by Jane Godman
“Do you know, in spite of everything, I will be sorry to leave. It has felt like home to me. But, yes, I can travel, and it will be good to see Ouma again.”
“We can liaise with Tristan from there, once we’ve found out if your birth certificate and your parents’ marriage certificate still exist,” Nicca explained, pulling Rudi’s suitcase out of a cupboard. “Annie, you’d better go and start packing.” I roused myself from my stupor and moved obediently toward the door. “Finty, I suggest you go and pack, too. You should take Tristan up on his offer to stay with him in London until this is over.”
“Rudi is not going anywhere without me,” Finty said. I had never seen that expression on Finty’s face before. I was surprised to realise that she could actually look stubborn. “I’m coming to South Africa with you.”
“This has the potential to turn into a farce,” Nicca commented to me in a whisper, but even he seemed impressed by Finty’s newfound steel. “You have half an hour to pack everything you need, and if you aren’t ready, we’ll go without you,” he warned her.
We departed Tenebris early the next morning, and ever since the subsequent strange predawn drive through the English countryside and our arrival in this brisk port, I had been trying to shake off my dreamy mood. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Nicca had taken charge. He was Major Jago once more. It was he who had gone to the Union Castle offices, he who had emerged with tickets for two first-class cabins, he who had seen our luggage carried aboard. He who had taken my arm and escorted me, numb and unresisting, up the gangplank.
But it was all nonsense. Of course, it was. What was I doing on this ship? I couldn’t just turn tail and go home. I had to get back to Uther. It would only take me a matter of hours to reach London, and once I was in his arms, I knew he would convince me that this really was just a nightmare. The ship was due to sail in under an hour. Nicca was nowhere to be seen, and Rudi and Finty were too wrapped up in each other to notice what I was doing. Now was as good a time as any. It was almost too easy to slip back down the gangplank and mingle with the crowds on the quayside. I walked quickly, head down, away from the waterfront. Once away from the crowds, I would ask for directions to the train station. As I hurried past the front entrance of a bank, fate dealt me a cruel blow. Nicca emerged, counting a roll of banknotes.
“Annie!” His voice had the easy, carrying quality of a seasoned army officer, and although I tried to dart down a side alley, his height allowed him to see over the heads of the other people around us. He was able to follow me and corner me easily. “What’s wrong? Why have you left the ship? Good God, Annie, you’re shaking like a leaf.”
I leaned against the wall, drawing in great needy breaths of air. The words came out in a rush. “I can’t do it, Nicca. I can’t go.… This is ridiculous. I love Uther. He wouldn’t do these awful things. I haven’t given him a chance to explain.” I tried to duck under his arm to get away from him.
“Look.” He thrust under my nose the newspaper he was carrying. The article, on the second page, was short and succinct.
Foul Play Suspected in Tobacconist’s Death
Fire Officers were called to a fire at Wilson’s Tobacconist Shop in Putney High Street in the early hours of Saturday morning. When the blaze was brought under control some hours later, a man’s body was discovered in the upstairs flat. He was identified as Arthur Wilson, aged 38, the shop’s proprietor. Police were called when it was discovered that Mr Wilson died of stab wounds and the fire appeared to have been set deliberately.
“No,” I whispered as if saying it could somehow make it true. “Wilson is a common name.”
“I’ve been to Wilson’s shop, Annie. It’s in the Putney High Street.” Nicca kept his eyes on my face. “And you said yourself that Wilson was increasing the pressure on Uther. This explains Uther’s urgent business in London.”
Nicca’s voice in my ears was muted. At the same time, clear as day, in my mind I heard Uther’s words reassuring me, “I love you with all the insanity my soul can contain.” Without thinking, I pushed past Nicca and ran.
Behind me, Nicca swore, then his footsteps pounded on the paving stones. I was quick, but in a crowd I was no match for him. I couldn’t drive my way through the press of people around me, whereas the throng just parted for someone of such commanding proportions as Nicca. He caught me easily and resolved the situation by picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. A few people threw curious looks at us, but it appeared that no one was prepared to challenge a powerfully built man of military bearing, carrying a winded, slightly stunned female toward the ship’s gangway.
“We’ll discuss this further once we have sailed,” he said firmly. When we reached the water’s edge, he set me back on my feet. Immediately, I felt the dark thoughts crowd in on me again.
“No, don’t put me down,” I begged urgently, clinging to his lapels.
“I have to,” he explained. “If I carry you on board, it is going to look very odd to our fellow passengers. We’ll be the talk of the ship. Come on, Annie. They are getting ready to sail.”
“You have to keep hold of me.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, watching my face in confusion.
“While you are holding me, he can’t get into my head so easily. I don’t know how it works, but it’s like you are acting as a barrier. If he can get to me, I will run again. I don’t want to, but I will. And I will say anything to get away from you Nicca. I will accuse you of trying to kill me or abduct me or rape me.” I stepped into the circle of his arms again, taking hold of his hands and placing them on my waist. Nicca obliged by tightening his grasp, and I nodded gratefully, resting my cheek against the comforting warmth of his chest. “Now talk to me. About anything.”
“Very well. This ship is part of the Union Castle Company fleet, which was formed in 1900. The service runs like clockwork. At precisely four o’clock every Thursday, a ship leaves Southampton and, at the same time locally, another leaves Cape Town. Those two ships pass at the midway point, at sea. Just over two weeks after setting sail, the southbound ship—the one we are about to board—arrives in Cape Town. It will stay in Cape Town overnight, then sail for Port Elizabeth and then finally reach the end of the run in Durban, on the Indian Ocean. We, of course, will disembark at the final point in Durban and travel overland to your grandmother’s kraal.”
“Good,” I said, with a shaky laugh. “Factual, but boring. Now, keep your arm around me and get me onto that ship. Force me if you have to. Keep talking to me.”
“This ship, the Arundel Castle, was built by the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast. She was the fifty-fourth ship to be built there since the Titanic…Oh, no, you don’t.” He used his superior strength to propel me forward as I tried to break free and run back down the gangplank. “She was launched on September 11, 1919, and her maiden voyage took her to Cape Town. Breathe deeply, Annie, we’re almost there. The first-class passenger accommodation on this ship is quite spectacular. Every cabin has a new sort of air-conditioning installed, so we don’t have to rely on the old blowing fans to keep us cool. That’s it, step onto the deck. If you wish, you can enjoy a nice afternoon dip in the indoor swimming pool, or spend it in the gymnasium. She even sports an electric lift to carry passengers between her decks.”
I saw Rudi and Finty coming toward us, their faces mirror images of concern. The sailors were busying themselves raising the gangplanks, and excited passengers thronged the decks, waving to the friends and family who gathered on the quayside below.
“Nicca. I can’t pretend everything’s normal. I can’t make small talk,” I pleaded.
Nicca, acting with his usual presence of mind, swept me up into his arms. “Miss van der Merwe is feeling faint,” he explained, tipping his hat to an astonished Rudi as he strode past him. “I am taking her to her cabin so that she can rest.”
We reached the first-class cabin that I was to share with Finty. Nicca placed me on one of the beds. I was shivering uncontrollably
as if suffering from a high fever. “Don’t leave me,” I begged, grasping his wrist. “Please, Nicca. Hold me.” His face was expressionless as he lay down next to me and drew me into his strong embrace.
“Since the awful events of 1912, safety at sea has been paramount, and the Arundel Castle has lifeboat facilities that are second to none…”
Much later, when the ship was at sea and darkness began to fall, I murmured, “How do you know all of this?”
“I read some of it in the leaflet in my cabin. But I confess, I made some of it up.” His breath against my ear was comforting and I laughed. “Can you feel it still, Annie?”
“Always. And he doesn’t even know I’ve gone yet. When he finds out, that’s when it will be so much worse.”
Finty and Rudi did not seem to have any objection to the new cabin-sharing arrangements. On the contrary, they appeared quite delighted, and we saw very little of them for the duration of the voyage.
“I will be a fallen woman,” Finty stated with gleeful unconcern, as Nicca moved her belongings into the other cabin. “I shall start dressing in black and wearing scarlet lipstick from now on. Will you mind very much, my darling?”
“I expect I shall grow accustomed to it,” Rudi told her with mock resignation.
The next day, I was not in any mood to be sociable, so Nicca maintained the pretence that I was ill. We ate in our cabin. That evening, under cover of darkness, we walked on the deck.
“You are a very good listener,” I told him appreciatively, after I had talked through the whole dreadful story for about the third time.
“I’m a captive audience,” he pointed out, looking over the deck rail into the thrashing midnight ocean. “I don’t much fancy the alternative.”
We shared the cabin again and slept in the side-by-side narrow beds. When I couldn’t sleep, when thoughts of Uther threatened to overpower my sanity, I crept into Nicca’s bed and curled up close to the reassuring warmth of his big frame. It was a tight squeeze. We both kept up the pretence that he didn’t know, that he was oblivious to my presence. Once or twice I felt the rigid column of his erection pressing into the small of my back, and curiosity sent my imagination wild. There was something profoundly soothing about the fact that he still desired me. The knowledge that what Nicca wanted from me was honest and normal assuaged some of the fears I had about myself. I didn’t feel like a monster when I was with him.
On our third night at sea, I lay awake with the length of my body pressed tight against the muscular sinews of his back and my arms about his waist. Gently, I let my hands explore the carved definition of his shoulders, tracing a path through the hair on his chest and lightly brushing his nipples. I was intrigued by the fact that my own nipples hardened at the same time. It was a moment that signalled a distinct change in our relationship. Nicca gave a soft, involuntary sigh, and the tempo of his breathing quickened. Cautiously, I danced my fingertips lower, over the hard, flat plane of his stomach. His hand snaked out instantly and grasped my wrist, holding it still.
“Stop it, Annie.”
“Why?”
“The fact that you have to ask that question is an answer in itself,” he replied.
“Don’t try to be enigmatic, Nicca. I can tell you like it.” My experiences so far might be woefully one-sided, but Uther had taught me that much at least about a man’s body.
“Go to sleep.”
I could tell he was trying to regain control of the situation. I decided to be unhelpful and curved my body more closely to the contours of his, resting my chin on his shoulder. “You don’t understand,” I whispered. “Every time I try to sleep, his voice is here, in this cabin, inside my head. Dark and persuasive. He is trying to convince me that I am wrong.”
Nicca reached for the lamp at the side of the bed, and its weak light illuminated the cabin. Leaning on one elbow, he studied my face thoughtfully. “I still don’t see how…”
“I need you to distract me, Nicca,” I pleaded. “Make him go away.”
“I could tell you a bedtime story. Is that what you are asking me?”
“You know what I’m asking you to do.” I stared longingly at the strong curve of his lips.
“Are you sure, Annie?”
“Please, Nicca.” I risked moving a little closer.
“Very well, but remember, this is your decision. Any regrets you may have later are entirely your own responsibility.” He drew me tight against his chest. I gave a triumphant smile and nestled my head into the curve of his neck. “Once upon a time…”
His voice lulled me and sleep came quickly, but the nightmare was never far away. The beating of wings kept time with my heart as the never-ending dark shape loomed closer. I cried out and tried to twist away, but strong arms held me, and a familiar voice murmured in my ear until my struggles stilled. Still caught up halfway inside my dream, I lifted my face to Nicca, seeking comfort.
Our first kiss began hesitantly, with closed mouths that touched each other chastely. Then his tongue tenderly explored my mouth, parting it and tracing just inside my top lip. We broke apart at the enormity of what had just happened and stared at each other in the weak light that dawned through the porthole. We were both trembling. I only had Uther’s kisses for comparison, but there was a realness to this that had been lacking before—a feeling that all my senses were engaged, not an over-reliance on a memory of lives and loves that were long gone.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said, answering the question his eyes were asking. When our lips met again, we were both sure. How I loved the fact that it wasn’t perfect! I loved the way our teeth clashed so that we laughed nervously and had to start again. His stubble scorching my flesh felt heavenly. The red wine and tobacco taste of his tongue was maddeningly good. The solidity of his body was there, there was nothing ephemeral about his knee between mine or his hands moving down to the small of my back to hold me even closer against him.
With fingers that were not completely steady, Nicca undid the buttons of my nightdress and slid it from one shoulder. I lay back in his arms as his lips anointed my breasts with feathery kisses. His questing hand moved under my nightdress and along the length of my thigh, massaging gently as it travelled relentlessly upward. When his fingertips found the apex at the top of my legs and, through the thin cotton of my panties, traced the cleft there, I arched my back in a combination of shock and pleasure.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Tell me if you want me to stop.” He studied my face as he lightly strafed my nipple with his thumb. Carefully, he slid my underwear down and, with that barrier gone, one long finger followed again the path he had just outlined.
“Do you like that?” he whispered huskily, and I nodded, my eyes fastened on his in the half-light. “Good.” The finger moved deeper and I bit my lip. “You can moan or call out, if you want to. Or scratch me.” He smiled. “Or bite me. Like this.” He bent his head and nipped the tip of my breast with sharp teeth, and I shuddered convulsively. His probing became more insistent and—dear God, could I actually feel his fingers inside me now?—I found myself lifting my hips to meet his movements. “I don’t think I have to ask if you like that,” he murmured with a soft laugh. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes appeared black. “But what about this?” And, still with his fingers moving rhythmically in and out of me, he began to rub his thumb across the exact spot where my body was beginning to throb unbearably.
“How did you know?” I gasped.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “I know a lot more. I can distract you for hours if you need me to.”
And suddenly, it happened. The thing I had been striving for. I’d felt it before, but now it was happening to me, not some other, distant incarnation of me. My whole body convulsed violently.
“Nicca!” I clung to him desperately as my muscles spasmed, my back curved of its own accord and I thrashed wildly. His lips returned to claim mine and the feel of his tongue, strong, insistent and so achingly real, claiming my mouth and mirroring
the action of his fingers gave my body exactly what it craved, keeping the sensations spinning wildly and uncontrollably.
“Is it possible, do you think, Annie, for Uther to have somehow been invaded by an evil spirit?” Finty had persuaded me to walk on deck with her, and we paused to lean on the rail and look out at the empty expanse of ocean. A noisy game of deck quoits was taking place nearby, and a group of ship’s officers paused to salute us, their admiring looks as warm on our faces as the pre-cocktail hour sunshine. In the prevailing carnival atmosphere, Finty’s words were a bizarre question mark hanging in the salt-tinged air between us. “Can such things really happen?” Her grey eyes were the precise colour of the troubled ocean that churned in our wake.
Even though the ship was a vast tribute to the efficiency of modern engineering, out here in the Atlantic, with not a glimpse of land in sight, it felt very small and insignificant. Every passenger had his or her own tale to tell. Alongside our brightly coloured deck clothes and party dresses, we had packed up our varying troubles and heartaches and brought them on board. The Arundel Castle was a sailing anthology of short stories. Was mine the most unbelievable? Who was to know or be the judge? I could almost have dismissed Finty’s words here in this most innocuous of settings. Almost. If it was not for a pair of gold eyes—so like, yet unlike, my own—and a laughing smile that stayed constant in my mind. Or that snickering, insidious voice that whispered to me in the darkest reaches of the night that this was not over. That it had only just begun.
“I think it’s possible.” It was an inadequate answer, and I knew it.
“If that is the case, and a spirit resides inside a person, do you think it stays there forever? No matter where that person goes?”
I was shocked at the fear in the depths of Finty’s eyes, but it matched the endless dread in my own heart. “Do you mean, will the evil inside Uther be able to follow us across the world? I would like to believe not.” I wanted to convince us both that the Jago darkness was confined to Tenebris, even though a voice in my own heart was telling me otherwise. “But it might, and I think we have to prepare ourselves for the worst.”