Return Journey

by Ruby M. Ayres

  She pushed back her chair and rose, realising for the first time that Clive had kept out of her way ever since dinner.

  Funny—especially when he had asked her to dance; a puzzled little frown crossed her face.

  “Well, good night, and thank you for the game,” she said.

  “Good night, my dear, and thank you,” Mr. Bumpus answered.

  Rocky went out on deck and the first person she met was Richard Wheeler.

  “Oh,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been looking for you all the evening.”

  Wheeler raised his dark brows.

  “Looking for me all the evening?” he echoed ironically.

  “Well,” Rocky said. “I mean—I want to thank you for that lovely bag. It’s simply beautiful—I don’t know when I’ve been so pleased about anything.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I think it is terribly kind of you,” she said earnestly. “It’s the last thing I ever expected—that you would give me a present, I mean.”

  The faintest smile crossed his face.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She looked nonplussed.

  “Well—when you don’t like a person,” she said lamely. “I mean——” She stopped in confusion; and then Wheeler asked irrelevantly:

  “What have you done to Durham? He’s like a bear with a sore head.”

  “I haven’t done anything to him,” Rocky said indignantly. “I haven’t seen him since dinner-time.”

  Wheeler laughed.

  “He’s sitting in the darkest corner of the deck staring at the stars.”

  Rocky laughed too. “Oh, how silly! But it’s nothing I’ve done —I thought I’d been particularly sweet to him all day.”

  She shivered a little in the cool breeze, and Wheeler said: “You’re cold—don’t let me keep you.”

  “I’m not cold, but this is rather a draughty corner. Shall we walk a little?”

  He turned obediently, but once again Rocky was conscious of constraint and formality, so that it was all she could do to prevent herself from saying:

  “Not all over again, please. Don’t freeze me out any more just when you’ve been so kind.”

  And she felt as if someone had shaken her when, as they reached the wide-open door which led into the lounge, Wheeler stopped and glanced at his watch.

  “Eleven? Yes, that’s God Save the King.” He stood to attention until the band had finished playing. “Well, it’s time all good people were in bed, and I am sure you must be tired after such a strenuous day,” he said. He gave her a little smile and a bow. “Good night.” And he turned away.

  Rocky stood staring after him, her mind a complete blank with sheer astonishment, and then suddenly Gina’s shrill voice broke the silence.

  “Re-chard! Re-chard! Where have you been hiding all the eeven-ing? I look for you everywhere!” And then, as Wheeler’s amused laugh answered her, Rocky moved blindly away, her cheeks burning.

  “I hate him,” she told herself passionately. “I hate him, and I won’t go ashore with him at Port Said, even if he asks me on his bended knees.” And for the first time since she came on board she was conscious of being acutely unhappy.

  “But why?” she asked herself in dismay as she slowly undressed, taking as long as possible about it because in a vague way she dreaded the long night lying before her.

  She had spent a happy day, and everyone had been most kind and considerate—except Richard Wheeler. She stopped for a moment with the brush poised high above her head as she met the reflection of her perplexed eyes in the mirror.

  He had given her that lovely Chinese bag, so how could she say that he had been unkind? It was all very amazing, and she realised that she was no nearer understanding or even knowing him than she had been when they first met.

  What was wrong? Of course, he knew more about her than any of the other passengers did, but surely that was not enough to account for his odd behaviour! It almost seemed as if there were moments when, having knocked down the barrier between them, he instantly regretted it, and proceeded to build it up again, more securely than before.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she told herself as she commenced to brush her hair again rather ruthlessly, and yet she knew that it did matter—it mattered amazingly. And then quickly her thoughts turned to Clive, who had avoided her so deliberately all the evening. What had she done? Of course he had been very disappointed because they had not gone ashore alone, but how had she been to blame? And it had been great fun: she had loved every moment of it—at least, nearly every moment.

  The brush went down again and Rocky stood motionless, her pretty brows frowning, and a pathetic little droop to her lips.

  If he was offended she was sorry, and if Wheeler did not really want to be friends with her she was sorry about that, too, but there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. At anyrate she had no intention of allowing them to spoil the voyage—or would they in spite of her efforts?

  It was not pleasant to know that she was disapproved of by the two men whom she liked best; not that Clive mattered exactly. …

  Rocky sat down on the side of the bed and thought about it very conscientiously.

  No, Clive didn’t matter—not really—although he was very kind and she liked his company, but as for anything more—and then back went her thoughts to Richard Wheeler.

  She had not had a great deal of his company, not as much as she would have liked; that was an honest admission, anyway, she told herself with a faint smile, and then—like a beam of light entering a dark room—came another and newer and more frightening thought: “Am I falling in love with him?”

  Nonsense, she told herself firmly; theirs was just a shipboard acquaintance which would end as soon as either of them left the ship. She had read about such things and had felt slightly scornful at the way girls in books lost their hearts during a voyage. It was just foolishness, of course—and because there was not much else to do but laugh and talk and dance with the same man. But she had only danced once with Wheeler—and she had not talked with him a great deal, so how could she possibly be falling in love with him?

  Quite frankly he had been a little brusque and rude to her—or hadn’t it been rude to bid her such a determined good night and walk off to look for Gina Savoire?

  But here her innate honesty corrected her; it was Gina who had called out to him, just as he was going down to his cabin, so he could not very well pretend to be deaf and not to hear. Still, he had turned quite readily, and now she supposed they were still walking the deck together beneath the starlit sky. She gave a little sigh of resignation; well, Mrs. Bingham would have something else to talk about tomorrow—nice Mrs. Bingham, who had successfully removed the orange-juice stain from the white evening frock. How quickly one’s thoughts went from one person to another, for now she was thinking about the Second Officer, and the girl to whom he had been engaged for three years. Not much fun, Rocky decided, and, although she had not said so at the time, she could not quite see why they did not marry and all share a home together with the girl’s mother.

  “I should,” she decided.

  Not that she would care to marry a sailor-man—they were away too much, and, of course, they must meet plenty of other attractive girls on board ship. She had heard it said that sailors had a sweetheart in every port. But she did not think the Second Officer was like that—she liked him, and there had been such a nice warm sort of look in his blue eyes when he spoke about his girl at home.

  At home! …

  Funny that to so many people “home” was a magic word—and yet to her … Rocky shivered, as for an instant she looked back with haunted eyes to the past from which she had so recently escaped.

  “I don’t want to go back— ever,” she thought passionately; but then that hadn’t been a real home—not the kind which most people knew. She stood up quickly and slipped into her nightgown. She had thought quite enough for one night, she told herself, and thinking never altered anything o
r got you anywhere; she was about to get into bed when someone tapped at the door. Rocky stood very still, her head turned, listening—and then she spoke—”Come in.”

  Perhaps it was Mrs. Bingham, but she knew the stewards and stewardesses were usually off duty a long time before this—it must be nearly midnight. She gave a little exclamation of surprise when the door opened and Gina Savoire’s queer-coloured head appeared.

  “May I come in?”

  She came in before Rocky could speak, closing the door behind her.

  “You are not in bed? No?” she enquired rather unnecessarily. “Mr. Wheeler picked this up—on the deck—he says he is sure it is yours … yes?” She put a little chiffon handkerchief into the girl’s hand.

  “Oh, thank you—yes, it is mine,” Rocky said, and her quick brain added silently: “But you didn’t come for that—I wonder why you came?”

  Gina looked round the cabin.

  “But how small,” she said, in her slow way. “Where do you put all your things—your frocks?”

  “I haven’t very many,” Rocky told her. “And there is quite a lot of room in the wardrobe.” She hesitated. “Won’t you sit down? I’ll clear my things off the chair.”

  She swept the clothes she had just discarded into a heap on the bed, and Gina sank into the chair with a little sigh.

  “I sleep so badly,” she said rather pathetically.

  “Do you?” Rocky was all sympathy at once. “I’ve got some aspirin if you’d like one.”

  Gina shrugged her white shoulders and shook her head.

  “I have a sleeping draught—but no! … it will take two—three —four to send me to sleep.” She tapped her forehead. “I have always been the same—asleep! … No—not till the morning come —that is why I stay up—why I do not go to bed till there is no one left to talk with me or walk with me.”

  “Has everyone gone to bed now?” Rocky asked; and then, without waiting for a reply, “I’ll get dressed again if you like and walk round the deck with you. It must be awful to have to go to bed and lie awake all night.”

  Gina treated her to a dazzling smile.

  “You are nice,” she said. “Nice, and pretty, too—verry pretty, but you must sleep or you miss your—how they say?”

  “Beauty sleep,” Rocky said.

  “Yes—beauty sleep.” Gina dived into an absurd gold bag she was carrying and produced a cigarette-case. “You mind if I smoke in your cabin?” she asked.

  “Oh no. I’ll find a match.

  Gina lit a cigarette and puffed slowly at it for a moment before she said unexpectedly:

  “You are verry happy, yes?”

  Rocky’s face changed a little.

  “I try to be,” she said.

  “And yet,” the Frenchwoman said, “you are alone—you have no friends on board—is it not so?”

  “I had no friends when I came on board,” Rocky corrected her.

  There was a little silence, till Gina asked;

  “But Mr. Wheeler—you know him—before?”

  Rocky flushed sensitively.

  “Oh no, of course not,” she said. “What makes you think that I knew him before?”

  “Just—something—I do not know,” Gina explained vaguely, with another shrug.

  “Something he said?” Rocky asked; and then she laughed. “Oh no, I didn’t know him before,” and subconsciously she added, “I don’t expect I shall ever know him—he’ll never let me.”

  Gina smoked in silence for a moment, then, reluctantly it seemed, she rose to her feet.

  “I keep you awake,” she said, “and that must not be.” She blew Rocky rather a theatrical kiss from her finger-tips. “Good night and pleasant dreams.” But still she did not go, and Rocky began to feel a little impatient, a little chilly too, standing there with bare feet in her nightgown; and then suddenly Gina said with overdone carelessness:

  “Mr. Wheeler—he is—married—yes?”

  “Married?” Rocky echoed. She laughed. “I’m sure I don’t know. Why should I know?”

  Gina patted a refractory lock of hair into place.

  “I think so,” she said. “I think so.” And then once again she was smiling. “Good night— bien dormir” And this time she really departed.

  Rocky scrambled into bed; there was a rather overpowering trail of perfume in the cabin, which she disliked, but her thoughts were too busy elsewhere to be really critical. Married? Was that what Gina had come to ask about?

  Married? Rocky remembered that Clive had made a similar remark about Wheeler that first day on board. What was it exactly he had said? She could not remember. Something about always being able to spot a married man because he looked smug—but that description did not in any way suit Wheeler.

  She suddenly realised that her heart was beating heavily, as if something had frightened her, and she knelt up in bed to push the already open porthole wider.

  Married!

  She lay down again and turned out the light, closing her eyes determinedly, and then suddenly she felt that they were wet— with tears.

  Chapter

  9

  At breakfast the following morning, Rocky’s place at the Second Officer’s table was empty.

  “Where’s Rocky?” Clive demanded when he appeared, rather late himself.

  Constance shrugged her shoulders.

  “We haven’t hidden her or thrown her overboard,” she said.

  The melancholy Edith added more sugar to her coffee.

  “I expect she’s tired,” she said. “I know I am after trudging all round Naples—and Rocky always seems to take two steps to other people’s one—I expect she’s having breakfast in bed.”

  Sir John rose from his table on his way out of the saloon and paused beside her.

  “Where’s Rocky?” he asked.

  “Heavens!” Constance said exasperatedly. “Let’s send out an S.O.S. or a town crier or something. Anyone would think the end of the world had come because Rocky hasn’t appeared for breakfast.”

  “I thought perhaps she was ill,” he said.

  Miss Esther joined him.

  “Where’s Rocky?” she asked.

  Sir John laughed. “It seems to be a heavily guarded secret,” he said dryly. “But as a matter of fact I expect she’s just a lazybones and is sleeping off a very tiring day.” He walked away with Miss Esther pattering beside him.

  “I do hope she’s not ill,” she said in concern. “I am not sure which is her cabin or I would go and enquire. I do hope she’s not ill.”

  “I hardly think we need suppose anything so unlikely,” Sir John comforted her. “I expect she overdid it a little yesterday—she was dancing until quite late.”

  At the top of the stairs Miss Esther hesitated.

  “I think I’ll try and find out which is her cabin,” she said. “You see, she’s alone on board, and there may be something I can do for her.”

  “That’s a kind thought,” Sir John said. “Give her my love.”

  Miss Esther hurried away, and after enquiring from various stewards she found her way to Rocky’s door.

  “Come in.”

  Rocky was still in bed.

  Miss Esther tiptoed towards her.

  “Are you ill? Everyone has been enquiring. Does your head ache? Can I do anything for you?”

  Rocky laughed rather shamefacedly.

  “No, I’m not ill, but I just felt lazy. I was a long time going to sleep last night, and so I thought I’d stay in bed. It’s very kind of you to come.”

  “If your head aches, I’ve got some very good tablets,” Miss Esther urged. “You just take two in something warm—milk is the best— and if you lie still for half an hour—”

  Rocky sat upright with sudden energy.

  “But my head doesn’t ache,” she protested gaily. “I’m just lazy. I was thinking about getting up when you knocked. Mrs. Bingham —she’s my stewardess—brought me some tea and some hot toast, and I ate it all, so you see I can’t be ill.” She f
olded her arms round her hunched-up knees and smiled cheerfully. “And who has been so kind as to ask after me?” she enquired.

  “Sir John did—and Mr. Durham,” Miss Esther said. “And I thought that nice officer you were dancing with last night looked quite depressed.”

  Rocky chuckled.

  “He’s engaged to a girl at home,” she said. “He told me all about her.”

  “Oh!” Miss Esther said disappointedly.

  “But it’s very kind of you to have come,” Rocky said gratefully. “I’ll get up in a minute and then we’ll have some games, shall we? Isn’t it a lovely morning?”

  “It’s very hot,” Miss Esther said dubiously. “And the sea is like glass. I’ve never seen such a calm sea.”

  Rocky nodded. “I hope it will be like this all the way,” she said; her bright eyes rested on the elder woman’s face. “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?” she asked.

  Miss Esther flushed a little.

  “I’ve never enjoyed myself so much,” she said shyly, and then : “Did I show you that little statue Sir John bought for me? I think it was so very kind of him. I really hardly like to take it.”

  “I am sure he was very pleased that you did,” Rocky told her. “Clive Durham gave me one too—there it is on the dressing-table.”

  Miss Esther turned to pick up the little figure, carefully examining it.

  “Mine is the figure of a goddess,” she said. “But this is very sweet, too,” she put it gently down. “Are you sure your head does not ache?” she asked again.

  “I was never so sure about anything in my life,” Rocky declared gaily. “I’ll just have my bath, and before you can spread the glad news that I’m not overboard, I shall be on deck.”

  But when Miss Esther had gone, Rocky got out of bed and peered anxiously at herself in the mirror.

  Did she look as if she had been crying? A careful scrutiny reassured her that there was no trace of last night’s tears, and with a half-sigh she rang the bell for Mrs. Bingham. “May I have my bath now, please?”