The White Voyage Read Free

cases on board. We will go on first. Shall I carry you, little Annabel?’
    She looked at him gravely, coldly. ‘Thank you, but I can walk by myself.’
    ‘Good, good!’ He helped them on to the gang-plank in turn. ‘Welcome to the
Kreya
. I hope you will both enjoy your trip.’
    Thorsen came out of the lounge as he showed them in. He was much shorter than Mouritzen, with dark curly hair, and features that were marred only by a heaviness of jaw. In repose his face was sullen, but he smiled often. He was conscious of his appearance as part of his stock-in-trade and, aware that his own seemingly natural charm was studied, not spontaneous, mistrusted naturalness in others. Suspicion of human motives came easily to him.
    ‘Ah,’ Mouritzen said, ‘this is our Chief Steward, Mr Thorsen. He will look after you. Jorgen, is the boy at hand? Mrs Cleary has two cases to be brought on.’
    ‘How do you do, Mrs Cleary?’ Thorsen said. He gave the child a quick smile. ‘I’ll show you to your cabin right away. Your cases will be here directly.’
    From the deck the door gave on to a tiny lobby, with a steep flight of stairs on one side, a service door facing this and the main doors to the lounge directly in front. Thorsen opened the service door; the little room beyond it was a combination of bar and kitchenette, and a boy of fifteen was washing up plates at the sink. Thorsen spoke to him rapidly in Danish, and he nodded in reply. He was tall for his age, fair-haired, with a long face and rimless spectacles that gave him a studious look.
    ‘Then I will leave you in Mr Thorsen’s hands,’ Mouritzen said. ‘I shall see you later, Mrs Cleary. Good-bye till then.’
    Thorsen gestured towards the stairs, and the woman and child climbed them. At their head there was a T-shaped corridor, with cabin doors ranged along the top of the T: a second flight of stairs led to the officers’ quarters. There were four cabins, and he led her to No. 1. It had a built-in settee, covered in grey leather, on one side, and two bunks on the other. Between, there was a small, asymmetrical dressing-table and writing-desk. This was of white wood, contrasting with the light mahogany of the bunks. The floor was covered, wall to wall, with pale blue carpeting.
    Thorsen opened a door to the left of the settee.
    ‘This is the toilet – shower, wash-basin and so on.’
    She looked round the cabin. ‘It’s very nice. More – more modern than I expected.’
    ‘The
Kreya
is only three years old,’ Thorsen told her. ‘Your bags are here now.’ He made a sign to the boy to set them down. ‘Is there anything else you require just now?’
    ‘I can’t think of anything.’
    ‘The Customs Officer will be coming on board in about an hour. Would you like me to take your passport for him?’
    She said, a little quickly: ‘Can’t I keep it and show it to him myself?’
    Thorsen nodded, smiling. ‘Of course. Some people prefer me to have the documents; then, sometimes, it is not necessary for them to be bothered.’
    ‘I’ll keep mine,’ she said.
    ‘Of course.’ He backed out of the cabin. ‘Dinner is served at seven o’clock.’
----
    The Simanyi family came on board a few minutes before six, father and son carrying cameras and the mother carrying a shopping bag laden with fruit, biscuits and chocolate. The daughter, Nadya, carried only a small handbag, from which, as they stood on deck waiting for Thorsen, she took out compact and lipstick to make up her face. She was a fairly tall girl, with straight black hair, strong but good-looking features, and a curved and well-muscled figure. At close quarters she would attract a man who liked powerful women with a promise of temperament, perhaps to the point of violence. In her proper place – seen from a distance in the arc-light’s glare as she climbed the twisting ladder towards the trapezes, sequins gleaming against white flesh, she would be irresistible.
    The mother was smaller, and had never