Relieved to move through the ship on her own, Regan wandered through the casino, hoping to spot her parents. They were already gone from the dining room when her table got up, and she had phoned them, but as expected they were not in their room. As she walked by the slot machines, a bell rang, followed by the tinny sound of quarters dropping into the tray of the machine that had just lined up the winning combination of three cherries in a row. An expressionless man with a chewed-up cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth scooped up the quarters and dropped them back in his paper cup. No matter how much you win at those one-armed bandits, Regan thought, most people keep playing until they’ve used up all their change. Regan had heard it was best to play the machines near the entrances. The victorious sound of the ringing bells attracts people wandering by, and no doubt the cruise line hopes they’ll respond like Pavlov’s dogs.

The blackjack tables were full and Regan noticed that Cameron Hardwick was already settled in at one and a waitress was serving him a drink. I don’t want to get involved with him, Regan thought. Fixing her eyes straight in front of her she kept walking, exiting the casino and passing through the corridor with the photo displays, which tomorrow would be filled with the smiling faces of those who attended the Captain’s party tonight. She remembered that Veronica said they must order extra pictures as she was sure her cousins would want a copy as well as Philip and Val. “Val recently dug out some of the old family pictures in the attic,” Veronica had said, “and is having them framed. Except, of course, the pictures of Sir Gilbert’s first wife. She looked like a pleasant enough lady, but I don’t really need to be reminded that there was ever anyone else in Sir Gilbert’s life. Too bad, because there is a striking one of Sir Gilbert as a young man, but she is in it and although I understand she was very good to him right up until the time she died, who needs to look at her?”

Regan reached the door of the Knights Lounge and looked in. It amazed her the way it took on a whole other aura in the evening. The lights were low, candles flickered on the tables, and the people who had played bingo in this room a few hours ago in their shorts were now all dressed up.

No wonder romance flourished at night, Regan thought. People look better by candlelight. It certainly was the subject of many songs. “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” Gee, probably not.