wanted to watch the procedures of the ship leaving port.

A few colored paper streamers were prematurely unfurled and tossed to those ashore. The curling ribbons of paper drifted downward. Rachel had a half dozen of the coiled streamers in her hand, presented to her by Fan Kemper for the occasion.

“They’re hauling in the lines,” someone down the line remarked.

Within minutes the ship began to maneuver away from the pier. The water churned below as the midship engines pushed it away. There was a cheering of voices, and Rachel threw her streamers into the air to join the cascade of bright paper ribbons onto the crowd waving a last good-bye.

As the ship sailed stately away from its port, Rachel lingered with the other passengers. The growing distance between the ship and the pier blurred the faces of the people ashore until Rachel could no longer distinguish her friends from the crowd. On either side of her people began to drift away from the railing. The sun was on the verge of setting, a gloaming settling over the sky.

An evening breeze swept off the water and whipped at her hair before racing on. Rachel lifted her hand and pushed the disturbed strands back into place. A faint sigh slipped from her as she turned from the railing to go back inside.

Her sliding gaze encountered a familiar figure standing at a distance. It was that man again, talking with one of the ship’s officers. Irritation thinned the line of her mouth as her glance lingered an instant on the burnished gold lights the sun trapped in his chestnut-dark hair. Of the six hundred plus passengers on the ship it seemed incredible that she should be constantly running into this one person.

Before he had the opportunity to notice her, Rachel walked bri

skly to the double doors leading inside. Instead of going to her cabin, she descended the stairs to the Purser’s Lobby on Fiesta Deck. There were some inquiries she wanted to make about the ship’s services, including the procedure for making radio-telephone calls.

Judging by the line at the purser’s desk, it seemed there were a lot of other passengers seeking information about one thing or another. There was another line on the mezzanine above her, passengers seeking table assignments or wishing to change the one they had been given. A small group of people were clustered around the board set up in the lobby with a list of all the passengers on board and their cabin numbers.

The congestion was further increased by passengers taking pictures of each other posing on the winding staircase that curved to the mezzanine on the deck above. Rachel decided against joining the line at the purser’s counter and entered the dutyfree gift shop to browse until some of the crowd cleared.

Half an hour later she realized there was little hope of that. There seemed to be just as many people now as before. Giving up until tomorrow, Rachel started for her stateroom by way of the aft staircase.

The Promenade Deck was three flights up. By the time she reached it, she felt slightly winded. Another couple were on their way down as she took the last step and released a tired breath. The pair looked at her and smiled in sympathetic understanding.

“I’m out of condition,” Rachel admitted; she wasn’t used to climbing stairs.

“You can always use the elevators,” the man reminded her.

“I could, but I need the exercise,” she replied.

“Don’t we all.” His wife laughed.

It was a friendly moment between strangers. When it was over and Rachel was walking down the passageway to her stateroom, there was a hint of a smile on her face. Being on the cruise gave everyone something they had in common and provided a meeting ground to exchange impressions and discoveries.

In this quiet and contemplative mood Rachel entered her stateroom and shut the door. She deposited her purse on the seat cushion of a chair near the door and slipped out of the white jacket, absently draping it over the same chair.

A footfall came from the bedroom. Rachel swung toward the sound, startled. Her mouth opened in shock when the man from the limousine came around the opened curtains. He was busy pushing up the knot of his tie and didn’t see her until he lifted his chin to square the knot with his collar. There was an instant’s pause that halted his action in mid-motion when he noticed her with a brief flare of recognition in his look.

He recovered with hardly a break in his stride. His glance left her and ran sideways to the wet bar, where a miniature bucket of ice now sat. A faintly bemused smile touched his mouth as he turned to it.

“I asked the room steward to bring me some ice.” His lazy voice rolled out the statement. “But I didn’t know I was going to be supplied with a companion as well.” His sidelong glance traveled her length in an admiring fashion. “I must say I applaud his choice.”

Rachel was stunned by the way he acted as if he belonged there. It was this sudden swell of indignation that brought back her voice.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, quivering with the beginnings of outrage. Her fingers curled into her palms, clenching into rigid fists at her sides.

Nonchalantly he dropped ice cubes into a glass and poured a measure of scotch over them. “I was about to ask you the same question.” He added a splash of soda and swirled the glass to stir it.

“I’ll have you know this is my cabin. And since I didn’t invite you in here, I suggest you leave,” Rachel ordered.

“I think you have things turned around.” He faced her, a faint smile dimpling the corners of his mouth as he eyed her with a bemused light. “This is my cabin. I specifically requested it when I made my reservations.”

“That’s impossible!” she snapped. “This is my cabin.” To prove it, Rachel turned and picked up her purse. She removed her cruise packet and opened it so he could see that she had been assigned to this stateroom.

He crossed the room to stand in front of her and paused to look at the ticket she held. His brown eyes narrowed slightly and flicked to her, a tiny puzzled light gleaming behind their sharply curious study.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” He motioned to the ticket with his drink. “Did Hank put you up to this?”