Dreamboat (21 page)

“That's all?”

She didn't want to have to explain about her inability to handle alcohol unless it was absolutely necessary. “That's all,” she said.

As he busied himself at the minibar, Crissy looked about his huge suite. There was a large entry hall, bathroom, and the living room in which they stood. Through a doorway she could see a large separate bedroom. “This is beautiful,” she said, “and so enormous.”

“Yes,” Mark said distractedly.

“What a huge trunk to travel with,” Crissy exclaimed, looking at the steamer trunk she'd seen the first day of the cruise. It was placed against a wall in the sitting room. “Is that a family crest on it?”

“Yes,” Mark replied irritably, turning around and gazing in her direction. “It's my father's. I brought it along for him. I don't normally travel with a trunk despite what I told you the other day. I'm just safekeeping it for him.”

“Oh, I see,” Crissy said, although she didn't understand. “I wonder what's in it?”

“Who knows?” Mark said, shrugging.

Crissy noticed the cross expression on his face. “I didn't mean to be nosy again.”

He smiled. “You're not nosy,” he replied and turned back to the minibar.

Crissy focused her attention on the living room again. Directly ahead of her were sliding glass doors that led out onto a balcony.
This must cost a fortune,
she thought.
It's five or six times the size of the stateroom Jenny and I have.
On the desk she noticed several unopened envelopes like the one he'd just picked up. They looked as if they'd been casually tossed there. The message light on the telephone, which was on the desk next to them, blinked red.

“You have messages on your telephone,” she said.

“Forget it,” Mark said dismissively. “I'm not picking up messages on this crossing.”

“But what if—”

“I said to forget it,” Mark snarled.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to—” Crissy began.

“No,” he said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just that I have a very . . . difficult family, you might say.” He handed her a glass of mineral water with ice and a lime and smiled.

“Thank you,” Crissy said.

“You're welcome,” Mark replied. He poured some ouzo over ice and swirled it around, watching the drink turn cloudy. “Cheers, Crissy.” He lifted his glass toward her.

“Cheers,” she said.

“I've upset you by being so unpleasant,” he said, apologizing again, “but my family really does smother me to death. Or try to, at least. That's why the telephone messages never get answered and those messages sent to the ship never get opened.” He smiled again. “I even have my cell phone turned off, and for a Greek, that's a desperate measure.”

Crissy laughed. “I believe that,” she said. “Everybody in Athens was glued to a cell phone.”

“Would you like to sit on the balcony?” he asked.

“I would love that,” she said. “I've wondered what they were like.”

He opened the sliding glass door and let her precede him out onto the balcony. “Have a seat,” he said, but Crissy stood looking out to the darkness of the sea.

“The stars are unbelievable,” she said. “It's so beautiful, and I love your balcony.”

“There's another one off the bedroom,” he said, edging up closely behind her.

“Your suite is drop-dead gorgeous,” she said. “And huge. I never imagined there was anything like it on the ship.” She abruptly realized that he was directly behind her, breathing down her neck, in fact, and she turned to face him.

“It's the only one,” he said, smiling. He placed his hands on the railing, trapping her against it. “When they built the ship, the design called for twelve suites on this deck. Sky suites, they're called. But I had them combine two of them into one. So there are ten suites plus mine.”

Crissy shifted against the railing nervously, but continued to make conversation. “You had them change the design of the ship?” she said.

He nodded.

“How on earth?”

“As you know, my family owns the shipping company,” Mark said.

“Oh, that's right,” she said. She slid to her left, trying to escape the entrapment of his arms, but Mark didn't move his hand.

“As I told you before, I don't advertise the fact,” Mark replied. “You discover that you suddenly have lots of ‘friends' who want to get to know you better, if you know what I mean.”

“I can imagine,” she said. She moved his hand and slipped to the side. Mark made no protest, but stayed close to her. “I guess it's like being a
celebrity. You wonder whether they are really interested in you as a person or interested in you because of who you are or your money.”

“Or both,” he added.

“I have to admit that I'm impressed,” Crissy said with a laugh. “I've never met a shipowner before or been in a huge suite like this.”

“Well, my father is the owner,” Mark said, “and believe me, he doesn't let you forget it.”

“I think I know what you mean,” she said. “I have a mother who's very much like that.”

“My mother is smothering, too,” he said, “but in a different way. She drinks too much and tries to make up for it by smothering me with love in the form of money and gifts.”

“My father is sort of like that,” Crissy said. “He drinks too much, then tries to make up for it by suddenly acting like a father. You know, visiting me, wanting to take me out to dinner. Things like that.”

“We have a lot in common,” Mark said. He moved to the railing next to her, looking out to sea.

Crissy turned and gazed in the same direction. “Well, I'm certainly not from a ship-owning family like yours,” she said with a laugh. “My family is a mess.”

“Mine is a mess, too. Just a mess with money.”

The difference in their backgrounds was quite glaring, and she decided to change the subject. “So you know Monika?”

Mark shook his head. “No,” he said. “Her publicity people emailed the company to alert them that she was going to be on this crossing, and I happened to be in reception when she boarded. The captain introduced me to her, and she was all over me. She'd met my parents at some party somewhere. I don't remember where.” He shrugged. “Anyway, she's a bit of a monster, I suspect, but I humor her.”

“A monster, huh?” Crissy said.

“Oh, maybe that's an exaggeration,” he replied, chuckling. “I've known more than my share, and she's a lightweight.” He stepped back and stood behind her again. “But she likes attention and a lot of it. You know, she really expects special treatment.”

“I can see that,” Crissy said. For some reason, she didn't feel comfortable with his close proximity, and she turned to face him again.

“She's the sort who needs to be surrounded by sycophants,” he said.
“Laughers and clappers, I call them. I've met a lot of celebrities who are like that.”

Crissy smiled. “Laughers and clappers,” she repeated. “I like that. I think I could use some myself.”

“We all need them from time to time, I guess,” he said, and they both smiled.

“Instead of smothering parents?” she ventured. She felt more at ease after seeing him smile what appeared to be a genuine, heartfelt one.

He nodded. “Oh, yes. I'm running away from mine right now. It's ridiculous. I'm thirty-three years old and running away from home, so to speak.”

“I don't think it's ridiculous at all,” Crissy said. “I have to put a distance between my mother and myself. She would totally run my life if I let her.”

Mark seemed to make a decision, and he put a hand on her arm. “Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night?” he abruptly asked. “Not in the dining room, but here in my suite?”

“I-I don't know . . .” Crissy began. She was nonplussed by his invitation.

“The chef will be doing something special,” he said in a rush of words. “I don't know what yet, but he buys things along the way to prepare for those of us in the suites up here.” He saw that she was hesitant and added, “I've been all alone, quite frankly, and would really appreciate the company.”

Crissy slowly nodded. “I would be delighted,” she said. How could she say no after he'd been so hospitable?

“Wonderful,” he said. “I don't think you'll be disappointed. The chef is really capable of creating superb dishes.”

“I'm sure I won't be,” she said.

“Eight-thirty?”

“Perfect,” she said. “But now I'd better get going.”

He was taken aback and placed his hands on the railing again, trapping her against it. “So soon?”

“It was a very long day,” she said. “From San Remo to Monte Carlo and Nice. I want to say good night to Monika and the others, then get a good night's sleep.”

He stared at her a moment, then drew back. “I will take you back to
the disco,” he said, though he was clearly disappointed, “and look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

When they reached the disco, he talked her into dancing one more slow dance with him. Crissy noticed that several people watched them, not only Monika and the others at her table, but several of the officers who were dancing and employees. They knew who Mark was, of course, and she felt as if she had become a kind of celebrity simply by being with him. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling; in fact, it was quite enjoyable, having attention lavished upon you, but she knew that it was ephemeral. She would see Mark for dinner and that would be the end of it. She had searched the back of the room for signs of Luca when they came back into the disco, but hadn't seen him, nor did she see him on the dance floor, although the captain was there, dancing as usual. With a certain degree of guilt, she felt that the events of the day and meeting Mark had made the previous evening seem almost as if it had never happened. But then, even as Mark held her more closely, she remembered Luca's embraces the night before and felt a longing that the mere memory of his tenderness stirred within her.

After the dance, she retrieved her purse, said good-night to Monika, and let Mark take her back to her cabin. She took out her key card and thanked him for an enjoyable evening.

“I look forward to tomorrow,” he said.

“So do I,” Crissy responded. “I'll see you at eight-thirty.”

“Yes,” Mark said, then he leaned down and quickly brushed her cheek with his lips. “Ciao.” He turned and left.

Crissy touched the spot on her cheek that his lips had brushed. She could hardly believe that the shipowner's son had just kissed her. That he had invited her to dinner tomorrow night in his suite. And that he was a very handsome young man who was interested in her enough to ask her out. Mark could have his pick of women on the ship, she thought, and he had asked her. Still, she couldn't forget his bizarre behavior in Monte Carlo. What would account for someone capable of such charm to behave so inappropriately then revert to the perfect gentleman again? She didn't know, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something amiss about him, something she couldn't put her finger on.

After she had turned out the light, her thoughts drifted once again to Luca, and she wondered why he hadn't tried to contact her today. She was disappointed when she saw that the message light on her telephone wasn't
blinking as Mark's had been. She told herself that something had happened at the hospital. That would also explain why he hadn't appeared at the disco tonight. She didn't know what to think, but she thought that he surely could have taken the time to call. Perhaps, she thought, there was some truth to what Monika and Jenny had said, but the thought didn't trouble her now, not with Mark's visage swimming before her mind's eye. She finally fell asleep, but not before thinking that whatever tomorrow would bring, her life was suddenly becoming much more exciting.

Chapter Twelve

T
he blasts from the ship's horn told Crissy that they were close to shore. Barcelona, she thought excitedly. She saw several other crafts in the water, but she was on the starboard side and couldn't see land. She hurried back inside and down to her cabin to get her camera, then rushed back up to the pool deck to take some pictures as they docked. The crowd, much bigger since Nice, had flocked to the railings to watch. From her position she could see the cable car that went from the pier to a mountain in the distance, and she also saw what must be the statue of Christopher Columbus near the harbor that she'd read about. The city looked beautiful from here, and she could hardly wait to go ashore. After discussing it with Monika, who knew the city well, she had decided not to sign up for any of the excursions today, and instead she would walk about on her own.

Before leaving the ship, she thought she might try to reach Luca in the hospital, but then decided that she didn't think that would be wise. He was working, for one thing; for another, she wanted to see how long it would take him to call. She was loath to think that he had taken advantage of her, but she was beginning to wonder. They were supposed to meet after the ship left Nice, and nothing, she decided, could have been so important that he couldn't have at least sent her a message by now.

She tried to forget about it, and when she finally left the ship, she was on foot and alone, with a small map provided by the cruise line and the little guidebook she'd purchased before leaving. Passing the Christopher Columbus statue, she headed for the famous walk known as
Ramblas de Flores
. Walking down the wide pedestrian street, lined on both sides by
elegant old buildings, she was struck again and again by the beauty she saw all around her. Beneath huge, ancient trees were many flower vendors with blossoms from the world over; newspaper vendors and booksellers; a bird market offering exotic caged birds. Many of the small hotels, theaters, apartment buildings, and cafés that she passed on the walk were exquisitely beautiful, with baroquely painted exteriors or neoclassical facades complemented by statuary and ironwork. The people who crossed her path were a breed apart, she thought. Full of energy, sophisticated, and fashionably dressed. Barcelona was obviously a very progressive city. At one point she decided to turn off the
Ramblas
. According to her map, the street she took would take her into the city's ancient gothic quarter, and only a block away she stopped at the fifteenth-century cathedral and admired the stained glass and stonework. Once back outside, she walked down narrow, cobbled streets, fascinated by the little shops. Every trade was represented—bakers, butchers, clothiers—and anything you might have wanted you could find here in the tiny shops. Quickly becoming lost, even with her map in hand, she was glad when the narrow lane she was on opened up onto a large, sunlit plaza.

She saw a small group of people gathered around a musician of some sort, and she walked toward them. The musician was a ragtag version of Emmett Kelly, the famous clown, and he played the accordian and hurdy-gurdy as mechanical dolls danced. It was a charming performance, and she tossed a few coins into the hat he'd placed on the cobbles before strolling across the plaza to a major thoroughfare.

There, she hailed a taxi and asked him to take her to Gaudi's famous unfinished cathedral of the
Sagrada Familia.
She paid the driver and got out, already awed by her first sight of the art nouveau monument. After wandering about outside the church, she caught another taxi to Park Güell, which Gaudí also designed as a hillside garden suburb of Barcelona. Her feet began to ache, and she decided to find a sidewalk café and have something to drink while resting. She took a taxi to the Plaza de Catalunya, at the far end of the
Ramblas
.

She'd read that this plaza was the hub of Barcelona life, and she believed it after sitting at a café for awhile, drinking strong coffee and watching the energetic crowds that thronged the streets. As she surveyed the scene, her mind wandered back to Luca, and she worried anew why he hadn't tried to contact her. Their night together had been so special that she thought perhaps something serious might have happened.
Maybe I'll
go back to the ship early and see if I can find him,
she decided. She looked at her wristwatch and realized she had plenty of time, so she ordered a simple lunch of arroz con pollo, which turned out to be deliciously spiced and unlike any she'd tasted before. She paid the check, then began the walk back down toward the dock on the
Ramblas
. It was no less beautiful this time than the last. The sun was warmer now, but the huge trees provided shade for her.

Once back in her cabin, she found that Jenny was gone, but she could see that she'd been in to change clothes: The outfit she'd worn last night had been thrown on the bed, and her shoes were on the floor.

She went to the telephone and dialed the number for the hospital. The nurse-receptionist answered the phone and told her the doctor was out.

“Do you know where I can reach him?” Crissy asked.

“Is this a medical emergency?” the nurse asked.

“No,” Crissy replied. “I'm a friend of his.”

“I see,” the nurse said. “Well, you'll have to call back during hospital hours.”

“Could I leave a message, please?”

“Of course,” the nurse replied.

“Please tell him that Crissy Fitzgerald called.” She also gave the nurse her cabin number.

While she was taking a nap, an announcement over the PA system awoke her. She looked at her watch and discovered that she'd slept for a long time. It was time for the second dinner seating, which meant that it was time for her to leave for Mark's stateroom. She quickly applied makeup, brushed her hair, and dressed.

As she approached Mark's stateroom on the top deck, she realized that she was nervous. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wondered why. It was Mark, of course. While he had behaved as a gentleman, the superiority that seemed an intrinsic part of his character was daunting, and she still hadn't shaken the sense that there was something . . . off . . . about him. As she neared his stateroom, she told herself that she was imagining things. He was the shipowner's son after all, rich, handsome, and interested in her.

She tapped on the door, and it was opened at once. Her anxiety was immediately laid to rest by Mark's friendly smile and demeanor. “Come in,” he said. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“It's nice to be back,” Crissy said, once again impressed by his
enormous and beautifully appointed suite. At the balcony doors, a dining table was set with china and silver on a white linen cloth. In its center was a bowl of fresh flowers. Lit candles produced a flattering light.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” he asked. “I know you don't drink much, but I thought we could at least have that.”

“Yes,” Crissy said. “That would be lovely.”

“It's a little rough out,” Mark said as he poured the golden liquid into crystal flutes, “so I think we might want to have our drinks in here. Why don't you have a seat on the couch.”

Nervous, Crissy plopped down on the couch, nestling into a corner. Glancing across the room, she saw the large trunk emblazoned with Vs propped against a wall near the entrance hall. “I think it's so funny that you're traveling with that huge trunk,” she said with a laugh. She abruptly covered her mouth with a hand. Too late, she remembered Mark's cross expression the last time she'd mentioned the trunk, and she expected him to react negatively to her remark. But surprisingly, he took it in stride. Perhaps he was simply in a better mood, she thought.

“Oh, I guess my father's a bit old-fashioned,” Mark said with a shrug. “In fact, he's very old-fashioned.” He laughed and smiled as if they shared a harmless family secret.

Encouraged by his response, Crissy asked, “Have you opened it? I mean, what on earth is it for?”

Mark shrugged again. “I'm not really sure. Probably paperwork and such, I guess. It's just stuff that he's sending to our apartment in Miami for safekeeping.”

“Oh, so you have an apartment in Miami?”

“Yes, the company does,” he replied. “We have an office that does a lot of business there, so it makes sense. But I'm practically the only person in the family who ever uses it. My mother's used it a couple of times.” He handed her a flute of champagne. “There are some hors d'oeuvres on the table. Help yourself.”

Crissy took the wine. “Thank you, Mark.” She looked at the elegantly arranged bowl of caviar on ice, surrounded with toast points, on the coffee table. In the caviar was a spoon made of horn. He was obviously served a menu that wasn't available in the dining rooms.

He sat down on the couch, positioning himself in the other corner. “To a wonderful journey,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. “And a wonderful evening.”

“Yes,” Crissy said, her anxieties reasserting themselves beneath the steady gaze of his dark eyes.

“Did you like Barcelona?” he asked.

“I thought it was beautiful,” she replied. “I didn't go on any of the excursions, but I saw quite a bit.” She took a sip of her champagne. “Did you go ashore?”

He shook his head. “No. I had a lot to do, so I stayed aboard.”

Crissy wondered what could have kept him so busy. She had already noticed that the stack of unopened envelopes was still stacked on his desk. In fact, it looked as if the stack had grown overnight. “Oh, so this is a working trip for you?”

“Something like that,” he said vaguely. He slid an arm across the back of the couch and twisted around in his seat to face her. “But let's not discuss work. Or my family.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to—”

“Forget it,” he broke in. “Tell me about your day.”

Crissy described her walk in Barcelona in detail, and when she finished, she saw that he was smiling. “What do you find so amusing?” she asked.

“Your excitement,” he replied. “It's refreshing. Most of the people I know are so jaded they wouldn't get excited by the walk you described. They've seen it all a dozen times, and nothing excites them anymore.”

“Are you like that, too? Jaded?”

He shrugged. “In ways, I suppose. The great cities of the world are all beginning to blend into one for me. Like hot clubs, fast cars, and beautiful women. They seem the same everywhere, even with their differences. It's all become a bore.”

Crissy couldn't imagine being as world-weary as Mark was. “Isn't there anything that excites you anymore?”

“I still love ships and the sea,” he said. “And I'm obviously excited by you.”

As disarmingly as he smiled, Crissy didn't believe him. She felt like a mere distraction for him, nothing more. He'd said she was refreshing.
A shower is refreshing,
she thought,
or maybe a drink.
“That's very nice of you to say,” she replied.

“You don't believe me, do you?”

“I . . . I don't know,” Crissy confessed.

There was a knock at the door, and Mark got up. “Excuse me. That must be our food.”

Two waiters entered, carrying heavily laden trays that they set down on the dining table in front of the balcony doors. They quickly laid out the food, then stood behind the two chairs, waiting to seat them.

“Ready?” Mark asked, holding his arm out for her to take.

“Yes,” Crissy said, rising to her feet. He walked her the few feet to the dining table, where one of the waiters drew her chair back. After she was seated, Mark sat as well.

“I think we can serve ourselves,” he said to the waiters. “We don't want to be disturbed, so I'll ring when I want you to clean up.”

They nodded and bowed obsequiously, then left the suite.

Mark poured white wine into their glasses, apparently forgetting that Crissy couldn't drink more than the glass of champagne she'd had. She took one sip, savoring it on her palate, suspecting that it was a very expensive wine she was not likely to taste again soon. She didn't dare have more. They began eating while talking about the ship, his favorite in their fleet. After appetizers of foie gras in a cognac sauce, which melted in Crissy's mouth, Mark took the lids off the entrée, a sautéed sole, which was the best fish she'd ever eaten. Even the vegetables, white Belgian asparagus with a Hollandaise sauce and tiny new potatoes topped with sour cream and caviar, were sublime. Finally, they had a dessert of crème brûlée in a nest of spun sugar. She had never seen anything like it before, nor had she tasted anything better.

“I think this is the best meal I've ever eaten,” she told him when they were finished.

“I'm pleased you liked it,” he said. “The chefs are very good, and they don't get to demonstrate their talent for the hordes in the dining rooms.”

They talked awhile longer at the table, Mark telling her about the stops that were coming up on the ship's itinerary. He had been to all of them, some of them several times, and Crissy asked him many questions, absorbing as much as she could. He warmed to the subject, she was glad to see, as he had to the discussion of the ship, and the world-weariness that seemed to permeate his every word slipped away, temporarily at least.