Rags to Riches

by Nancy Carson

  So Maxine threw back the bedclothes, pulled her nightdress down to cover her bare legs and slipped out of bed, determined to overcome her dejection. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair, put on her dressing gown and headed for the bathroom. She emerged looking infinitely more presentable and, when she was dressed, went up on the Promenade Deck. But the Promenade Deck was teeming with people who had the same idea as Pansy; people who wanted to catch a last glimpse of the English coastline. As she looked starboard through the thick glass wall that protected the Promenade Deck from the elements, she stood for a few moments, this time watching the Isle of Wight receding into the distance. She felt like waving goodbye to it and smiled sadly at a very attractive fair-haired girl, beautifully dressed, about the same age as herself.

  ‘Hi!’ the girl said affably. ‘I was real sorry to leave England. But now we’ve gotten under weigh I’m sure surprised at how keen I am to get on home.’

  American. That warm burr, that pleasant drawl.

  ‘I’m just leaving home,’ Maxine replied. ‘But I know how you feel.’

  ‘You English?’

  Maxine nodded.

  ‘All that green,’ the girl remarked admiringly. ‘I can’t get over it. Everywhere’s so green, even in November.’

  Maxine hadn’t really considered it. ‘Well, I suppose it’s because we have lots of rain.’

  ‘Sure. Enjoy America.’

  She smiled politely and moved on, surprised at how easy it was to make new friends, even American friends. If that girl was typical, it seemed American girls had far less reserve than their more reticent British cousins. They didn’t stand on ceremony, waiting to be introduced. The boys would find it interesting. They would find her very interesting if their paths crossed again.

  Aft of the Observation Lounge and Cocktail Bar on the Promenade Deck, Maxine found the sound-proofed artists’ practice room, known as the Studio. She tapped on the door politely, lest somebody was using it already, then opened it. All was in darkness. She flicked down the light switch and immediately saw the gorgeous piano; a Bechstein boudoir grand. She walked over to it and ran her hands over it as if it were some sensuous being she’d fallen in love with on sight and needed to caress. She pulled the stool out and sat down to play. Out poured the introduction to ‘He’s Funny That Way’. At first she merely hummed the tune, then, as she got into it, sang it with all the fervour in her heart. This was Howard’s song. This was the song she’d sung for him the night they made love for the very first time. The lyrics somehow applied to them.

  Play something else, she told herself. Change the mood. Play something happy, bouncy…‘Blue Skies’. But you weren’t meant to sing ‘Blue Skies’ with tears in your eyes…

  By the time she’d got to the end of it, however, her tears had all but dried. Deliberately keeping her mood neutral, she went on to play ‘The Music Goes ’Round and Around’, then ‘I’m in the Mood for Love’…

  ‘I’m in the Mood for Love’ was not so bouncy, but it was a beautiful song, sensuous, lilting, casual in its contentment. She played it through twice, savouring the lovely minor sevenths, stressing them. How do people write such beautiful songs?

  She began improvising…Mmm, an interesting chord sequence. Play it again…

  That’s really nice. Develop it…

  Now…hum a melody…

  Put some words to it.

  What fools we are to offer our love to chance.

  Just being hurt shouldn’t mean the end of romance.

  We turn away from our destiny,

  And this is when destiny jests with me.

  Hey, that’s not bad! It gave her a distinct feeling of achievement.

  Do it again…Remember it.

  Some sheets of manuscript lay on a table near the door. She rushed over and grabbed one, took the pencil out of her handbag and began jotting down the notes. It was only a chorus, though, and rough at that. She needed a verse. Back to the piano…A different chord sequence…A bridge…Not bad, now work it up.

  Because I miss you, I think of you all through the day,

  Daydreaming of you and crying the nights away.

  Held in your arms is the only place I want to stay,

  For this is the moment that destiny jests with me

  It took many attempts and a couple of hours of focused work to knock the song into shape, but she was satisfied with it, as far as it went. And by the time she was satisfied, she knew it by heart. Now she had to polish off the lyrics for the other verses. She could do that any time. The first step was to play it to Brent and the rest of the band. Maybe they would like it. If they did, they could include it in their repertoire. She could even imagine Brent introducing it…Now we’d like to play a brand new song, written by Maxine Kite, our gorgeous pianist – ‘Destiny Jests with Me’. She laughed a little at the thought.

  But it was her first song! And she felt elated at having completed it. It had not been difficult but it had required intense concentration; so intense that, whilst her troubled romance with Howard had been her inspiration, she had not actually thought about him at all while she was writing it. Maybe she should write more. It was obviously therapeutic.

  She left the Studio in a far better frame of mind than she had entered it and went below to Deck C, hoping the others would be in their cabins. They were not. Maybe they would be on the Promenade Deck or the Sun Deck. So back up the lift she went in search of them. She found them on the port side of the Promenade Deck, watching the coast of France creeping closer.

  ‘Maxine!’ Brent greeted. ‘Where’ve you been? We looked everywhere for you. We’re just coming into Cherbourg.’

  ‘Oh? How long shall we be there?’

  ‘About four hours, I think. It depends on the tide. Come and see.’

  ‘I’ve been in the Studio.’

  ‘Oh? Doing what?’

  ‘Writing a song. I’ll play it for you later. Right now I’m starving. I’m going for something to eat. I’ve had no breakfast. Anybody else coming?’

  After she’d eaten, she returned to the Studio and played her song through a couple of times for Brent.

  ‘Yes, I like it. It’s good. Have you written it down?’

  ‘I have,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘But only roughly. I need to polish it up and write it out properly. Do you think it’s worth working up an arrangement?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Shall we do it together?’

  ‘Why?’ he teased. ‘Don’t you trust me with your song?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that, but I can hear certain riffs going on in my head that I know would work.’

  ‘Then we’re halfway there. Let’s get on with it…What’s the song about, Maxine?’

  She hesitated to tell him the truth. ‘It’s just a love song.’

  ‘About you and Zadoc?’ he suggested astutely.

  ‘Stop calling him Zadoc. It’s just a love song.’

  He came round the piano and sat next to her on the stool. ‘Shift your bum over.’

  She shuffled to the edge of the stool to make room for him.

  ‘It’s a smashing song,’ he said warmly. ‘A great melody. I’m really proud of you, Maxine. D’you know that?’ His arm went around her waist momentarily and he gave her a brief squeeze. ‘Pass me a sheet of manuscript and let’s get on with it.’

  She turned to him and smiled, grateful for both his praise and his consideration.

  That night the band’s duties were split. They were to play in the Tourist Class Ballroom till about midnight, then at one o’clock in the morning, after a break, they were to relieve for an hour the quartet that usually played in the Verandah Grill. Maxine spotted the American girl she’d met earlier, enter alone. She smiled in acknowledgement from her piano and the girl waved back flashing her lovely even teeth in the same broad smile she’d given before. She took a vacant table close to the stage and asked for drinks to be sent to each member of the band.

  They raised their glasses to her a
nd Maxine asked over the microphone if she had a special request that they could play.

  ‘Sure,’ she quickly replied. ‘Can you play “Honeysuckle Rose”?’

  ‘Okay, “Honeysuckle Rose” it is,’ Maxine said and they launched into it.

  When they had finished their stint, Maxine went over to say hello and to thank her for the drinks. The girl introduced herself as Dulcie and invited the rest of the band to join her. They pulled up seats at her table.

  ‘Say, you’re a great band,’ Dulcie remarked. ‘I never thought about an English jazz band but, hey, you’re really something.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kenny, aching to get close to her. He’d never been this close to an American girl before and this one really impressed him with her beautiful blonde hair, her big blue eyes and lips that warranted some serious kissing. Damn this curse that was hanging over him.

  But it was Brent who positioned himself next to Dulcie, with Maxine at her other side. And Brent seemed to be making the running. Dulcie seemed to be enjoying the things he was saying to her, things Maxine could not hear over the hubbub of laughter and talk from other passengers partying and the resident quartet that had resumed playing. Kenny, however, was not to be outdone and insinuated himself into their conversation, setting up a rivalry with Brent for Dulcie’s attention that she evidently enjoyed.

  ‘Would you like to dance, Dulcie?’ Brent said.

  ‘Sure, thanks,’ she replied and they stepped on the dance floor together.

  At that, Toots and Pansy assented to dance as well.

  For a time, Maxine watched the couples dancing. Dulcie danced the quickstep well, with beautiful poise and Maxine was surprised at Brent’s lightness on his feet, especially when he was so evidently engrossed in charming the girl with clever conversation.

  The tempo changed to a foxtrot and Kenny looked at Maxine. ‘D’you think you can manage a shuffle?’

  ‘Why not?’ When they stepped onto the dance floor, she said, ‘I think you fancy this Dulcie, don’t you, Kenny? You haven’t taken your eyes off her yet.’

  ‘Looks like I’ll have to join the blasted queue. Still, I’m not bothered, Maxine. She’s no prettier than you.’

  ‘You could have fooled me,’ she responded.

  ‘Well, I’m dancing with you and I’m not complaining. I’d happily dance with you all night.’ He gave her a squeeze and she smiled coyly. With the easy, boyish charm he exuded, it was easy to see why women seemed to fall at his feet.

  Despite herself, Maxine couldn’t help but be interested in Brent and Dulcie swirling around the floor. ‘See how he’s looking into her eyes like a lovesick fool, Kenny?’ She was feeling irrationally jealous that Brent should be paying so much attention to this American girl. And yet it was not so irrational. Only recently, he’d stolen kisses from her that she had not disliked and told her how much he wanted her. She had only disliked herself for allowing it. And this very afternoon he had slipped his arm around her waist and cuddled her affectionately.

  ‘You’re not jealous, are you, Maxine?’

  ‘Me, jealous? Why should I be jealous? Brent’s nothing to me.’

  ‘He thinks a lot of you.’

  ‘Oh, obviously, the way he’s mooning over her…Why? Has he said so, Kenny?’

  ‘I always get the impression that if you hadn’t taken up with Howard, the two of you would have got together.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I know he fancies you. There’s always been a definite spark between you. I’ve noticed it…Sometimes there’s affection, sometimes aggravation…I don’t know how to describe it.’

  ‘Familiarity. It breeds contempt, they say. We’re both musicians, Kenny. I suppose we have this rapport as musicians. But off-stage we often rub each other up the wrong way.’

  ‘He’s very protective towards you though, Maxine, you have to admit. Look how he still drives you home whenever Howard’s not about. More than once he’s told the lads in the band to keep their distance – before Howard came along, I mean.’

  ‘Really?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘The cheek! Who does he think he is?’

  Kenny laughed at her reaction. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t repeat it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Anyway, he’s diverted now.’

  ‘Just his type too – very pretty and very rich. I reckon her being rich is the real attraction. He’s just sounding her out, Maxine – testing the ground.’

  ‘Is that what you men do? Test the ground? Sound us women out, to see if we’ll let you have your wicked way?’

  He grinned. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘They say that’s all some single women come on these cruises for,’ she remarked experimentally.

  ‘To be laid, you mean?’

  ‘If that’s how you want to express it, Kenny. Do you think it’s true about Dulcie?’

  He twirled Maxine around as if she were a doll. ‘If I was dancing with her, I’d like to think so.’

  ‘So why don’t you make a play for her yourself?’

  ‘Not if Brent’s interested.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ she sighed theatrically. ‘Honour among thieves, eh? So, if I made a play for you, Kenny, you’d have to refuse me? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Not you, Maxine. I’d jump at the chance with you. I fancy you like hell. I really envy Howard…I like Howard though. He’s a decent chap.’

  She raised her head and smiled into his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, poignantly reminded of her heartache.

  They were silent for the rest of the dance sequence, then, when it finished, they all made their way back to the table.

  ‘I think I’m going to turn in,’ Maxine said, not bothering to sit down, ‘if you’ll forgive me for breaking the party up.’

  ‘Yeah, me too, Maxine,’ Dulcie said, much to Maxine’s surprise. She picked up her expensive wrap and stood by Maxine. ‘It’s been a long day, travelling from London since early morning. Gee, I guess I’ve been up nearly twenty-four hours already.’

  Maxine finished her drink, put her glass back on the table and bid everybody goodnight. She and Dulcie left the others and went through the doors.

  ‘Say, why don’t I meet you in the morning, Maxine?’ Dulcie suggested.

  ‘If you like,’ Maxine responded, pleasantly surprised at the invitation. ‘What time?’

  ‘Say lunch. Yeah, we could have lunch together…In the Main restaurant. Say one o’ clock? Ask for my table, huh?’

  ‘Okay, Dulcie, thank you. See you then.’

  Chapter 21

  Whereas the Tourist Class restaurant was chic, the Cabin Class restaurant was ethereal, like some high Art Deco temple with burnished metal pillars. A mellow hardwood veneer relieved by silver bronzed metalwork opulently bedecked the walls. A colourful electronic map, showing the ship’s position, occupied the forward wall like a stained glass window.

  When Maxine arrived, Dulcie was already at her table wearing a fashionable frock with long sleeves, buttoned to the waist and in a shade of blue that enhanced her eyes. She stood to greet her with the warm smile Maxine had already come to associate with her. She had not yet, however, decided whether this was the sincere smile of a friend or the deceptive smile of an antagonist.

  ‘Please sit down, Maxine. Did you get a good night’s sleep?’

  ‘Not bad,’ Maxine replied, allowing a waiter to pull out a sycamore chair with a rose pink covering for her to sit on. She thanked him. ‘And you, Dulcie?’

  ‘Sure, I slept good…till noon. Let me order you a drink.’

  ‘Oh, thanks – lemonade, please.’

  ‘Lemonade? Gee, have something stronger, Maxine. Lemonade’s for kids. Say, why don’t I order a bottle of wine?’

  ‘Okay,’ she assented with a broad smile

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Actually, Dulcie, I must say, it was very nice of you to invite me to lunch. I never expected it. Thank you.’

  A
waiter hovered and Dulcie ordered a bottle of Meursault. When he’d gone, she told Maxine that this had been her first trip to England. Her father, she said, had established a business connection in London and it was likely she would be visiting the city again in the near future. She lived in New York now with her parents, but had grown up in Massachusetts.

  It seemed no time before the wine waiter delivered their wine. He performed the ritual of opening the bottle and asked Dulcie to taste it. When she nodded that it was okay, he filled both glasses.

  ‘Why do people have to go through that rigmarole every time they order a bottle of wine?’ she asked rebelliously, handing Maxine a menu. ‘It beats me.’

  ‘Tradition? I’m not really sure. I don’t often drink wine.’

  Maxine studied the Luncheon Menu for a few seconds while a waiter lingered at a discreet distance, ready to take their order.

  ‘I think I’ll have Spanish omelette, please,’ she said.

  The waiter stepped forward. ‘Very good, Madam. No hors d’oeuvres?’

  The words were familiar but meant nothing. She looked at Dulcie seeking help.

  ‘I’ll have marinated herrings to start,’ Dulcie said, giving a lead, ‘followed by galantine of capon and a mixed salad. Would you also like herrings to start, Maxine?’

  ‘Yes, okay. Thanks,’ she said, remembering the delicious pickled herrings her mother used to cook.

  Dulcie picked up her glass and took a sip of wine. ‘You sure have to watch what you eat on this tub. You could end up like Two-Ton Tessie O’Shea there’s so much food.’