Survivor

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘Jazz is basically Negro music,’ he explained. ‘I love it, and I’m told there are great nightclubs in Harlem, in New York, where the best musicians play. There are some places in London too where you can hear it, but swing music is much more popular – big bands with lots of brass, and singers too. It’s got its roots in jazz, and it’s easier to dance to. But you must have heard that.’

  Mariette nodded. ‘Yes, I think I have, on the wireless. But this is very different.’

  ‘The musicians improvise, they kind of make it up as they go along. It’s different here from what you’d hear in America or England because it’s got South American and West Indian influences.’

  ‘It sounds as if you really like music. Can you play anything?’

  ‘The piano,’ he said. ‘But I’m not very good. When we were living in the East End of London, the lady downstairs to us had a piano and she taught me. Maybe one day, when I’ve settled down somewhere permanent, I’ll get a piano and take it up again.’

  ‘Where would you settle down?’ she asked.

  He laughed. ‘How can I answer that, Mariette? Anything can happen. I go in and out of ports all the time; some I love, others I can’t leave quickly enough. Where you come from sounds perfect, but I probably couldn’t make a living there. Anyway, if we do go to war, I’ll have to join up. And who knows where that might take me? I might not even survive it.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Do you think there really will be a war?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. The officers are all convinced of it; some of them served in the last war, and they can read all the signs.’

  ‘But my Uncle Noah was a war correspondent in the last war, and he said it will all blow over.’

  Morgan looked at her with a grave expression. ‘Then I think he must be burying his head in the sand. Because those that know say it isn’t a case of if war might come, but when.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mariette exclaimed. ‘No one back home really thought it was going to come to that.’

  ‘Don’t look so glum,’ he said, and lifted her chin up with one finger so he could look right into her eyes. ‘Do what I do. Think of the adventure. War can create opportunities and, like I said, anything can happen.’

  She felt that familiar dizzy, bubbly feeling as she looked into his dark eyes.

  ‘You are pretty enough to make any man lose his head, Mariette,’ he said with a smile. ‘Do you think one kiss would seal my fate for ever?’

  She licked her lips nervously, not knowing whether to move closer, or if he was just teasing her. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

  ‘Let’s find out then,’ he said. Moving his finger from her chin, he cupped her face in both his hands and his lips came down on hers.

  His words, ‘Anything can happen,’ ran through her head as his tongue flicked into her mouth, and she felt shivers run down her spine. She put her arms around him and lost herself in the sensual delight of his kiss.

  It went on and on, as their breathing became heavy and Morgan’s hands slid down on to her bottom, drawing her even closer to him. She could feel his erection through his clothes. Although a small voice at the back of her head reminded her that she knew where this could lead, she couldn’t draw back.

  ‘I’d like to take you down to the sickbay, but someone might catch us,’ he murmured in her ear between passionate kisses.

  ‘I daren’t go that far. I might have a baby,’ she whispered back.

  He drew back from her slightly, looking affronted. ‘I wouldn’t let that happen, I’ve got some johnnies,’ he said, with a touch of indignation.

  Mariette had to assume a johnny was the same as a sheath, something her mother had mentioned just before she left for Auckland. ‘It’s too soon,’ she said, trying to sound like she really meant it. ‘I mean, I hardly know you.’

  Morgan sat down on a seat and pulled her on to his lap. ‘Then we’ll have to find moments on the way back to England to get to know each other better,’ he said, kissing her neck and making all the hairs on her body leap up. ‘I really like you, Mariette. I could be tempted to jump ship in England to be near you.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ she said. ‘Besides, I doubt my uncle will let me out of his sight. I wouldn’t mind betting my parents told him to keep a close eye on me.’

  ‘There are always ways and means.’ Morgan smiled at her. ‘You toe the line for a while to win his trust, and then later …’ He broke off, leaving her to imagine how she could escape. ‘But I can’t really jump ship at the end of this trip. In any case, you need to find out if you like me enough to take the risk with me.’

  Mariette was already convinced she’d risk anything to be with him, but she was glad he wasn’t holding a gun to her head just so he could have his way with her.

  They had just begun kissing again, when a voice yelled for him from down in the sickbay.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said, looking very disappointed. ‘Try to meet me here at midday tomorrow.’

  Mariette went back to the cabin floating on air. Stella was already in her bunk, with thick white cream smeared all over her face.

  ‘Mrs Jago gave it to me,’ she said. ‘She reckons it’s so good the sunburn will have gone by the morning. Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you.’

  ‘Just up on deck looking at the sea.’ Mariette wanted to confide in her friend about Morgan, but she was afraid Stella would tell someone else and it would get around the ship. ‘I was thinking we ought to sort out our warmer clothes tomorrow, after we leave Curaçao,’ she said, intending to put her off the scent. ‘We shouldn’t wait until it’s really cold because, by then, you may be seasick again.’

  Within two days, the sea became choppy and the clouds gathered. At first all that was needed was a cardigan when on deck, but soon people began wearing coats, and deck games were forgotten.

  Mariette wanted to be excited about reaching England. But all she could think of was that when the voyage ended, she wouldn’t see Morgan any more. They had just two hours sitting in the sunshine by the stairs leading to the sickbay, the day after they left Curaçao, but he warned her it would probably be the last time he’d get more than a few minutes to see her.

  As he had predicted, the minute the weather turned bad the sickbay suddenly became very busy. Not just seasickness but falls on wet decks, on companionways, and even passengers falling out of bunks. While it meant they could meet up on deck without much fear of being spotted by anyone, it was too cold and wet to stay up there for long.

  The moments they did share, though, were very sweet. Morgan was everything Sam had never been; he would slide his hands inside her coat and hug and kiss her, but he was never crude and always thought of her comfort and reputation rather than trying to get her into some dark corner for his own ends. He liked to talk and laugh with her too, and he often said he wished they could go into the saloon to have a drink and just be comfortable together. But though the ship’s officers were allowed, and even encouraged, to mix with the passengers, the crew were not.

  Each time they met up, passion flared between them. Mariette found it hard to eat or sleep for thinking about him. At night, she lay in her bunk imagining how it would be if he did jump ship in England. But she knew it was only a fantasy as he said he had to do at least one more return trip to New Zealand, and that would mean over three months before she had any chance of seeing him again.

  Besides, he wasn’t saying the kind of things she wanted to hear – that he’d write, that he wouldn’t be able to wait to see her again. With Sam still looming in her mind, she was afraid she was merely a diversion for him on a long voyage, and he’d find another girl on the next trip.

  As Mariette had expected, Stella became seasick again as the weather worsened. But this time it was far more serious: her face was as green as pea soup, and she vomited constantly. It fell to Mariette to take care of her as the stewards were all rushed off their feet. The dining room at meal
times was almost empty because so many passengers were sick.

  ‘You must have salt water in your veins,’ Morgan joked because she wasn’t affected at all, however rough the sea was. ‘Even some of the crew are sick now.’

  ‘I think it’s because I’ve been out in boats since I could barely walk,’ she said. ‘But I’m getting so tired looking after Stella, I’m up and down most of the night, changing her bed, sponging her down. And the smell in the cabin is horrible.’

  ‘The sickbay stinks too,’ Morgan said. ‘If you weren’t ill when you went in there, you soon would be.’

  The following day, Stella was barely conscious and Mariette became so frightened for her that she asked the steward to get Dr Haslem. When he came into the cabin, he was alarmed at how dehydrated Stella had become and decided she must be moved to the sickbay immediately so that she could be put on a drip.

  ‘And you should get some sleep, my girl, while she’s gone. Or you’ll become ill too,’ he said to Mariette before Stella was taken away on a stretcher.

  As soon as Mariette had stripped off Stella’s soiled sheets, remade her bed and tidied up, she climbed into her own bunk gratefully.

  Moments later, the sound of someone coming into the cabin woke her. But it was dark, so she must have slept for a good few hours.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s me, Morgan.’

  Mariette snapped on the light. ‘Is Stella worse?’ she asked.

  ‘No, she’s a lot better now they’ve got some fluids into her. But I’m off duty now, and I hoped you’d be pleased to see me.’

  ‘I am. But I don’t want you getting into trouble,’ she said. She was a bit shocked that he would take such a risk – the two stewards who looked after the passengers on this level were older men, and not the kind to turn a blind eye to another member of the crew flouting the rules.

  ‘You’re worth the risk,’ he said, leaning on to her bunk to kiss her. ‘Anyway, as long as I leave at first light no one will be any the wiser. So can I stay?’

  She hesitated for just a moment. But as there had been so many nights when she’d lain in her bunk imagining him with her, how could she turn him away now?

  ‘We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,’ he said, and he stripped off his white jacket, shirt and trousers. ‘I only want to hold you.’

  But the moment he slid into the bunk, gathered her into his arms and she felt his bare chest against her, she knew she was going to break the vow she’d made back in New Zealand to never have sex again until she was married.

  He kissed her so tenderly, and when he stripped off her nightdress and began sucking at her nipples, she wanted him far too much to stop him.

  She realized as Morgan caressed, stroked and kissed her that this was what lovemaking was supposed to be like, and it bore no similarity to the animal-like rutting she’d had with Sam. She was entirely lost in the delicacy of his touch, loving the way his fingers explored her secret places, rubbing her in a way that sent spasms of delicious sensation throughout her body.

  The bunk was so narrow there was no room to move around, yet somehow he managed to put her in positions that made it easier for him to lick and suck at her. She could hardly believe that a man would put his tongue into her sex, or that it could be so thrilling. An orgasm erupted within her under his tongue, and she must have cried out because he put one hand over her mouth.

  ‘You taste wonderful,’ he whispered. ‘And I’m going to do it to you again and again because I love hearing you moan.’

  ‘I must go now,’ Morgan whispered, much later. ‘Look, it’s getting light!’

  Mariette glanced at the porthole and saw that he was right. Instead of a circle of pitch darkness, it was now grey. They hadn’t slept at all; in between bouts of long lovemaking they had cuddled and talked in whispers. It had been wonderful, and Mariette sensed that he was as reluctant to leave her as she was to see him go.

  ‘I doubt we’ll get another chance like this,’ he said as he slid out of her arms and on to the floor to dress. ‘And we must be careful no one finds out about us. I’m not so worried for me and my job. But if it gets to one of the officers’ ears, they might contact your uncle.’

  A tremor of fear ran through her. ‘They wouldn’t do that, surely?’

  Morgan pulled a face. ‘It has been known, when young girls are travelling alone. They feel they have a moral duty.’

  ‘But will I see you again in England?’ she asked nervously, leaning over the side of the bunk and ruffling his hair. She had a feeling he was trying to say this was the end.

  ‘I’ve got to be honest, Mari,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. ‘I can’t promise anything right now because of the job. But promise you’ll wait for me? Don’t start thinking I’m gone for good, if you don’t hear from me in a while. I’ll write when I can. And next time I’m back in England, we will meet up.’

  He finished dressing, kissed her once again and then he was gone, slipping out so silently she didn’t even hear the door click.

  9

  Mariette was too exhausted to try analysing what Morgan had said to her, too sleepy to even get up and straighten the tangled sheets. She was woken later by Alfred, the steward, banging on the cabin door.

  ‘Are you alright, Miss Carrera?’ he called out.

  She got up, pulled on her long nightdress and a wrapper, and opened the cabin door.

  ‘I was worried that you were sick as you didn’t go up for breakfast,’ Alfred said. He was portly, middle-aged and a bit of an old woman, but he’d been very kind and helpful to her and Stella.

  ‘I’m fine. I was just tired,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about the cabin today.’

  ‘I won’t have time to do it anyway,’ he said with a slight edge to his voice, which suggested he was annoyed at having his routine disturbed. ‘It’s after one. If you want some lunch, you’d better go now.’

  Mariette thanked him and said she wasn’t hungry. She was, but she knew she must go and have a shower before dressing, and she hadn’t got the energy to rush. ‘Have you heard how Miss Murgatroyd is today?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘With nearly all the passengers sick, I’ve got too much to do to go down to the sickbay.’

  Mariette closed the door and leaned back against it while she gathered herself. She was sore from so much lovemaking, and still very tired. But when she closed her eyes and thought of the things she and Morgan had done to each other, a delicious quiver of excitement ran through her.

  Once she had showered and dressed, Mariette made her way down to the sickbay to inquire about her friend. One of the nurses said Stella was a lot better and that Mariette could go in to see her. If Morgan was there, Mariette didn’t see him.

  Stella’s face lit up to see her. Although she looked gaunt, her colour was normal again and she was well enough to sit up and talk.

  ‘I thought I was going to die,’ she said dramatically. ‘To be honest, I welcomed death because I felt so bad.’

  ‘Does that mean you can come back to the cabin?’ Mariette asked, hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

  ‘I’ve got to wait for the doctor’s permission,’ Stella replied. She sighed, as if she hoped he would refuse it. ‘Have you seen that steward who works down here? He’s a real heart-throb, and so kind too. It’s worth being ill just to be near him.’

  ‘The dark-haired one that looks a bit like Errol Flynn?’ Mariette asked, knowing it must be Morgan.

  Stella went all dreamy-eyed. ‘Yes, that’s him. I thought I must be delirious, seeing someone so handsome bathing my forehead. But he came in again this morning, and I hadn’t imagined it. He really is that gorgeous.’

  Mariette didn’t trust herself to continue this line of conversation. ‘If you’re well enough to get ideas about a steward, you must be on the mend,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to come back later and collect you?’

  She wondered where Morgan was – he’d been awake all ni
ght, and must be exhausted – but she couldn’t very well ask. Coming back for Stella would be the ideal excuse for returning later.

  ‘No, don’t bother,’ Stella said. ‘I’m quite happy to stay here. I like it now I feel a bit better.’

  Mariette left the sickbay and went up to the saloon. As the sea was calmer now, there were many more people in the saloon than she’d seen in the past few days. She got herself a cup of tea and was soon drawn into conversation with several different people who all began by asking how Stella was, but it soon transpired that this was just an opening gambit to tell her how sick they’d been, and what an awful time they’d had in New Zealand.

  Mariette felt like reminding them she was a New Zealander and perhaps suggesting their lack of success and happiness in her country was because they’d been stupid enough to imagine New Zealand was just like England. Back home, she’d often heard people laughing about immigrants who didn’t attempt to adjust but instead spent all their time comparing New Zealand unfavourably with their homeland. But she bit back her sarcasm, smiled in sympathy and secretly hoped they’d find winter in England far worse than they remembered.

  But after an hour or so, she’d had enough of being polite and went out on deck, hoping to find Morgan.

  It was extremely cold, the sky was leaden and sullen, and although she watched the waves curling back from the bow of the ship for a few minutes, she was soon chilled to the bone and had to retreat down to the warmth of the cabin.

  She lay on Stella’s bunk and tried to read, but her thoughts kept turning to Morgan. Was this the end for them? Perhaps it was true what people said, that once a man had his way with a girl he lost interest. But why would he ask her to wait for him, if he didn’t mean it?

  Lying in his arms, she had allowed herself to believe that he wanted her for ever, that he only had to do one more return trip, and then they could be together. But even if Morgan had meant what he said, now that she was here on her own she could see problems. The chances were that her father had told Uncle Noah about Sam, and warned him to keep her on a tight rein in England. But even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t likely that her uncle was going to welcome a man she’d met on the voyage, coming to call at his house. If Morgan was an officer, it might be different – Mog had told her that English people were very snobbish about class.