Regan helped her into her nightgown and tucked her in. It’s a good thing I talked her out of her bath, she thought. I’d have had to fish her out of the bubbles. She looked down at Veronica, already in a deep sleep, and felt a rush of compassion. She looks so vulnerable, especially since she hasn’t started snoring yet, Regan thought guiltily.

Veronica’s packing attempts had been a near disaster. Before dinner she had dumped the contents of all her bags in a frantic search for Sir Gilbert’s poem on the joys of family life. She wanted to read it at the first meeting with her nieces.

Regan had found it in the pocket of the Sit-and-Be-Fit outfit Veronica had worn to the poetry session. “Of course, of course,” Veronica cried happily. “I was planning to read this one second. ‘Say, Say, Say’ I committed to memory.”

They’d barely had time to dress for dinner.

Now, with Veronica safely out of commission, Regan was able to begin the bewildering task of sorting out Veronica’s clothes and repacking them. It took nearly two hours. It was midnight when Regan put the bags in the hall. She showered and climbed into the Castro. Bye, bye, Bernadette, she thought. Tomorrow night I’ll be sleeping in a real bed.

She reached for the light, paused, got up and went to the door. She had locked it.

Regan turned the clock back an hour, as they’d been doing each night, and set the alarm for 3 A.M. The very prospect of getting up in less than four hours made her fall into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter 60

MARIO AND IMMACULATA tiptoed down the corridor to the Merlin Suite. Immaculata giggled softly. “I feel like we’re eloping,” she whispered.

Mario fumbled with the key and dropped it. It made a faint ping as it bounced against the door. “Sssh,” Immaculata said nervously. “If anyone finds out we’re up here ...”

By night the suite seemed even more glamorous than it had at cocktail hour. Mario dropped their overnight bags and reached for Immaculata. “Let me carry you over the threshold of the terrace,” he offered grandly. “Oops.”

“Mario, Mario, your back—I don’t want you in traction.”

“You’re right.” Mario rubbed his back. “I still have that tender spot.”

“That’s sciatica, Mario.”

“Tell you what. I’ll open the champagne. We’ll drink it on the balcony.”

Immaculata nodded. “I’ll just slip inside and put on my new lingerie set.”

A few minutes later, glasses in hand, Immaculata in her trailing black satin negligee and Mario in his boxer shorts and striped bathrobe toasted each other as the ship sped through the dark.

Chapter 61

OXFORD