“The patch behind my ear fell off last night and I woke up feeling queasy. There’s nothing worse than motion sickness. I still haven’t gotten my sea legs and I’m not feeling myself,” Violet complained.

That could only be an improvement, Sylvie thought as Milton quickly rose to his feet.

“Please join us for a drink.” With one hand he pulled out the chair for her, with the other he signaled for the waiter.

“What would you like, Sylvie?”

“Same as you. I’d love a Bloody Mary.”

“Ours is nonalcoholic,” Violet announced, her tone and expression clearly disapproving.

“That’s known as a Bloody Shame,” Sylvie said airily.

“I agree,” Milton said heartily. When the waiter came he ordered two Bloodys. He looked at his sister. “Violet?”

“I just want plain tomato juice. This has much too many spices. The patch fell off my ear last night—”

Sylvie noticed the look of resignation on Milton’s face as he interrupted, “And we’ll also have a plain tomato juice.”

Last night Milton had asked her to dance while his sister was in the ladies’ room. Now as Sylvie crossed her legs, she quietly noted his lean frame under the expensive sports shirt, the blue eyes, intelligent with a slight twinkle, and the well-barbered white hair that framed the bald dome he made no effort to conceal, thank God. Sylvie had met too many of the type who grow hair long on the sides and then, in an attempt to defy gravity, comb it back up and over their scalp, plastering it into place. She silently prayed Milton wasn’t planning to attend the hair-replacement seminar this afternoon. She now caught his frankly admiring gaze.

He likes me, she thought, and I like him. Don’t blow it, she warned herself.

Last night when they had danced to “Satin Doll,” they had hardly spoken. Sylvie had enjoyed the rare pleasure of dancing with an attractive man who didn’t have two left feet. She had intuitively known that Milton Wana-maker was not someone who wanted a woman chattering in his ear over the music. They had just sat down at his table adjacent to the dance floor and exchanged primary information, the fact that she was from Palm Springs and a widow, that he was from Beverly Hills and a widower, when his sister Violet, whom he had just identified as a Miami resident, emerged from the powder room.

“I think I’m having a reaction to the patch, Milton,” she had informed him, virtually ignoring Sylvie. “The warning says that it may cause dizziness and blurred vision. I believe I’m experiencing that. Will you please take me back to my stateroom?”