from the salon, and later, after dinner, she’d seen father and son pacing the deck together, discussing the meeting they were en route to Caracas for. She knew that they were to leave early the next morning and she’d been up at dawn, hoping that Fitz might come to see her, that he still felt as she did. She had taken a mug of coffee onto the deck and was standing there, watching the sun rise, when Fitz appeared. He was formally dressed in an immaculate beige suit. His thick, dark hair was firmly brushed, still wet from the shower, and he had left the top button of his blue shirt open with the tie loosely knotted. She could smell his aftershave—fresh and citrusy. He hadn’t smiled, just looked at her, a deep look at first, and then he’d turned away and gazed at the shore. “It’s a lovely morning, Venetia,” he’d said noncommittally. She had clutched her mug of coffee, unable to speak. And then he’d turned back to her and said, “How are you, Vennie?” It was the look in his eyes that puzzled her, even now. She’d thought about it endlessly. He had stared at her as though he were seeing her for the first time, checking her against some memory of his own, as if she were some new person. And then she’d blurted it out, letting him see how she felt. “I’ve missed you, Fitz.” His expression had changed; it was as though a mask had come over his face, a polite, smiling, formal mask. “You’re too lonely here,” he’d said, “but I plan on keeping you busy for the next few weeks. I have some friends coming to stay on the Fiesta. There’ll be about a dozen or so of them. You’ll be better being occupied—and having some young people around. Morgan will be here some of the time too. I guess that’ll make life a lot happier for you both.” He’d glanced at his watch. “Five-thirty,” he’d said with a frown, “—we must be off. I’m sure Morgan’ll be out to say good-bye to you.” She’d faced him helplessly, still holding her coffee. “Oh, Venetia, one more thing. I haven’t forgotten …” Her heart had stopped, he was going to tell her he hadn’t forgotten that night, he hadn’t forgotten her after all. … “I haven’t forgotten my promise to look into Jenny’s financial affairs. I’ll let you know as soon as I have any definite information.”
She’d thanked him, managing to keep her voice from shaking, and then Morgan had appeared on deck, cheerful and matter of fact, and the moment alone had gone.
That was the only time in two months that she had seen Fitz, and yet she was trapped here on the Fiesta, like the fly on the end of the slender thread that held her to him.
It had been a little easier when the lovely boat had been filled with people and she had found herself busier than she could have imagined. She’d enjoyed that, and Fitz’s friends had been young and jolly with that American quality of open friendliness that had counted her in as one of them as often as she wished. But now the moment of truth had come. Yesterday the captain had told her that the Fiesta was to leave for the Mediterranean for the summer months. There was a message for her from Mr. McBain. He would be delighted if she would remain with the Fiesta in her new summer quarters, but of course would understand if she preferred a change. A flight would be arranged for her either to London or to Nice, depending on her decision.
Sitting up in bed, with her arms clasped around her knees, Vennie stared into the soft darkness. Of course she should leave; he’d meant it when he’d said good-bye, that he would forget all about that night, and so must she. But would she?
Slipping out of bed she pulled on a robe and went out on deck. The air was a little cooler now, in the darkest hour of the night. Vennie hesitated just for a moment and then she glided softly along the deck and down the companionway. Everyone except the nightwatch on the bridge was asleep, and she reached the master stateroom without notice. Closing the door behind her she padded across to the bathroom, and taking the bottle of Fitz’s aftershave, she dabbed a little on her throat and between her breasts—and then a little more lower down,