Titanic Affair (9 page)

Her face fell. ‘Oh,’ she said again. This time the word came out on a drooping note. ‘I must apologize,’ she said, trying to meet his eye and not quite succeeding. ‘I had no right to interfere. It was unpardonable of me.’

‘No, not unpardonable.’

His voice was teasing. Surprised, she looked up to see that there was a gleam of warmth in his eye.

‘Quite the opposite, in fact,’ he remarked. ‘I’m glad you did.’

‘Glad?’ She was surprised. ‘But my interference led your mother to collapse.’

‘Ah. I se you are under a misapprehension. It’s the same misapprehension I was suffering from when I spoke to you so angrily - for which I hope you will forgive me. My mother didn’t collapse,’ he explained, ‘she simply hadn’t found her sea legs.’

‘Then she was not ill?’ asked Emilia, her hopes rising.

‘Far from it. She is better than I’ve seen her for years. She hadn’t managed to go very far before her legs refused to do as she wanted them to, but even so she had seen a wide range of new sights and sounds which had stimulated her, and aroused her interest in life.’

He was smiling down at her. The hard lines round his mouth and eyes had softened, making him look very appealing, and Emilia realized just how attractive he was. Not in a classical way, for his face was too decided for masculine beauty, but nevertheless his firm jaw, strong cheekbones and high brow were handsome in a vigorous way.

She smiled back.

‘I’m glad. I felt so guilty. I thought I’d done her a great deal of harm. But if she’s truly well enough to be out, then I’m sure the wonders of the ship will lift her spirits.’

‘I have promised to show her round this afternoon and she’s already looking forward to it. But first she wanted me to find you and thank you for what you had done. She wanted me to ask you to dine with us this evening. At the time, I thought it would be impossible, but as it is . . . ’

She said nothing. She felt an unaccountable drop in her spirits because he had sought her out, not on his own account, but on his mother’s. And yet why should that lower her spirits?

‘I’m afraid I wasn’t very friendly at our previous meetings,’ he continued, ‘but can we not put that behind us? We will have to endure each other’s company for a few more days on board ship, and it will be a lot pleasanter if we can be on good terms.’

His charm was very hard to resist. Besides, what he said was true. They would in all probability meet each other a number of times over the next few days and it would not do to be on bad terms.

‘Very well,’ she said with a smile.

‘Then you will dine with us?’

‘Yes, thank you, I will.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘Oh, dear, now that I’m to stay aboard until we reach
New York
, your mother won’t be able to make use of my stateroom for the rest of the journey.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said with a shrug. ‘She’s feeling so much better that she will be able to go out and about, and will not feel cramped or shut in where she is.’

She felt a relaxing of a knot inside her as she realized that Mr Latimer had accepted defeat, and he had done so with a good grace. Rich though he was, he did not pursue his own goals at all costs. Perhaps he was not as much to be feared as she supposed. But that did not mean she could drop her guard entirely. Wealthy men were used to getting their own way, and she must not make the mistake of thinking that he was safe just because he no longer wanted her stateroom. There was a streak of ruthlessness in him that it would be perilous for her to ignore.

But she could not help looking forward to dinner - although she still had one thing to worry her. Which was, what on earth should she wear?

That question was still vexing her that evening, as she was preparing to go to the dining-room. She had only three evening gowns, and none of them were suitable. She had worn her home made dress the evening before, and although Mr Latimer had spoken up for her when the other passengers had made cutting remarks she did not want to embarrass him, and so she decided not to wear it again. But her other two gowns were scarcely any better. Both of them had belonged to her Aunt Clem, and were five years behind the times. One was made of yellow satin and the other was made of green silk. In the end she decided on the silk. Its waist sat on the natural waist line, instead of following the fashionable Empire line and sitting beneath the breasts, and its skirt was fuller than was presently fashionable, but it was very beautiful. A sudden inspiration hit her. If she tied a sash round the waist, making it wide enough to reach to just beneath her breasts, then it would make the gown appear to be high-waisted, and as sashes were very fashionable at the moment it would also add a contemporary look to the gown. The one from her home made dress would not do as the colours would clash, but by good fortune she possessed a white silk scarf which could pass for a sash.

Having settled the problem to her satisfaction she luxuriated in a scented bath, then stepped into her cotton underwear and slipped on her gown, which rustled as it fell into place. She was just wondering how to fasten it when her stewardess, Mrs McLaren, called to see if she had everything she needed.

‘Could you help me with my dress?’ Emilia asked, grateful to see the stewardess.

‘Of course, miss. What a beautiful gown,’ said Mrs McLaren as she fastened it. ‘I’m so pleased you decided not to get off at Queenstown,’ she carried on, blissfully unaware of the real reason behind Emilia’s change of plans, for to explain the fact that she had not left the ship, Emilia had said she had changed her mind about disembarking in Ireland. As the stateroom had been booked for the entire journey there had fortunately been no problem about her remaining on board.

‘I think you’re right to take this opportunity to see
New York
. It’s a wonderful place,’ went on Mrs McLaren, before asking, ‘Would you like me to help you with your hair, miss?’

‘Oh, yes, please, could you?’ asked Emilia.

She sat down in front of the dressing table whilst Mrs McLaren brushed her hair, then braided small sections before wrapping them round the bulk of her hair, which was arranged in a loose chignon.

Emilia thanked her.

‘Not at all, miss,’ said the stewardess, before leaving to attend to her other passengers.

When she had gone, Emilia brushed a few small waves around her face to soften the style, and combed the golden tendrils that were too short to fit into the chignon so that they were tidy. Then she picked up a string of pearls from the dressing table. It had belonged to her mother, and was the only piece of jewellery she possessed. She held it up against her golden hair, wondering whether to fasten it round her chignon, as was currently fashionable, or whether to wear it around her neck.

At last she decided to wear it round her neck. It was not really long enough to wrap wound her chignon, and besides, her throat looked bare without something to adorn it.

Having finished with her hair, she went over to the wardrobe and completed the outfit by winding her scarf round her dress. She was pleased with the result. Then, pulling on her evening gloves, she was ready to go.

The ship was ablaze with light as she made her way to the dining-room. It shimmered and shone from electric fittings that were disguised as candlesticks and flambeaux . And it was not only the lights that shone. The jewels round the necks, wrists and throats of the ladies shone, too. A ship of millionaires,
Titanic
had been called, and Emilia could well believe it. She had never seen so many jewels, and they were all adorning the famous people she had so often read about in the newspapers: Colonel and Mrs Astor, Benjamin Guggenheim, and the Countess of Rothes, all of whom looked splendid. Then there was Isador Strauss, joint owner of Macy’s department store in
New York
, with his wife Ida. In fact, the passengers were almost a who’s who of the wealthy, the well connected and the fashionable.

The area was so crowded that she was just beginning to wish she had made more detailed arrangements for meeting Mr Latimer, when a voice beside her said, ‘May I?’ and there he was, offering her his arm.

His dark hair was fashionably slicked back over his head, and was gleaming in the brilliant electric light. In his evening clothes, he was looking extremely attractive. His white shirt with its wing collar, white waistcoat and bow tie, together with the white flower in his buttonhole, set off the light olive of his complexion. His black tailcoat was superbly moulded to his broad shoulders, and his well-cut trousers showed the length and firmness of his legs.

So well did he look that she felt momentarily uncomfortable in her aunt’s old gown. But she saw there was no disparagement in his eyes. Instead, there was an unmistakeable admiration which filled her with a warm glow.

She accepted his arm with a smile and they went into the dining-room. The sound of chatter and laughter mingled with the strains of the ship’s orchestra, which was playing light classical music. The stringed instruments provided the perfect backdrop to the opulent setting. Large leaded light windows were set at either side of the room and tall white columns supported the moulded ceilings, whilst gold light fittings flooded the room with light.

He led her over to a large table in the middle of the dining-room. Sparkling crystal glasses and silver cutlery gleamed on spotless white tablecloths, which were decorated with a mass of flowers.

As they passed Mr and Mrs Gisborne’s table, Mr Gisborne said to his wife, ‘You’d better tell your sister to look lively if she wants to make sure of Latimer for Isabelle. It seems to me he’s smitten with the Cavendish girl. Not surprised, either. She’s a damn fine filly.’

‘Don’t be coarse,’ said his wife mechanically.

‘She must be well connected, too,’ he said, unperturbed. ‘She’s in the Branchesters’ stateroom. They had to cancel at the last minute. The girl must be a protégée of theirs.’

‘She’s nothing of the kind. I had the full story from Charlotte Branchester. She and Edward had to cancel their trip, and she offered the stateroom to an old school friend of hers, an impoverished woman of no family living in
Ireland
. That friend gave it to her goddaughter. So don’t go running away with the idea that Miss Cavendish is anyone special. She is nothing but the goddaughter of one of
Charlotte
’s old school friends,’ she said contemptuously. ‘A charity case and nothing more.’

‘Even so, she’s a good looking girl,’ he said, putting his cigar back into his mouth. ‘That golden hair and those blue eyes. Enough to turn any man’s head.’

‘She’s little more than tolerable,’ remarked his wife.

However, the sight of Carl and Emilia together disturbed her. It was not the first time that she had been made aware of the fact that Carl Latimer was showing an interest in one of the female passengers. A good friend of hers, Mrs de Brett, had dropped her a hint of it over breakfast. If it was a shipboard dalliance on his part, a momentary indulgence to pass the time until the ship reached
New York
, then she had no objection to it. But if it should turn out to be more serious, she had a great objection indeed. He was as good as engaged to her niece, and she wasn’t about to let him escape the hook when Isabelle was so close to landing him.

Seeing Miss Cavendish, Mrs Gisborne had been somewhat reassured. The girl was beautiful, it was true, but she had none of the polish of Isabelle, and could bring Carl nothing in the way of status or contacts. What’s more, he was intelligent enough to know it. His money had bought him into society, but only breeding and a link with an old family name could open the last few doors. And as family names went, Isabelle had one of the oldest.

Still, the situation bore watching. Miss Cavendish appeared to be unaware of his interest, but that could be a pose. If she were a scheming hussy, instead of the simple girl she appeared, she might try and get her hooks into Carl before she left the ship. That was a situation Mrs Gisborne would have to be prepared for.

An idea began to form at the back of her mind. She had in her possession a certain magazine containing a society photograph of Carl which could be put to good account. If she needed it she could send a note to her maid, via one of the stewards, and have it brought to her. The photograph was accompanied by a caption which would put an end to Miss Cavendish’s pretensions once and for all.