by Rose Donovan
“Dolores, you know this will all die down soon,” the man growled. “Journalists have their moment, but they soon grow bored if the story is too hard to cover.” He cupped his hand over hers. Was it a libidinous, paternalistic or genuinely caring gesture? The tension between the pair clashed awkwardly with the comfortable furnishings of the cosy room.
“I hope so. Perhaps the next few months away will prove you right, Balraj,” she sighed, leaving her hand in place.
This must be the famous Dolores Dominguez, the film star, thought Fina. She didn’t recognise her, but why should she – she hadn’t seen her in the cinema. Fina always expected that famous people would be instantly recognisable, just because they were famous.
Crash!
As Victor toddled out of the lounge, he bumped into a woman wearing a maid’s uniform. A tea set and tray had clattered to the floor.
“Victor!” scolded Fina, feeling her body suddenly become a conduit for her own mother’s voice. “Please mind your step!”
Victor hung his head in shame.
“That’s all right, young master Victor,” said the woman. She bent over to help Fina gather up the detritus on the deck. “These things happen at close quarters, especially when the ship gets to rocking in stormy weather!” she said with a short laugh, almost a hiccough.
As the puddle of cooling tea spread across the floorboards, Fina snatched quickly at an endangered paper napkin. Half the napkin was covered with a meticulously sketched ink portrait. An amazing resemblance to the man she had just seen inside the lounge. The pen strokes were quick yet sure, obviously the result of much practise.
As she stood up to give back the tray, Fina said, “I’m Fina Aubrey-Havelock,” holding out her hand.
The maid wiped her hands on her apron and returned the gesture. “Agnes is the name, Agnes Gidge, Miss Aubrey-Havelock. Pleased to meet you and young master Victor here. I’ll be seeing to your rooms while on board.”
Fina peered at Agnes. The stout and doughy woman’s face was covered in make-up. It was skilfully applied, but it was so unusual that Fina gawped at her. She noticed that the maid’s cap was set at an unusually rakish angle.
Putting two and two together, Fina said, “I noticed that drawing on the paper napkin I picked up with the tray. It was marvellous – was it your drawing?”
Agnes’ orangish skin flushed with pleasure. “Yes, miss. I cannot help myself. Loved to doodle since I was a small child. Sarah – she’s the cook and she’s a poet! I don’t even like poetry myself, but I like her little rhymes. Why, just the other day, she wrote one about one of the stewards, Lev. She even wrote one about the captain,” Agnes prattled on.
To halt the stream of words, Fina said, “My, my, quite a number of artists on board. Dolores Dominguez. And Balraj Chadha!” She pointed to the portrait.
Beaming with pleasure, Agnes said, “Oh yes, miss. The actor. Ever so handsome, isn’t he? Mind you, he has quite an eye for the ladies. You’d better watch yourself around him. Now, who else was saying the same thing to me just this morning?”
Fina was distracted suddenly by the silence. The silence of Victor.
“So sorry, Miss Gidge. It seems I’ve lost Victor. Must dash.”
6
Running – actually sliding – down the shiny pinewood flooring, Fina leaned in to the left as she came to the end of the deck. Though she was worried about Victor, she was rather enjoying the feeling of ice skating on deck.
With a throbbing heart and pounding head, she peered around a row of chairs. Victor might be playing a game of sardines.
Hearing gentle peals of laughter, she swivelled round and stepped into what must be the reading room. Victor swung his legs from a high chair, munching greedily on a banana. Fina let out a great whoosh of air.
Next to Victor sat a man in a white uniform, more formal than the one she had seen on Lev. While Lev had an anxious, hunted look on his face, this man looked perfectly at ease. One arm was draped over the chair, while the other held the stub of a lit cigarette.
“Victor!” she heard herself cry – there was her mother again. “You gave me such a fright! Please do not run off like that again.”
“No harm done, miss, as we’re on a ship,” said the man, blowing a smoke ring away from Victor and Fina.
Heat crept up Fina’s neck, like a tiny procession of pinpricks marching toward her face. “As you say, we’re on a ship. That is precisely why I should worry. Why, Victor nearly flew overboard when the ship lurched earlier.”
“Ah, miss, that’s just him getting used to his sea legs.”
“His, his what?” Fina knew she was as red as a beetroot by now in full-blown indignation. Really. The nerve.
“S-e-a l-e-g-s, miss,” he said in slow tones.
“I know what sea legs are, sir. My brother—” She stopped. The room shifted and began to spin. Fortunately, a chair caught her before she tumbled to the floor.
As her eyes shut, an image rose before her of her brother in the boat, laughing. Could it really only be two years ago? Behind him was her father, who gave a great snort of laughter in return. The cold wind gusted spray from the Channel into their faces.
“You look as though you still need to find your sea legs yourself, miss.”
Opening her eyes, Fina stared at the man again. Those eyes hold no malice, she thought. Blast it, he was infuriating.
“No, no. I just remembered something. I’m thirsty and rather ravenous,” she said.
The man leaned behind his chair and scooped up a tray, laden with iced tea and bananas. Without a word, she took the tray and began to make quick work of its contents.
The refreshing iced tea slid down her throat. The sweet, sticky starchiness of the banana immediately began to quell her queasiness. More at ease now, she absorbed the energy of her surroundings. The reading room reminded her of home – books everywhere and comfortable chairs in which to read them.
As she scanned the room, she saw out of the corner of her eye that the man held his gaze on her. “I’d better introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Neville Emmanuel Raymond, lead steward on the ship. Born and bred in the Bahamas.”
Fina returned the gaze. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Raymond. I’m Fina Aubrey-Havelock, temporary governess to young Victor here. Thank you for taking care of him,” she said, stopping herself before she began to apologise to him for her testiness earlier. After all, the man had been rather impertinent in his assumptions. “And thank you for the tea and bananas. I simply adore bananas.”
“So does young Victor here – I believe he’s starting his fourth go-round,” said Neville with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
“Good gracious! You will have quite the bellyache,” she said as she saw Victor chomping down rhythmically. His eyelids fell to half mast, jerking up again, and then slowly slid down. He must be exhausted. Quickly turning from Victor to Neville, she was astonished to see that he had been staring at her again. Feeling a mixture of shame and discomfort, she rose to peruse the books on the shelves.
As she ran her finger along the book spines, Neville said, “Can I help you find something?”
“I devour mysteries, preferably ones of the locked room sort. But I also enjoy reading politics,” she said.
Neville rocketed out of his seat. His relaxed and somewhat self-satisfied manner had vanished. “Well, now. Ah, if you’re seeking a ripping mystery, try Ngaio Marsh’s A Man Lay Dead,” he said, offering her a small red, leather-bound volume.
Fina nodded her head. She had read this book a few times already, but she didn’t want to disappoint him. Besides, it had been at least a year since she last read it. They had five days of rest and relative relaxation before the excitement waiting in Port of Spain. She would have plenty of time to revisit this comforting book.
“And for politics?”
Neville waved his arms to and fro across the bookshelves, scanning them carefully. He came to an abrupt halt as his finger touched a small brown volume.
&
nbsp; “Here you are. Lev recommended it – a collection of Nestor Makhno’s essays. I am curious to see if you will find it… too provocative,” he said, drawing out the last word. Really, the man was quite cheeky, she thought.
“Thank you, Mr Raymond,” she said accepting her gifts without responding to Mr Raymond’s own provocation. “Victor and I must be on our way.”
But Victor lay slumped in the chair, cradling his fourth banana peel like a baby. Neville gathered up the narcoleptic child and gently whisked him out of the room.
Nestor Makhno, she repeated in her head. It was rather provocative – downright dangerous to some – to offer a passenger the essays of a Ukrainian anarchist.
7
Nothing. Back in her cabin, Fina shook the Makhno volume, willing it to give up its secrets. No slips of paper fluttered to the ground. No discreetly pasted-together pages, no secret folders, and no tellingly underlined words or notes in the volume. Selkies and kelpies. It must mean something, she thought. Why else would a steward give an unknown guest an anarchist book?
Perhaps he was their contact? It seemed too easy, she thought as she threw the book on the bed in frustration.
The sugar of the banana and caffeine of the iced tea fuelled a sudden burst of energy. She busied herself with the neglected task of unpacking – a pleasure in life she had in common with Ruby. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they were good friends. She pulled out a flowery chiffon frock with flutter sleeves and draped it over the bed. It was her one small – well, rather large, really – splurge she had made for this trip. It wasn’t her style, but she had decided it was a good time to branch out a bit.
As she stepped into the bathroom to arrange her toiletries, she heard a key turn in the lock.
Ruby stumbled into the room. The performance was reminiscent of a drunken sailor, though Fina had never witnessed this clichéd spectacle herself.
Fina rushed over and steadied her friend. “Here, come sit down on your bed.” She peered more closely at her friend. Beads of sweat lined her forehead. Ruby never sweated – at least not visibly. That was Fina’s department.
“What is the matter?”
Ruby collapsed back on the bed, clutching her stomach. “I am so queasy and feverish. Do you think I’m ill?
“Do you feel weak?” asked Fina.
“No.”
“I wouldn’t wonder if it were a combination of the heat and seasickness.”
“Perhaps,” said Ruby, rather grudgingly. “But maybe it’s just something I ate?”
“Here,” said Fina, going to the pitcher on the bedside table to fill a glass of water. “Drink this. I think I have some pills that might help, but they’re not designed for seasickness, exactly.”
As she rummaged in her sponge bag, Fina recounted her adventures thus far. Ruby swallowed the pills with great effort and then collapsed again on the bed. “I feel awful, Feens, but we can still talk. What you say about Neville is definitely intriguing. Hmm. He definitely seems to have piqued your curiosity,” she said, giving Fina a half-hearted wink, though it was a wink nonetheless. “I wish I could read that Makhno book myself, but I do think it will only make me more ill right now.”
“Of course,” said Fina. “You should rest.” She lay back on the bed, and then sat up with a jerk. “I forgot to mention that I saw Dolores Dominguez!”
After Fina recounted the conversation she had overheard, Ruby grew so excited that she lifted herself up on her elbows. “Gustave and I met her and she asked to see some of my sketches. It is a great opportunity for me. I really admire her so much, especially because she ‘made it big’ as the Americans say – in Hollywood. Can you imagine if she wore some of my designs in a film?”
Despite her obvious and somewhat uncharacteristic gushing enthusiasm, Ruby’s elbows gave way and she sank back into the sheets. Fina gave Ruby a wan smile of knowing appreciation.
Ominous gurgling noises could be heard coming from Fina’s stomach, despite her snack. She peered at the clock on the opposite wall. 4:50. “Drinks are at 5:30. Perhaps you should rest here. I’ll go and report back to you about what I learn.”
“I, ah, oh yes, I suppose you’re right,” said Ruby with great effort. Patting her friend on the hand, Fina gathered her chiffon dress, sponge bag and handbag and whisked into the bathroom. Leaving the door open ajar, she said rather loudly, “Shall we continue to talk while I dress?”
“Yes, though there’s no need to shout, dear one. My illness hasn’t stolen my hearing.”
Touchy, thought Fina. Must be that she’s not feeling well.
“Sorry. So what else did you learn on your adventure this afternoon,” Fina said, slipping off her day dress and sliding into the chiffon.
“I forgot to tell you one thing. It’s not really important to our mission – but I did want to alert you about some rather unpleasant fellow passengers. What were their names? One was rather tall in tweed and the other was shorter – but still quite tall – in silk. Not only were they rude, but the tall one made some comment about my colour that I’d rather not repeat.”
“I wonder if that’s the same pair that nearly knocked me overboard with their suitcase? Wait.” Fina withdrew the passenger manifest from her handbag. “The only two women travelling together are Miss Emeline Caulk and Mrs Patricia Burbage.”
“That’s it!” yelled Ruby, though she was so weak it sounded more like a protesting whimper. “The one in the tweed referred to the other one as Patricia. Patricia also seems to have a wandering eye, dear one, so watch yourself. I already noticed the way she looked at me.”
“Don’t worry,” giggled Fina, her lipstick application now resembling a circus clown’s lips. “She’s not my type. Too serious.”
“Ta-da!” she continued, sweeping out of the bathroom. “What do you think?”
“Fabulous Fina, as always,” said Ruby with a weak smile.
Sighing with pleasure, Fina sat on the edge of the bed. “Now, what shall I do at drinks? Look for someone in particular? Some furtive sign? Should I give a sign?”
“Well, other than keeping an eye on Ian and…”
Fina shook her head in disapprobation.
“I know, I know what you said about him,” Ruby responded. “Just don’t get too cosy with him, especially if there’s drinks. I’m worried that you might spill the so-called beans.”
“What? Me?” said Fina, sticking out her lower lip.
“You know this isn’t about you, Feens. I didn’t mean to say anything about you, personally – it’s just the situation. It could happen easily to anyone, especially if they don’t have a friend there to pull them away at the right moment.”
“I suppose you’re right. You were about to say something else, though – about keeping an eye on…”
“Ah, sorry. I’m having trouble focusing. Just be your charming self and gather juicy details about our companions.”
A slithering noise came from underneath the cabin door.
Fina rose. Perhaps someone was preparing to knock. Instead, she saw a small envelope, addressed to Ruby, had been slid under the door.
“It’s a letter for you,” she reported, handing the missive to Ruby.
“Ugh,” groaned Ruby, pushing it away and turning on her side. “Just the thought of reading it turns my stomach. Would you read it?”
“It says: ‘Dearest Ruby, Please meet me in the reading room at midnight. Yours ever, Ian.’
Ooh! A lovers’ tryst!”
“Hardly. I think he feels guilty about sneaking up on us like this. I’m afraid you’ll have to tell him I am ill – which is true. And now, dear one, I have to sleep,” said Ruby, pulling the covers over her head.
The familiar butterfly of social anxiety began to flutter in her stomach. Determined to ignore it, Fina placed her clutch firmly underneath her arm and marched out to meet her destiny – or at least to find a fine beverage to calm her jangled nerves.
8
A cool breeze wafted over her as she stepped
out of the cabin. Fina had a sudden brainwave. What better way to avoid her anxiety? She’d make an entrance with Sadie and Victor. Feeling quite satisfied with herself, she tapped on the door. Sadie flung the door open so quickly it was as if she had been eagerly awaiting her arrival.
“Oh,” she said, her smile quickly disappearing. “It’s you.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” asked Fina.
Ignoring her question, Sadie replied, “I’m so sorry, Fina. It is delightful to see you. We were just about to depart. Won’t you join us?”
Fina had predicted her employer’s style correctly: slinky. Sadie sauntered out of the cabin in an ankle-length raspberry number, form-fitting but hardly snug. The dramatic open back contrasted with the rather demure cowl neck in the front. A bevy of bangles clicked pleasantly when she reached up to fluff her impossibly blonde hair.
Victor was clad in a ridiculously adorable linen blazer affair with short pants and a tie that resembled a faux black gardenia. The tie appeared to be nearly choking him, but he was completely oblivious – too engrossed by a soft pink plasticine rabbit. He made little grunting noises while twitching his nose, apparently expecting a return gesture from the rabbit.
“That would be spiffing!” gushed Fina with relief. And with that, they trundled down the deck to the stairs leading to the second floor of the ship. Fina knew from her careful study of the map earlier that there were four decks. The lower deck housed the crew, minus the captain. The first deck held the passenger cabins, plus the lounge and reading room. The second held the kitchen, dining room, captain’s quarters plus bedroom, as well as the green room. The top deck – where they were headed now – held a sun deck with a quoits pitch, a bar and the bridge.
Squinting at the direct sun, Fina shielded her eyes to survey the scene at the bar. By her estimation, most of the guests had arrived. The bar itself was simply that – a long, wooden, closed-in table with a variety of spirits held in beautiful bottles, next to a few already-prepared cool green and blue cocktails. Lev stood behind the bar in intense concentration, mixing drinks. Fina thought he might start juggling the two shakers.