Unsinkable (4 page)

“And what?”

“I was writing and I wrote a passage about the main character looking across the boat he was on and falling in love with a woman he saw. I described a woman that looked exactly like you, Carrington, wearing a dress that looked like what you were wearing.”

She hesitated. “Couldn’t that be coincidence? Coming from somewhere in your subconscious?”

“Maybe. But then I wrote in a couple of children who were playing. A brother and sister fighting over a doll. The brother was about to throw the doll overboard when I wrote that he changed his mind and gave it back to his sister.”

“Couldn’t that also be coincidence? Maybe he was always going to give it back.”

“I wrote Warren into the story and had him go to the main character’s room. In the middle of the night he came to
my
room and said exactly what the character Warren said. Then, when I saw you on the deck right after we sailed, I wrote a paragraph about what you would be wearing when you came to dinner.” He opened the book to that passage and handed it to her. She read it and her eyes grew large.

“How could you possibly know I would have a dress that looks like this?” She looked from the book down at her gown.

“There isn’t any way I would have known, Carri.”

She re-read the passage and handed the book back to him. “So you could make us the main characters of this book…and change the course of our lives?”

“I’m almost afraid to admit that I probably could. But should I?”

“I don’t mean anything drastic. You could find a way for me to go to Egypt. And for your novel to be a huge success.”

“But then how would we know if it would have happened anyway?”

She considered that. “We wouldn’t.”

“I want to be a success because the writing is good, Carri, not because there’s some kind of magical powers to this book.”

“Your writing
is
good, Beckett.”

“You have only read a short passage, Carrington.”

She opened the book to the first page and began to read, while he watched her, thinking that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. And that he liked independent, almost stubborn streak that had probably tried her mother’s patience and made Alastair Tregarron apprehensive.

Carrington looked up. “You write well, Beckett. The story just flows and your descriptions are so well done I can see everything you are writing about.”

“I’m still not sure where to go from here.”

“Put in the Egyptian storyline. Maybe if you write about them finding a mummy on board, then we will.”

He laughed. “You really do have an infatuation with Egypt, don’t you?”

Her face flushed. “Perhaps too much of an infatuation.”

“How would you have them go looking? They’ve only just met at dinner?”

“Well, of course he is handsome and charming and they realize that they were childhood sweethearts.”

“Of course.”

“They go up on deck and start talking and discover that they are both interested in the recent findings in Egypt. And when they hear rumors that there is a mummy on board, of course they must go looking for it.”

She looked into his eyes. “Aren’t you going to write it?”

He took the book from her and pulled out a pen. “What will you do while I write?”

“Watch you.”

“Won’t you get bored?”

“No, I’ll keep thinking about what is going to happen to them, now that they’ve been reunited.”

“Is this my story or yours?”

She smiled at him. “I’m thinking it’s
ours
, Beckett.” He looked at her for a moment and then started writing. And as he wrote, it occurred to him that he hoped they had a story after their voyage on
RMS Titanic
ended.

 “
Y
ou abandoned me last night,” Warren said as they went to breakfast their second day aboard the
Titanic
. “I suppose Carrington St. Clair made you forget that you oldest and closest friend was stranded in the salon listening to old men talk business.”

“I should say I’m sorry, but I enjoyed myself and I can’t say I’m sorry to have missed that. Tonight you might want to find some other kind of distraction.” Beckett was already looking for Carrington.

He had stayed up late after he had escorted her back to her cabin and written three more chapters and was eager to know what she would think. Her knowledge of Egypt was going to be an asset to his story. Already the plot was stronger and the novel suddenly had more substance.

“Why do I think that the rest of this voyage I am going to be left on my own?”

“You might be,” Beckett said, laughing. “I have every intention of spending as much time as I possibly can with her. Now and when we return home.”

“And your book? How will that happen if you are taken in by Miss Carrington’s charms?”

“My book is doing very well, thank you. She’s collaborating.”

“So whose novel is it then?”

Beckett said, “Mine, I should think. But perhaps the story is both of ours.”

“Oh no.” Warren said.

“What?”

“Now you’ve gone all romantic on me.”

“I have. But I can’t help it.”

As they sat and consulted the breakfast menu, Warren sighed long sufferingly. “And as she has just arrived for breakfast I suppose I have become invisible again.”

“Not if you mind your dreadful manners,” Beckett said as they both stood to greet Carrington.

“Miss St. Clair,” Warren said gallantly. “We are indeed honored to have such beauty in our presence so early in the morning.”

Carrington took her seat. “Really, Warren, that sounds so unlike you. Couldn’t you find some insult instead?”

“You hurt me, Carri. I’ve grown up and changed the error of my ways.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” She spoke to Beckett. “Did you go straight to sleep or did you write some more?”

“Three nice long chapters. Today my characters are going looking for the mummy. And I thought maybe we could too.”

“There isn’t a mummy on board,” Warren said. “You won’t find one.”

“Are you sure?” Carrington asked as a plate of smoked salmon, toast and capers was set in front of her. “Beckett did write it that way.”

“Surely you don’t believe that book is magical?” Warren asked.

“Oh but I do. Especially if it works in my favor.”

  “So you believe all that bit about curses?” Warren picked up his fork and began eating his breakfast.

“The Egyptians take their curses very seriously. And there have been a number of stories, even recently, about dreadful things that happened to people who didn’t heed the warnings.”

“Old wives’ tales,” Warren said.

“Is it?” Molly Brown joined them at the table.

“Of course it is,” Warren said. “You were there, Mrs. Brown, and nothing happened to you.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Molly said good- naturedly. “But just in case, I brought back a couple ushabtis- little mummies that the Egyptians consider good luck charms.” She reached into her handbag and spoke to Carrington as she pulled out a small figure, which looked very similar to the mummies Carrington had seen in the museum in London. “Carrington, darlin’ I was hoping to run into you today. I thought you might like to have one.” She handed the small figure to Carrington. Carrington held it reverently.

“Molly, I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Well let’s hope you don’t need it for good luck, but until you get that chance to go over there yourself, it’s a little piece of Egypt you can hold in your hand.”

She turned to Beckett. “So how’s that book coming along?”

“Better than I had hoped,” Beckett said. “Maybe you could describe what it was like to be there. That would be most helpful.” Molly launched into a vivid discussion of what she had seen on her trip with the Astors’ entourage.

Beckett noticed that Carrington hung on every word, as she held the little stone figure Molly had given her in her hands, her breakfast forgotten. He enjoyed watching her converse with Molly, as if no one else was at the table with them.

“How would we find the cargo hold?” Carrington wondered aloud.

Molly laughed at that. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be all that exciting, but if you want to know where anything is on this ship, all you have to do is ask the builder, Mr. Andrews. He’s so proud of this boat he shares every detail with anybody who asks.”

Carrington looked at Beckett with a smile on her face. Laughing, he pulled out the book and began to write. As Warren joined in the conversation with Molly and Carrington and other passengers began to take their seats at the table, he crafted a meeting between the two main characters, who for now he was writing in as Beckett and Carrington- he’d change the names later-and the ship’s architect, which would lead them on a foray to the cargo hold to search for a mummy. Which, he had already decided, they would find. Was that because he thought it would make a better story or because he knew how happy it would make Carrington? He wasn’t sure as he wrote, surprising himself at the prolific number of words he had been putting down in a short period of time since they had set sail aboard the
Titanic.
His father’s voice interrupted his writing.

“Beckett, if I may, a word?”

“Of course, Dad.” He rose from the table as Carrington looked up quizzically, and followed Jackson out to the Promenade Deck. It was cooler out this morning that it had been the previous day.

“About this writing nonsense.”

“Dad, we had an agreement”

“We did, but I am rather beginning to regret it. You have graduated from college and had nearly eight months to travel and I don’t regret giving you that opportunity. But it is time to settle down. Have a job and a family. To be responsible.”

“Writing is a job.”

“Not one that is profitable.”

Beckett said, “Unless the book is marketable.”

“Authors are hardy well off, Beckett.”

“I have trust funds. Unless you are planning to revoke them.”

“I hadn’t, but your attitude makes want to consider that.”

“Technically, you can’t, at least not the ones from Grandfather Beckett.”

Jackson’s face had an angry expression. “Your mother should never have told you that. I fear you use that as an excuse not to do what you know you should.”

“And what is that, Dad? Become just like you? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

“I’ve no wish to argue with you, Beckett.”

“I somehow suspect that isn’t true.”

“Believe what you will. Your mother wishes me to tell you that you should be careful around the St. Clair girl. It appears that her mother is looking to marry her daughter to a wealthy man. Which, as you pointed out, thanks to your trust funds, you are.”

Beckett laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I don’t care what Carrington’s mother wants, but
I
want to see her. And I will spend time with her, on the ship and after we dock.”

“The father was a good friend years ago. The girl seems nice enough.”

“That isn’t any of your business. I am twenty two years old and I can be involved with anyone I like. And write, if I choose to.” Beckett started walking back into the dining room.

“Beckett…” His father called after him, but he kept walking.

Inside, he placed a hand on Carrington’s shoulder.

“Let’s go for a walk.” She smiled up at him and he pulled out her chair. He wondered briefly where Warren had gone, but took Carrington’s hand and led her out onto the deck, walking past his father without speaking.

                                     *******

They were standing near the front of the ship. “Is it just me,” Carrington asked, “or do we seem to be going at a much faster speed than yesterday?”

“I had heard that Mr. Ismay, the head of the White Star Line, wants to break a record time for the journey. Not only is
Titanic
the most luxurious ship ever built, but the fastest.” Beckett reached for both her hands and pulled her closer to him.

“You walked past your father and didn’t speak. Did you argue?”

“We did,” Beckett admitted. “But that’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Can you tell me what about?”

“My writing…and you.”

Her eyes widened. “Me?”

“Apparently my mother suggested that you and your mother engineered our meeting so that you could find a wealthy husband.”

“I’m sure Mother made it sound that way. It’s her only ambition in life. I’m sure she would be happy to settle for you.”

Beckett smiled down at her. “Would
you
?”

“I wouldn’t be settling, Beckett.”

He reached up to touch her face. “I never believed in love at first sight, until I saw you after we boarded.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes.” He bent to kiss her.

She returned his kiss with a passion that surprised even her. As they broke away, she found herself looking around to see if anyone was watching, but they seemed to have this part of the deck all to themselves this morning.

“Of course, it wasn’t really first sight,” he said.

“No. Because we had already made plans to be married.”

He laughed, remembering. They had been in her playhouse in her parent’s garden when he had asked her to marry him when they grew up. She had agreed to become engaged and he had picked her some flowers to celebrate their arrangement. Three weeks later she had moved away.

“When we get back to New York, I would like to continue seeing you.”