'Excuse me, Madame Bleveans.

Hisako turned to see the tall, dark-haired Frenchman looking first at Mrs Bleveans, then at her, smiling slightly. They'd been introduced; his name was Philippe Ligny. He nodded to the American woman and to her. 'Mademoiselle Onoda?

'Yes? Hisako said.

'There is a radio call for you. It is from Tokyo. A Mr… Morieur?

'Moriya, she said, amused at his accent.

'He says it is urgent. He waits. I can take you to the radio, yes?

'Yes, thank you, she said. 'My agent, she explained to Mrs Bleveans.

'Mr ten percent, huh? Well, give him hell, honey.

Hisako followed the young Frenchman through the ship, admiring his back, imagining the feel of those shoulders under her hands, and telling herself she might have had too much wine. 'Ah, an elevator! she said. Philippe motioned her to enter the small lift first.

'We are very… decadent on ships todays, he told her, following her in and pressing the top button. She smiled at the 'todays', then told herself his English was ten times better than her French. They had to stand with arms touching. She felt awkward, standing so close to him. He smelled of an aftershave or cologne she could not identify. The lift hummed around them, sending vibrations up her legs. She cleared her throat, wanting something to say, but couldn't think of anything.

'The radio; is just like a téléphone. He held out the handset for her while she sat in the chair just vacated by the radio operator. The wall ahead of her was packed with small screens, lights, dials and buttons; there were another couple of telephone-type handsets, plus two other microphones.

'Thank you.

'I will be forward, on the bridge? He pointed; she nodded. 'When you finish, you hang the… the piece here.

She nodded again. She could already hear the squeaky voice of Mr Moriya coming from the receiver in her hand. Philippe Ligny closed the door behind him, and she sighed, wondering what Mr Moriya thought important enough to track her down here.

'Hisako?

'Yes, Mr Moriya?

'Look, I've had an idea; supposing I hired a helicopter…

Mr Moriya retired defeated after about ten minutes, mollified by the information that the canal authorities hoped to have the canal operating within a few days. She left the radio room (it smelled of… electronics, she thought to herself) and went down a short corridor to the red-lit bridge, where more tiny lights winked.

The bridge was very long (or wide, she supposed), and full of even more complicated equipment than the radio room; multifarious surfaces, levers, buttons and screens glinted in the strange ruby glow coming from the overhead lamps. The bridge's sloped windows looked out over the dark lake to the lights of the Nakodo, a kilometre away, and beyond that she could make out what must be the lights of Gatún, normally obscured by the various small islands between the town and the buoy-field where the ships lay moored.

She went to the ship's wheel; it was small; about the size of a sport's car's. She touched it.

'Not bad news, no?

She jumped a little (and thought at least her blush would go unnoticed in this ruby light), and turned to Ligny, who'd come from another red-lit room just off the bridge.

She shook her head. 'No. My agent is worried; I am due to play in Europe in two weeks, and- she spread her hands - well, I will be late, I suppose.

'Ah. He nodded slowly, looking down at her. His face was smooth-looking and somehow theatrical under the red lights. She expected the usual questions — Why hadn't she flown? Would she be going to his country? — and so on, but he just looked slowly away. She noticed he was holding a clipboard. He glanced at it. 'Excuse me, he said. 'I will call one of the men to take you back; I stay… it is my watch.

'I can find my own way back, she said.

'Bien.

'I was just… she looked around, at the banks of controls and screens, … admiring all this machinery. So complicated.

He shrugged. She watched his shoulders move. 'It is… more simple than it looks. The ship is… like an instrument. I think a violoncelle is more difficult perhaps.

She found herself shrugging too, realising halfway through the action she was unconsciously imitating him. 'But there are only four strings on a violoncelle, she said. 'And one person can work it, not… twenty or thirty.

'But… one person can work the ship, he said. He motioned at the expanse of controls. 'We control the engine from here direct; this is the wheel; there is radar, echo sounder… the ah… machine for the anchor; we have computers and satellite location as well as paper charts… of course, in reality- (He said realité; she decided she could listen to his accent for hours; days.) "- you need many more people… for maintenance… so on.

She wanted to extend the moment, so moved along the edge of the controls sloped beneath the windows. 'But there's so much; so many controls. She felt a little guilty at acting the ignorant female, but then although Officer Endo had shown her round the bridge of the Nakodo, she hadn't paid all that much attention. She ran her hand over one set of blank screens. 'What does this do, say?

'Those are monitors; televisions. So that we can see the bows, stern, so on.

'Ah. And these? Was she being too obvious, running her fingers along the levers? This was silly, really. There was a very attractive young woman officer on this ship, much better looking than her. But what was wrong with flirting? She wasn't even really flirting, anyway. Probably he hadn't noticed; she was being over-sensitive.

'Pumps; to pump the cargo; the oil. And here… controls for fighting fire. Foam; water sprays.

'Ah ha. So, you carry… crude oil? She folded her arms.

'Yes. From Venezuela. We take it to Manzanillo, in Mexico… on the Pacific coast.

'Ah yes. You were going in the other direction.

He smiled. 'And so we meet.

'Indeed, she smiled back. He kept looking at her. She wondered how long she could keep up this eye contact.

'When I was young, he said slowly.

'Yes? She leant back a little, backside against the lip of the control deck.

'I was… I had to play the violon… violin. I tried the… how do you say violoncelle?

'Cello.

'Cello, he said, smiling. 'I tried the cello, but I was not very good. I was just a little boy, you know?

She tried to imagine him as a little boy.

'Your cello is Stradivari? he said. He looked a little more boyish when he frowned. She nodded. Just keep speaking, you beautiful man, she thought. And: What am I doing? This is absurd. What age am I supposed to be?

'I thi — I thought he made violons only.

'No, cellos too. Him, and his sons.

'It is very good… cello, then.

'Well, I like the sound it makes. That's the most important thing. Inspiration! 'Would you like to… she gulped. 'Would you like to… to play it?

He looked shocked. 'Oh no; I could not. I might hurt… I might damage it.

She laughed. 'Oh, it's not so easily damaged. It looks delicate but really… it's strong.

'Ah.

'If you would like to play it… if you can remember. Please do. I'd like you to. I could give you lessons, if you like.

He looked almost bashful. She thought she could see him as a little boy, just perhaps. He looked down at the deck. 'I would be… is too kind of you.

'No; I'm going to Europe to play, but also to teach. I must practise to teach as well as to play.

He was still looking bashful. The tiny frown was there too. She wondered if she was being too obvious. 'Well… he said. 'Perhaps… could I pay you?

'No! She laughed, and bent at the waist, bringing her head briefly near him. She shook her head quite hard, knowing it made her collar-length hair flare out. What am I doing? Oh please don't let me make a fool of myself 'I know, she said. She. looked down the length of the bridge. 'We'll trade. You could teach me how to work the ship.