It was just that time of evening that Captain Scar attempted to keep aside for just himself (play a little Mozart). It didn’t often work, of course – and so he was not at all surprised, but still bloody irritated all the same, when his Number Two had knocked on the door, stepped in briskly, coughed politely, and informed him that a first class passenger had requested a quick word, sir. And yes, thought the Captain, it’s all right for you, man, to chuck your eyes up to heaven and pull down the corners of your mouth – but I’m the one who’s got to bloody deal with her, aren’t I? And yes, oh yes – it will be a ‘her’: it always bloody was.
‘Anthony …’ was Nicole’s very fulsome greeting (it was as if she had all of a rush just remembered the word). She glided across the floor with one arm extended before her like a jouster’s lance, knowing well that her determined tread would encourage the long and feather-light chiffon scarf at her throat to float on air and sail away gorgeously in her breathtaking wake. ‘I know it’s most awfully late and I do so much apologize but I’m just so terribly worried on behalf of my daughter, Anthony, and I felt I simply had to confide in you immediately.’
And she glanced to the left and right of her: the expression on her face suggested that she had up until this very moment been most profoundly asleep for a hundred long years and now, at the kiss of a prince, she had awoken, more beautiful than ever, and was as we speak stretching with abandon and luxuriously across a silken divan held up by glistening blackamoors at the tented and bejewelled epicentre of no less than a fabulous palace.
‘What a perfectly charming room,’ she quite effortlessly effused. ‘All so terribly masculine and nautical. What pretty little boats …’
‘Ha. Yes, I – yes. I’m very pleased you like it, Madam. Ships, actually … You are worried, you say …?’
‘Nicole,’ underlined Nicole. ‘You remember, don’t you?’
‘Nicole. Yes of course.’
‘We danced …’
‘Yes we did. Of course we did. I remember it well, Nicole.’
‘You do remember …?’
‘Yes yes. Very vividly. A treasured memory. Nicole, of course. You are worried about something, Nicole? Please do sit. Can I offer you anything at all?’
The last bit of that had been somewhat rushed, because Nicole was already sitting, legs very elegantly crossed at the ankle, and she seemed to be glancing about her.
‘At the ball – do you recall? You were saying how terribly hard you worked and that one or two of us should come up and see for themselves. How the sweat just pours off you. So I thought I would. A glass of champagne would be divine,’ she concluded, smilingly.
‘Of course,’ agreed the Captain, moving away to the intercom on his desk. Might as well turn off the Mozart, while I’m over here – sorry and all that, my dear Amadeus, but believe me, I’m thinking of you: you’ve no chance in the face of this. Captain Scar murmured his request for champagne, and softly replaced the handset. Every other drink known to Christendom I’ve got in this cabinet, here – but no, this Nicole person (who apparently I danced with? Did I really? Well perfectly possible, of course – how many of these bloody women have I had to dance with, down the years?) … yes, this Nicole woman had to have champagne, yes of course. And also – did I mention? She’s worried, yes: very worried indeed. As now, no doubt, she will tell me again. And yes I know: this very composed woman before me – Christ, it’s as if she’s settled herself down for the night – does not at all appear to be consumed by a single concern or care in the world, but there it is: she’s worried. She said so. And yes – here it comes one more time:
‘It’s on my daughter’s behalf, Anthony, that I’m here. As I said. At first she didn’t even want to talk about it, but I managed to get it out of her eventually. A mother always knows, you know, when something is bothering one of her children. Are you a family man, Anthony?’
‘Two boys,’ smiled the Captain. ‘Nearly grown up, now. Good lads.’
‘They must miss you – at sea all the time. So must your wife …’
‘Yes, well – isn’t actually a wife any more. Usual story, I’m afraid. Goes with the job, it sometimes seems. Anyway – never mind all that. Ah! Your champagne, Nicole. Thank you, Howard.’
The steward appeared to bow from the neck in the Captain’s direction (how perfectly lovely, thought Nicole – he did it just the way you’re supposed to, if ever you meet one of the Royals). Howard was gone very swiftly – and so silently, he barely disturbed the air.
‘Are you not joining me, Anthony? Terribly rude – making me drink on my own …’
‘Oh, well – yes, I’ll have a – I’ll just mix myself a …’
He walked to the cabinet and poured just a tonic water into a heavy crystal glass, added lots of ice and then threw in a quarter lime.
‘Tell me the problem,’ he called over his shoulder.
‘Nicole …’
‘Nicole, yes – I haven’t forgotten. Tell me the problem. Nicole.’
‘Well apparently my daughter, that’s Marianne – I think you met her?’
‘Yes yes. Marianne. Mm. Remember her well.’
‘Well she’s got to know this person called Tom, it appears – who’s now, um, well – disappeared, she says. Quite worrying for her.’
‘I see. Mm. Well of course she is a very large ship, you know, Nicole, and – ’
‘Well that’s exactly what I told her. But she’s been over it with a fine, oh – what do they say? Tooth comb. Tooth comb – how terribly odd … And anyway, she hasn’t seen him since morning. Left messages, of course – and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Quite worrying for her, you see.’
‘I do see – yes of course. Well look, Nicole – you tell your daughter this – ’
‘Marianne.’
‘Hm? Yes. Of course. Now listen to me, Marianne – I mean Nicole, Nicole – yes. You tell Marianne that if she still has no luck by morning I’ll institute a thorough ship search. That’ll winkle him out. We do them, time to time – and believe me, she really mustn’t worry. People always turn up in the end.’
‘Well that’s very reassuring, Anthony. I shall tell her immediately. Well … right, then …’ she concluded – standing now, smoothing down her dress and adjusting her scarf. ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your valuable time, Anthony. Thank you so much for the champagne.’
‘The pleasure was all mine.’ Nicole was advancing towards him. ‘Nicole,’ he tacked on.
She placed one fingernail at the tip of his chin.
‘You don’t, I suppose, do you, Anthony … want to sleep with me at all, do you?’
The Captain looked down. Here we go. It’s this one again. Here we bloody go again.
‘Nicole … you are a very attractive woman …’
‘No …’ sighed Nicole, quite resignedly. ‘I didn’t really think you did. Or you would have said, I expect. Ah well. I suppose these prizes can’t include everything …’
And Captain Scar leapt at that: a lifebelt bobbing amid the foaming sea.
‘Ah of course – you won the competition, didn’t you? Yes yes. Well let me do this, Nicole: in two days’ time? Yes? When we dock in New York? Let me invite you and your family up on to the Bridge. The view is really very spectacular, I assure you. Watch dawn break over the skyline.’
‘Oh – thank you, Anthony. That will be lovely. Oh yes – thank you.’
And then the whole ship heaved just slightly more detectably than it had been doing for the whole of the evening, now – but not enough, surely, to have sent Nicole skittering forward and right into the Captain. She stayed there, nestled up to him – she looked up straight into his eyes. Neither moved. The swaying ship was gently croaking.
‘No …?’ she whispered, softly. ‘Sure …? Not even just – hold me a bit …?’
The Captain closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry …’ he said, so quietly.
She nodded, and moved away quickly to the door. Just before she slipped outside, she smiled
over at him, quite bravely – ignoring the sting of tears that must mean, she just knew, that she was looking such a mess.
‘Nicole …’ she managed to say.
The Captain let the air rush out of him, the second she had closed the door. Nicole, yes indeed: I won’t forget.
*
It was finally what could more or less be called morning, and Marianne – still unaware that she was freezing and practically welded to her seat – strained in the just-dawn to discern through aching eyes clotted with tears the hazy seaming that roughly joined the harshness of the sky to the roll of the dirt-grey sea: it was swollen like a gangrenous limb might well be – grotesquely distended, a network of veins was threaded all over the surface and at the point of bursting wide open. She had been sitting on this hard wet seat at the stern of the ship for so many hours: from very soon after she had first read the letter. Marianne had then and at once felt totally compelled to escape the breathlessness of her cabin – anywhere enclosed – and without even considering the dark and the cold, she was soon and quite blindly battling her way down slimy decks and clattering steps to the very rearmost point of the ship. She could only hear the churning of the wake – there was nothing at all to see – and her thin little jacket was damp and useless. Now, her stiff white fingers were still clamped hard to the single sheet of paper: she could not move them. There was just barely enough grudging light from amid all this crushing greyness … so maybe she could read it through just one more time. (She had been grimly holding on to something, and her hand now had become a part of whatever it was: the great and elaborate swells of ocean, she knew, could suddenly pitch her over.)
‘Marianne. My dear. I think I should explain. When I said to you that I helped my Mary, I mean that I helped her to leave me. She was in such pain. They gave her things, of course, for the pain, but still it never seemed to leave her. Through a friend, I located something that would take the anxiety from her eyes and make her face relax again. Having eased her pain, however, I found my own increasing day by day up until the point where it has become intolerable. And so I think what I now must do is ease it, and then I can maybe find her again. I so very nearly love you, Marianne – but nothing can get through the pain. Goodbye. Thank you. Be safe. Tom.’
She raised her eyes and the hurt erupted from her in one great gasp of sheer disbelief. She stared at the relentless maw of this fat and greedy ocean – she was aware now too of shivering badly for the very first time. Marianne focused on just this one dark and angry wave, and so very soon it was lost to sight. Because where we are, she thought …it so very quickly becomes where we have been.
*
She had not wanted to show the officer on duty the letter. She had already, and as calmly as she could manage, confided to him her convictions (they had started out as her darkest forebodings, but soon she owned up to what just had to be the terrible truth, here). But you could tell that even now, no one was taking her seriously. Everyone she spoke to just kept telling her how big the ship was – as if she didn’t know that, or something. The sea, she kept on saying, fighting back at least the worst of her tears – but the sea, the sea is so much bigger. And if he cannot be found anywhere on board … well then. Still he demurred, this rather harassed-looking officer, whoever he was. Still he hummed and hawed. So then she showed him the letter.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Yes. This throws a different light on it. I shall inform the Captain. We’ll set up a ship search.’
Yes I suppose so, he was thinking: I suppose I just have to, in the face of this. But God – he won’t at all be pleased, the Old Man. Last thing you want, isn’t it? And Christ – if that bunch of journalists get hold of it … Jesus, they’re already going to have a field day, aren’t they? Bloody orgy going on in the Emperor Suite, far as I can make it out. I’ve had to sack two bar staff this morning – severely reprimand the Assistant Cruise Director … who led them right to it, stupid bloody sod – and now it surely looks as if we’ve got a bloody jumper on our hands. Dear God. Old Man won’t be very pleased, I can tell you that much.
They had, at least, kept Marianne well informed about the progress of the search. This was only because, she suspected, they did not want her shouting her mouth off about anything to do with it at all. And later in the afternoon, they actually made this very plain to her: Would appreciate it greatly, Miss, if you wouldn’t, um – mention all this to anyone. It upsets the passengers, anything of this kind, as you might understand. Marianne said she did – understand. Thirty people, apparently, had been assigned to search the whole ship – and it was very discreetly done. Even though Marianne was aware of its happening, she never saw anyone actively searching. After nearly eight hours, she was summoned by the Captain. He asked her to sit down.
‘Well I’m sorry to have to tell you, Nicole …’
‘Marianne. Nicole is my mother. I’m Marianne.’
‘Marianne – oh God of course. Please forgive me. Well, um – Marianne – ’
‘You haven’t found him.’
‘We, um – no. No. The search has failed to, um …’
‘I didn’t expect him to be found. I just hoped.’
‘Well quite, quite. We all did. And may I speak for the entire crew and staff when I say I really am most – ’
‘It’s all right. I didn’t really know him that well. Didn’t know him at all, in fact. If I’d understood him, I maybe could’ve …’
‘You really mustn’t blame yourself, you know. When people are that determined … well, you just can’t stop them.’
Marianne nodded. ‘What happens next? Anything? Have you – dealt with this sort of thing before?’
Captain Scar looked down.
‘We, um – have a policy not to actually ever talk about any of that, I’m afraid. Probably understand why. But what happens next is that we alert next of kin, of course – ’
‘I don’t think there is any. That was the point.’
‘Yes well – we go through all the motions – all the procedures. Contact the relevant authorities in New York. Before we sail to Jamaica, the ship will be swept again. Just in case. And, um – well that’s it, really. No more we can really, um … Now tell me, Marianne. How are you bearing up? Hm? Want the Doc to fix you up with something? Help you get a bit of sleep. Probably need it.’
Marianne had risen: just had to, she thought, go now.
‘Thank you, no. I shall be … perfectly fine. Goodbye, Captain.’
‘Goodbye. I really am so sorry. Marianne.’
Oh Christ, he thought, when he was alone again. Bugger bugger bugger. Why can’t a crossing ever be simple? Hey? And what next? Hm? After the bloody orgy, after the bloody suicide – what bloody next? Because they say that, don’t they? Comes in threes, all this sort of thing.
*
‘Hiya, David my man! Finally I gotcha. Three times I called already.’
David cradled the phone into the crook of his shoulder, and continued to button his shirt: the last one got sweaty – sweaty, yes, and badly crumpled too.
‘Yes – I’ve just got here. So, Dwight – we meeting, or what?’
‘Sure thing, buddy boy. Unless you aiming to take in this here Talent Show …?’
‘Ha! Joking. OK, Dwight – usual place, usual time. And you’re OK, are you?’
‘OK how, David? What saying?’
‘Well it’s just all the pitching of the ship. People are dropping like flies all over the place. Apparently the doctors have been inundated with people wanting some sort of injection they’ve got for all this, or something – but the joke is, someone was telling me, it won’t take effect until we’ve docked at New York! Whereupon they’ll all be poleaxed!’
‘Jeez … kidding me. What a buncha klutzes. Naw, Dave – I’m just fine. Constitootion of an ox. Oh and hey David – I saw that hot babe of yours, cuppla hours back. Seemed to me like she was crying? What doing to her, Dave, you old goat? Anyways – still she cut me dead. Me she don’t like, period.’
<
br /> Crying? Really? Well all David can tell you is that his little Suki had certainly not been crying earlier, when they were both entwined and wholly intent upon a fairly severe session of cherishing: how the shirt came to get that way, as a matter of fact.
‘I’m sure you’re imagining all this, you know, Dwight. She’d love you! Tell you what – I’ll bring her along to the bar. Yes? Telling you – you’ll have loads in common. Oh and Dwight, um – I hate to mention it, but um – the money, yes? Because she’s been quiet so far, Trish – well, she’s sick as a dog, thank Christ – but it’s a bit of a time bomb, you know?’
‘Relax, David. It’s fixed. I spoke to her direct.’
‘You did? Really? And what did she …? How did she …?’
‘She’s sweet with the whole thing. Nul problemo. And, uh – so am I, David. If you know what I mean. You’re OK with that, I hope? Don’t mind?’
‘Mind? No. No – course I don’t mind. Great. Best of luck. I think you’ll be OK with her, actually, Dwight. It’s money she loves, quite frankly.’
Yeah, thought Dwight: dead right. That’s just the message I got from her, loud and clear. How it went was like this: first I had to get some real distance between me and Charlene, was numero uno, if you know what I’m saying. Some damn lousy piece of junk she got in the Harrods store? Some dumb kinda paddery broad in a big stoopid dress? Her hand is broke off, is the way she was going: so how come, Dwight – you care to tell me how the hand is broke off, huh? And I’m back with What’re you – nuts? You think I been, what – stroking the paddery dame’s hand so goddam hard I wore it clean away? If it’s broke it’s on accounta you didn’t store it right, Charlene – sure as hell ain’t nothing to do with me, you hear me? Maybe, she says, I can wire the Harrods store. Charlene, I says to her – you wire the Harrods store from onboard this ship and it’s gonna cost me the sorta money I can buy the fuckin’ Harrods store – I getting through to you? Live with it, Charlene – suck it up. From where I’m coming from, it ain’t the worst thing in the whole goddam world, you know?
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