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that having a man in her life wasn't all that important to her.
She was ready and waiting in the lobby when, on the stroke of ten, a
sleek black chauffeur-driven limousine glided into view. The blue-
suited, peak-capped driver got out to open the rear door for John
Kassinopolis, who would have entered the hotel had she not
emerged to meet him.
'Good morning, Alex.' As he held out his hand, he looked
approvingly at the clothes she had chosen; a blouson of very soft,
supple beige kid worn over a beige cashmere pullover and a cream
silk shirt.
With Laurier she would have opted for gabardine trousers, but for a
day with John a plain well-cut skirt of fine wool herringbone tweed
seemed more appropriate. A scarf of black and beige silk was
knotted round her throat and a pair of expensive English walking
shoes with a leather-trimmed canvas shoulder bag completed her
classically casual outfit.
'Good morning. It looks as if we're going to have another perfect
autumn day,' she said, returning his smile. 'Good morning' this to
the chauffeur.
The huge car had soft velvety dove-grey upholstery and thick-pile
grey carpet. It had more leg-room for its passengers than any car she
had driven in. There were even raised footrests.
'Have you seen the paper?' John asked, as he settled himself on the
other side of the broad centre armrest.
He handed her a copy of the Globe and Mail and took up the Wall
Street Journal which he had been reading on the way to fetch her.
As it was always necessary to wash the ink off one's hands after
reading the Canadian paper it was even worse than The Times, her
paper in London she was glad she had a pack of wet tissues in her
bag. Before opening the newspaper she noticed that beside her was a
panel of buttons which controlled the electrically-operated window,
the temperature inside the car and several radio stations.
This is the life, she thought, smiling to herself.
And yet, as they swept past a bus stop and the people waiting looked
with curiosity at the occupants of the luxurious limousine, she knew
that given the choice of going somewhere by public transport with
Laurier or by this means with John, she would unhesitatingly choose
the first alternative.
'Are you curious to know where we're going?' he asked her.
'Naturally.'
'I felt like a sea trip. There's no ferry direct from Vancouver to
Victoria. We have to drive to Tsawwassen which is about forty
minutes south of the city,' he told her.
Alex tried not to show her dismay. The determinedly cheerful mood
in which she had set out disintegrated at the thought of returning to
Victoria where she and Laurier had spent their last hours of
happiness together before the distressing debacle which had
followed his proposal of marriage.
There were already two queues of parked vehicles when they
arrived at the ferry terminal at the end of a long causeway.
However, the Queen of Esquimau's car deck was capable of
accommodating a very large number of cars and, arriving with
perfect timing just as the queue started to move, they were soon on
board.
A few minutes after they had climbed from the car deck to the
passenger deck and were standing by the port rails in as rather fresh
breeze which made Alex glad of her windproof blouson, their driver
appeared carrying two old-fashioned steamer chairs.
'Where would you like these set up, sir?'
John chose a sunny sheltered position amidships. 'I found out that
the seating on deck was limited and not particularly comfortable so I
brought my own,' he explained to her. 'There should be a couple of
rugs, Benton,' he added, to the driver. 'In spite of the sun it may be
too windy for comfort when we're on open water.'
'The rugs are in the boot, Mr Kassinopolis, I'll bring them up with
the basket,' the man replied.
It wasn't long before he reappeared with two plaid wool rugs and a
large hamper.
John insisted on arranging one of the rugs round her legs, although
he didn't use the other to wrap round himself but put it over the back
of his chair. He seemed oblivious of the sideways glances and open
stares that his solicitous attention to her attracted.
Alex felt a little embarrassed at being cosseted as if she were a
fragile creature whom the slightest puff of wind might chill. At the
same time it was very nice to have a comfortable chair to sit on
rather than a hard slatted bench or the top of a life-jacket locker, and
to have her nylon-clad legs protected from draughts.
She remembered his wife's ill health. Perhaps it was during Mary
Kassinopolis's last months that he'd learnt to provide these careful
attentions. Or perhaps very rich men, when no special facilities were
available, always brought their own.
It wasn't until the ferry was under way that he opened the hamper.
'Have you eaten this morning?' he asked her.
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