Page 10 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
The openness of his countenance and easy manner advocated for his honourable intentions.
‘Then, it is settled. The day after tomorrow will do well.’ The captain waved his hand dismissively, evidently lacking interest to pursue the argument further. ‘Ah, the roast duckling! This, you shall enjoy, ladies—more than inspecting the pipes and steam below decks, heh?’ He brought his cutlery to bear upon the sizzling dish.
Lucrezia did the same, looking greatly self-satisfied.
Of everyone at the table, only Mr. Robinson did not attend to the plate before him. Instead, his scrutiny was upon Cecile and, even when he saw that she returned his gaze, he did not avert his eyes.
With a blush, she broke the contact.
The rest of the meal passed without any further conversational conflict, Captain Rocha proudly informing them that the famed French chef Georges Auguste Escoffier was responsible for their menu, and that their team of chefs had served under him for a full month before coming upon board.
With the prospect of the tour before her, Cecile felt strangely elated, though she would certainly never have advocated for the privilege herself. Her appetite returned heartily, through to the final savoury course, of filet mignon with chateau potatoes and asparagus.
Cecile noticed that Senhora Fonseca seemed to have lost her desire to enjoy the food, and wondered if it were due to no one having spoken on her behalf, to discover if she might like to join the tour—not even Mr. Robinson. With a wistful expression, the senhora pushed a few morsels about each plate, and was not tempted even by the deliciously sweet peaches in chartreuse jelly. As soon as the meal was done, she made her ‘goodnight’ and rose.
Captain Rocha nodded his approval. ‘All the ladies shall retire, to have their beauty sleep, while we gentlemen shall move to the smoking room to share the finest cognac.’
Only Mr. Robinson declined the kind offer, saying he was not a great drinker of spirits, and had never developed a taste for cigars. Bowing his farewell, he presented the senhora with his arm, offering to escort her to her cabin.
When Cecile at last put out the light and settled under her covers, comfortably sunk upon feather pillows, with the brightly-coloured quilt drawn fully to her chin, she could not resist imagining the well-proportioned Texan on the other side of the wall, climbing into his identical bed.
