The Scarletti Inheritance - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,61

she obviously did not wish to dwell on the subject, her dinner companions uttered their sympathies, and after an appropriate pause in their conversations resumed their small talk. The captain of the Calpurnia, an overstuffed Englishman with thickly matted eyebrows and enormous jowls, noted ponderously that the loss of a good executive must be akin to the transfer of a well-trained mate.

The young man next to Elizabeth leaned toward her and spoke softly. 'Right out of Gilbert and Sullivan, isn't he.'

The old woman smiled back in agreeable conspiracy. Beneath the babble of voices she answered him quietly. 'A monarch of the sea. Can't you picture him ordering up the cat-o'-nine tails?'

'No,' replied the young man. 'But I can picture him climbing out of his bathtub. It's funnier.'

'You're a wicked boy. If we hit an iceberg, I shall avoid you.'

'You couldn't. I'd be in the first lifeboat and certainly someone around here would reserve a seat for you.' He smiled disarmingly.

Elizabeth laughed. The young man amused her and it was refreshing to be treated with a degree of good-humored insolence. They chatted pleasantly about their forthcoming itineraries in Europe. It was fascinating, in an offhand way, because neither had any intention of telling the other anything of consequence.

With dinner over, the captain's troupe of very important passengers made their way to the game room and paired off for bridge.

'I assume you're a terrible card player,' Canfield said, smiling at Elizabeth. 'Since I'm rather good, I'll carry you.'

'It's difficult to refuse such a flattering invitation.'

And then he inquired. 'Who died? Anyone I might know?'

'I doubt it, young man.'

'You never can tell. Who was it?'

'Now why in the world would you know an obscure executive in my bank?'

'I gathered he was a pretty important fellow.'

'I imagine some people thought he was.'

'Well, if he was rich enough, I might have sold him a tennis court.'

'Really, Mr. Canfield, you're the limit.' Elizabeth laughed as they reached the lounge.

During the game Elizabeth noted that although young Canfield had the quiet flair of a first-rate player, he really wasn't very good. At one point he made himself dummy, quite unnecessarily thought Elizabeth, but she put it down to a form of courtesy. He inquired of the lounge steward if there was a particular brand of cigars on hand, and when offered substitutes, excused himself saying that he'd get some from his stateroom.

Elizabeth remembered that back in the dining room during their coffee the charming Mr. Canfield had opened a fresh pack of thin cigars.

He returned several minutes after the hand was finished and apologized by explaining that he had helped an elderly gentleman, somewhat overcome by the sea, back to his cabin.

The opponents muttered complimentary phrases, but Elizabeth said nothing. She simply stared at the young man and noted with a degree of satisfaction, as well as alarm, that he avoided her gaze.

The game ended early; the pitch of the Calpurnia was now quite unsettling. Canfield escorted Elizabeth Scarlatti to her suite.

'You've been charming,' she said. 'I now release you to pursue the younger generation.'

Canfield smiled and handed her the keys. 'If you insist. But you condemn me to boredom. You know that.'

Times have changed, or perhaps the young men.'

'Perhaps.' It seemed to Elizabeth that he was anxious to leave.

'Well, an old woman thanks you.'

'A not so young man thanks you. Good night, Madame Scarlatti.'

She turned to him. 'Are you still interested in who the man was who died?'

'I gathered you didn't want to tell me. It's not important. Good night.'

'His name was Cartwright. Jefferson Cartwright. Did you know him?' She watched his eyes closely.

'No, I'm sorry, I didn't.' His look was steady and entirely innocent. 'Good night.'

'Good night, young man.' She entered her suite and closed the door. She could hear his footsteps fading away down the outside corridor. He was a man in a hurry.

Elizabeth removed her mink and walked into the large comfortable bedroom with its heavy furniture secured to the floor. She turned on a lamp attached to the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to recall more specifically what the Calpurnia's captain had said of the young man when he had presented his table for her approval.

'And then there's a chap, very well connected, I might add, named Canfield.'

Elizabeth paid no more attention to his abbreviated biography than she had to the others.

'He's associated with a sporting goods concern and crosses rather regularly. Wimbledon, I believe.'

And then, if Elizabeth's memory served her well, the captain had added,