His smile widened, as though he appreciated her challenge. But he did not do as she asked.
‘In a minute,’ he said.
His voice was low and cultured, but beneath it she could detect a faint trace of a rougher accent.
‘I understand you took exception to my man’s visit this morning,’ he went on. ‘I would like to apologize for his intrusion, and for anything he said which might have upset you. It was not my intention to cause you distress, I assure you.’
His words were politeness itself, but beneath the politeness was a strong will which was almost palpable.
‘If you will excuse me … ’
She trailed away meaningfully, but he did not stand aside.
‘Miss Cavendish, I would like to speak to you about —’
‘My stateroom. I know,’ she interrupted him, feeling the sooner she brought the interview to an end the better. There was something distinctly unsettling about Mr Latimer. ‘But I am afraid I have no intention of relinquishing it. I intend to make use of it for my journey to Ireland as arranged.’
‘Miss Cavendish,’ he said, with a slight hardening of his eyes - extremely dark eyes, she noticed, the colour of rich chocolate - ‘I am a very wealthy man —’
‘So your man informed me,’ she interrupted him. ‘It must be very pleasant for you, but it has nothing to do with me. Now pray stand aside, so that I might carry on my way.’
‘You’re right. This is no place to be holding a conversation. I’ll escort you to the library and we can discuss the matter there,’ he said.
‘We will do nothing of the kind. There is nothing to discuss. Now unless you want me to call a steward I suggest you let me pass.’
He gave a slight shrug, and she expected him to move out of her way, but instead, a challenging smile crossed his face.
‘Hail one,’ he said.
She bit her lip. He had called her bluff, for there was not a steward in sight.
‘Mr Latimer —’
‘All I’m asking is that you hear me out,’ he interrupted her, with a note of steel beneath the charm.
She sighed. ‘Is there any other way for me to be rid of you?’ she asked, her patience and her good manners exhausted.
She saw a surprised expression cross his face and then his mouth set in a straight line, as though he was not accustomed to people wanting to be rid of him - and as though he did not like the novel experience.
His smile quickly returned, but his voice had a further hardness to it when he said, ‘No.’
‘Very well. Now, what is it you want to say?’
‘Miss Cavendish.’ Now that he had won his point he hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure how to continue. Then, thrusting his hands deep in his trouser pockets, he pursed his lips and went on. ‘I have a sick mother … ’
A sick mother? She was astonished. It was the last thing she had expected him to say.
‘I took her to London so that I could consult the best doctors for her,’ he continued, ‘but I have not been able to secure the accommodation I wanted for her on her return journey. You, on the other hand, occupy one of the best staterooms on the ship. You have a sitting-room as well as two bedrooms and a private deck - totally unnecessary for a healthy young woman travelling alone —’
‘How do you know I am travelling alone?’ she interrupted him.
He waved one hand dismissively. ‘I make it my business to know these things. Now, all I am asking is that you swap rooms with my mother for one night. I will recompense you handsomely and —’
‘That will be quite unnecessary. I’m very sorry to hear that your mother is sick’ - if you really have a sick mother, she added to herself, as she would not put it past him to invent a sick mother if it suited him - ‘but my stateroom is not for sale. I mean to make use of it tonight. Tomorrow, however, once I disembark at Queenstown, it will be empty and your mother will be welcome to it.’
‘I don’t think you realize how wealthy I am … ’ he began, snapping his fingers in the direction of his man.
‘Mr Latimer,’ she said with irritation, ‘I don’t care. There are some things that cannot be bought.’
‘Everything can be bought, for the right price,’ he said, taking a cheque book from Hutton.
Emilia, seeing a steward approaching, called to him. ‘Would you show me the way to the Café Parisien, please? I seem to be lost.’
‘Certainly, miss. If you would care to follow me,’ said the steward obligingly.
Emilia turned to Mr Latimer and said freezingly, ‘I will bid you good day.’
And with that, she walked away, leaving Mr Latimer looking after her with a shrewd expression on his face.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Hutton. ‘I told you she was stubborn. If she had any sense she’d accept your offer. It’s a very generous offer, if I might say so, sir.’
Carl’s eyes followed her along the corridor.
‘I’m glad she didn’t.’ His eyes kindled as he watched her recede from view. ‘Life’s been far too simple recently. All this easy living is making me soft. I’m in need of a challenge.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘It looks like I’ve just found one.’
Chapter Two
‘Thank you,’ said Emilia to the steward as she reached the Parisien Café. ‘You have been most helpful.’
‘Thank you, miss,’ he said pleasantly.
She went into the café. It was light, airy and spacious, and had large arched windows looking out over the sea. Trellis surrounded the windows, with ivy growing through it, and white wicker furniture was set on the chequerboard floor.
She was just about to take a seat when, to her astonishment, she saw a familiar figure over by the window, sitting in a wicker chair. It was the last person she had expected to see on the ship: Freddy Longthorn.
‘Freddy!’ she exclaimed in surprise.
‘Good Lord! Emilia!’ said Freddy Longthorn, looking up from the newspaper he had been reading. ‘Don’t tell me you’re on board? What a surprise!’
He grinned at her engagingly. Then, remembering his manners, he stood up, revealing his long gangly body dressed in flannels. He looked for all the world as though he were going to embark on a game of tennis.
‘Are you going to play, or have you been playing?’ asked Emilia humorously, as she joined him at his table.
‘What? Oh, the flannels. I’ve been having a go in the gym, don’t you know? There’s a splendid fellow there, absolutely splendid, by the name of McCawley, he runs the whole show. He set me up on the horse —’
‘Horse?’ asked Emilia, startled.
‘The electric horse,’ explained Freddy. ‘It’s a wonderful invention. Then he set me up on the camel - electric again. It’s just like riding the real thing.’
‘Have you ever ridden a camel?’ asked Emilia with a twinkle in her eye.
‘I can’t say I have, now you come to mention it, but it’s bound to be the same,’ he said, laughing.
‘But what are you doing on board Titanic?’ she asked.
‘Ah, well, it’s a long story.’
‘In that case I had better sit down.’
He held out a chair for her and pushed it in again when she had settled herself.
‘Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, please. A coffee, I think.’
He ordered her a drink and then sat down opposite her.
She was delighted to have met him so unexpectedly. Seeing him took her back to the happy days of her childhood, when her parents had been alive. Freddy had lived in the largest house in the village of Chipping Burton, whilst her family had occupied a neat house nearby. She and Freddy had been the same age, and when they had been babies their nursemaids had taken them to the park together to feed the ducks. As they had grown older they had spent much of their time playing together, to say nothing of trying to avoid Freddy’s forceful nurse, Hildegarde. Those times, alas, had ended on her parents’ death, when she had moved away from the neig
hbourhood, but they still brought back happy memories.
‘The thing is … ’ said Freddy.
‘Yes?’ said Emilia encouragingly.
He looked suddenly sheepish.
‘The thing is … ’
‘You’re in some kind of trouble,’ she said. ‘What is it this time? Have you been sent to America by your father in order to learn a trade, or have you been banished on account of a worse-than-usual prank?’
‘Good Lord, no, whatever makes you think that?’ he asked. ‘No, no, it’s nothing like that.’ His tone changed. ‘It’s worse.’
‘Then you had better tell me all about it,’ said Emilia.
The waiter brought over two cups of coffee. Once he had left, Freddy said, ‘You’re taking it very lightly, but you won’t when you know what the trouble is. The thing is, Emilia, I’m engaged.’
‘Engaged?’ Emilia was surprised. ‘To be married?’
‘That’s the usual sort of engagement,’ he said testily.
‘In that case, congratulations.’
‘Yes, well, no … the thing is,’ he confided, ‘that’s why I’m going to Cherbourg.’
‘Then you’re not going to New York?’
‘No. Cherbourg’s the place for me.’
‘Is your fiancée French?’ asked Emilia, having difficulty in following Freddy’s conversation.
‘No she isn’t. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. She’s as English as they come. Her name is Ellison. Penelope Ellison.’
‘Then why are you going to France?’ asked Emilia, mystified.
‘Can’t stand the French,’ said Freddy. ‘Penelope, that is. She calls them a nation of snail eaters. She won’t set foot in the place.’
‘Ah.’ Emilia’s mouth quirked. ‘I see. The engagement, I take it, is not to your liking?’
‘No it isn’t,’ he said.
‘Then why did you propose?’ asked Emilia reasonably.
‘I didn’t,’ he said mournfully. ‘She proposed to me. Or rather, she said, “Freddy, I’ve decided to marry you.” Then she dragged me into the ballroom and said “Everyone, Freddy and I are engaged.” ’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Emilia, unable to suppress a smile.
‘It’s all very well for you. You’re not engaged to a harridan with a dozen brothers and a father who’s a crack shot.’
‘They all hate France?’ queried Emilia.
‘Every last one of ’em,’ said Freddy.
‘Now I see why you’re going there! Well, if they all hate it, you should be safe.’
‘Ah! France. La belle France,’ said Freddy with a sigh, relaxing back into his wicker chair. ‘Moulin Rouge … croissants … Burgundy … Brie … In a few hours time I’ll be safe from Penelope and her whole benighted family.’
‘How long are you going for?’ asked Emilia.
‘For as long as it takes.’
‘As long as it takes for what?’ she asked, startled.
‘For her to find some other poor chap to get engaged to. I don’t fancy the curate’s chances. He’s a weak looking fellow, with no backbone,’ he said, pursing his lips.
‘Would Penelope want to marry a curate?’ she asked curiously.
‘I don’t see why not. Her uncle’s a clergyman. It runs in the family. Anyway, he’s available and I’m not.’
He gave a sigh of satisfaction.
‘This is the life, Emilia. It’s a pity I’m not on board longer. But how about you? What are you doing going to America?’
‘I’m not going to America. I’m going to Ireland,’ said Emilia. ‘I’m going to live with my godmother.’
‘Really? Good for you. But what about your Aunt Clem?’
Emilia’s smile faded. ‘She died.’
‘Oh, I say, Emilia, I’m sorry,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, so am I,’ said Emilia.
‘But you’ll enjoy living with your godmother,’ said Freddy bracingly.
‘Yes, you’re right. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘It’s a pity you’re not going to New York. You could have looked in on Charlie. He’s got a job out there.’
Emilia’s eyes widened. ‘Charlie Potter? A job?’
Charlie had also lived in Chipping Burton, and had been a great friend of Freddy’s. He was a small, round person and in his childhood he had had a love of jam tarts and practical jokes.
‘I can’t blame you for being surprised, but it’s true. Here.’ He took a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. CHARLES POTTER, EXPERT ON FINE ANTIQUES, she read. It was followed by an address in New York.
‘Does Charlie know anything about antiques?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Oh, Lord, yes. Well, no … no, not really, but he’s doing very well out there.’
‘What made him think of selling antiques in New York?’
‘You might well ask. It’s all on account of Julia.’
‘Julia?’
‘Yes. Charlie’s in love again.’
‘Ah. I see.’
Charlie fell in and out of love with alarming regularity, but he had never before, to Emilia’s knowledge, carried things so far as to take up employment.
‘I assume he wants to impress Julia’s father?’ she asked.
‘Got it in one. He asked for her hand. He was turned down, of course - her father couldn’t give his daughter to a man with no means of support, he said. He wouldn’t take the trust fund as means. Nothing but honest labour. So off Charlie went to America and somehow fell into antiques. It was all on account of his being English. It made people think he knew what he was talking about. They don’t have them over there, apparently . . antiques, that is, not English people. The country’s not old enough. He got himself employed by a firm that liked the sound of his voice and is doing jolly well, apparently.’
‘Good for him!’ smiled Emilia. ‘Will you be on board for dinner?’ she asked, when she and Freddy had finally caught up with all their news.
Freddy shook his head. ‘No. Unfortunately not. Titanic docks about half past five. I’ll be in France for dinner. A nice cutlet and a bottle of wine.’
‘Would you like to look round the rest of the ship with me whilst you’re still aboard?’ she asked.
Freddy shook his head. ‘No, thanks all the same. I’ve seen it. I boarded early. Promised old McCawley I’d go back and give his camel another go. I wouldn’t mind a look round your stateroom, though. I haven’t had a chance to see one. They’re very grand by all accounts, though I can’t see why they call them staterooms. They seem more like suites to me.’
‘They are,’ said Emilia. ‘Mine is wonderful. Come and see it when you’ve finished in the gym. Shall we say, half past three? I can arrange for the stewardess to bring us tea.’
‘Rightio,’ said Freddy.
‘Do you know where I’ll find any writing paper?’ asked Emilia, as they were about to part. ‘I promised to write a letter to a friend.’
‘In the reading room,’ said Freddy promptly. ‘It’s very impressive. It’s headed with the white star flag, and it says On board R.M.S. “TITANIC” . I wrote a letter to the mater. I thought it would please her.’
‘I’m sure it will. Can I post it on board?’
He pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know. I gave mine to my man. Ask a steward, he’ll be bound to know.’
Thanking Freddy for his advice, Emilia decided to go back to her room first for a shawl. The ship was heated but her dress was thin and she was feeling rather cold. Once she had fetched it she would go to the reading room and then write her letter to Mrs Wichwood.
Carl Latimer was standing in the sitting-room of his mother’s stateroom with a frown on his face. He had hoped the trip to Europe would be beneficial to her, and that the London doctors would be able to tell him what was wrong with her, but, like the New York doctors, their diagnoses had been vague.
“A nervous indisposition” had been the general consensus of opinion, but it told him nothing. His mother had never been a nervous woman
, indeed she had been extremely robust in her prime. But ever since his father had died she had gradually dwindled into a hesitant woman with very little energy, a shadow of her former self.
He had done everything he could to make life easier for her after the blow of his father’s death, but instead of making her better it had only seemed to make matters worse. At last he had taken to consulting doctors, the best men in their field. They had shaken their heads and looked grave; talked about tonics and rest; but none of them had seemed to be able to cure her.
The trip to Europe had been his last hope. But again the diagnoses had been vague. So now he was taking her back to New York. He had decided, at first, to rely on the ship’s doctors for the voyage, but his mother had been so nervous that he had decided to engage Dr Allerton to accompany her on the trip. The good doctor was with her now, checking that the vessel’s departure hadn’t unduly unsettled her.
The door of the bedroom opened and Dr Allerton came out.
He was a small man with a grave manner, dressed in sober style. He carried a black bag.
‘How is she?’ asked Carl.
The doctor shook his head.
‘Her nerves are disordered. She must have complete rest. I have given her companion a bottle of tonic to administer to Mrs Latimer before each meal. I rely on you to see that she takes it.’
‘You can be sure I will. Is there nothing else that can be done for her?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. It’s a question of complete rest. Keep her quiet. Don’t allow her to exert herself, and all will be well.’
Carl looked towards the door of the bedroom. His mother came out, leaning on the arm of her companion. She was not a small woman, but she seemed to have shrunk in recent years. Her complexion had dimmed, and her hazel eyes had become sunken. She was too thin. Her high-waisted Empire gown was tied with a sash which accentuated the narrowness of her frame. Not even its expensive cut could disguise the fact that her arms and shoulders were bony.