Tidal Wave (12 page)

“It was simple — I read the ship’s passenger list.”

“Listen, Marvin, the last thing I need is an old lover.”

She turned her back on him and walked into the cabin, went to the drawer, and took out the things she had so hurriedly put away. Marvin followed her. When he saw what she was preparing, he said, “I see you haven’t changed, Cotille. Still busy screwing up your life.”

“Listen, Marvin,” she hissed, “get out of here. Who the
hell do you think you are walking in here like this, judging my life? You walked out five years ago, Marvin; five years ago and how many wives and kids later?”

“One wife, four children,” he said. “Now, are you coming to lunch with me or not?”

Still angry, she sat down in a chair and said, “Still the same old caring Marvin Kandy trying to save me.”

“Is that so bad?”

“No, not so bad, just dumb.”

“What would you prefer?”

Cotille melted at the sight of Marvin-the-do-gooder. A rare bird. “Never mind. How about that lunch?”

Marvin sat down on the bed and pulled Cotille down next to him. He said as he stroked her cheek and neck, “I wish you weren’t such a crazy lady.”

Cotille replied, “And I wish you weren’t such a nice guy.”

Chapter Nine

The travelers on board the S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
were settling quickly into the pleasant monotony of having nothing to do and nothing to worry about. Life on board ship had begun to arrange itself, giving the passengers the luxury of enjoying a life on a grand scale.

On the boat deck, passengers were wrapped up snugly in down comforters, relaxing in lounge chairs, some sipping steaming mugs of bouillon. Protected from the wind by a Plexiglas shield, they were able to enjoy the bright winter sunlight usually only encountered by skiers at the very tops of mountains.

The main deck featured the all-season health club — allowing everyone a chance to exercise in the gym or swim in heated indoor pools. For the heartiest souls, there were two outdoor pools, filled with seawater and heated to 80°F, for a quick dip followed by an invigorating dash into the sauna.

Inside there was a continuous round of fashion shows, films, and lectures available to anyone who wanted to attend. Of course, the bars and casinos were open twenty-four hours a day. A variety of restaurants offered to satisfy guests’ culinary cravings at any hour — in addition to the six regularly scheduled repasts.

Services available included a doctor, hairdresser, masseuse, babysitter, secretary, shoe repairer, dry cleaner, launderer, manicurist and seamstress. One could have a facial, a leg waxing, a pedicure, or a palm reading. Everything anyone could want in the way of personal pleasure was available on the
Annanovna
.

Arabella and Nicholas approached the Trocadero, one of the three first-class dining rooms on board. Arabella put her hand out and stopped Nicholas from pushing open the etched, frosted-glass door. She said, “I’ve never experienced anything like this. It’s as if I’m on the first vacation of my life.”

He bent forward and quickly kissed her on the cheek, saying “Well, aren’t you?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, maybe I am, Nicholas. I’ve had access to a great many wonderful things in my life, but I’ve never stopped to enjoy them before. It’s a very reckless feeling I’ve got!”

Nicholas pushed the door open into a light, bright Art Deco world of honey-color polished wood, silver and pink mirrored columns, period sculpture, and paintings, decorative designs, and architecture. The dining room was large enough to hold the 220 first-class passengers in one sitting with vast spaces between the tables and palm trees to ensure privacy.

“My dear, it’s the
Orient Express
goes to Casablanca!”

“Oh, it’s charming!” said Arabella. “Absolutely charming.”

Cole Porter music was playing as the
maître d’
greeted them and led them to their table. They were stopped several times — once by Mike Mackay, who stood up as they were about to pass his table.

“Howdy there, Miss Belle.”

She said hello and introduced him to Nicholas, then Mike introduced them to the other people at his table. The Van Renders, a few tables away, nodded, and Mr. Van Renders rose out of his chair as they walked by. It was Nicholas who stopped at the table just before theirs and introduced her to Jacques and Bibi Roget, who in turn introduced them to the other three French couples at the table.

At last they were seated and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon was opened immediately. Arabella looked out of the oversized porthole across the endless stretch of water and the vast, cold blue sky. She turned back to Nicholas,
bent her head forward, and inhaled the luscious sweet scent of the yellow and pink freesias in an Art Deco bowl in the center of the table.

Two enormous menus were handed to them, and they began to study the list of culinary delights. Arabella, hidden by the menu, lowered it in order to tell Nicholas what she had decided on for lunch, but the words did not come. She was suddenly startled into silence yet again by the handsome man sitting opposite her.

His longish taffy-color hair had fallen to one side over his forehead. The glasses he wore as he studied the menu only enhanced his features. He was dressed in an Oxford gray flannel suit and a blue-and-white striped button-down shirt, with a handsome red-and-white checked silk tie. No wonder the world adored him, she thought. He was the epitome of the perfect, handsome, all-American man. He was a successful, powerful man of beauty and depth, living in the middle of a make-believe world, yet he managed to remain a man unto himself. In the way he had spoken to people on deck, in the dining room, in the way he had played with the dogs in the kennels, in the way he was with her, she could sense that he was a real person, kind and genuine.

As he looked up from his menu and smiled at her, she was jolted out of her reverie.

“I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Oh, were you staring?”

“Actually, I couldn’t help myself. I’m so happy to be here with you. It feels so comfortable I’m amazed.”

“I am glad you feel that way, because, frankly, I feel as if we’ve known each other a long, long time.”

He reached across the table and lifted the white linen napkin etched in an Art Deco design of ecru lace, folded in the shape of a star. It revealed a small package. There were gold letters across the tan velvet box spelling out the word Joy. Arabella picked the box up in her hands, lifted the cover, and took the elegant sealed crystal bottle and held it to her nose, getting only a light whiff of the exquisite
perfume. She placed the bottle back in its box, took the napkin from Nicholas, draped it across her lap, saying “How divine! What a sweet thing to do, Nicholas. Thank you.”

“I told you I was courting you. Let’s see: flowers, chocolates, and now perfume. Do you think I’m being too old-fashioned, too obvious?”

“No woman thinks a man she likes is too obvious,” she answered, and the two of them laughed.

He said, “Let’s be serious. We have some very high-level corporate decisions to make! What have you chosen for lunch?”

“Oh, I think I’ll let you make a unilateral decision.”

Nicholas called the waiter hovering close by and gave him their order. The wine steward appeared almost immediately. Nicholas chose a vintage Puligny-Montrachet from the Moillard vineyard and a vintage Château Palmer, a third-growth Margaux.

The order given, their glasses refilled, they relaxed and talked about the dining room and its charm. Arabella looked around at the people and said, “Nicholas, isn’t it fascinating? I would love to know what made each of these people make this crossing. As a matter of fact, I’d like to know why you decided to. Why are you here all alone?”

“I’m not here alone.”

Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. She recalled his silence earlier when she inquired about his family. Then she saw a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“I’m crossing with my agent, who is my business manager and best friend, and two secretaries. One who handles my affairs exclusively and a young woman who is a temporary assistant to her for this voyage only.”

“Do you always travel with your agent?”

“No, this is a special occasion.”

Arabella found him hardly forthcoming but she persevered, wanting to know about his life and why he had chosen to travel by luxury ocean liner with a business associate. More to the point, where was the woman in his life? She could not believe a man like him was not married or involved.
He appeared to be waiting for her to ask more questions.

“Nicholas, where is the —”

He interrupted her with “Ah, the asparagus — they look perfect.”

The waiters served them; she had lost her moment. The hollandaise was excellent, the asparagus cooked to perfection.

Arabella picked the tail of one up between her fingers, dipped it in the sauce, then dangled it over her mouth before slipping it between her lips. The crunchy texture of the vegetable, coated by the rich, piquant lemony sauce, was a delight.

The Montrachet was one of her favorite wines. It was chilled and just right. Nicholas ate his asparagus, never taking his eyes off her mouth while she devoured the long thick green stalks. When she had swallowed the last one, he refilled her glass and said, “Arabella Crawford, I have never seen anyone eat asparagus in a more obscene manner. You have the greatest mouth and I have the greatest erection.”

“I think I’m embarrassed,” she said, with a seductive smile.

“How can the most extraordinary, interesting, beautiful, sexy woman aboard this ship be embarrassed by a compliment like that?”

“You’re flattering me!”

“But I’ve watched other people today looking at you with admiration, with desire.”

“And you are exaggerating.
I
am not the matinee idol, adored by millions, you silly thing. Are you sure you’re not projecting your own image on me? I think they were looking at you.”

“Arabella, we’ve met on the tail end of a comet. My days as an actor are over. I’m about to take on a new and different role in life. One I have wanted for a very long time. I’ve worked for years preparing myself for it.”

She was about to ask him what he meant, but he held
up his hands and stopped her before she had a chance to utter a word.

“Not now. I’ll tell you more about that later. But what about you, Arabella? I saw a dazzling performance when you landed in that helicopter on the dock at Cherbourg, but I know nothing about you. My instinct, however, tells me, you are one of the special people in this world.”

They were quiet for a moment, both thinking of how to verbalize what they were feeling.

Nicholas reached across the table for Arabella’s hands. “I want you to know I’ve never given myself to any woman as I did to you, and no woman has ever surrendered to me as you have.”

“You made it easy for me. Until I was in your arms I never understood what it was to surrender to a man. You have taught me surrender is no defeat for a woman.”

It was at that moment that two waiters arrived with the second course. The silver serving dishes were presented for inspection.

For Arabella it was
La Degustation d’ Huitres Chaudes
— a selection of oysters poached and covered in a sauce blended from four different sauces: champagne,
l’Francy
, lobster, and green peppercorns with saffron. For Nicholas there were a dozen of the best Belons, his favorite oysters, on the half shell.

The waiters served them, then left. Arabella and Nicholas clinked their glasses together again and drank.

Nicholas said in a husky voice, “It’s as if we’ve been waiting for each other all our lives.”

They both laughed, toasted each other again, and ate their superb second course. They laughed a great deal during this, their first lunch together in the dining room. He told amusing anecdotes about his fellow actors and himself, about how disguise was unnecessary when he walked through the streets. Few people ever bothered him in public because he behaved just like any other man on the street. He told her about the wonderful experience it was to direct a film, about Hollywood in general and California as a whole.

Before the main course, they had the sublime treat of a large truffle baked in a pastry shell, which was followed by
Tournedos St. Claire
— steak charred on the outside and very rare in the middle with a light wine, mushroom, and shallot sauce — with
haricot verts
and a salad of Belgian endive.

Arabella was becoming confused by Nicholas’s reluctance to reveal more than the superficial details of his life. But she was aware that she was holding back too. She’d become so accustomed to being secretive and silent about personal matters that she hardly knew where to begin. She decided to try to talk about herself and, perhaps, Nicholas would feel more open and share his history with her.

While they ate, he asked her where she had been all her life. She answered that she had been around the world many times. Arabella told him that she had usually been in boardrooms, at the bottom of a mine, or in a hotel room working on company takeovers. In her travels, though, she had glimpsed the magic of Africa, the sweetness of the South Pacific islanders, the excitement and vitality of Hong Kong, the magic of the desert.

She spoke about the loneliness of a woman on top in the world of finance, the isolation from people’s honest reactions, brought on by one’s position of power. All the accompanying perks — the private jets, the helicopters, yachts, cavalcades of Rolls-Royces, the servants, clothes and jewels — were, in truth, cold comfort on birthdays and holidays. And then there was that endless stream of meals one had alone in hotel suites rather than face a room of people watching a woman dine alone late at night. How everything from traveling to making love is laid out before you, made easy, convenient.

She told him of the sense of desperation one feels looking back at a car full of flunkies, men interested in who you are, what you will do, how your decisions will benefit or chop up their lives, while they smile and watch you play the tourist for ten minutes at the Acropolis, Sakkarah, or walking among the giant gods of stone on Easter Island,
and about those rare moments of peace, pure beauty, and spirituality at these same places.

Not twenty-four hours before, that had still been her world. Now, here with Nicholas on the ocean, it seemed a million years ago. For a split second while thinking about it she suddenly felt dislocated, as if she had double vision. She shook her head and it all came together again.

She was laughing at something he had said but she was laughing as well with an inner joy about herself.

“I would truly love to take you in my arms right now,” said Nicholas, “because I find you absolutely delectable. But for the moment, it would be better for us to be discreet.”

Discretion was something Arabella knew all about. She had, after all, practiced it constantly both in her business and personal life for the last eighteen years. Understanding it, however, did not prevent her from blurting out the question that had been twisting around in her mind.

“Is there a Mrs. Nicholas Frayne?”

She could see by the expression on his face that he was surprised by her question.

“No,” he said. “There
was
a Mrs. Nicholas Frayne. We had an amicable divorce nine years ago. Is there a Mr. Crawford?”