did not want to be with a crowd. Greg had had little choice but to agree.
That night, when they went down to dinner, there had been a bottle of champagne on the table; to thank them, Arlene had explained, for letting her sit with them, and to drink a toast to the voyage.
Later, in their cabin, Greg had grumbled about this. He did not care for champagne which always gave him indigestion; but Dorothy had not been sympathetic. It showed, she had said, that Arlene did not intend to impose on them. The champagne had been a very nice way of telling them that. The fact that it gave him indigestion was beside the point. Dorothy had taken a liking to Arlene.
She was a tall, angular blonde with large white teeth, a beige complexion and very thin legs. Dorothy deduced from things said that she was probably in her late forties; but she certainly looked younger. She dressed smartly and in a vaguely masculine style that suited her; although she was inclined sometimes to overload herself with chunky gold bracelets and wear ear-rings which accentuated the narrowness of her head. She talked freely, and not unamusingly, about herself in a carefully mellifluous voice which creaked slightly on each change of register.
Her father had been a Los Angeles real estate man. During the war she had been in the American Red Cross and had stayed on with that organisation in France and Germany until forty-seven. Then her father had died and she had gone back to California. She had a house in Palm Springs now, which she rented when she went away on her trips. She had never had any great desire to get married, although she liked married people and was crazy about kids. But things had to work out right, or it was no good. She had a sister who had been married four times, and what a mess and misery all that had been. Her attitude towards men was one of sardonic camaraderie tinged with disdain.
By the fourth day out, Greg's dislike of her had become intense. The bottle of champagne had been a minor irritant; but when at dinner on the second night a bottle of claret had appeared, he had objected.
"It was very thoughtful of you, Miss Drecker," he had said; "but Dorothy and I don't drink wine as a regular thing. So if you don't mind . . ."
"But the steward's already opened it. Oh come on, Mr. Nilsen. Live dangerously."
Dorothy had giggled. The steward had smiled and poured the wine.
"Now look, Dorothy," Greg had said when they were alone; "Arlene Drecker can drink all the wine she wants and so can you for that matter. But I'm not having her tell me what I'm going to drink."
"She didn't mean it that way."
"I don't care what way she meant it. The way it worked out was that I had to drink something I didn't want or seem boorish. Dammit, she's not our hostess on this ship. I wish she'd stop behaving as if she were."
"She's only trying to be friendly."
"Listen. If you want wine or we want wine, I'll order it."
The following night Arlene had ordered burgundy; but Greg had taken the precaution of ordering in advance a bottle of rosé and the two wines arrived together.
"Too bad," Greg had said blandly; "what about joining us and having rosé, Arlene?"
"Rosé with roast beef?" Arlene had raised her eyebrows. "Thanks, I prefer burgundy."
But the next night, when the steward had produced the partly consumed bottle of burgundy, Arlene had not pressed them to share it with her. Greg had succeeded in making his point. It had not been until later in the evening that he had discovered that she had paid his bar bill for the day. Dorothy had not been able to help laughing.
Two days before they had reached Yokohama a notice had gone up announcing that during the ship's stay in port, conducted sight-seeing tours ashore had been arranged. Those passengers wishing to take advantage of the special rates offered should inform the purser's office within the next twenty-four hours.
Greg had put his and Dorothy's names down. At lunch Dorothy had mentioned the
That night, when they went down to dinner, there had been a bottle of champagne on the table; to thank them, Arlene had explained, for letting her sit with them, and to drink a toast to the voyage.
Later, in their cabin, Greg had grumbled about this. He did not care for champagne which always gave him indigestion; but Dorothy had not been sympathetic. It showed, she had said, that Arlene did not intend to impose on them. The champagne had been a very nice way of telling them that. The fact that it gave him indigestion was beside the point. Dorothy had taken a liking to Arlene.
She was a tall, angular blonde with large white teeth, a beige complexion and very thin legs. Dorothy deduced from things said that she was probably in her late forties; but she certainly looked younger. She dressed smartly and in a vaguely masculine style that suited her; although she was inclined sometimes to overload herself with chunky gold bracelets and wear ear-rings which accentuated the narrowness of her head. She talked freely, and not unamusingly, about herself in a carefully mellifluous voice which creaked slightly on each change of register.
Her father had been a Los Angeles real estate man. During the war she had been in the American Red Cross and had stayed on with that organisation in France and Germany until forty-seven. Then her father had died and she had gone back to California. She had a house in Palm Springs now, which she rented when she went away on her trips. She had never had any great desire to get married, although she liked married people and was crazy about kids. But things had to work out right, or it was no good. She had a sister who had been married four times, and what a mess and misery all that had been. Her attitude towards men was one of sardonic camaraderie tinged with disdain.
By the fourth day out, Greg's dislike of her had become intense. The bottle of champagne had been a minor irritant; but when at dinner on the second night a bottle of claret had appeared, he had objected.
"It was very thoughtful of you, Miss Drecker," he had said; "but Dorothy and I don't drink wine as a regular thing. So if you don't mind . . ."
"But the steward's already opened it. Oh come on, Mr. Nilsen. Live dangerously."
Dorothy had giggled. The steward had smiled and poured the wine.
"Now look, Dorothy," Greg had said when they were alone; "Arlene Drecker can drink all the wine she wants and so can you for that matter. But I'm not having her tell me what I'm going to drink."
"She didn't mean it that way."
"I don't care what way she meant it. The way it worked out was that I had to drink something I didn't want or seem boorish. Dammit, she's not our hostess on this ship. I wish she'd stop behaving as if she were."
"She's only trying to be friendly."
"Listen. If you want wine or we want wine, I'll order it."
The following night Arlene had ordered burgundy; but Greg had taken the precaution of ordering in advance a bottle of rosé and the two wines arrived together.
"Too bad," Greg had said blandly; "what about joining us and having rosé, Arlene?"
"Rosé with roast beef?" Arlene had raised her eyebrows. "Thanks, I prefer burgundy."
But the next night, when the steward had produced the partly consumed bottle of burgundy, Arlene had not pressed them to share it with her. Greg had succeeded in making his point. It had not been until later in the evening that he had discovered that she had paid his bar bill for the day. Dorothy had not been able to help laughing.
Two days before they had reached Yokohama a notice had gone up announcing that during the ship's stay in port, conducted sight-seeing tours ashore had been arranged. Those passengers wishing to take advantage of the special rates offered should inform the purser's office within the next twenty-four hours.
Greg had put his and Dorothy's names down. At lunch Dorothy had mentioned the
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