Winslow couldn't decide which was worse: the awkward non-conversation between them or the crashingly loud silence when they didn't speak. The hairs on the back of his neck fairly stood at the creak of her chair when she got up and he took advantage of the time alone to wrest the unit from its frame.
It was easy for him to get absorbed in the next few steps -- checking the motor and fans and coolant -- and it was only when he turned, reaching for a screwdriver, that he caught sight of the woman. He started in surprise. She wasn't watching him, he was relieved to see, but he wondered how long she had been there.
"Are you enjoying the cruise so far, ma'am?" The silence was worse, Winslow decided, than the small talk.