Free White Heat by Pamela Kent Page B

I’ll admit to you that your hair is as red as Sarah’s ... and you’ve got her temper!’
    She looked up at him furiously, and once more wrenched away her arm.
    ‘ Please don’t speak to me again after tonight,’ she said between her teeth. ‘Please don’t speak to me again — ever !’
    They had reached the lower deck safely, and he allowed her to proceed towards her cabin. But before they parted his green eyes attempted to confuse her with a quiet look of amusement and pity for her youth.
    ‘My dear child,’ he said, ‘if that is your wish I shall respect it ... and you’ll find me as dumb as an oyster between now and the conclusion of the trip. In fact, even if you decide to jump overboard I shall not interfere,’ with mock solemnity.
    ‘Good night, Mr. Willoughby,’ she managed to articulate.
    He smiled and bowed.
    ‘Famous last words,’ he murmured. ‘Good night, Miss Hammond ... or let it be Karin, as this is the end of a beautiful friendship! It’s a pity our acquaintance has had to be so brief, but there have been moments when I’ve enjoyed it. Yes, I really have!’
    He stood reflecting on how much, or how little, he had enjoyed their brief acquaintanceship while she rushed blindly away from him along the deck, and then he returned to the upper deck to smoke a quiet cigarette before seeking his own cabin. And as he watched the moonlit sea there was the merest suspicion of a smile on his lips.
    It was not until she reached her cabin that Karin realized what a very hot night it was. Indignation had, no doubt, caused her temperature to rise, but apart from the angry blood that was pounding through her veins and painting bright patches on her cheeks, although her clenched hands actually felt cold and moist as a result of the futility of the anger that possessed her — and the sense of humiliation that supervened whenever she thought about the man she had just left — the atmosphere inside her cabin was almost stifling, and she realized when she looked at the thermometer that they were in for a hot and sticky night.
    Possibly the hottest and stickiest night of the voyage.
    She sat down on the side of her bed and kicked off her shoes. Her feet always hurt her when she was wearing high heels and had been standing about a good deal, and tonight she had stood about a lot to no purpose. Indeed, she had acquired sore feet, a raging temper, a throat that felt dry and constricted as a result of a feeling of utter impotence, and an unfamiliar sensation like flatness and dismay — which she quite failed to understand — because after tonight she would be under no obligation to utter even a polite good mo rn ing or anything else of that nature to Kent Willoughby when she met him, and he would be revelling in the same freedom from obligation and entitled to ignore her, which sat as heavily as a wet blanket upon her.
    The thought of a wet blanket decided her to take a shower, and she undressed and went into her bathroom and presently emerged wearing the flimsiest of dressing-gowns over her equally scanty nightwear, and sat down beside her porthole window and looked out at the sea and the utter magnificence of the night.
    It was not yet twelve o’clock, and Mrs. Makepiece was at that precise moment enjoying herself hugely in the captain’s cabin, where a small but select party was in progress. Karin had also been invited to it — the captain was inclined to regard her a little whimsically these days, as if he could not entirely make her out but was intrigued by what he saw, and surprised that at this late stage of the voyage she was not involved in some really serious affair, considering there were quite a number of eligible men on board — but she had declined. She wished now that, instead of rushing away impulsively after dinner, she had remained with Mrs. Makepiece, and been persuaded to change her mind about the captain’s hospitality.
    To have allowed Kent to talk to her on deck in the way he had done