well; the ones most people just read about, or see pictures of in photographic books; wonderful places like Tahiti, where the cruise ships don't go."
Greg had agreed with her. However, a few evenings spent with maps, sailing lists and an eighteen-inch globe had modified their views. They had found, for example, that if they wanted to go to Japan and Hong Kong, a one-day visit to Tahiti would add two weeks to their travel schedule. In the end it was plain that, even if they compromised on the size and speed of the boats, confined themselves to the regular ports of call and cut out South America completely, the trip would still take at least two months. If they did not want to spend all the time travelling, it would take three.
Greg had some very capable men working for him; but at the management level, Nilsen Die-Casting and Tools was very much a one-man business. A three-month vacation could not be embarked upon just when he felt like it; and, although he had for some time been planning a reorganisation that would enable him to delegate more responsibility, it involved changes that could only be made gradually. He had allowed two years; one in which to make the changes, and one in which to see that they worked; but, even so, it had still not been easy to get away. There had been some moments in the month before they had sailed when difficulties over a new Government contract had made it look as if the trip would have to be called off. However, the difficulties had been ironed out in time and they had left Wilmington early in October.
Because of the amount of baggage they were taking, they had gone by train to San Francisco. They had sailed on the seventh.
Neither of them had travelled much by ship before. During the war, Greg had gone to Europe in a troopship. Together they had been to England and France and back on the United States and the America. That was all. They had received much advice from more experienced friends. One of them, Greg remembered later, had had a solemn warning to deliver.
"It's the first two or three days you want to be careful of," this man had said; "and especially the first day just after you sail. You're going to be with those people for weeks. But you'll be feeling strange and want to be friendly. You'll go into the bar and have a drink to celebrate the start of the trip. Watch it. Don't start getting friendly with anyone. Wait. You start talking to someone, and before you know it, bingo, you're stuck with the ship's bore. It can ruin a trip."
Arlene Drecker was not the ship's bore; but, as far as Greg was concerned, she became an even more maddening affliction.
After the ship had sailed, he and Dorothy had stayed on deck until they had cleared the Golden Gate. They had promised the boys to make a complete photographic record of the trip, and Greg had been up on the boat deck with the 16 mm. Bell and Ho well for the best part of an hour. It had been a sunny day, but with a cool breeze. They had been glad, when there was no more to see aloft, to get down into the warmth of the bar for a pre-lunch drink.
Arlene had been sitting by herself at a small table about six feet away from them. She had been writing radio telegrams and sipping a Martini. Then, the pen she had borrowed from the writing-room had run out of ink, and she had looked round in exasperation. Greg had politely offered her his. She had accepted. Later, when she returned his pen, she had asked them to have a drink.
"No, no. You join us," Dorothy had said.
Arlene had smiled. "You know, a gal travelling alone has one big problem—how to persuade people to sometimes let her buy a drink."
Nevertheless, she had joined them and had another Martini. They had gone down to lunch together. Later that day, the chief steward had approached Greg with the permanent seating plan for the dining-room, and asked if he and Mrs. Nilsen minded having Miss Drecker sit at their table. There were no single tables, he had explained, and Miss Drecker
Greg had agreed with her. However, a few evenings spent with maps, sailing lists and an eighteen-inch globe had modified their views. They had found, for example, that if they wanted to go to Japan and Hong Kong, a one-day visit to Tahiti would add two weeks to their travel schedule. In the end it was plain that, even if they compromised on the size and speed of the boats, confined themselves to the regular ports of call and cut out South America completely, the trip would still take at least two months. If they did not want to spend all the time travelling, it would take three.
Greg had some very capable men working for him; but at the management level, Nilsen Die-Casting and Tools was very much a one-man business. A three-month vacation could not be embarked upon just when he felt like it; and, although he had for some time been planning a reorganisation that would enable him to delegate more responsibility, it involved changes that could only be made gradually. He had allowed two years; one in which to make the changes, and one in which to see that they worked; but, even so, it had still not been easy to get away. There had been some moments in the month before they had sailed when difficulties over a new Government contract had made it look as if the trip would have to be called off. However, the difficulties had been ironed out in time and they had left Wilmington early in October.
Because of the amount of baggage they were taking, they had gone by train to San Francisco. They had sailed on the seventh.
Neither of them had travelled much by ship before. During the war, Greg had gone to Europe in a troopship. Together they had been to England and France and back on the United States and the America. That was all. They had received much advice from more experienced friends. One of them, Greg remembered later, had had a solemn warning to deliver.
"It's the first two or three days you want to be careful of," this man had said; "and especially the first day just after you sail. You're going to be with those people for weeks. But you'll be feeling strange and want to be friendly. You'll go into the bar and have a drink to celebrate the start of the trip. Watch it. Don't start getting friendly with anyone. Wait. You start talking to someone, and before you know it, bingo, you're stuck with the ship's bore. It can ruin a trip."
Arlene Drecker was not the ship's bore; but, as far as Greg was concerned, she became an even more maddening affliction.
After the ship had sailed, he and Dorothy had stayed on deck until they had cleared the Golden Gate. They had promised the boys to make a complete photographic record of the trip, and Greg had been up on the boat deck with the 16 mm. Bell and Ho well for the best part of an hour. It had been a sunny day, but with a cool breeze. They had been glad, when there was no more to see aloft, to get down into the warmth of the bar for a pre-lunch drink.
Arlene had been sitting by herself at a small table about six feet away from them. She had been writing radio telegrams and sipping a Martini. Then, the pen she had borrowed from the writing-room had run out of ink, and she had looked round in exasperation. Greg had politely offered her his. She had accepted. Later, when she returned his pen, she had asked them to have a drink.
"No, no. You join us," Dorothy had said.
Arlene had smiled. "You know, a gal travelling alone has one big problem—how to persuade people to sometimes let her buy a drink."
Nevertheless, she had joined them and had another Martini. They had gone down to lunch together. Later that day, the chief steward had approached Greg with the permanent seating plan for the dining-room, and asked if he and Mrs. Nilsen minded having Miss Drecker sit at their table. There were no single tables, he had explained, and Miss Drecker
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