was immediately conscious of a clarification of his emotions. As she stood before him, her face slowly reddening under his gaze, she seemed oddly familiar. He felt that he already knew her next movement, and the next inflexion of her clear, rather cold voice. It was a little as though he had thought of her a great deal, but never met her before. These impressions held him transfixed, for how long he never knew, while he still kept his eyes on hers. Then something clicked in his mind, and he realized that he had stared her out of countenance. The blush had mounted painfully to the roots of her hair and she had turned away.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alleyn steadily. ‘I’m afraid I was looking at the green smudge on your cheek.’
She scrubbed at her face with the cuff of her smock.
‘I’ll go down,’ she said, and picked up the sketch.
He stood aside, but she had to pass close to him, and again he was vividly aware of her, still with the same odd sense of surprised familiarity. She smelt of turpentine and paint, he noticed.
‘Well—good evening,’ she said vaguely.
Alleyn laughed a little.
‘Good evening, madam.’
She started off down the ladder, moving sideways and holding the wet sketch out over the hand-rail. He turned away and lit a cigarette. Suddenly a terrific rumpus broke out on the deck below. The hot cheap reek of frangipanni blossoms drifted up, and with it the voice of the success of the ship.
‘Oh, pardon me. Come right down. Gangway, fellows. Oh say, pardon me, but have you been making a picture? Can I have a keek? I’m just crazy about sketching. Look, boys—isn’t that cute? The wharf? My, my, it’s a shame you haven’t been able to finish it, isn’t it? It would have been swell! Look, boys, it’s the wharf. Maybe a snapshot would help. We’ll surely have to watch our step with an artist on board. Say, let’s get acquainted. We’ve been celebrating and we feel fine. Meet the mob. I’m Virginia Van Maes.’
‘My name’s Troy,’ said a voice that Alleyn could scarcely recognize. A series of elaborate introductions followed.
‘Well, Miss Troy, I was going to tell you how Caley Burt painted my portrait in Noo York. You’ve heard of Caley Burt? I guess he’s one of the most exclusive portraitists in America. Well, it seems he was just crazy to take my picture—’
The anecdote was a long one. Agatha Troy remained silent throughout.
‘Well, when he was through—and say, did I get tired of that dress? —it certainly was one big success. Poppa bought it, and it’s in our reception-hall at Honolulu. Some of the crowd say it doesn’t just flatter, but it looks good to me. I don’t pretend to know a whole lot about art, Miss Troy, but I know what I like.’
‘Quite,’ said Agatha Troy. ‘Look here, I think I’d better get down to my cabin. I haven’t unpacked yet. If you’ll excuse me—’
‘Why, certainly. We’ll be seeing you. Say, have you seen that guy Alleyn around?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know—’
‘He’s tall and thin, and I’ll say he’s good looking. And is he British? Gee! I’m crazy about him. I got a little gamble with these boys, I’ll have him doing figure eights trying to dope out when the petting-party gets started.’
‘I’ve kissed goodbye to my money,’ one of the youths said.
‘Listen to him, will you, Miss Troy? But we certainly saw Mr Alleyn around this way a while back.’
‘He went up to the boat deck,’ said a youth.
‘Oh,’ said Miss Troy clearly. ‘That man! Yes, he’s up there now.’
‘Atta-boy!’
‘Whooppee!’
‘Oh damn!’ said Alleyn softly.
And the next thing that happened was Miss Van Maes showing him how she’d made a real Honolulu lei out of Fijian frangipanni, and asking him to come down with the crowd for a drink.
‘Has this party gone cuckoo or something? We’re three rounds behind the clock. C’m on!’
‘Virginia,’ said a youth, ‘you’re tight.’
‘What the hell! Is it my day to be sober? You coming, Mr Alleyn?’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Alleyn, ‘but if you’ll believe it, I’m a non-drinker at the moment. Doctor’s orders.’
‘Aw, be funny!’
‘Fact. I assure you.’
‘Mr Alleyn’s thinking of the lady with the picture,’ said a youth.
‘What—her? With her face all mussed in green paint. Mr Alleyn’s not screwy yet, is he? Gee, I’ll say a woman’s got no self-respect to go around that way in public. Did you get a look at that smock? And the picture! Well, I had to be polite and say it was cute, but it’s nobody’s big sorrow she didn’t finish it. The wharf at Suva! Seems I struck it lucky, but what it’s meant for’s just anyone’s guess. C’m on, Mr Strong-Silent Sleuth, put me out of my agony and say she don’t mean one thing to you.’
‘Miss Van Maes,’ said Alleyn, ‘do you know that you make me feel very middle-aged and inexpressibly foolish? I haven’t got the smallest idea what the right answer is to any single one of your questions.’
‘Maybe I could teach you. Maybe I could teach you a whole lot of fun, honey.’
‘You’re very kind, but, do you know, I’m afraid I’m past the receptive age.’
She widened her enormous eyes. The mascaraed lashes stuck out round them like black toothpicks. Her ash-fair hair was swept back from her very lovely face into a cluster of disciplined and shining curls. She had the un-human good looks of a film star. Undoubtedly she was rather tight.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘my bet with the boys is still good. Twenty-five’ll get anybody fifty you kiss me before we hit Honolulu. And I don’t mean maybe.’
‘I should be very much honoured—’
‘Yeah? And I don’t mean the get-by-the-censor stuff, either. No, sir!’
She stared at him, and upon her normally blank and beautiful face there dawned a look of doubt.
‘Say,’ she said, ‘you’re not going to tell me you got a yen for that woman?’
‘I don’t know what a yen is,’ Alleyn said, ‘but I’ve got nothing at all for Miss Troy, and I can assure you she has got even less than that for me.’
From Miss Agatha Troy to her friend, Miss Katti Bostock, the well-known painter of plumbers, miners and Negro musicians:
S.
