Paul and Sloan followed her out of the car, but Paris took two steps and stopped dead, her gaze swinging from the little helicopter to the chauffeur. "I assumed Mr. Maitland would send the launch for us, Martin," she said to him in a slightly accusing voice.
Martin, the chauffeur, was a big man in his late forties who looked strong enough to carry the Rolls, not merely drive it, and he spoke with more authority in his voice than deference. "The launch has an engine problem today," he informed her. "Mr. Maitland expects everyone to fly out to the Apparition, where you will enjoy a very pleasant evening, I'm sure."
Sloan was taken aback by his unspoken command to get into the plane and stop hesitating, but Paris was more intimidated by the helicopter than the chauffeur.
"What's wrong?" Paul asked her gently.
She bumped into him as she backed up, trying to put as much distance between herself and the craft as possible. "I'm sorry, but I really don't think I can get into that thing. I know I can't. I don't even like big commuter helicopters, let alone miniature ones!"
Sloan's heart sank. She didn't mind missing out on the helicopter or the boat, but she didn't want to miss out on an evening with Noah. "Are we the only guests Noah is expecting?" she asked, hiding her distress behind a sympathetic smile. "If we are, maybe he could join us somewhere else on land?"
"That wouldn't be fair," Paris said emphatically. "Noah had his chef make a special dinner, and he planned a whole evening because he wanted to surprise you." Twisting around, she looked sadly at Paul. "I don't want to spoil the evening. You go with Sloan, and I'll go back home."
Sloan opened her mouth to veto that plan, but Paul gallantly intervened. "That wouldn't be fair to me," he said. "Sloan can go ahead, and you and I will have dinner someplace here."
"Are you certain you don't mind?" Paris asked hesitantly, gazing at him with a mixture of sorrow and melting gratitude.
He appeared to find the situation more humorous than distressing. Nodding toward the helicopter, he told Sloan, "You'd better get going before that thing runs out of fuel." Then he turned to Paris and gestured toward the open car door. "Shall we go?"
In the car, Paris watched the helicopter lift off the landing pad and veer sharply over the water into the sunset; then she turned to Paul. "I hope you aren't terribly disappointed."
"Not at all," he said smoothly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he angled his back toward the car door and regarded her in amused silence.
A little unnerved by his attitude and his scrutiny, Paris blurted, "You must think I'm silly and neurotic."
Silently, he shook his head, indicating he didn't think that.
"I'm afraid of helicopters."
He looked at her. "That must take some of the fun out of it."
"Out of what?"
"Out of flying them."
Laughing, she slumped against the back of her seat and admitted defeat. "How did you know?"
"Your father is very proud of all your accomplishments. Just out of curiosity," he added wryly, "what would you have done if I'd decided to fly out there with Sloan?"
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I knew you wouldn't do that."
In the front seat, the chauffeur was on the car phone, notifying the Apparition that the helicopter had just taken off with Miss Reynolds. He hung up and gazed speculatively at Paris in the rearview mirror, waiting for her decision. "We don't have to pretend, Marty," she said ruefully. "I've been caught. Mr. Maitland said he was going to make reservations somewhere else for us. Take us there."
The chauffeur nodded, made a sharp U-turn, drove to pier number three, and brought the car to a stop. Paris's forehead furrowed into a puzzled frown. "Now what happens?"
"By a strange coincidence," the chauffeur lied straight-faced, reciting his prepared speech, "the Apparition's chef and captain will be returning in the copter shortly. When I telephoned Mr. Maitland just now to notify him that Miss Reynolds was on her way, he was very upset that he hadn't remembered your lifelong fear of helicopters. He instructed me to insist that you let him provide you with a substitute dinner and cruise aboard the Star Gazer." He nodded unnecessarily to a sixty-five-foot sailboat docked directly in front of them in the first slip.
Paris looked at Paul, her face shining with merriment "What do you think? Is it fair to let Noah go to so much trouble?"
"It's the only fair thing to do," Paul said mildly, but he wasn't proof against her childlike delight in the evening. With a reluctant grin, he added, "It would serve him right if we took her out without his crew."
"Can you sail a boat that large?"
"With a little help from you." He said it so casually that Paris immediately concluded he was perfectly capable. "Can you cook?" he countered.
"Not without a lot of help from you."
He held out his hand for hers. "Let's go."
32
The Apparition lived up to its name, Sloan thought as the helicopter banked left and she gazed in astonished disbelief at the ship that lay below, five minutes offshore. Silhouetted against a sunset ablaze with red, orange, and purple, the gleaming white ship looked as graceful and solid as a seagoing Taj Mahal.
"Welcome aboard, miss," a man in a white uniform said, bending low and holding out his hand to help her alight from the helicopter. He showed her the way to the main deck, two levels below, and escorted her to the bow, where a table had been covered with a linen cloth and set with china and crystal for a formal dinner for two. "Mr. Maitland had an urgent telephone call, but he'll join you here shortly," he explained; then he hurried off.
Mesmerized, Sloan looked about her. She had never expected Noah to possess anything like this; she had never seen anything like this except in travelogues about places like Monte Carlo, where the fabulously rich put into port in gigantic yachts.
Trailing her hand along the polished railing, she strolled slowly along the main deck toward the stern. Most of this level appeared to be taken up by a spacious saloon with large windows overlooking the sea and glass doors that opened onto the deck. The draperies were open, and Sloan was surprised that the interior looked more like an ultramodern penthouse apartment than part of a ship. The carpeting was white with shades of plum and platinum sculptured into a waving design that created a wide border at the edges and a surrealistic medallion in the center. A circular staircase with a chrome railing led to an upper and lower level. Groups of sofas and chairs, upholstered in the carpet's colors, were invitingly arranged around tables with thick glass tops. Modernistic sculptures in shining silver and gold reposed on tables; on pedestals, giant geodes displayed glittering rock interiors in a rainbow of colors including amethyst and powder blue.