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Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Not really. It's mostly imagination makes it so." "I have to begin by asking you a highly indiscreet question, you see."

He just managed to withhold the facetious reply

that rose to his throat, for he suddenly twigged that she was testing him. If he were jocular now, she would turn it all aside and they'd have a pleasant, frivolous conversation that would get nowhere. "How could anything you say be indiscreet, my dear?" he asked solemnly. "Haven't I told you already - I am the soul of discretion."

She drew a deep breath and plunged in. "You have known a number of women, haven't you." She let out the rest of her lungful with a rush; now there was no turning back.

"Too many," he replied automatically.

"Yes, I remember you said that before. But when I say 'known'..." She swallowed heavily. "You mean in the biblical sense. The answer again I fear." is

yes, "Why d'you say that? 'I fear.' Do you really feel so much remorse?"

Her questions were becoming awkward. These were uncharted waters for him kind of conversation that, he hoped, would lead to a certainly in the seduction. They were now navigating on the rim of that dangerous whirlpool called Truth. And yet some madcap instinct urged him to give it a try. "No," he admitted. "I cannot lay claim to any great helping of remorse."

"Why d'you do it, then? Please, I'm not asking these questions idly or pruriently. I truly desire to know."

"Pleasure?" he offered.

"And is it? You remember on the Champlain, when you said you'd rather spend five minutes in true conversation with me than... oh, I can't remember exactly, but ... you remember?"

He decided to plunge in with both feet. His usual method of seduction was to let a woman tell him all her troubles, no matter how long it took hours, days... weeks, even. And he never met a woman who didn't have troubles. All he needed to do was look sympathetic and make sympathetic noises - while at the same time withholding any sign of genuine approval. That was most important. The victim had to feel she was getting a good hearing from someone who understood exactly what troubled her - yet somehow she was failing to win him over. She would then redouble her efforts to please him; it was an instinct in every woman to do so. She would tease him, cajole him, flirt with him, until, in the end, it was she who seduced him, granting him the ultimate Favour as the only way to win his support.

But with Hilda, something urged him to stand the entire process on its head.

"Listen, my dear." He laid a hand on her arm. "Try to forget everything that has ever happened 1 and not happened between us these last... how long is 1 it? Twenty-five years! Forget that through all that time you're one of the few women I ever really desired. Forget that even now I'm wondering by what magical-impossible-undreamed-of means I could know you, too. I do forget it all, I mean. I set it all aside. I clear the decks of all that ancient lumber, and I if I can promise you this: If in any way, by anything I may tell you, or any service I may perform for you ... help you out of your present troubles, you never met a helper more willing and able."

Recklessly she laid her head against his arm. He, more cautious, glanced about them and was glad to see there was no one within fifty paces. Kathleen and the nurse were gone. Certainly no one could see them here, for all the lights in the sheltered portion had been turned out to enable passengers to enjoy the brightness of the moon. He bent toward her, put a finger under her chin and gently raised her lips to his.

Her mouth was soft and slack, her kiss passionate. "Yesss!" she whispered when they broke. "Mmm?" he queried.

"You know. What you said."

He swallowed audibly. "Here?" "Now!" She pressed herself to him and writhed like a kitten.

"Come to my stateroom ..." She fumbled at his fly. ." he began.

He glanced around again. There was a stanchion behind them, and behind that a pile of deck furniture, sheeted and lashed down. And between it and the steel walls of the smoking room there was just enough room for a couple in flagrante. "Over there!" he said, dragging her with him and undoing his fly as he went. The old fellow was rampant tonight, and giving off heat like a furnace. Her fingers encircled it with a contented gasp."Twenty years of longing," he murmured as he struggled to lift her skirts and petticoats.

There was someone coming up the deck on the port side. A man and a woman, arguing. She wanted to go back inside and continue dancing. He wanted to cool off. They would stop and dispute the matter, then walk a pace or two, then stop again.

"Oh for heaven's sake make up your minds!" Walter cursed under his breath. "One way or the other."

Had he not addressed them aloud, even though it was in a whisper heard only by her, Hilda might have gone on ignoring them. But his words raised the spectre of their reality, the threat they posed by their nearer approach.

She lowered her dress and tugged a flap of shirt over... that thing of his. "Eh?" he croaked. "No, no, it'll be all right."

"What'll be all right?" she asked. "I don't know

what you're talking about."

For a long moment he froze; and then, with what could have been a sigh - or it could have been a mere mechanical exhalation of a pent-up breath - replied, "Nothing. Nonsense, as usual. Pay no attention."

The couple settled their argument that is, the woman persuaded the man that if he didn't dance with her, she knew one man who certainly would. Walter just stood there, holding his breath yet again, praying she wouldn't blurt out the fellow's name.