‘Yes, well, of course,’ Edward said, rather taken aback. ‘It’s up to Fenton. I know my duty,’ he added with an attempt at jocularity.
As he passed through the smoking-room, he saw Bernard Hunt and Doris Zinkeisen huddled together in a corner deep in conversation. There was no one else in the room and they did not see him. Hunt was speaking in low tones but Doris Zinkeisen’s shrill voice was audible across the room. Edward heard her say, ‘I don’t understand. It ought to have been done by now. He said there would be no difficulty but you know what . . .’
Not wishing to be an eavesdropper, he left the room but wondered idly if they had been discussing the repair of her mural. They were so earnest, however, he was inclined to think it was something more important, but what he could not guess.
He found Benyon walking on the promenade deck with Fenton a respectful two paces behind him. Benyon was in high spirits. ‘I can hardly believe tomorrow we shall be on dry land. I have to say this voyage was more of an ordeal than I had anticipated. Poor Barrett and then that terrible storm. I wonder if I shall ever fully recover,’ he added a little petulantly. ‘Really, this trip – no offence to you, my dear boy – has been a nightmare.’
‘I gather from Fern that you are planning to attend the fancy-dress ball tonight?’
‘Do you know, I thought I might.’ He sounded like a naughty child. ‘I’ve always had a penchant for fancy dress. Let me tell you a story – in confidence, please! When I was an undergraduate, two or three friends of mine carried out the most joyful hoax. We dressed one of our number – I won’t give you his name because he’s now a distinguished government servant – in a toga, a turban and a false beard and we inspected the fleet.’
‘You did what?’ Edward exclaimed.
‘I rang up the admiral at Spithead – who was a family friend as it happened – and pretended I was speaking from the Admiralty. I said the King of Bongo-Bongo Land was coming down to inspect the fleet and could he be shown over a battleship.’
‘He didn’t recognize your voice?’
‘Not at all. It was a terrific lark. The whole thing went quite smoothly and we were greeted by the captain of the . . . of one of our great battleships and shown over with full honours. There was even a gun salute.’
‘And you were never found out?’
‘Never. Or rather, I think the truth did percolate through eventually but the Navy never said anything. They would have looked the most frightful asses if they had. It’s a weakness of mine but I love hoaxes. There must be something irredeemably juvenile hidden inside this old body of mine.’
After lunch the sun came out and, though there was a cold wind, the First Class passengers seemed determined to make the best of what remained of their time on the Queen Mary. The promenade deck was a pleasant compromise between being inside and out. Protective screens, pierced by a number of vertically sliding windows, allowed passengers such as Lord Benyon, who were not particularly robust, to take their exercise without being exposed to the elements. The sun deck, immediately above the promenade deck, was also the lifeboat deck but the lifeboats were carried high up on davits so passengers could lean over the rails along the length of it. The after-end was used for a variety of deck games and it was there Edward encountered his nephew.
He was concerned that – as Verity had said – he had been too hard on the boy. From guilt above all, he had, he now thought, been too quick to dampen Frank’s romantic attachment. He feared he might have humiliated his nephew which had not been his intention. He saw his role as that of a constitutional monarch – to warn and advise – but felt he should have found a gentler way of telling Frank that he had been taken for a ride. No one likes to think they have been made a fool of so he was relieved, if rather surprised, to find him playing an energetic game of tennis with Perry. Philly watched from the sidelines, looking fetchingly gracile in an outfit he had not seen before. The family might not be wealthy but they certainly dressed well. The mother, too, was there. Free, for once, from one of her headaches, she was sitting in a cane chair reading Vogue and watching her son.
Edward came up beside her and lifted his hat – a yachting cap he had bought on impulse in the Army and Navy while purchasing a new trunk for the voyage, the day before he left London. Fenton had made it quite clear, without actually putting it into words, that he did not approve of the cap but Edward thought it made him look rather dashing.
‘I say, good to see you are fully recovered, Mrs . . . Mrs Roosevelt. Do you mind if I sit myself down here beside you?’
‘Of course not, Lord Edward. I wanted to speak to you in any case. Isn’t your nephew doing well? Perry thinks of himself as a good tennis player but Frank is beating him with ease.’
For a moment or two they sat in silence watching the two handsome young men display their prowess.
‘I think my nephew is very taken with your daughter,’ he ventured. ‘She is delightful so I am not in the least surprised. I hope Frank isn’t making a nuisance of himself. At his age, I know I was falling in and out of love like a yo-yo.’
Mrs Roosevelt turned to look at him and Edward found himself gazing into steady, grey eyes, by no means those of a neurasthenic and valetudinarian. He saw that she must have been a beauty when she was younger.
‘I think you know, Lord Edward, that my name is not Roosevelt but Ravelstein. It’s an odd conceit which you may find reprehensible but, wishing to distance myself from my husband, I chose to assume my maiden name.’
‘I see,’ Edward said awkwardly. ‘Might I ask if you are divorced? Forgive me. That’s impertinent.’
‘Not yet. I decided to wait until my husband has completed his term of imprisonment and then decide what to do. I cannot forgive him for the shame he brought on the children and me but maybe I still love him. Time will tell. In any case, it is not in my nature to kick a man when he’s down – isn’t that the expression? Did you hear about my husband from that dreadful man Senator Day?’
‘No, not from him,’ Edward said, even more awkwardly. He did not want to admit that he had learnt her history from Major Ferguson. Fortunately she did not pursue the matter except to say, ‘He was a horrible man and, I’m sorry to say, an associate of my husband’s. Well, more than that, a friend of the family – or so we thought. When I found out he was on board, I’m afraid it brought on one of my migraines. I don’t know why I should be so stupid but I could not bear the idea that I and my family should be the subject of gossip.’
‘Of course not. And, if I might ask, did he try to . . .?’
‘Blackmail me? Not overtly. He was, I think, otherwise engaged and I doubt he would have liked it to be common knowledge that his former business partner was serving a gaol sentence. He gave me the occasional “look”, you understand?’
‘ “Meaning ‘Well, well, we know’, or, ‘We could, an if we would’,” that sort of thing?’
‘I see you love Hamlet too,’ she said with a smile. ‘He certainly was a “smiling, damned villain”.’
Edward was impressed, not just that she knew her Shake-speare but that she could talk so honestly about her predicament.
‘Did you know his wife?’ he asked.
‘Not at all. He married after . . . after my husband and he had ceased to be friends.’
‘But she must have known who you were.’
‘I don’t think so, unless he told her and I rather doubt that. I would guess he kept his business to himself.’
‘What of my nephew and your daughter?’ he risked. ‘Do you think there is anything in it?’
‘My daughter is not well. I have taken her to a good many doctors – that is, in fact, why we have been in London – but none of them can put forward a convincing diagnosis. The last one we saw – I mean the last one in New York, a Dr Barnes – said she was suffering from leukaemia and prescribed a course of arsenic trioxide but I don’t know. The Harley Street consultant disagrees. To be honest, I don’t think any of them know what they are talking about.’
>
‘It must be very distressing for you.’
‘What do I matter?’ she said vehemently.
‘She’s very beautiful . . . Philly. She must have many admirers.’
‘She has and she flirts abominably but I really believe she’s not seriously interested in any of them. If she loves any man, it’s Perry but she can’t marry him.’
‘Do you think she cares for my nephew?’
‘As far as she can. He’s been very kind to her and he’s so good-looking. And of course,’ she looked at him challengingly, ‘he’s the son of a duke. Even in our own disreputable age that goes for something.’
‘I suppose it does, but you know Frank’s a Communist?’
‘That’s part of his appeal, of course. To have a great position in society and not appear to value it . . . it’s difficult for lesser mortals to resist.’
‘Frank tells me he has engaged himself to Philly.’
‘And you don’t approve?’
‘She is a very beautiful girl but . . .’
‘But . . .?’
‘They’ve known each other such a very short time. I wonder if it’s wise. What do you think?’
‘My dear Lord Edward, are you saying, as tactfully as you know how, that my daughter isn’t good enough for your nephew?’
Remembering his own ‘unsuitable’ attachment to Verity Browne, Edward could hardly say that.
‘No, of course not. She’s a lovely girl . . . enchanting. I just want them to know their own minds. There is something about being closeted together on a great ship which can make us feel very intensely. The real world may make that intensity difficult to sustain.’
There was a pause and, once again, Edward was subjected to a long, cool gaze from those beautiful grey eyes. She seemed satisfied by what she saw. She said at last, ‘I’ll talk to my daughter, Lord Edward, and see how far this has gone. She’s certainly not said anything to me about an engagement. Perhaps Frank misunderstood something she said.’
Edward touched his hat and left her, feeling that he had done all he could to put a brake on the affair without anyone losing face. He couldn’t make his mind up as to how genuine the Roosevelt family were. They might be confidence tricksters, as Ferguson had hinted, or they might just be what they seemed – restless, rootless, déraciné Americans trying to find a place in the world under the shadow of the father’s disgrace and the daughter’s illness. Having talked to the mother, he was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt.
For the rest of the afternoon, until it was time to prepare for the fancy-dress ball, he sat on a long chair beside Lord Benyon. He admired his industry and began to understand why he was so successful. Brilliance on its own is not enough. Persistence, hard graft and attention to detail are equally important. Edward tried to read but, to his annoyance, kept dozing off. Whether it was the strain of the past few days or just being in this sea-borne hotel with nothing to do but watch and wait, he was lethargic and low-spirited. He thought he understood how the disciples must have felt when they fell asleep on the Mount of Olives having been told to watch and pray. He reprimanded himself for being flippant and, in an effort to wake himself up, limped over to one of the open windows and leant out to watch the sea and feel the wind on his face.
Despite everything that had happened, the passengers were determined to enjoy themselves on this, their last night at sea. There was an edge of hysteria to the excitement as they discussed their costumes and paraded in front of mirrors and their friends – like children preparing for a birthday party. In addition to the dance, there were to be prizes for the best costumes, games and entertainments and, of course, a banquet. The Purser was very aware that, as a result of the storm, many passengers felt cheated of the food and drink they had planned to consume at the Company’s expense and were determined to make up for it.
All the public rooms – with the exception of the library, which was reserved for those few killjoys who wanted no part in the festivities – had been prepared for the feasting and dancing. The centrepiece was to be the great restaurant decorated with bunting, balloons and huge arrangements of flowers – though how these had survived three days at sea and rough weather Edward had no idea – and the lounge, now glittering with ice sculptures and ‘starlit’ under a canopy of tiny lights which blinked perpetually against the darkness. On the stage during and after dinner they would be entertained by celebrated artistes such as the magician, Jasper Maskelyne, and it was rumoured that Warren Fairley had agreed to sing Negro spirituals. This was where Henry Hall, who, on the wireless, had delighted the nation conducting the BBC Dance Orchestra, now conducted a band of some of the top instrumentalists from Britain and America, including the pianist Eddie Carrol. Several hundred couples could dance to the music without being forced to step on each other’s toes. There was also dancing in the Verandah Grill, to a piano, and plenty of places for couples to sit out the dancing. The cocktail lounge, the smoking-room and several smaller salons presented opportunities for secret amours and last-minute trysts.
It was this element which worried Edward. Benyon was determined to enjoy his last evening aboard the Queen Mary. He had, when not ill in bed, worked almost the whole time and had decided he had earned a few hours’ relaxation before beginning his arduous round of lectures and meetings in New York and Washington. He would insist on having one dance with Verity but, in the main, his idea was to watch the young people enjoy themselves, smoke a few cigars and sample the excellent brandy.
‘Nuit d’épouvante et de plaisir, nuit de vertus et de crimes!’ he intoned, jocularly. ‘I have always adored a bal costumé!’
‘Well,’ Edward said grimly, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it weren’t a night of horror and crime, as you say.’
‘And pleasure, Lord Edward,’ Benyon chided him. ‘Don’t forget pleasure.’
How, Edward asked himself, was he to keep an eye on Benyon and distinguish friend from foe among the masked revellers? He had no wish to imprison his charge but he had to be protected.
He summoned a meeting of his little army in his cabin and divided the evening up into watches beginning at seven o’clock. Verity would take the first hour, he would take the next, then Fern, Sam Forrest and, finally, Fenton. If, by midnight, Benyon still had not gone to bed, Edward promised himself he would escort him to his cabin and, if he had to, lock the door after him.
The shops in the main hall were doing a roaring trade and Verity had splashed out on a bizarre head-dress which the shopkeeper had informed her was ‘Brazilian’. It was a riot of yellow feathers and coloured beads. Edward said it looked as if a chicken had died on her head and been curried.
‘And what do you wear with that?’ he had asked.
‘Not much,’ she had answered cheerfully. ‘Wait and see. It will be the most exciting thing you’ll have to look at the whole evening.’
‘I very much hope so. I would like a dance – or rather a hobble with you. Can I book a waltz or something slow?’
‘No fear. You would be a liability. Oh well,’ she said, seeing his face fall, ‘I suppose I’ll let you but . . .’
‘I know, you will be keeping the foxtrots and the quicksteps for Frank and Sam.’
‘I’ve made a few other friends on this trip, you know,’ she replied tartly. ‘Anyway, phooey to foxtrots and quicksteps. I’ll be dancing charlestons and sambas . . . Have you seen me tango?’
‘I’ve not had that pleasure but I would like to see you do . . . what’s that other one? . . . the Chicken Walk, or do I mean the Bunny Hug?’
‘If you mean the Turkey Trot, you won’t see me do that – or not until I’m completely stonkered. And don’t pretend you’re an old man. Frank says he saw you skipping like the high hills the last dance they held at Mersham.’
‘That was ten years ago,’ Edward said gloomily, ‘before I was a cripple.’
‘Oh God, spare me the self-pity! Frank’s promised to teach me the Lindy Hop – you know, because Lindbergh flew across the A
tlantic? He says it’s all the rage.’
‘Huh!’ was Edward’s response. He wished he wasn’t feeling so morose. He didn’t want to be a wet blanket but he could not help dreading the evening ahead.
13
On the map on the dining-room wall, the model Queen Mary was shown within a few inches of New York. The Atlantic crossing was almost over and this fact appeared to induce a fever among the passengers so soon to disembark. The dancing before dinner was staid and respectable. Even the costumes, exotic as some of them were, had not yet released the carnival spirit in their wearers but there was a palpable tension in the air as if some signal was awaited.
Benyon, a sheet wrapped over his dress trousers and wearing a turban from the Purser’s dressing-up box – he claimed to be Aladdin’s uncle and financial adviser – presided over a large table at one end of the room. He had invited the Roosevelts to join them. ‘We must have some feminine company,’ he had insisted. Frank, seeming not to have heeded his uncle’s warning, was sitting next to Philly. Or rather, they sat the way lovers sit – almost on top of one another, excluding everyone else and feeding each other titbits from a single fork. Perry, continually shooting covert glances at his sister and her lover, exhibited a desperate gaiety, and drank too much right from the start. He clearly welcomed the end of the voyage, whether because he hoped to have Philly to himself again or just because he was bored. Despite his laughter and frenetic chatter, Edward could not mistake the boy’s deep-seated melancholy and found an echo of it in himself.
Perry was sitting next to Jane Barclay and they flirted amiably with Warren seeming quite unconcerned. He was next to Verity and on her other side was Sam who appeared to have recovered his spirits. Verity, on a whim, had abandoned her ‘Brazilian’ head-dress and had borrowed a dinner jacket from Benyon who was not very much bigger than she was. Edward thought her outfit adorable. He told her she looked like Vesta Tilley but Verity had never heard of her. When, rather laboriously, he explained she had been a music-hall artiste with a penchant for dressing up as a man, Verity borrowed Fern’s monocle to complete the effect. When she kissed him unexpectedly, Edward was bouleversé and the blood came into his face. To be kissed by a boy, and to know it was Verity, was just too confusing in his current emotional state.
Dangerous Sea Page 21
