Scarface looked at Valerie Roagland and Uncle Andy. They expected him to grin in amusement, but he did not.
"We better take seats," he said. "I think I need one, landing or no landing."
Valerie Roagland cornered Uncle Andy and flashed him a smile that brought him to a staggering halt. "This is all a little beyond me," she said. "What do you think has happened?"
He looked at her in silence a moment before answering. Then he gently patted her shapely shoulder. "The most practical thing I can say," he answered, "is to relax. No matter what has happened—we're here. Let's face it and wait for developments."
Suddenly she tucked her arm in his. He looked down at her arm, then into her eyes. After that, they walked up to A deck together.
Henry, following them, knew the answer. Far from being romance, it was an expression of the present situation. They were confronted with the Unknown. Their own world with its mores, complexities and inhibitions was behind them. Beneath that veneer, in real people, lay a human frankness, and a gregarious instinct. If rough waters lay ahead, Valerie Roagland preferred to have a man like Uncle Andy around. No strings. No innuendos.
But what lay beneath the civilized veneers of other people on board?
Take Scarface, for example. Why was he carrying a loaded gun?
"Well, it didn't take us long, did it?" Uncle Andy cast his line once more into the swelling waves and squinted against the eternal light of day.