Titanic Affair Read online

  He went forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

  ‘A little better, I think, ’ she said with a weak smile.

  ‘Good.’ His voice was hearty, but he was moved to pity as he looked at her. She had lost her sparkle, and her joy in life.

  He must make a more determined effort to persuade Miss Cavendish to relinquish her stateroom, he thought. It was not that his mother’s room was small. Far from it. Although he had booked the rooms at short notice, he had had plenty of choice. Uncertain if the ship would sail because of the coal strike that had plagued England recently, a number of people had decided to delay their travel plans, with the result that Titanic was only two thirds full. But he had not been able to engage one of the promenade suites for his mother, and she kept voicing a wish for some fresh air. He did not want to take her up on deck as the doctors had expressly forbidden it, but at least a private, covered promenade deck would give her an opportunity to take some exercise if she wished, without exposing her to the April chill.

  Miss Cavendish would have to give in to him sooner or later. He would just have to make sure it was sooner.

  Emilia left the Café Parisien behind her and made her way to her stateroom in search of her shawl. As she went along the corridor she passed one of the first class staterooms and stopped, arrested by the sound of a weak voice, which held a wistful tone.

  ‘If I could just have a breath of air … I’m sure I would feel so much better if I could only go outside.’

  ‘My dear lady,’ came the soothing rejoinder, ‘it would be most unwise. The air is cold and the wind is biting. Going outside would be most injurious to your health.’

  ‘Oh, yes, most injurious,’ twittered a female voice. ‘Far better to stay in your stateroom where it is nice and warm.’

  Emilia felt a moment of sympathy for the elderly lady, whom she could just glimpse through the open door. Her brown hair was pinned back into a sever chignon, and her skin looked grey. Her eyes were dull, and her shoulders drooped.

  How dreadful for her to be cooped up inside when she longed for fresh air. But her attendant must know what was best for her, Emilia reflected, and passed on down the corridor.

  She returned to her stateroom, where she picked up her shawl and draped it over her dress With its long skirt and its long sleeves, her dress was one of the few fashionable things she possessed. It displayed the new Empire line, with a high waist, a narrow skirt and a square neck. She had made it herself, out of an orientally-inspired piece of material which she had found in a sale, and although she was not particularly gifted with a needle the result had been surprisingly good.

  Having arranged her shawl, she went back along the corridor. As she passed the door of the stateroom she had previously noticed, a man came out. He was short and wiry, dressed in sober clothes, and he was carrying a doctor’s bag. He must be the physician who attended the elderly lady, thought Emilia, and whose voice she had heard earlier.

  ‘Is the lady terribly ill?’ she asked on an impulse.

  ‘Ill?’ He looked startled, then gave a grin. ‘No, of course she’s not ill. There’s nothing wrong with her. These old cats are all the same. They want to be told how poorly they are so they don’t have to do a shred of work, and can cosset and coddle themselves all day long. If you take my advice,’ he went on, looking Emilia up and down and evidently seeing that her dress was home made, ‘you’ll ingratiate yourself with the companion and get her to introduce you to the old lady. She’s as rich as Croesus, and a pretty young thing like you could wangle a good deal of money out of her one way and another. It’s a shame to see you in that home-made dress, when there’s a lot of ugly old women on board turned out in the best style.’

  Emilia, whose surprise had begun to turn to anger during the course of this speech, was outraged.

  ‘Well, really,’ she said.

  She didn’t know whether to be most annoyed because the doctor was misleading his patient, or because he thought she was the type of young woman to ingratiate herself with a wealthy woman in the hope of a reward.

  The doctor laughed.

  ‘You’ve got to get what you can in this world,’ he said. ‘You might as well wake up to that fact. Once you do, you won’t have to wear dresses like that any more. You just think about what I’ve said.’

  Then, tipping his hat, he went on his way.

  Of all the mercenary charlatans! she thought. I’ve a good mind to go in there and tell that lady she’s being exploited.

  And then, before she could think better of it, she gave way to the impulse, and opened the door of the stateroom.

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you,’ she said, going in, ‘but I feel I must speak to you — ’

  She broke off. For there, standing in the middle of the stateroom, was not the elderly lady she had seen earlier, but Mr Carl Latimer!

  She looked at him in amazement, and then felt herself start to colour as he looked at her in astonishment. She did not wonder at it. Whatever must he think of her? But she couldn’t see how it had happened. This was definitely the stateroom the old lady’s voice had been coming from, so what was Mr Latimer doing here?

  And then his words came back to her. My mother is sick, he had said. She had not believed him. But to her chagrin she realized that he had been speaking the truth.

  ‘I’d hoped you’d give better game,’ he said under his breath, when he had evidently recovered from his surprise. Out loud he went on, ‘But I suppose I should be pleased, for my mother’s sake, if not my own.’

  Emilia did not know what to make of this speech.

  ‘I knew you’d come to your senses. It was just a matter of time,’ he continued.

  She coloured even more deeply, as she realized he thought she had come to sell him her stateroom.

  ‘I have done nothing of the kind,’ she returned. ‘That is, I was never out of my senses. That is not why I am here.’

  ‘No?’ he asked her disbelievingly. ‘Do you make a habit of bursting into other people’s staterooms for no particular reason? Come now, Miss Cavendish, admit it. You have seen the sense in accepting my offer and you are here to talk terms.’

  ‘I am here to do nothing of the sort,’ she retorted. ‘I am determined to keep my stateroom. My godmother would be most disappointed if I did not.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ he asked her.

  She was about to blurt it out when she suddenly felt a qualm. She had entered the stateroom on impulse, intent on telling the elderly lady that her doctor was a charlatan and that there was no reason why she could not take a stroll on deck if she wanted to, but now it seemed an impertinence. In fact, it seemed uncomfortably like interference. Nevertheless, she had to say something if she was to wipe the infuriatingly mocking smile from Mr Latimer’s lips, and the truth was her best option. She took a deep breath, flexing her hands unconsciously by her side, then said, ‘I came to tell your mother that her doctor is a fraud.’

  He looked startled. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Did you indeed? That is a most interesting statement. You have good reason, I suppose, for blackening the good doctor’s character?’

  She flushed again, but she had to go on.

  ‘I do. As I passed this stateroom earlier I heard your mother saying she would like some fresh air. I also heard her doctor telling her she must not have any —’

  ‘Quite right.’ He spoke quietly, but there was a hard edge to his voice. ‘My mother’s health is precarious. The April weather would be positively dangerous to her.’

  ‘No. It wouldn’t.’

  She saw his brow darken and bit her lip. She was getting drawn into an argument about something that was none of her business, and a part of her felt she should apologize and leave the stateroom immediately. But the wistful note she had heard in Mrs Latimer’s voice compelled her to continue.

  ‘I bumped into the doctor coming out of your mother’s stateroom,’ she went on. ‘He told me there was nothing
wrong with your mother, that she was nothing more than a rich old woman who wanted to be pampered … ’

  She trailed off as she saw his face darken still further. His eyebrows had drawn down over his eyes. They were lit by an angry gleam, and his mouth was grim.

  ‘I don’t know what you hope to gain by this tale,’ he said, ‘but it won’t work. Doctor Allerton has put himself to considerable inconvenience in order to accompany my mother on this trip, and by so doing he has proved himself devoted to my mother’s care. He is a respected doctor, one of the best in his field, and comes highly recommended.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he is a charlatan —’

  ‘Who just happened to tell you so himself?’ he asked scathingly. ‘Now tell me, Miss Cavendish, why would he do something like that?’

  ‘Because.’ She clenched her hands. She wanted to stop. But her honesty had been called into question and she found she could not. She took a deep breath. ‘Because he saw my home-made gown, and taking me to be as mercenary as himself he suggested I ingratiate myself with your mother in the hope of gaining a reward.’

  His expression changed, and she suspected he had not believed a single word.

  ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘My offer to pay you handsomely for your stateroom still stands, but unless you are prepared to relinquish it to me, then we have nothing further to say to each other.’

  ‘As to that, you have already had my answer,’ she said with dignity.

  ‘Then I mustn’t keep you,’ he said.

  Emilia turned to leave the room, but then made a last attempt to brighten Mrs Latimer’s life.

  ‘Won’t you at least get a second opinion?’

  ‘I have had not only a second, but a third, fourth and fifth opinion,’ he said coldly. ‘My mother has had the most expensive doctors, both here and in America.’

  And that was what probably lay at the heart of the problem, she thought. There was a fortune to be made in convincing Mrs Latimer that she was ill and in need of constant medical attention.

  ‘The most expensive are not always the best,’ she ventured.

  ‘I believe you were leaving,’ he remarked.

  Emilia hesitated, then realizing she could do no more, she left the room.

  The whole incident had shaken her. Mrs Latimer had seemed a dear, and she had longed to help her, but Mrs Latimer’s son was another matter. Not even his striking face could disguise the fact that he was ruthless and cynical.

  Although he wasn’t entirely ruthless, she was forced to amend her thoughts. He cared for his mother, and was doing his best to provide her with proper care. It was just that his wealth blinded him to what she really needed. She did not need cosseting, she needed stimulation. If she was not really ill, then being forced to behave as an invalid must be very tiring for her, not to mention depressing to her spirits. And if she was not used to a life of idleness - if, as Emilia suspected, Mr Latimer was a self-made man, and his mother had at one stage in her life been poor and therefore very busy - it must be even worse.

  But there was nothing she could do about it, and she must endeavour to put it out of her mind.

  Carl felt himself seething as the stateroom door closed behind Miss Cavendish. Try as he might to ignore what she had said he found he could not forget it, and even worse, he could not help wondering whether she’d been right. Ever since rising from the most crushing poverty he had put his faith in money and what money could do, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew that frauds existed - he’d sent enough about their business in his time - and he knew they preyed on the wealthy. Which left him with the question, were the physicians he had consulted capable doctors, or were they quacks, who were keen to make as much money as they could out of him by pretending that his mother was ill when she was perfectly well?

  He crossed to the porthole, looking out over the ocean.

  It was a strange thing for Miss Cavendish to have said if it wasn’t true. But then, what did he know about Miss Cavendish, beyond the fact she had the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen?

  Now where had that thought come from? he asked himself. Miss Cavendish’s eyes were not of the slightest interest to him, even if they were an unusual shade of blue - almost sapphire - making a stunning complement to her golden hair.

  But this was nonsense. Miss Cavendish wasn’t an eligible young lady to be admired, she was a thorn in his side. How had she managed to unsettle him? he wondered. By challenging him? Yes. But not in the way he’d imagined. He’d thought she would challenge him on ground he was sure of, making him exert himself to the utmost in order to persuade her to relinquish her stateroom. Instead, she’d challenged him on ground he was much less sure of, awakening doubts over his mother’s illness and the doctors he employed.

  Fortunately, it would not be long before she was off the ship. He was uncomfortably aware, however, that he would not be able to acquire her stateroom before she disembarked. For the first time in many years, in either personal matters or business matters, he had to acknowledge that he had been defeated.

  Unaware of the disturbance she had caused him, Emilia retired to the reading room where she found plenty of headed note paper, and set about composing a letter to Mrs Wichwood. Having finished it, she returned to her stateroom in time to meet Freddy for tea.

  ‘I say, Emilia, you’ve fallen on your feet,’ said Freddy as he looked round her suite with admiration, going from the sitting-room to the two bedrooms, and then out onto the covered deck.

  It was in Tudor style, with black-and-white walls, but there its resemblance to the sixteenth-century ended. It was furnished with the most up-to-the-minute wicker furniture and was decorated with potted palms. It exuded a feeling of airiness and spaciousness, and was made even more cheerful by the sunlight falling through the windows and dappling the floor, for although it was only April, the day was remarkably fine.

  ‘Do you like it?’ she asked.

  ‘Rather.’

  After asking her stewardess to bring them some tea, Emilia settled herself in one of the reclining deckchairs. Freddy took a chair next to her, and they both enjoyed the sunshine and the splendid view over the ocean.

  ‘A life on the ocean wave, eh?’ he said, sighing with contentment and stretching out on his deckchair.

  Mrs McLaren entered with the tray of tea, which she put down on a nearby console table.

  ‘Steward service, too,’ said Freddy appreciatively. ‘Or, rather, stewardess service. Just what you need!’

  Emilia poured two cups of tea and handed one to Freddy.

  ‘I say,’ he said, sitting up and taking it, ‘I couldn’t help noticing you coming out of Latimer’s stateroom earlier on. It’s none of my business, of course, but ought you to be getting thick with millionaires?’

  ‘How … . ?’

  ‘I was trying to find Smithers - you remember Smithers, my valet?’

  ‘I do,’ said Emilia, pleased that the capable Smithers was accompanying Freddy on his flight from Penelope.

  ‘Well, I was trying to find him. I happened to look down one of the corridors and I saw you by Latimer’s stateroom. I met Latimer in London,’ he explained. ‘He introduced himself. He wanted to get into the club. He’s a fine chap, but I didn’t think he’d be your type.’

  ‘He isn’t,’ said Emilia.

  ‘Good. He’s a bit of a ruthless chap. They’re all the same, these millionaires. Give him a wide berth, that’s my advice.’

  ‘Thank you, Freddy. I intend to,’ she said.

  They finished their tea, catching up on all the rest of their news, before Freddy decided it was time to gather his things together in preparation for leaving the ship. Due to the incident at Southampton when the smaller vessel had snapped its moorings, Titanic was almost an hour late in reaching France, but at half past six, just as the sun was setting, the ship arrived.

  ‘La belle France,’ said Freddy, as he picked up his portmanteau, whilst his valet materialised out of nowhere, carrying a large suitcase. ‘Ah! Ther
e you are, Smithers. Good show.’

  The three of them waited with the other passengers who were disembarking whilst the gangplank was let down. As Titanic was so large, she could not get too close to shore, so a tender came out in order to take the passengers ashore. But once the gangplank had been let down, it swayed alarmingly. There was a strong wind, and it took ten men on either side to hold it down.

  Freddy coughed nervously.

  ‘I don’t like the look of that,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure it will be all right,’ said Emilia reassuringly.

  Smithers added murmurs of encouragement, and at last Freddy plucked up the courage to leave the ship.

  ‘Goodbye, Emilia. Take care.’

  Emilia waved him off, watching until he was lost to view, then began to take an interest in all the other things that were going on. The stop at Cherbourg was a busy one, with passengers disembarking and new passengers coming on board.

  Emilia recognised a number of them from the newspapers. There was millionaire Benjamin Guggenheim - she overheard him remarking to a companion that he had originally booked passage on the Lusitania, but that he had transferred to the Titanic when the Lusitania had been laid up for repairs. There was a formidable-looking woman, who was addressed as Mrs Brown, and there was Lady Duff-Gordon with her husband Sir Cosmo, as well as a number of second class passengers and what seemed like a hundred passengers for steerage.

  She felt a slight qualm at the thought of mixing with so many fashionable people when her own clothes were so shabby, but she did not mean to let it affect her enjoyment. If she had to go in to dinner in her home made gown and endure the stares of the other diners, then so be it.

  With this resolve in mind, she headed towards the dining-room, but as she came to the seating area outside the dining-room she began to regret her decision.