Ned and I had quarreled the night before, just after dinner. He’d made a comment to Deenie during the meal, calling me a spoilsport when I’d declined his suggestion that we head to shore and visit some of the nearby Riviera casinos. I’d managed to bridle my tongue in front of our daughter, but after Deenie had gone to bed, I had let him hear it; I’d had enough of him painting me like that—to our friends, to his business associates, now to our daughter. He’d said nothing in defense or apology, he’d simply skulked off to the bar lounge aboard the ship, not returning to sleep in our stateroom.
But today, I reminded myself, was a new day. I would apologize for how angry I’d gotten. Perhaps he’d apologize for his infantile name-calling. We could take a swim with Deenie in the Mediterranean, perhaps motor to shore in one of the skiffs for a relaxed lunch under an umbrella at one of those colorful beachside bistros. It would be a good day for all three of us, together.
As Ned and I had slept in different bedrooms, I hadn’t yet seen my husband or my daughter, but I was ready to get our day started. I had decided that I would surprise Deenie by telling her and Mrs. Tytler that they could have a day off from lessons. After lunch we could rig up one of the smaller sailboats and Ned could steer the three of us up the coast, looking for a pleasant cove where we could fish and swim.
Just then, the sound of footsteps on the deck, and my lady’s maid appeared. I made to rise from my chair. “Ah, Renée. Good morning. Have you seen Deenie or Mrs. Tytler?”
“No, Madame.”
I patted down the skirt of my light-blue dress, making a note that I’d need to pack a bathing suit for our outing. “Very well. And how about Mr. Hutton?”
Renée’s gaze flickered, only for a moment, before she answered: “Mr. Hutton…” She blinked against the bright sunlight, or perhaps she was avoiding my eyes. “I saw him going ashore, Madame Hutton.”
Now it was my turn to blink, surprised as I was by the news. “What?”
“I saw him in one of the skiffs. Heading toward the port.”
“When?” I asked.
“An hour ago, perhaps.” Renée folded her hands together before her waist.
I looked out over the deck and toward the shore, as if I might find Ned’s distant figure against the outline of the mountainous coast. But of course I could not. “Was he…alone?”
“Yes, Madame. Driving the small boat himself toward the port.”
I sat back in my chair, my hopes for the day pierced. Ned had already left, gone to shore on his own. I had so many more questions, but I knew Renée could not provide me with their answers. No one could, other than my husband. Why, Ned? What are you doing?
* * *
—
He’d been distant for weeks, disappearing for hours at a time even though we were contained together aboard a ship surrounded by seawater. But with the yacht being as massive as it was, it was surprisingly easy to lose track of each other. He could be in the movie theater, in the exercise rooms, in the lounge, with the barber. When I found him—sometimes half a day later—and asked him where he’d been, he’d shrug and tell me he’d been fishing, or swimming, or getting a shave.
But leaving the ship without even telling me—going ashore on his own into a harbor city, one that he knew I wanted to see and visit with him—that was a first. Was he really so angry with me because of our quarrel the night before? Should I commandeer a dinghy for myself and go look for him? But that felt foolish. I didn’t know which café or fishing cove he’d be in. He’d come back, I reasoned. He was simply trying to teach me a lesson. Fine, I thought. Let us both cool off. I wasn’t going to chase him like some naughty dog off his leash.
The morning warmed and brightened to afternoon. The hours passed as the white sun arced across the sky and then began to dip over the Maritime Alps, stippling the coast in soft hues of rose and gold, and still Ned did not return. Nor was he back when Deenie and I met up for supper on the deck.
I sat there with my daughter, poking my plate of fresh-caught bluefin tuna, doing my best to look at ease even though I had very little appetite. When Deenie asked, “Where is Daddy?” I forced a smile from my strained features.
“He went to explore Cannes a bit.”
Deenie frowned, confused. “Why didn’t we go with him?” she asked. It was the natural question.
At that I became slightly flustered, but I did my best to stammer a credible reply: “He…he wanted to scout some good fishing spots. To…to take you. Tomorrow.”