She moved like a sleepwalker, her nails biting into my arm as she clung to it. Her shoulders were high, square, stiff, and her face was set in rigid lines, making her seem a hard, harried thirty. She didn't speak.

'Relax, baby,' I said as we passed a group of middle-aged people. 'I'll show 'em my shipyard badge and if that don't help, all they can do is lynch us.' I didn't try to keep my voice lowered and the people must have heard; they drew away as we passed.

Alice blushed a deep dull red, but some of the stiffness left her. 'You don't have to prove it,' she said. 'They expect you to be a clown anyway.'

'Well anyway, I'm running true to form,' I said. We were both just making words.

Looking up, I caught a young captain's eye. He didn't turn away when our gazes met; he didn't change expression; he just watched us with the intent stare of the analyst.

The head waiter came quickly up the four steps from the dining-room with bleak eyes and a painted smile. He was a slight, round-faced man with a short sharp nose and thin, plastered hair. 'We are sorry, but all the tables are reserved,' he greeted us blandly in a high, careful voice.

I looked down at him with a broad smile that went all down in my throat and chest. It was all I could do to keep from putting my finger in his face. 'Don't be sorry on my account,' I said, slightly slurring the words with too much throat. 'I have one reserved. Jones-Robert Jones.'

The painted smile came off, leaving slackness in his face, and his eyes looked trapped. 'Jones, Mr. Jones…' The 'Mr.' almost strangled him, but he recovered quickly. 'Certainly, sir. I'll have to consult my lists for tonight. We have so many unexpected officers whom we must serve, you know.' This time his smile included me.

But I wouldn't accept it. Alice squeezed my arm.