Jamie pulled uncomfortably at his tie.

"If you want to eat in this restaurant you do."

Grenville had been thinking how pleasant it was to have Jamie looking like a gentleman for a change, instead of the young thug he was too apt to appear as.

If Leslie happened by, he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with him. In fact, dressed in his dark gray suit, Jamie might even be called handsome-Louisa often said he would be, had he a different demeanor.

"So, there's different restaurants?"

"Yes, several."

"And you don't need ties in all of them?"

"I understand some are quite casual."

"And we can eat in any of them?"

"For what I'm paying, we can eat in every one of them."

"Well, if you don't mind, this'll be the last time here for me. I know you like this stuff, but I can't eat while I'm bein' choked."

Grenville inwardly rejoiced, but said quite calmly, "I don't mind at all."

Jamie was behaving very well, so far-he'd needed his tranquilizer at dusk, but Grenville had expected that- and understood it, as well.

"I'm going to a poker game this evening," Jamie said conversationally.

"In the casino?"

"They got a casino?" "Where have you been all day?"

"Engine room. Crew quarters. Nice guys. You better tell Richard, though, it's all union. No getting around it."

"I'll let him know."

"So. You got anything for me to do tomorrow? Does it matter what time I get back to the cabin?"

"No. In fact, Jamie, except for your research project, just treat this as a vacation for you, too. Set your own hours."

"Yeah? Great. Thanks. Uh, would you mind leaving a pill out for me? I mean, in case you're asleep when I get in?"

"Sounds like a good idea. Jamie, don't forget, you're a first-cla.s.s pa.s.senger, too-take advantage of it. You can go anywhere on the ship, any deck."

Grenville couldn't see Jamie taking ballroom-dancing lessons, attending the lectures, visiting the quite adequate library-all activities he was planning with Leslie.

The last thing he needed was Jamie trailing after him.

"Okay," Jamie said. "I will."

The second night Jamie discovered he could have his drinks in the bars charged to their cabin. He'd lost most of his money in the poker game-he hadn't played in years and hadn't been all that good then-not like Kellen was. Anyway, the crew was a little uncomfortable with him, he could tell, especially after learning he was traveling first cla.s.s.

He didn't blame them.

But this first-cla.s.s stuff was all right, he decided, if they picked up your bar tab. Until then he hadn't much liked it-the first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers were either old or stuffy or both. He didn't hate rich people anymore, after knowing the Hawkeses, but he didn't want to hang out with them, either.

Funny, he rarely thought of Grenville as rich. Probably because he was so d.a.m.n tight. And Hawkes Hall, big as it was, was one of the most primitive places Jamie had ever lived.

There was loud music coming from somewhere-it was a bar patterned on a disco. Jamie was glad to see people closer to his own age going in and out.

He walked in, squeezing by the lively dance floor, to the bar.

Immediately he spotted two girls standing at the bar, ignoring two college-age guys who were eyeing them.

Jamie hated playing games. He moved to the bar, next to the girls.

"Can I buy you young ladies a drink?"

They were about college age, too, one chubby-cheeked and apricot-colored like a chipmunk, the other had cat- green eyes under a tangle of dark curls.

"A banana daiquiri," said the cat-eyed one, with a smile. "And how about you?" Jamie asked the other.

"Oh, I'll sip hers." She smiled, too, bright-eyed and cheery. "We like to share."

They were both cute, rather than beautiful, but very, very cute.

"Really?" Jamie said. "That's interesting."

He noted, with satisfaction, the college boys' ire. When Jamie gave his cabin number, signed the tab, the girls looked at him again.

"That's first cla.s.s, isn't it? Are you rich?"

"Naw." Jamie sipped his scotch. He never got scotch at home. In fact, he never got alcohol.

"My boss is. I'm travelin' with him. We're researching cruise ships."

The girls seemed unusually pleased with that answer, instead of disappointed like Jamie half expected.

"That is so honest. Usually these ships are full of bulls.h.i.t artists. I'm Diane."

The dark-haired one shook his hand.

"I'm Mich.e.l.le." The other kissed Jamie's cheek.

"Jamie Sommers."

Jamie watched, from the corner of his eye, the college boys move on to another group of girls. He gloated.

"We hate bulls.h.i.tters," Diane said. "We're very honest,"

said Mich.e.l.le.

Jamie could tell, from the way they almost finished each other's sentences, that they'd been friends for a long time.

"So, you girls been on cruises before? What do you do for fun?"

Grenville woke; he'd had champagne at dinner, Leslie wanted a few small gla.s.ses, champagne always gave him fitful sleep, he hardly remembered why anymore.

He looked at the bedside clock. Four in the morning.

Jamie still hadn't returned, his tranquilizer lay unused on the night-stand.

For a minute, Grenville debated whether or not to worry, then decided not.

With all his vaunted seamanship, it was unlikely he had fallen overboard. If he didn't miss his medication he was probably sane enough.

Grenville was glad that instead of feeling cooped up with Jamie, he actually saw less of him than at Hawkes Hall.

And Leslie-a real lady, her ex-husband must have been a cad, she bore the strain of the recent divorce so gracefully- Grenville drifted back into sleep.

The bunks in third cla.s.s weren't roomy at all, not much room for two, a real crowd for three, but Jamie and the girls slept as peacefully as pups in a litter.

Jamie had overcome one great hurdle, though not intentionally. Stripping naturally for bed, he'd completely forgotten about his scarred back, until Mich.e.l.le gasped, "Oh, what happened to you?"

Jamie froze for a second. He didn't want to tell them he'd been shot by the police-there were people in Hawkes Harbor who had been frightened of him ever since, though Jamie thought it would be more logical to be frightened of the cops.

After all, he had been saving Katie, not hurting her.

"Were you in Vietnam?" Diane asked, looking closer.

Jamie thought of the men he'd known in hospitals who had been to war. It would be sacrilege to claim their pain.

"A bank robbery." Jamie had drunk enough not to stammer, which he usually did when he lied. "In Jersey.

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The guy went nuts and started shooting. It was years ago."

He hated lying to the girls, with their disdain of bulls.h.i.t, but he was not going over the whole Katie Roddendem thing again.

"I remember reading about that," Diane said. "Wow.

How many times were you hit?"

She was naked herself by now, sitting next to him, caressing his back lightly, feeling the scars left by the bullets, by surgery.

"Three times," Jamie said shortly. He took a breath, determined not to cry at their kindness. It was the first time since the shooting anyone other than a doctor had seen his back.

On his rare and strangely listless trips to one of the Ocean City wh.o.r.ehouses he hadn't thought it necessary to remove his shirt.

Mich.e.l.le sat on his lap. Her lips were soft against his, her hands played with his hair. She was all gentle curves. He ran his hand over her lightly. She traced his lips with one finger.

"You have the most incredibly beautiful mouth." Jamie slid an arm around her waist, rolling back on the bunk, bringing her on top of him.

"Yeah? Thanks," he muttered. "I like yours, too."

"Make room," Diane said. They moved over. There was enough room after all.

Jamie woke when Diane slipped out of his arms. He'd been sleeping on his side, the three of them huddled together spoon fashion. Her hair in his face smelled of baby shampoo.

"First dibs on the shower," Diane called.

Jamie felt Mich.e.l.le snuggle closer, her arm tighten around him.

"She's an early bird," she said. "I'm not in any hurry."

Then she said, "Your poor back."

Her lips softly kissed the scars on his shoulder blade; he felt her tongue lightly caress him. Gently, tenderly, she acknowledged each old wound. Jamie felt the tears running down his face. No one had ever expressed sympathy for his pain.

He shivered when he felt her lips move to the back of his neck, felt her take his ear lobe into her mouth and suck it gently.

"Turn over," she whispered.

He didn't know how much later it was when he opened his eyes. It was like returning to consciousness.

Diane was toweling off in the middle of the small cabin.

"My turn next!" she stated.

"It'll have to be later," Jamie said honestly.

"Okay. But remember, it's my turn."

After lunch, and two b.l.o.o.d.y Marys, Jamie and Diane lay on a single lounge chair next to the pool.

Mich.e.l.le had gone to a makeup demonstration.

"Is it my turn yet?" Diane whispered to him. "I bet I'm better than Mich.e.l.le."

"I don't know, she's awfully good."

"I'll prove it. Let's go back."

Diane was better, she used more tongue, but Jamie diplomatically declared it a tie.

Then fell asleep and slept through the twilight.

"Hey, Grenville!" Jamie was waving at him from the side of the dance floor.

Grenville felt annoyed for a moment. He and Leslie were in the middle of a waltz, one of his favorite dances, Jamie was dressed in the atrocious fashion most of the young people on this boat adopted-cutoff jeans and a souvenir T-shirt-and he'd have to be introduced.