Tin Can, and adored it. It was so authentic, dear, she cooed, turning to include Karen in the conversation; it was obvious Mr. Goddard was an old navy man himself. Wouldn’t it be the most fantastic thing if he’d known her late husband, who’d been in destroyers then himself? He was the executive officer of one in that same battle. Goddard said he was sorry, but he didn’t remember a Lieutenant Lennox, so they’d probably never been on the same ship. He was an enlisted man, anyway.

She knew a lot of people around Southern California, mostly in San Diego but some in Bel Air and Beverly Hills. It was while she was gaily tossing off these names, all unknown to Goddard, that her left leg first brushed against his under the table. He paid no attention then; it was an accident, of course. No woman could be that unsubtle. She launched into an explanation of why she was aboard the Leander. She’d been taking a cruise around South America on a freighter of the Moore McCormack line, intending to get off when she reached the Canal where she had a reservation to board a Lykes freighter bound for the Far East, but she’d become ill and had to go to a hospital in Lima. By the time she recovered it was too late to catch the Lykes ship, so she’d booked passage on the Leander. Her knee brushed lightly against Goddard’s again, came back, made a little stroking movement up and down, and remained. It didn’t take Mrs. Lennox forever to finish with the weather and move on to more significant topics; they’d known each other about ten minutes.

She couldn’t be that desperate, he thought; she’d be walking up the bulkhead. It was just that she was afraid of the younger woman and wanted to tie him up with an option. He wasn’t sure whether he was sorry for her, amused, or merely bored. It had been months since he’d slept with a woman, or even thought about it, and he’d assumed, with no particular interest, that he might be impotent.

Haggerty, during that marathon drunk when he discovered the underground skyway, had brought up the subject the night they’d shared the same room, and asked him whether he was gay. He’d said no, he was researching an article for Reader’s Digest; continence was the new hope for alcoholics with a time problem. Exactly, she’d said; something had to go, and she’d always advocated sexual freedom herself. People had a perfect right not to go to bed with each other; all it took was courage. And now that they’d made this bow in the direction of conformity, why didn’t he open the other bottle? He’d never known what particular hound was pursuing Haggerty down the nights and down the days, but he hoped she’d worked it out. She was nice.

There was the sound of chimes in the passageway then, announcing lunch. Goddard excused himself and took the pitcher back to his cabin. There was a dividend in it, which he poured and drank as he dumped the ice in the basin, still thinking idly of Madeleine Lennox. He went aft to the dining saloon. There were two tables, each seating eight, extending fore-and-aft on opposite sides of the room, but only the port one was used. Captain Steen sat at the aft end of it, with Karen Brooke on his right and Madeleine Lennox on his left. Goddard looked inquiringly at the dining room steward.

‘You sit there,’ the latter said, indicating the place next to Madeleine Lennox. He was a heavyset youth with a florid and rather sullen face. Goddard sat down, wondering what luck of the draw had placed him again within range of that gregarious left leg. Or was it luck? At the same moment Mr. Krasicki entered. He seemed uncertain as to where he was to sit, and the steward indicated the chair next to Karen Brooke. The two women smiled at him, and Captain Steen said, ‘We’re very glad to see you up, Mr. Krasicki.’ The latter nodded and attempted a smile, but said nothing. Goddard noted there were two other places set, the one at his left, and the one at the forward end of the table, which would no doubt be Lind’s. The steward made no move to serve the soup, and Captain Steen appeared to be waiting for something.

‘Mr. Egerton said he didn’t want any lunch,’ the steward said. ‘And Mr. Lind won’t be