A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie, and she jumped off the bunk to open it. To her amazement, it was Morgan. He came in quickly and shut the door behind him.
‘You’re taking a risk during the daytime,’ she gasped.
‘You’re worth it,’ he said, and pulled her into his arms to kiss her. ‘I doubt we’ll get the chance to be alone again before we get to England, and I didn’t want to leave you not knowing how I feel about you.’
‘How you feel about me?’ she repeated.
‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m nuts about you. I wouldn’t have risked coming to your cabin in the day otherwise.’
His words made the anxiety she’d felt minutes earlier disappear, and she kissed him passionately.
Morgan pulled away first. ‘I need to know you trust me,’ he said. ‘I can’t give you a date, or even the month, when I’ll be back in England again. I’m not much of a letter writer, and the post can take for ever to reach home anyway. But promise me you won’t lose heart and forget me? As soon as I get back, I will send word to you. I’m sure people will tell you sailors have a girl in every port, but you’ll be the only girl in my heart.’
‘And you’ll be the only boy in mine,’ she said, thrilled at his words. ‘I’ll give you my uncle’s address now, just in case we don’t get another chance after today.’
She wrote the address down, and he tucked it into the pocket of his white jacket before lowering her down on to Stella’s bunk.
He pulled off her jumper, undid her blouse, then kissed her as he slid his hand down and under the top of her petticoat to caress her breasts.
Mariette arched her back, and he responded by bending to kiss and suck at her nipples. She held his head in her hands, transported into another world where nothing mattered but the thrilling sensations his lips were creating.
They were so wrapped up in each other, neither of them heard the cabin door open. They only knew they weren’t alone when they heard a gasp.
‘How could you?’ Stella’s irate voice boomed out.
Morgan jumped, banging his head on the upper bunk and exposing Mariette, who was naked to the waist, beneath him.
They were so aghast, they could only stare at Stella.
‘How could you?’ the girl repeated, loudly enough for anyone outside the cabin to hear. ‘On my bunk! That’s disgusting! I can’t believe that of you, Mariette.’
‘Now calm down, Stella,’ Morgan said, standing up and putting his hands on her shoulders. Mariette quickly pulled her petticoat back over her breasts and slipped her jumper on. ‘We care a great deal for one another, we just wanted some time alone together.’
‘It’s shameful, that’s what it is,’ Stella exclaimed, breaking away from Morgan and wagging a finger at Mariette. ‘How can you behave like that with a steward!’
‘It would be alright if it was the Captain, I suppose?’ Mariette retorted. ‘Oh, don’t make such a fuss, Stella. It’s not a crime to kiss a man, even if he is a steward. Only this morning you said how kind and lovely he was. Are you jealous that he likes me?’
‘Jealous of you behaving so improperly? I should think not!’
‘Now, Stella,’ Morgan said soothingly. ‘I’m sorry that you had to walk in on this, we are very embarrassed, as I’m sure you are too. We’re both pleased that you are well enough to leave the sickbay. But don’t forget that it was Mari who has been looking after you for most of this voyage. She doesn’t deserve you to turn on her just because we fell in love with each other.’
At those words Mariette didn’t care what Stella thought of her any more, or even if the whole ship got to hear of it.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ Mariette said. ‘But you know Morgan would be in trouble, if one of the officers got to hear about it. And you’ve been so ill, it wouldn’t have been right to upset you, would it?’
Stella glowered at them both. ‘Don’t think you can charm your way out of this,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see one of the officers.’
‘Please don’t do that, Stella,’ Mariette pleaded with her and caught hold of her hand to prevent her rushing out. ‘Morgan would lose his job, and he has a widowed mother to support. Take it out on me, if you must, but not on him.’
Stella shook her off and pushed Morgan back towards the door. ‘Just get out of here, and don’t you dare try to come in here again.’ She wrenched the door open. ‘To think I believed you were a gentleman!’
As she slammed the door shut behind him, Mariette continued pleading with her. ‘I love him, Stella. He looked after me when I was ill in Curaçao, and we spent the afternoon while you were in the port getting to know each other. He only came here this afternoon because it was too cold to meet on deck. We just wanted to talk and be together, is that so bad?’
‘You weren’t talking,’ she retorted, her face flushed red with outrage. ‘If I hadn’t come in, he’d have been having his way with you. I’m disgusted that you could do such a thing.’
Mariette kept apologizing, almost grovelling to the older girl, but nothing she said made any difference. Stella kept a wooden expression on her face, repeating over and over how disgusted she was.
Such a strong reaction had to be jealousy, but Mariette didn’t dare charge her with that again for fear she’d make good her threat to speak to an officer. It wasn’t in Mariette’s nature to grovel to anyone, but she knew she must this time. Not just so that Morgan could keep his job, but because she was a minor and it was quite likely the Captain would consider it his duty to contact her uncle and tell him what he knew. She couldn’t let that happen.
‘I wouldn’t have upset you for the world,’ she pleaded. ‘We’ve been such good friends, don’t take against me for this. I know it looked bad, but we just got a bit carried away.’
‘I really don’t wish to have anything more to do with you,’ Stella said, giving Mariette a look that would freeze a brass monkey. ‘I won’t report you, not this time, but just keep away from me for the rest of the voyage.’
At first, Mariette was so happy Morgan had said he loved her that she didn’t care if Stella wanted nothing more to do with her. But after just one day of being totally ignored by her friend, she found she did care. Stella only spoke if there was no alternative, and at mealtimes she made sure she was seated with other people, excluding Mariette.
It became terribly cold, and Mariette hoped the sea would become rough again so she could take care of Stella and win her forgiveness. But the sea remained quite calm, Stella stayed well, and her demeanour was as frosty as the weather.
The extreme cold made it impossible for Mariette to hang around on deck in the hope of seeing Morgan. She considered faking illness to go down to the sickbay, but that might turn out to be asking for more trouble.
But two nights before they were due to dock in Southampton, Mariette bundled herself up in warm clothes and decided to brave it. To her delight, Morgan was there at the doorway which led down to the sickbay.
His face lit up on seeing her. ‘I’ve been coming up here all the time,’ he said. ‘I was beginning to think Stella had put you off me.’
‘She couldn’t do that, but she has been horrible,’ Mariette said. ‘I feel entirely friendless now. She won’t speak, gives me dirty looks all the time. I’m convinced it’s jealousy.’
‘Well, there is a lot to be jealous about. You’re pretty, you’re great company and you’ve got me. By the way, what made you say I had to support my widowed mother?’
Mariette giggled. ‘Desperation. I didn’t think she was cruel enough to see a widow go hungry.’
Morgan smiled. ‘I like it that your brain works that fast in an emergency.’
‘Well, it was self-preservation too. I didn’t want her blabbing.’
‘When I come back to England next time, we’d better do it all properly. You tell your uncle I looked after you when you were sick, and that I want to call on you. Would he refuse?’
Mariette shrugged. ‘I can’t see why, it’s perfectl
y reasonable. I shall just have to be careful I don’t look too excited about seeing you.’
‘But would you be?’ he asked.
She looked at his lovely face – those dark twinkly eyes, golden suntan and brilliant white teeth – and felt weak with wanting.
‘You know I would be,’ she admitted. ‘No one would stand here on a freezing deck unless they were seriously smitten.’
That was the last time Mariette saw Morgan. She went out on deck the following night, but he wasn’t there. And the next morning, as the ship sailed into Southampton, all the crew were so busy that she knew there was no point in trying to find him.
As she stood on deck, wrapped up in her brown coat, holding on to her hat for dear life, her initial impression of England was that it looked grim. Everything was grey – the sky, the sea, the buildings – and so very cold. Mog had said that, as soon as March came in, she would see green shoots on the trees, daffodils in the parks, and the sun would shine. But February was clearly not a good month to see England for the first time.
Her suitcase was stacked with everyone else’s on a lower deck, ready to be taken ashore. When she’d left the cabin, Stella was panicking because she couldn’t get everything into her suitcase. Mariette could have packed it for her but, after being ignored for so long, she didn’t feel inclined to help in any way.
She had a recent photograph of Uncle Noah and Aunt Lisette. He was portly, with receding hair, and Aunt Lisette looked like Mrs Simpson, the lady the King had abdicated for. Her mother said Lisette had been very beautiful as a young woman, with dark hair and eyes. She was in her fifties now, her marcel-waved hair turning grey, but she was still lovely. She would be wearing a brown fur coat and hat, with a red flower pinned to her coat to make it easier for Mariette to recognize her. She just hoped she would.
The people on the dock were just becoming visible now, but it would be a while before she could see the details on faces. Morgan’s face was stamped on her mind, and his features stopped any other images registering. She remembered the cleft in his chin when he smiled, the way one corner of his mouth went up higher when he asked a question, and the perfect arc of his dark eyebrows. She could recall their first kiss so clearly, but not the last one. Why was that?
Mariette looked around, hoping he was standing somewhere near, watching her. But she couldn’t see him. Did he love her? She wished she could be absolutely certain of that.
With only a hundred yards of water now until they docked, the crew were standing ready, and there were more sailors on the quay too. She scanned the line of people waiting behind a barrier. They could only wave for now; all passengers had to have their passports checked before they could be greeted by friends and family.
She couldn’t see anyone who looked like Uncle Noah and Aunt Lisette, and she had a moment of panic in which she felt certain that they’d forgotten about her.
Finally, the ship’s engines stopped, she was secured, and the gangway put in place.
Mariette looked around again, but there was still no sign of Morgan, even though many of the stewards were out on the upper deck waving goodbye.
All Mariette was aware of, as she joined the throng of jostling people to have her passport examined, was the biting cold. Her feet and legs were like ice, the lisle stockings Mog had bought for her in Auckland no protection at all from the cruel blast of the wind.
There were so many people, all pushing and shoving, so much noise and confusion. She let herself be drawn along by passengers whose faces had become familiar in the past weeks. She didn’t know where her luggage would be taken and, if Uncle Noah wasn’t here waiting for her, she had no idea of what she would do. Then, just as her eyes began to fill with tears of fear and panic, she heard her name being called.
‘Here, Mari! We’re here!’
The voice came again, and through the crowd she saw a man in a dark overcoat, waving a trilby hat. Dodging through the crowd, Mariette reached him, and he flung his arms around her and hugged her tightly.
‘You poor thing, you must be so cold and confused,’ he said as he held her to his chest. ‘Welcome to England. It may be freezing, but we are thrilled to see you.’
Mariette hadn’t really been aware of Lisette until she heard a gentle voice with a French accent say, ‘Don’t cry, little one. We’ve been dying to meet you and can’t wait to get you home.’
10
It wasn’t until after ten that same night, when Mariette was tucked up in the prettiest bedroom she’d ever seen, that she was able to reflect on all she’d experienced during the day and put it into some kind of order.
Although she knew Uncle Noah had become a celebrated journalist and author since the days when he was her father’s friend, she hadn’t for one moment imagined him living like a millionaire, or being so warm and lovable. From the first moment, when he hugged her, she felt really comfortable with him.
His car was a black Daimler, driven by a uniformed chauffeur called Andrews, and as she had only ever been in old ramshackle cars and trucks before, she couldn’t quite get over the grandeur of the leather seats, so much legroom and the sublime comfort. Uncle Noah sat up front, by Andrews, but he spent almost the whole journey turning round towards the back seat to speak to her and Lisette. He asked so many questions about her parents and her brothers. Interspersed with this, he told her about all the places in England he wanted her to see.
His looks belied his true nature. While his plumpness, thinning hair, hand-tailored suit and beautiful overcoat were all that she had expected of a wealthy middle-aged man, his personality was irrepressibly youthful and excitable. Within minutes of being in his company, she began to think of him as far younger than he actually was.
Lisette had the classical look of a ballerina, partly due to the way her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, but she was also slender, graceful, elegantly dressed and very serene. Her fur coat, which Mariette suspected was mink, was a light biscuit colour with a very fluffy collar that emphasized her high cheekbones and beautiful skin. Yet she gave the impression that she didn’t fuss about her appearance. While being very interested and attentive, she let her husband do most of the talking. When she did speak, her voice was soft and soothing, her French accent reminding Mariette so much of her father’s.
It seemed a very long drive through farmland, woods and small villages that were so old and quaint they could have been illustrations in a child’s picture book. As stark and bare as the countryside was in its winter mantle, there was still so much beauty in the leafless trees, the small humpback stone bridges over streams and the hills covered in grass so much greener than anything she’d seen in New Zealand.
They stopped for lunch in what Noah said was an old coaching inn in Godalming, a very pretty village. The inn had wooden beams across the low ceiling and a huge fire, and she was rather surprised to see women in there.
‘Women aren’t allowed in public houses in New Zealand?’ Lisette exclaimed. ‘How very odd! English women don’t tend to go into pubs alone, of course, but it’s becoming very common these days for women friends to come in together for lunch, or for a drink in the evening. Pubs are at the centre of village life in England.’
When they drove into London, Mariette’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Noah had asked Andrews to drive over Westminster Bridge so she could see the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. They drove round Trafalgar Square, then up the Mall towards Buckingham Palace. Although she’d seen many pictures of these places, everything was so much larger and more splendid than she had expected.
‘There’s an awful lot more to London than we’ve shown you today,’ Noah said, smiling because she was so overawed. ‘But we’ll wait until you’ve got used to the cold before we take you to see the rest.’
Finally, they reached Noah’s house and Mariette’s jaw dropped at the size of it. Noah said it was built in 1795, which made it much older than any house she’d ever seen in New Zealand. Old it might be, but it was so graceful and beautiful
ly proportioned, with a portico over the central front door and three long windows, arched at the top, on either side of it.
Mog and Belle had both used words like ‘cosy’ and ‘homely’ to describe the home Uncle Noah and Aunt Lisette had when they left for New Zealand. But this house had been bought since then. Cosy and homely would certainly not describe it. Grand, palatial – even spectacular – would be more apt.
Mariette tried very hard not to show her astonishment as Mrs Andrews, the housekeeper and wife of the chauffeur, opened the front door and welcomed her into a huge hall with a floor polished to a mirror finish and a grand staircase sweeping up and round, the like of which she’d only seen in films.
‘We’re rattling around in all this space since Jean-Philippe got married two years ago,’ Noah said, while Mrs Andrews took her coat and hat. Mr Andrews was already carrying Mariette’s suitcase up to her room. ‘We never realized how much space he took up until he moved out. Now it’s only us and Rose. She’s away at the moment, with friends, but she’ll be back tomorrow.’
The drawing room to the right of the hall was huge, decorated in soft pastel shades, with floor-length curtains and elaborate braid-trimmed pelmets above. In front of a roaring fire there were large sofas which begged to be curled up on, and in front of the window there was a polished wooden table covered in silver-framed photographs.
Mariette was thrilled to see herself amongst them. There was one of her as a baby in Noah’s arms, when he’d come out to New Zealand to be her godfather, another of her at fifteen, taken while sailing the dinghy, a lovely one of her mother and father on their wedding day and one of Mog and Belle, presumably taken at the end of the war, when they were leaving for New Zealand, because they were both very dressed up.
Survivor Page 11
