A Million Tears (The Tears Series)

by Paul Henke

  Meg tried not to recoil at the touch of his soft, sweaty hand, and instead smiled sweetly at the short, fat man. He was in his sixties and nearly bald; he had developed a habit of rubbing his hand across his head, as though to assure himself his hair was really gone or maybe, by some miracle, had returned.

  There were smiles and handshakes all round. The Senator’s wife, Mabel, was as fat as her husband, tall, with half her bosom showing. She wore a ring on the four fingers of each hand and a diamond pendant nestled between her breasts like a winking eye in a sea of flesh. For all her gaudiness she was a warm-hearted, friendly person who, throughout the dinner, did her best to put Meg at her ease.

  Among the other passengers was Miss Gloria Johnson, twenty, pretty in a brittle sort of way with sharp features and a mouth showing only scorn or distaste. Her elegant clothes made her appear more attractive than she really was. Her father was Eric Johnson, a hard faced, distinguished looking and shrewd man. He was a successful banker whose wife had committed suicide when Gloria was twelve.

  Another guest, sitting between Gloria and the Senator was Mrs Annette Brandon. She was thirty eight but let it slip she was thirty two, divorced from a multi-millionaire twenty years older, who had settled a generous alimony on her.

  Captain Buchanan smiled inwardly as he eyed his guests, knowing what to expect. He wondered how Meg and Evan would make out. Uncle James did not count under the circumstances. No, if they did well then there was a possibility Eric Johnson might be of some help to Evan. Evan might have only been a miner, thought Buchanan, but if I’m any judge of character he’s clever and with Meg beside him, he’ll go far. And a nudge from me won’t hurt, he told himself. I like them and I’ll enjoy trying to help; Goddam it, they are the sort of people I’d like to call friends. He kept his face bland, not showing his feelings. He signalled for the steward to commence serving the soup and sighed.

  ‘That’s a very pretty dress,’ said Gloria to Meg. ‘I’m sorry my dear, I forget your name.’ Her tone was condescending.

  ‘It’s Meg . . . so sorry but what’s yours again?’

  ‘Gloria,’ she smiled sweetly. ‘Surely it isn’t possible to buy a creation like that in Cardiff, never mind the backwater you come from – is it? I always get mine from Paris,’ she added haughtily, ignoring her father who was glaring across the table at her.

  Meg was flustered for a moment, but then understood what the evening was going to be about. Suddenly she was enjoying herself. She no longer felt she was an outsider from a lower level, but an outsider to give as good as she got and damn the consequences. She hoped she would never see these people again, so she prepared herself for a battle of words. Meg smiled dazzlingly. ‘Actually, it’s the creation of a London couturier, Lord’s to be precise.’ The label had told her that much.

  John Buchanan bent his head to hide a smile while Evan was trying hard to keep a straight face.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible, would you, Annette?’ Gloria turned to her left. ‘Only Paris surely could have made such a divine dress.’

  Before Annette Brandon could answer Mabel Hughes broke in, angered that this chit of a girl could be so rude as almost to call Meg a liar. ‘Oh, but it’s more than possible. England still produces some of the finest clothes in the world. Obviously your dress isn’t from Paris my dear. No self respecting fashion house would have produced it.’ She turned to Annette Brandon. ‘What were you doing in Wales?’

  ‘Oh, one doesn’t do anything in such a country,’ Annette replied sweetly, ‘one just passes through. In my case I’d heard so much about this divine ship I travelled down from London to catch it.’

  While the women bickered the men tried to ignore them and talk together. Senator Johnson, sitting on Evan’s left, turned to Evan and said: ‘Are you emigrating to America, Mr Griffiths or visiting?’

  ‘Emigrating. We hope to make our home there, though where exactly . . .’ Evan shrugged. ‘I’m still open to suggestions.’

  ‘You were a miner in Wales, weren’t you?’ The Senator leaned across the table. Before Evan could reply he went on: ‘Do you intend to do the same work in the States, Mr Griffiths?’

  Evan smiled coldly. John Buchanan had warned him they would ask him about his past and his ambitions. Now he was going to try out the captain’s advice. ‘No, I’m not. I have an inheritance I intend investing in a business.’

  Uncle James was sitting between Johnson and Mabel Hughes, a picture of misery. His collar was too tight, the wine was not to his liking and at that moment he would have given anything to have a large plate of fish and chips and a pint of best bitter.

  ‘Let me tell you,’ said the banker, ‘that if you’re open to suggestions then New York is the place to make money. Yes sirree! The stock exchange there is surely booming. Why in twenty years time we’ll be the most powerful nation on earth. We have the resources, the room and the people.’

  They plunged into a political and economic discussion which lasted the remainder of the meal If Meg, Evan or Uncle James made any faux pas while eating nobody noticed. Evan copied John Buchanan, noting what knife and fork he used and drinking the same wine with each course.

  On land, the ladies would have left the table before the port was passed, but at sea this convention was relaxed and the ladies remained. The table was cleared and the port was going round for the second time when the steward handed a sealed message to Buchanan. Opening it he read quickly, looked at Evan for a moment and excused himself, promising to return as soon as possible. In his cabin he poured a large whisky and took a mouthful. Then he read the message again.

  HOLD THE GRIFFITHS FAMILY AND ANYONE TRAVELLING WITH THEM STOP POLICE WILL MEET IN BOSTON STOP THEY WILL PROBABLY REMAIN ON BOARD AND RETURN WITH YOU TO CARDIFF STOP

  HILLSOME

  17

  The first thing John Buchanan did was go to the radio room, a small cubby-hole situated behind the bridge. The equipment was the latest in communications a basic Morse transmitting and receiving set. He tried to ignore the pungent atmosphere from too many cigarettes smoked in the confined space.

  ‘I want you to send the following,’ he said to the operator. ‘To Captain Hillsome at head office. Regret nobody of that name on board stop confirm the name is Griffiths stop signed Buchanan.’ He stepped out onto the open deck, grateful for the fresh air. He was taking a gamble. Not with Evan or Meg to whom he owed his life. He was going to help her and the others if he could. No, the gamble was the radioman. If he told him to say nothing Buchanan was sure the message would be around the crew in less than twenty four hours.

  The biggest problem was the purser, but he also knew how to handle him. He knocked on the purser’s cabin door. After a few moments a sleepy, grumbling voice answered. ‘All right, all right, I’m coming.’

  Whatever else the man said was indistinguishable but Buchanan had no doubt as to its contents. The door flew open, the purser started and began apologising.

  ‘I thought it was one of the stewards come to fetch me to sort out a complaining passenger. Come in, please.’ He stepped back, to let the captain past. His mind was working frantically. Whatever it was had to be important. In fact, very important to bring the captain down to him. Normally he was summoned to the captain, wherever he happened to be. He pulled his dressing gown tighter and indicated a chair for his guest to sit on.

  ‘I’ll stand, thank you Mr. Green. Would you like to start dressing while we talk? You and I have some work to do.’ He saw the man’s surprise. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not difficult nor particularly time consuming.’ Buchanan paused, studying the man before him. ‘I’ve come for a favour. I’m asking it politely, but if I need to I can enforce it.’ The purser became wary. He was always happy to do the captain a favour. The more the merrier, provided it cost nothing.

  ‘There’s no need to enforce anything, sir. I’ll be happy to do it,’ he said, reaching for his trousers.

  ‘Clive, what I’m asking for is very unusual. I want your promise,
’ which is worthless, he thought, ‘not to say anything to anyone about this. All right?’

  ‘About what?’ The purser was both intrigued and wary.

  ‘Just give me your word that you’ll help and I’ll tell you what we need to do. I’ll explain the reason later.’

  Green nodded and smiled. What the devil was the captain up to? ‘I give you my word,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  Without hesitating John Buchanan shook it, not allowing the distaste he felt show on his face or in his actions. ‘I want all record of the Griffiths family having been on board removed immediately.’

  The Purser looked at his captain open mouthed. ‘But . . . but that’s impossible,’ he spluttered. ‘How on earth am I to do that? And anyway, what’s the point?’

  ‘You’ll do it in the same way you always do when you pocket the excess fares,’ he was gratified to see the man blanch. ‘Furthermore, you’ll repay that cabin fare the old man paid. Make any excuse you like.’

  Sixty pounds was sixty pounds and the purser did not intend giving it up without a fight. ‘I can’t do that, sir. It’s already gone on the books. I can’t see how . . .’

  ‘I can.’ After years of dealing with sailors Buchanan knew how to deal with Green. ‘Now listen to me. I’ve to get back to my dinner guests soon, they’ll be wondering where I am. In fact I won’t come and help you – you just do as I tell you.’ He took out his note book. ‘Let me give you a run down of what you did last voyage. You threw overboard three hundredweight of fruit which was fresh and nowhere near as rotten as you claimed. You removed three passengers from your ledger . . .’ as he read the man shrank away, and Buchanan knew he had him. ‘I won’t go on, Clive.’ He snapped the book closed. ‘I’ll tell you what I want done and why. In that way you’ll be ready. If you don’t back me up one hundred percent, by God I promise you I’ll have you put away for ten years. Now listen carefully.’

  Five minutes later, completely satisfied, Buchanan left the purser’s office and returned to the saloon. His guests were waiting, still apparently enjoying themselves.

  ‘Sorry I was so long, ship’s business. You know how it is.’ They chorused they did. He smiled at Evan and Meg. He was not going to ruin the rest of their time on board, but would talk to them the night before they docked.

  The rest of the voyage passed uneventfully, and on the last night the captain invited Meg and Evan to his cabin. On this occasion Uncle James had stayed with the boys. ‘Take a seat while I pour some drinks. I asked you to come here because I’ve got something important to tell you.’ He handed a beer to Evan and a sherry to Meg. ‘I’ve got a wee bit of news, bad news, I’m afraid.’ He saw them exchange worried looks and wondered if they had been expecting something. ‘I suppose if the police want you badly enough then you always know it,’ he mused. Meg’s hand gripped Evan’s tightly.

  ‘I can see you know what I’m talking about. Now listen, you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to. I’d like to know, but it’s up to you. Before you say anything I’ll tell you what I’ve arranged so far and what I propose.’ He explained his ideas.

  When he was finished Meg leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Buchanan, hugging him. ‘John, we can’t thank you enough,’ she felt her eyes misting and reached for a handkerchief.

  ‘That’s all right. Don’t give it another thought. I’m glad to do it,’ he tried to keep his thoughts on the business at hand, not dwell on the feeling of Meg’s body against him.

  ‘Will you tell me what happened?’ He looked from one to the other. There was a few moments silence. ‘Okay, if you don’t want to,’ he said, disappointed. He had hoped they would trust him enough.

  ‘Hold on, bach. I was just collecting my thoughts. After what you’ve done for us and what you still intend doing the least I can do is tell you what happened. It’s a long story and all started with the death of our daughter. She was Sion’s twin. A lovely girl . . .’ Evan told the story, allowing his emotions to show.

  ‘That’s when we arrived at the ship.’

  ‘Good Lord, I hadn’t realised it was you and James on the gangway. Of course, I can see that now. So much happened after we left the wharf that I didn’t have time to find out what it had been about. Well, well, well,’ he thought for a moment. ‘We’ll be in the New York Roads tonight,’ seeing their puzzled expressions he explained. ‘The Roads are where we wait to enter harbour. Sometimes we anchor, sometimes the delay is so short there’s no need. I normally eat in my cabin then as I frequently get called to the bridge. How would it be if you both came with James for a bite to eat and we’ll go over my ideas to get you off the ship?’

  ‘Tell me, John,’ Evan said quietly, ‘why are you doing all this? Don’t get me wrong, look you, we both appreciate it. It’s just that I just can’t help wondering. After all, we’ve only just met and, no matter how I look at us, I still see a Welsh peasant family.’ The last was said with a touch of bitterness. Evan had heard what some of the first class passengers had to say about them and it angered him. It was thanks to Mabel Hughes he had not been rude to some of them, and more than once. Using the first class lounge and saloon had become a regular part of their lives since their first dinner; the captain had invited them to do so.

  John Buchanan shrugged. ‘You mean apart from the fact that I owe my life to Meg? I also happen to like you . . . and James and the kids. If ever I’d married they would have been the sort of kids I’d have liked. Especially that Sion,’ he chuckled. ‘He’s a little son of a gun and no mistake. I consider you my friends, I hope you consider me likewise. And what are friends for if not to help one another? Hey? Now enough of this talk. I’m going to get you off the ship and safely into America or my name isn’t John Buchanan.’

  ‘Thanks. It sounds inadequate . . .’ Evan trailed off.

  ‘John, how is it we’re going to New York first and not to Boston?’ asked Meg.

  ‘Hmm, it’s to get you away without the police getting to you.’

  ‘But surely you can’t do that sort of thing,’ Evan protested.

  ‘Oh, I can. You’d be surprised how much freedom I’ve got. It’s meant I’ve had to take my purser into my confidence but he’ll do what I tell him. And the storm gave me a good excuse to make for New York. It did blow us further south than normal but we had enough time in hand to keep to the schedule. In future I can claim that if I am going to maintain sailing dates, I need to miss out Boston. I delayed sending a message until tonight; that way the police won’t have time to get here. I’ll stop over an extra two days to give passengers plenty of time to arrive by train and arrive back in Cardiff on time. We’ve had to do it before, though not with this ship.’

  ‘In that case . . .’ began Meg.

  ‘In that case nothing,’ the captain interrupted her. ‘This way, we take no chances. Right?’

  They docked just before noon. There had been great excitement when, in the dawning light, they had stood on the upper deck, with many of the other passengers, and saw the lights of America for the first time. Meg had put her arms around Evan and said: ‘What are you thinking, boyo? You look too serious for such an important day in our lives.’

  He grinned down at her, her head nestled against his shoulder.

  ‘I was just thinking that there’s the land of the free and pretty soon we might not be . . . free that is.’

  ‘Don’t worry, as John said, he knows the routines here inside out and backwards. He’s confident he can get us through.’

  ‘What about us then being illegally in the country? Oh, I know what he said about it not mattering, especially as we don’t wish to leave for many a year, but you never know when we’ll be asked to show our papers. I guess I’m just being a pessimist, which is all wrong on such a beautiful day.’ There was a warmth to the gentle breeze, the sun now a diameter above the horizon.

  ‘Gosh, Mam, look,’ pointed Sion. ‘Aren’t those buildings tall? Are they the biggest in the world Mam, do you think?’r />
  ‘I don’t think,’ she smiled, ‘I know. They are among the biggest and no mistake.’

  ‘Well, Dai,’ said his father, turning to his older son, ‘how does it feel to have part of your dream come true, eh? I bet you never thought a year ago you’d actually make it, did you?’

  Dai’s grin was so wide it threatened to split his face in two.

  ‘I wish Sian could have been here now,’ said Sion sadly. Meg knelt by his side, her arm around his shoulders.

  ‘We all do, Sion. She probably is here you know, looking down at us, making sure all is well, just like Mr. Thomas, the minister said.’

  He nodded and smiled again. ‘I guess that’s right Mam. Otherwise he wouldn’t have said it, would he?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t have, and that’s a fact,’ Uncle James chipped in. ‘Come on, let’s try and spot the highest building.’

  Sion and Dai followed him further towards the bow of the ship.

  ‘Thank God for Uncle James,’ Evan said with feeling.

  The labels on their luggage had been changed to show John Buchanan’s name and addressed to the Chelsea Hotel on 23rd Street. ‘It’s eight years old and in the centre of the city’s theatrical life. Anybody who’s anybody ends up there,’ John Buchanan had said. ‘I’ll be there for the night. Now you both know what to do? I have to get about my duties. I’ll leave the rest to you and we’ll meet at the foot of the gangway.’

  Uncle James and the boys wandered back.

  ‘Now listen carefully,’ said Evan. ‘We can’t go ashore like the other passengers, we have to go on our own. Understand?’

  They didn’t, but they nodded anyway.

  ‘Now, we want you both to be brave. When all the passengers are in the shed I want you to follow and just play around. You know, cowboys and Indians or something. Just run around. Don’t dash straight through the door on the other side, just make your way through the crowd and past the eh . . . men in uniforms who will be behind the counters. If anybody asks who you are point behind you as though we’re following.’