He was carrying, not very expertly, a tray with glasses on it. A tall glass of iced lager went to the savage-looking woman who wore her bangles with the air of an experienced gladiator coming out for another dusty battle in the arena of life. A brandy-and-soda for the savage lady’s red-faced, white-moustached husband. Major and Mrs. Corret, said the steward to himself. A large part of his job was getting the right names attached to the right faces. A medium-sized gin with French vermouth for the girl in the cut-away linen dress with the gold hair and the biscuit-coloured suntan. French. Marianne something-or-other. You could always get by with a French girl by calling her M’selle. A large gin to Mr. Clinton, the owner of the yacht Medea. Mr. Clinton was his employer and had a smooth, round face, a smooth, round smile, and a sharp pair of eyes. A very large gin for Captain Harbert, the certificated skipper of the yacht. The second part of the steward’s trade was observation, and he saw that the Captain was already a little drunk.
