Return Journey

by Ruby M. Ayres

  “Going to get up?” Mrs. Bingham asked; she sounded a little disappointed, for she rather enjoyed having a passenger or two on her hands. She had told Rocky that her ambition had been to be a nurse, and that she liked nothing better than looking after people who were not well.

  “But not seasick people, surely?” the girl had asked.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Mrs. Bingham said. “I’m the mothering sort.” But it was obvious that Rocky was not in need of mothering this morning, so she hurried away to get the bath ready while Rocky put on her dressing-gown and bath slippers.

  She was a little amused because there had evidently been a certain amount of consternation about her absence from the breakfast-table; it was nice of them to mind, she thought, and then she told herself wryly that of course Richard Wheeler had not troubled to enquire for her. Well, she should be used to his indifference by this time—it was no good expecting him to behave like ordinary people, but she pulled open the drawer to make sure that the Chinese bag was still there—she would not have been in the least surprised to find it was her imagination that he had given her a present.

  But there it was—still folded in its soft tissue-paper. Mrs. Bingham returned.

  “The bath is quite ready, Miss.”

  Rocky went along the passage, her loose slippers flopping at every step.

  She loved the hot salt-water bath—and her last trace of weariness and depression had quite vanished when once more she slipped into her dressing-gown to go back to the cabin. The sun was shining and it was going to be hot, and the world was a lovely place in spite of a few obstinate people who made you feel a little miserable now and then because they would not be friendly—she turned into the passage which led to her cabin and came face to face with Richard Wheeler.

  Rocky laughed.

  “Of course you would see me when I’m looking my very worst,” she said comically, painfully conscious of her flushed face and disordered hair.

  Wheeler stood back a little to allow her to pass.

  “You’re late this morning,” he said.

  Rocky screwed up her face.

  “I’m sure you missed me at breakfast-time, very much,” she said lightly.

  “We all missed you,” he told her.

  There was a little silence, during which their eyes met, and at something in the expression of his, Rocky’s face grew suddenly wistful and very sweet, but almost at once she was laughing.

  “I must go and make myself respectable,” she said, and departed.

  Wheeler looked after her irresolutely, and then, as he heard the slam of her cabin door, he turned slowly away, a little frown between his eyes, wondering why, although sometimes she irritated him, there were moments when he found her exasperatingly attractive.

  Rocky dressed at top speed and was up on deck in less than a quarter of an hour. Clive Durham saw her from a distance and came racing along the deck.

  “So here you are! I was afraid you were ill.”

  She looked at him with amused scorn.

  “Ill? I’m never ill. But I thought you must be, last night.”

  He flushed and looked embarrassed; and Rocky demanded:

  “Where were you? I thought you invited me to dance?”

  Clive shifted from one foot to the other.

  “I—well, I thought you had had enough of my company for one day,” he said lamely.

  “Indeed!” Rocky walked on and he followed.

  “Don’t be cross with me,” he pleaded.

  “Cross? I’m not cross—why should I be?”

  “You mean I’m not worth being cross with, I suppose,” he submitted.

  Rocky relented suddenly.

  “I don’t mean anything of the sort; don’t let’s be melodramatic. Come and play deck tennis,” she invited; and then he said something which touched her deeply.

  “I love you so frightfully, young ’un.”

  She turned her face sharply away, with a guilty little feeling in her heart.

  “That’s—kind of you,” she said gently; and he answered:

  “But you don’t care, do you? It doesn’t matter to you whether I love you or not!” And then, as she did not answer: “I’m sorry I behaved so rottenly last night, but I’d got the blues—it all seemed so—hopeless. I know you don’t care two hoots for me and——”

  Miss Esther called after them: “Rocky! … Rocky dear.”

  Rocky touched his hand in a little caress.

  “Let’s forget all about it,” she said. “I will if you will. Let’s have a game—something Miss Esther can play.”

  “I’ve kept the bucket quoits,” Miss Esther said eagerly as she joined them. “Mrs. Bumpus wanted to play, but I told her I was keeping them for you; and Sir John says he’ll have me for a partner if you’ll have Mr. Durham.”

  Clive looked down at Rocky’s charming face.

  “Perhaps she won’t have Mr. Durham,” he said mockingly; but Rocky only smiled.

  “Come along—and I’ll bet you threepence we win, Miss Esther.” Esther.”

  “Oh, but I’ve never bet about anything in my life,” the elder woman protested in alarm.

  “Then it’s time you began,” Rocky declared calmly. “It makes the game so much more exciting, and threepence won’t break the bank for anyone.”

  Sir John was highly amused at the size of the proposed stake. “A whole threepence!” he said in pretended dismay. He turned out the contents of his pocket. “I don’t believe I have so much money in my possession.”

  “I’ll lend it to you if you lose,” Rocky said gaily; but Sir John and Miss Esther won, perhaps because Clive played badly and in a haphazard fashion, and Rocky gravely counted three pennies into Miss Esther’s hand.

  “I don’t think I ought to take it,” the little woman protested in alarm. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “I should have taken it from you if I’d won,” Rocky comforted her.

  “Such reckless gambling!” Sir John said. “Where will it lead to?”

  “I’m afraid my sister will be rather shocked,” Miss Esther said, taking him seriously. “You see, we have been brought up to think that it’s wicked to gamble.”

  “So it is,” Rocky said sharply. “At least——” She flushed. “I mean it’s wrong when you gamble for a lot of money—for other people’s money—dishonestly, but just for threepence—” She looked at Sir John appealingly; and he said:

  “Bless your heart, Miss Esther, there’s no harm in it—you look like a scared baby.”

  “Come and play deck tennis,” Clive urged.

  Rocky climbed with him to the top deck.

  “Won’t it be rather hot this morning?” she asked.

  “Yes, it will,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to play, but it seemed the only way of getting you to myself.”

  Rocky stood still.

  “Clive—you mustn’t,” she said very earnestly.

  His brown face flushed.

  “You mean—it won’t be any use?” he said; and then: “Oh, Rocky, I’ve never cared for any girl as I care for you—it’s all so different—something I can’t help—I can’t think of anything else— I hate every other fellow who looks at you.”

  “But nobody looks at me,” she said.

  He laughed shortly.

  “Oh yes, they do—even Sir John—and that brute Wheeler.”

  “Why do you call him a brute?” she asked sharply.

  Clive shrugged his shoulders.

  “Oh, I don’t know—but I don’t like him—he’s got such a calm way of taking things for granted—almost a brutal way. I suppose women like that sort of treatment—I suppose it’s his way of attracting them—being indifferent and—and casual—and even that fellow David at our table—I don’t suppose he’s ever given a serious thought to a girl till you came along, but now——’

  Rocky laughed. “Don’t be silly! Why, he never speaks a word to me, except when I ask him to pass the salt or the sugar.”

  “He lo
oks at you all the time,” Clive said sullenly.

  She gave a mock sigh.

  “And the Captain? Isn’t he in love with me too? And the chief stoker, and the Purser——” She gave his arm a little shake. “Don’t be miserable,” she begged. “Let’s enjoy ourselves. The voyage will soon be over, and then …”

  He drew his arm away. “That’s just it,” he said heavily. “It will soon be over, and then—you’ll go and I shall never see you again.”

  Mr. Bumpus came lumbering along the deck; he was wearing flannels which looked a little too tight for him and a bright blue jumper which Rocky was secretly sure Mrs. Bumpus had knitted.

  “Care to join in a game of deck tennis?” he asked half-apologetically.

  Rocky jumped at the opportunity.

  “Yes, of course—we were just looking for a four,” she said, not quite truthfully.

  “We can’t play,” Mr. Bumpus admitted. “But. we should both like to learn.”

  It was an amusing game, for, although Mr. Bumpus ran about furiously and worked harder than ever in his life before, he only succeeded either in missing the ring altogether or in being hit on the nose.

  “You’re too short-sighted, Horace,” his wife said in exasperation. She was very hot and bothered herself and scarcely more successful, and when, in a last mighty effort she threw the ring clean into one of the lifeboats, she decided it was time to stop.

  “Thank you for the game, Miss Chandler,” she said rather acidly. “It’s a pity my husband is so short-sighted. I am afraid it has not been much fun for you.”

  Rocky could truthfully have answered that she had never laughed so much in her life; but she only said that all games needed a lot of practice before you were any good at them.

  “Silly old donkeys,” Clive said when husband and wife had departed. “They’ll never play it if they try from now till Doomsday.” He caught Rocky’s arm as she was turning to the stairs. “Don’t go; let’s sit down here in the shade.”

  Rocky looked despairingly round, but it seemed useless to refuse, and with a half-sigh she sank down into one of the two deck-chairs he had hurriedly drawn together.

  There Was a long silence then, until at last he said: “So I suppose you won’t have me, is that it?”

  She did not answer at once; but presently she said very kindly: “Please be sensible, dear. We don’t know anything about one another—it’s only a few days since we were absolute strangers, and people always seem different—more exciting than they really are— when you meet them on board ship—at least, that’s what I’ve always been told. Later on, when we leave the ship, you’ll feel quite differently about me—I think it must always be like that. I’m— fond of you—but … we don’t know anything about one another —how can we? And if I—if by any chance we—got engaged—it would only turn out badly; at least …”

  She stopped, and Clive said, almost angrily:

  “That’s what Constance said.”

  “Constance?” Rocky flushed as she turned to look at him. “You haven’t been talking to her about me? “

  “She began it,” he said obstinately. “She accused me of falling in love with you—and she said it was absurd—because we don’t know anything about one another—as if that matters—when you care for a girl.”

  Rocky looked away towards the sea, her face a little set. “I think Constance is right,” she said at last. “You don’t know anything about me at all. Why, I might be—anyone—I might be—the sort of girl you would not want to speak to if you knew—all about me.”

  He laughed incredulously.

  “Haven’t you ever looked in the mirror?” he asked.

  Rocky nodded. “Oh yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. I knew a girl once who fell in love with a man she met on a ship, and— just before they were to be married she found out that he was wanted by the police.”

  “Do you think I am wanted by the police?” Clive demanded.

  “Of course not. I’m only just trying to show you that you mustn’t judge by appearances. People don’t walk about ships with their past written on placards round their necks, do they? And so it’s just as well not to be rash.”

  He looked at her with baffled eyes.

  “Sometimes I don’t believe you’ve got a heart at all,” he said.

  “Don’t you? Isn’t that rather unkind?”

  “You don’t care whether I’m unkind or not,” he accused her.

  It was so true that she could find no answer; and suddenly, with a muttered exclamation, he got up and walked away.

  Rocky let him go; she was feeling a little miserable herself, and yet she knew she was not to blame, for she had not wanted him to fall in love with her, and she had made no conscious effort to attract him. She leaned back and closed her eyes, revelling in the warm sunshine—until presently there was a little sound of someone moving close by.

  She started to her feet, looking round, and then she took a few hurried steps to the other side of the funnel on to which their chairs were backing.

  Richard Wheeler was there stretched full length on a rug.

  He looked up at her with a faint smile.

  “Have you been listening?” Rocky demanded, flushing.

  “Not intentionally,” he assured her. “But I have told you before that you have an exceptionally clear voice. I was half asleep, and it was too late when I woke up and thought of moving.”

  “Oh,” she said blankly.

  Wheeler got to his feet.

  “May I get you a chair?” he asked.

  She intended to say, “No, thank you,” but she said, “Yes,” instead; and he dragged up one of the chairs in which she and Clive had been sitting.

  “It’s a glorious morning,” Wheeler said.

  Rocky did not answer; she was leaning forward, her chin in the palms of her hands.

  “What did you hear?” she asked presently.

  Wheeler was slowly filling his pipe.

  “Enough to make me wonder,” he said.

  She turned her head a little to look at him.

  “To—wonder?” she asked.

  “Yes—to wonder why, as you began to be so honest, you did not continue and tell him the whole truth. I think it would have been kinder.”

  Rocky’s long lashes flickered as if the bright sunshine was hurting her eyes.

  “Why don’t you tell him, if you know so much?” she said.

  “Is it my business?” he asked.

  “No,” she said sharply; and then, after a moment: “Why do you hate me so much? I haven’t done you any harm?”

  Her eyes were on his hands, on the long, firm fingers slowly ramming the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe.

  Ruthless fingers, she thought, and yet again she had the strange feeling that it would be good to feel them clasped around her own, to know their strength and security.

  It seemed a long time before he spoke.

  “I don’t hate you,” he said. “Isn’t that rather an exaggeration? Why should I hate you? It’s not my way to hate anyone.”

  “Especially anyone so—worthless as me, you mean,” she said; her eyes travelled to his face. “You might have been just as … as bad as you think I am if you had lived my life,” she told him painfully; and then: “Not that it matters what you think. We’re not likely to see one another again after I leave the ship.” And she was conscious of a sudden desolation, for the words were so true—for they would probably never meet again—for her there would be no return journey along this pleasant fairway.

  Wheeler said: “I would not be too sure of that if I were you; truth is stranger than fiction, and life has a queer way of bringing people face to face when they are least expecting it.”

  Rocky’s little feet began an agitated tap-tap on the deck.

  “You’re very—intolerant,” she said breathlessly; and Wheeler answered:

  “May I take a leaf out of your book and say as you did just now—perhaps you would be the same if you had lived my life.” />
  She was silent for a moment, then she broke out:

  “If I told you everything—I mean—if you knew everything—all the truth——”

  “I don’t want to know,” he said gravely.

  Rocky laughed mirthlessly.

  “You need not be afraid. I’m not going to tell you.” And then impulsively she went on: “If you—think I’m so dreadful, why did you ask me to go ashore with you?”

  The faintest smile crossed his face.

  “I thought perhaps it might amuse you to come with me.”

  “Amuse you, you mean,” she retorted; and then, after a breathless pause: “But I shan’t go with you—when we get to Port Said.”

  Wheeler laughed. “Do you know, I was expecting you to say that,” he said calmly. “But as we’re not there yet, there is plenty of time for you to change your mind.” He offered her his cigarette-case. “Will you smoke?”

  Rocky looked at him, her cheeks crimson, and then suddenly she made a violent movement, scattering the cigarettes in all directions before, with a muffled sound which sounded almost like a sob, she started up and fled away along the deck.

  Chapter

  10

  The elder Miss Pawson had caught a severe chill; at dinnertime that night when Miss Esther walked into the saloon alone, looking a little shy and self-conscious, there was an immediate chorus from the young people at the Second Officer’s table: “All alone? Is Miss Pawson ill?”

  Rocky started to her feet.

  “Come and sit with us; we can make room.” She cast a rapid but rather doubtful glance round the table, where, as it was, there was hardly elbow space. Miss Esther laughed and shook her head.

  “Oh no; I shall be quite all right alone. My sister has a bad chill and a temperature, and so she is staying in bed.”

  “What luck!” Clive murmured under his breath, and at that moment Sir John came down the stairs and paused beside them.

  “What is all the excitement about?” he asked.

  “Miss Pawson is ill,” Rocky informed him. “And we want Miss Esther to come and sit with us—she can’t possibly have her dinner alone in solitary state, can she?”

  Sir John smiled down at her eager face.

  “And what about my solitary state night after night?” he enquired. “Nobody seems to have been at all concerned about me.” He looked at Miss Esther. “The obvious thing is for you to honour my humble table,” he told her.