by Paul Almond
“Not exactly,” Eric stammered. “Oh no. Not at all.”
“How thrilling! She’ll be so excited.”
“Well, I doubt that. I haven’t seen her for eight years.”
The girl’s face fell. “Eight years! How do you know she isn’t already married and got a family?”
“Well, we have been writing.”
“Love letters?” The girl blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but it’s so romantic. You going off to see a girl that you haven’t met for eight years. I think that’s wonderful!”
“I didn’t say I was going.”
“Oh, but you must! You must! Here. Take this form. Bring it home. Fill it out and bring it back with a cheque. I love people doing things on the spur of the moment. It’s so exciting. Our passengers usually book months before. And they’re mostly old, and boring. Though,” she added quickly, “some young folk are going, too. With their families. There’s excellent accommodation still left open.”
Eric took the form, wondering what on earth had ever possessed him to come in here in the first place.
She added quickly. “Oh,” she clapped her hands together. “Oh, I do hope you go.”
And on July 27, when the SS Aorangi blew its deafening whistle and pulled away from the quay, Eric Alford was aboard.
C H A P T E R T E N
Eric had bought himself a berth in a cabin for six, which was almost the cheapest, but still took a good bit more than he had saved from the month under Sam. However, this was to be a long voyage — four weeks to be exact. By most standards, he was travelling light: only his bag, suitcase, and his haversack, whereas most passengers had steamer trunks stowed in the baggage hold.
Two weeks before the trip, Eric had returned to the ticket office with his cheque and his forms filled out. But first he had checked with Sam Holtby. Hesitantly, after a Scotch and a pipeful, he had broached the subject.
“Now why the hell do you want to leave, since you’re doing so well?” asked Sam. “I thought you and me, we’d have a fair little partnership. I already got another job for you to do after we finish this athletic field.”
Eric was prepared for this, having spent a sleepless night wondering how to justify his rather ridiculous impulse to his employer. “Sam, you’ll have to forgive me, because it’s kind of hard to explain. You see, in London during the war, I met this English girl.”
Kenny, Sam’s son broke in. “And you’re going after her! Good for you, Eric.”
“Well, it’s not as easy as that. You see, I don’t even know if she’ll want me. As a matter of fact, we haven’t seen each other for eight years.”
Sam looked in astonishment. But Kenny’s eyes glowed. “Well, when you wrote to her, she must have told you to come. Otherwise why book yourself a passage?”
“Damn fool thing to do,” Sam said, “if you ask me.”
How to answer these legitimate concerns? Eric started slowly. “Well, I just have no idea. Something told me — I’d been thinking about her all this time, while I was in university, and knocking around doing some surveying, and she... she kind of got pretty well locked into my mind.”
“Oh boy!” shouted Kenny, to the dismay of the other drinkers in the bar. “A real love story. But you didn’t answer my question. Did she not say to come?”
Eric shook his head. Sheepishly, he replied, “She doesn’t know.” He took a slug of whiskey.
Sam Holtby shook his head. “Darnedest thing I ever heard.”
“Dad, I think it’s real romantic. Like a Jane Austen novel.” He turned to Eric. “We read them at UBC. See, Eric, one day I might even be a writer.” Seeing his father’s head swivel fast in his direction, he went on quickly, “Well, I mean, after I get this job we’re angling for at the Stock Exchange. I can make a lot of money there, and maybe when I’m older I can spend my time writing.”
Sam shook his head wearily. “My son ...”
“Well, Sam,” Eric went on, “I know it’s crazy. I’ve been telling myself it’s crazy ever since yesterday, when I visited the ticket office. But the Aorangi —”
“Dad, that’s the biggest one in their fleet, the biggest that goes to Australia. I wish I could have been on that. But I had to get back here in time to arrange this job.”
“So you see, Sam,” Eric went on, “I haven’t bought the ticket, and I won’t if you need me that badly. But the fellas there, I seem to have them sorted out. They’re doing a fine job, and this construction foreman can handle them; so you might not even need to replace me. That’s what I’m hoping,” Eric added, weakly.
“Dad, you’ve got to let him go. This is the best story I’ve heard for long time. You never meet someone like Eric here, gambling his whole life on some vision of a girl he once met. I bet,” he turned back to Eric, “I bet you’ll knock her flat. I bet she’s never had anyone do that for her, in her entire life. She’ll be so excited...”
Sam lifted his eyebrows. “And on the other hand, she might not be.” He glanced at Eric with an almost sorrowful look. “Eric, if you come back here with your tail between your legs, you’ll have a job, don’t worry.”
***
The first while on board, Eric spent his time familiarizing himself with the great liner, bigger by half than the Makura as the girl had said, and one that took a good deal of exploration. The classes were segregated, of course, but some of the activities could be shared.
While most of the first-class passengers sat out in deck chairs, Eric contented himself with daily exercise around the great ship or leaning on the rail and watching the city of Victoria pass by on his right as they headed off into the great Pacific Ocean — twenty four hundred miles to Honolulu on the first leg of their voyage.
The first evening in the great tourist-class dining room, Eric couldn’t help but notice a tall, well-shaped beauty with brown hair piled in a fetching coiffure, wide eyes roaming the room but always returning to fasten on him. She sat at a table of older folk whom he took to be her parents and their friends. No one her own age. He figured her to be at least twenty, taken on this voyage by her folks.
The next day she approached him as he leaned against the rail. He turned to look, somewhat surprised. What perfect features — even a pert nose, but in those oceans of her eyes he found himself floundering. Quite a stunning young lady.
“Hello, may I introduce myself? We need a fourth for our shuffleboard and I thought you might like to join us. I’m Sharon Black.” She held out her hand.
Eric introduced himself and allowed as how he’d be pleased to join them.
After the introductions, an older man, who seemed taken aback by Sharon’s choice — was he jealous? — explained the game to Eric, though the forty-foot-long “court” with compartments and a triangle at each end seemed self-evident. “We use these sticks, called cues, to push pucks, those weighted disks, down and hope one lands on a square with a high number. Quite easy really.”
“Don’t listen to Arthur,” Sharon said, “I’ve played every day and I always lose.”
“Maybe our veteran here will bring you luck, Sharon my girl,” said the older man. His plump wife looked at him disapprovingly. “After we play all the pucks at this end, we go down to the other and start over again.”
Eric found he soon got the hang of it, and became one of their regulars, even joining them when they switched to deck quoits, played with hoops of rope, a bit like horseshoes. A good queue of names always waited for games.
After the first game, Sharon and Eric retired to the bar for a drink before lunch. Eric wondered at this Torontonian, obviously from a good family. Why had she booked in tourist class? The others at her dining table were neither friends nor relatives, she admitted.“Mummy and Daddy were appalled at my choice. They said I should travel with ‘my own kind’. They are so stuck-up. But I knew that I’d find more interesting people if I travelled this way. Up in first, they’re all old. If you’re looking for a shipboard romance, don’t go first!”
Eric w
as taken aback, but grinned. “Well, good luck. I expect you will find lots of pickings down here on this deck among us all. There must be a pile of us.”
She looked at him, with a slight frown. “Oh, I’ve been looking all right. But no one else has got what it takes. You’re a veteran. You’ve lived. I can see all that in your eyes, Eric.” She gave him a little wink and smile, patting his hand. “Going through a war. Does a lot for a man!”
Eric didn’t want to amplify that statement. It sure did a lot — and not all of it good. But he pushed that memory aside. No dwelling on shell shock on this trip.
Faced with her forthright come-on, he told himself to confess right away: I’m taken. But he realized: What a ridiculous statement! Taken? What on earth did he mean? Only ‘taken’ in the sense he was on this damn fool errand after someone he’d met years ago. He chastised himself. “Quite a ship, isn’t it?” he said quickly, to change the subject.
Sharon nodded. “But I know nothing about it. Daddy booked it for me.”
So Eric decided to learn something of this great liner they were on, heading into the unknown. That evening he spotted the Purser at the rail, taking a cigarette, and went over to look out at the setting sun. Fortunately, they had not yet struck a storm and the sea had been welcoming.
“Well sir,” the Purser said in answer to Eric’s question, “it is a new ship indeed. Maiden voyage only two years ago, January 1925. We left Southampton, went to Los Angeles and Vancouver; I was aboard. Great trip. Then we moved to this route. And you know, every time we stop in Vancouver and Sydney, we spend a day and a half disinfecting her. Got to be careful, travelling these tropical waters; you never know what kind of germs get aboard.”
“And she’s the biggest steamship afloat?”
“Steamship? No, she’s one of these new breed of large liners powered by diesel,” the Purser told him. “Average speed around seventeen knots. And you wouldn’t believe the amount of fuel we burn every day.”
“Several tons?” Eric ventured.
“Over fifty a day!” said the Purser proudly. “She’s going in for overhaul at the end of the year, but they’re keeping us officers on salary while she does. I’m looking forward to a bit of a holiday. Been working full time these past two years.”
With that information tucked carefully into his head, Eric went to his cabin, certain that on the morrow, he could entertain Sharon. His years of going to bed soon after dark on the farm and in the bush meant he retired early, well before the others here who loved the evenings’ pursuits: dancing, drinking, and playing card games. Alone in his bunk, he wondered what on earth would come of this sudden turn of affairs?
C H A P T E R E L E V E N
The RMS Aorangi breasted the great Pacific swells with ease: a gentle roll was all the passengers felt, except infrequently when they struck rough weather. Eric soon developed a healthy routine that involved, after digesting his breakfast, striding around the deck for a brisk “morning constitutional” as a tour of the decks was known. And before long, the long-legged young Sharon joined him.
“I just hope I’m not too brisk for you?”
“Oh no, I love hiking. I’m very athletic!” She smiled. Such lovely teeth, he noticed. Wealthy upbringing, lots of good food and, he suspected, strict parents: brush your teeth! Not like at home; their one dentist had only recently arrived.
“Tennis, swimming, sports, I love them. I ride a horse of my own in Toronto. I’m very active.”
And so over the next while, Eric got to know Sharon pretty well, and her plans. She was not afraid to chatter about herself, certainly. “Freddie and I, we’re getting married in the autumn, one of those big weddings, but it might be fun. I’m looking forward to Honolulu, though. We’re going to treat it as a kind of a secret pre-honeymoon.” They kept passing older rug-wrapped couples stretched on wooden arm chairs, staring out at the heaving horizon, hardly talking, some reading. “For the real honeymoon, we’re going around Europe, and then poor Freddie, he’ll have to settle down in his father’s firm.”
“Which is?” Eric asked.
“Oh, you probably haven’t heard of it. It’s in the brokerage business, and they’re making nothing but money these days.” She laughed gaily. “I like being taken care of in style.” She waved and smiled at an older man who made as if to join them, but gave it up as they sped by. “It’ll be jolly, with lots of parties, of course. But then, I will belong to Freddie completely.”
“Don’t you belong to him now?”
Sharon looked sideways at him without speaking. After a time, she said, “A little dalliance never hurt anyone, before having to give it all up and become a wife forever...” She looked sideways at Eric again.
After striding around the deck for an hour or so, they retired to the bar for coffee and Lamingtons, little Aussie sponge cakes dipped in chocolate and covered in cocoanut. Eric enjoyed her companionship, although he wondered at the hints she kept dropping. And the more he got to know Sharon Black, the more he liked her. Where would all this lead? It did seem as if she were throwing herself at him. Oh dear, hard to resist.
“And what is Freddie doing in Honolulu?” They were sitting at one side, having sampled the pastry table. One did nothing but eat on this voyage.
“Well, it’s Freddie’s last big holiday before settling down,” Sharon told him. “He’s taken up some silly pursuit called surfing. I have no idea what they do, but in his one letter, he seems caught up in it.”
“I wonder if he uses a long board, or the short one?” Eric gave a sly chuckle. Her reaction came as he expected — she whirled: “What do you know about surfing?”
Eric shrugged, pleased. “Oh, nothing much.”
“Well, if he enjoys it, so much the better. I have some new bathing suits, and I’m going to sit out on the sand and watch. He really likes to see my body. At night, he tells me, there’s a great bunch of friends who turned up from Toronto for their holidays, and it should be fun. But then, of course, I’ll be his alone.” She looked at him again.
“Lucky him,” Eric found himself saying, and then almost as quickly regretted it, for he knew she would take it as a kind of invitation. Which in a sense, it was. No doubt about it, she was a striking young lady. Later, when the ship held its formal dance on the weekend, he found himself with her again, doing his best to join in the latest shuffle.
“You know, Eric you’re a very remarkable man,” she began after a while. “Freddie is much younger. You, being a veteran, I mean, you’re not old, but there is something... Well, a strength, as if you’d seen it all.”
Eric had to admit, “I have seen a lot, probably.”
“Not many men are as handsome as you, Eric. You don’t mind my saying that?” Eric shook his head. Who would mind those words from lips as perfect as hers? “At the same time, you’re so true to yourself. You have the manners of a prince, and the honesty of a farm boy. Intriguing combination.”
Eric was no longer taken aback by her candour, but concentrated on doing the steps required on the dance floor.
Sharon noticed his difficulties and they soon retired to a side table. But then, being as pretty as she was, Sharon got one invitation to dance after another, some young and good-looking but married, others older but still obviously attracted. Eric watched them on the dance floor; he left a lot to be desired so far as dancing went.
After sticking it out for a while, Eric was about to give up. So Sharon turned down the next offer to dance to have a nightcap with him. After taking a good slug herself, she ventured, openly, “You know, Eric, I have a two-berth cabin. And the second is empty.”
“Really? I thought the ship was nearly full.”
She paused. “Well, it was.” She glanced at him. “I think Daddy didn’t want me bothered by anyone else, so he bought the other bunk.” She sipped her drink and mentioned casually, “You might find it more comfortable there.”
Eric shifted in his seat. She went on quickly, “I have a window, well, a porthole, and we c
an see out. It’s so lovely in the morning with the sun coming in. We’re on the south side of the ship, Daddy saw to that. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable than with all those other people in your cramped inside cabin?” She went on quickly, “And you’re welcome to it.”
Rather a challenging turn of events! What could Eric say, but, “Well, Sharon, that’s thoughtful of you; thank you very much. I will certainly consider it.”
Her face fell. “That wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.” A slight frown furrowed her delicately arched eyebrows.
Eric knew she usually got everything she wanted. But this time, more of a challenge? “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not too polished.”
“Don’t try that farm stuff on me, Eric. You must have seen a lot of life in those trenches, and also, I imagine, in those dreadful places men went to in France. And even in England. I’m sure you’re not as innocent as you appear.”
Eric shook his head. “But maybe I really am...”
As they took their leave, she leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. Lots to think about later in his cramped inside stateroom.
Eric decided to take the free dancing lessons offered to help passengers enjoy their voyage. Betty, his teacher, was plain but had a tall, spry figure, lots of dark hair, dark eyes, and a small mouth. She certainly knew her stuff and Eric, being well-coordinated, was able to pick up a few steps. The second day he even looked forward to the afternoon lesson. She had an appealing flare, though at first might have seemed a little cold, or perhaps merely withdrawn.
On the last of his three private lessons — they were dancing pretty well together now — things took a decidedly sharp turn. They had gotten to know each other and he liked Betty: she had a vulnerable side, one that seemed in need of reassurance. She had been married, but her husband had left her in a hurtful manner. She used to be a dancer on stage but now at her age was forced to make a living by teaching.
As it turned out, she was also interested in more than just that. “You know, Eric, after dinner when they all play their silly card games, you might like to come see my cabin in the crew’s quarters. We have to be careful, of course, because we’re not allowed to fraternize with passengers. But my cabin-mate is understanding, and we have an arrangement...” She paused and looked at him, to gauge his reaction. Eric pretended to be concentrating on his dance steps. “I have a good bottle of single malt Scotch,” she added, “and we could have a sip together.”