by Jan Burke
Sarah felt her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “No. It’s officially classified as a building now, not a ship. It’s permanently moored at that pier. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t go anywhere.”
“You don’t say,” Ada replied.
“It’s afloat,” Robert said. “It moves with the tide.”
Sarah fell silent.
After a moment, Ada said wistfully, “I saw her sail once, long ago. Back in the days when she did sail, when she was definitely a ship.”
“You saw your first husband off to war,” Robert said.
He sounded bitter, Sarah thought. Was he jealous of Ada’s previous husbands? It seemed absurd. Perhaps it was only this first husband, she thought. Elliot. She was fairly sure he had been the first. Or was it Arthur?
Sarah knew little about any of Ada’s husbands. Ada was someone who lived, by and large, in the present day, seldom discussing her past. And by the time Sarah had come to live with Ada, the last of Ada’s four spouses had been dead for more than twenty years.
Sarah tried to remember the little she had been told. There had been an Elliot, an Arthur, a Charles, and finally John Milington, Sr.—the father of the man who had adopted Sarah. Yes, that was the order. She remembered that Ada had married the first one when she was eighteen, and that he had died in World War II.
Bella had once let it slip that Ada had a son from that marriage, a son who so disliked Ada’s third husband, mother and son had become estranged. Sarah frowned. Or was it a son by the second husband who disliked the third? Sarah could not remember. She couldn’t even recall Ada’s eldest boy’s name. She did recall Bella’s warning never to mention this son to Ada. Not wanting to cause Ada pain, or to make trouble for the old housekeeper, Sarah had kept her silence.
She glanced at Ada, and saw that her grandmother was frowning. It was then that another implication of Robert’s remark came home to her.
“If you said good-bye to your first husband that day, he must have sailed on the Queen Mary when she was used as a troop ship, during the war.”
Ada nodded. “I never saw him again.”
“But being on the ship again—won’t it be sad for you?”
Ada smiled and shook her head. “No, Sarah dear. Not at all. I was never actually aboard the ship, of course. We said good-bye at the dock. And the ship doesn’t even look the same on the outside now. She was painted a dull gray then, and her portholes were blackened. She was called ‘the Grey Ghost’ during the war.”
“I read about that period of the ship’s history,” Sarah said. “The Queen Mary was able to cross the Atlantic in four or five days, which made her the fastest ship on the sea—capable of outrunning German submarines, if need be. She was even faster than German torpedoes.” She paused, frowned, and added, “Faster than the ones used at the beginning of the war. There was a bounty on her. Hitler promised he would give a quarter of a million dollars and Germany’s highest honors to the submarine captain who sank her.”
“My, you have read up on her,” Robert Parsons said.
Sarah responded as she always did under stress. She turned to numbers. “Yes. The ship made a great contribution to the Allied efforts. During the war, the Queen Mary carried over seven hundred and sixty-five thousand military personnel over half a million nautical miles.”
She saw that Parsons was smiling again, until Ada said, “One of those three-quarters of a million was mine.”
“Yes, of course,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry.”
Robert reached forward and took Ada’s hand.
Ada, never one to brood, soon changed the subject.
She began to recite the guest list for the party. Sarah stayed silent, only half-attending as local dignitaries and old friends were named. While a woman of Ada’s wealth and influence would never have trouble finding guests for her parties, it was her reputation for holding lively, out of the ordinary celebrations which made her invitations much sought after.
At last the Queen Mary came into sight. Sarah, seeing the long, sleek giant before her, its trio of mammoth red stacks cuffed in black towering above them, quickly realized that all the reading she had done about this historic vessel could never do it justice.
“A building?” she heard Robert Parsons ask.
“No,” Sarah said quietly. “A ship, a beautiful, beautiful ship.”
“Nothing like her in the world,” he agreed. “Wait until you’re aboard.”
“You’ve been on the Queen Mary before?” she asked, surprised.
“A few times,” he said, but Ada began directing her to the hotel entrance before Sarah could ask more.
As they were welcomed by the staff at the registration desk, Sarah’s eyes roved over the Art Deco lines of the ship’s interior, the etched glass and shining brass, the rich exotic woods that surrounded her—crafted into curving, sumptuous, smooth surfaces and marquetry unlike any she had ever seen.
She was recalled from her admiration by Ada’s voice. “The small bag to Mr. Parsons’s suite, please. The trunk and the rest of this group to mine, all except those two very serviceable but dowdy bags, which I’m sorry to say, belong to my granddaughter.”
Sarah followed mutely as they were shown to their rooms, noting that like Ada, Robert was staying in one of the royalty suites. Each suite, Sarah knew, featured a large sitting area separated from a spacious bedroom, a private bath, and an additional small bedroom with a single twin bed in it—servant’s quarters. In the ship’s glory years, the luxurious suites had been occupied by the wealthiest of first class passengers, who paid the equivalent of an average Englishman’s annual wages for round-trip passage—a large sum, even with the servant’s fare and all meals included.
Robert’s suite was near Ada’s, but not adjoining it. Having braced herself for the likelihood that Ada would make the most of such a romantic setting, Sarah was surprised by this arrangement. He had been given a room that certainly placed his status well above that of hired help, but an adjoining room would have made assignations much easier.
Ada had offered a suite to Sarah, but Sarah had opted for one of the staterooms. Not as grand as the suites, it was nevertheless spacious, and like the suites, had many original furnishings in it. Sarah opened the two thick portholes, which provided a view of the Long Beach shoreline and downtown skyline. Taking a deep breath of cool air, she soon put aside her questions about her grandmother and Parsons. She spent the next half hour exploring her own luxurious room.
Soon her toiletries had been neatly arranged, her clothes hung in one of the closets, and nearly every other item she had carried with her stowed in an orderly fashion. She was just deciding where she would place a pair of books she had brought—about the history of the ship—when the phone rang.
“Sarah? Be a dear and run along to the Observation Bar, will you?” Ada said. “I told Robert I would meet him there, but now I’ve learned that Captain Dolman will be here any moment.”
“Captain Dolman? Is he the ship’s captain?” Sarah asked.
“No, no, an old friend. An army captain, retired for years. Now be a dear and don’t make Robert wait there alone—some young wench might look at his handsome face and decide to lead him astray. A man like that, drinking alone in the bar—the consequences are not to be thought of.”
“I don’t—”
“Think you can find it? Of course you can. It’s near the bow of the ship, on the Promenade Deck. Thank you, dear, it’s such a relief to know I can depend upon you.”
Sarah bore this with her usual good grace. She climbed the stairs to the Promenade Deck and moved quickly through the ship’s shopping gallery to the cocktail lounge. Stepping into the curving, multi-level room, she saw before her a row of tall windows with a view of the main deck and bow, and the harbor beyond; nearer, in the room itself, a nickel-colored railing made up of a mixture of creatures real and mythological. She tu
rned; above the mirrors behind the bar, she saw a painting that, up until now, she had only seen in black-and-white photographs of this room. For several long moments, she forgot all about looking for Robert Parsons.
The painting stretched across the length of the bar, and depicted a street scene. More than two dozen figures were caught in motion. They were people from all walks of life, dancing hand-in-hand: sailors, bakers, and men in top hats cavorted with stout matrons, elegantly clad ladies, and women in everyday dress. All were laughing as they circled round and round in celebration. Pennants fluttered above them; one of the revelers had lost her footing, but this was forever that moment before the others would notice.
“Makes you want to join them, doesn’t it?” a voice said from just behind her right ear.
Startled, Sarah turned and found herself nearly nose-to-nose with Parsons. “No, Mr. Parsons—”
“Robert—”
“No, Mr. Parsons,” she said, taking a step away from him. “It doesn’t. They’re all about to stumble over the one who has fallen.”
He looked up at the mural and smiled. “They’ll help her to her feet and carry on with the dance.”
“At best, they’ll step over her and continue without her.”
He shook his head, but said nothing.
“The banners carry the insignia of St. George,” she said quickly, fixing her eyes on the painting.
“In honor of King George the Fifth’s twenty-fifth year as king,” Parsons said, “which is being celebrated by the dancers. The work was painted by A. R. Thomson—and is called ‘Royal Jubilee Week, 1935.’ ”
She turned scarlet.
“Oh, now you’re angry with me. I’ve spoiled your fun. Let me buy you a glass of wine.”
“I don’t—”
“You can toss it in my face if you like. I’ll present myself as a target.”
“No, no I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine, spouting off facts and figures nobody cares to hear.”
“But you’re wrong—I’m very interested in what you have to say, Miss Milington.”
“Please, let’s go back to Sarah and Robert.”
He smiled. “All right.” He motioned to a doorway. “I’m sitting outside, but if you find it too chilly there for you—”
“No, I prefer it,” she said truthfully.
She was seated at his table, shielded from the afternoon breeze by a row of Plexiglas panels. Belatedly, she remembered to deliver her message.
“It was kind of you to walk all the way here to tell me,” he said, “but Ada is so seldom on time, I don’t think I would have worried.”
“I think she sent me as your chaperone,” she admitted.
He laughed. “No, no, I doubt that. Tell me, have you had a chance to see much of the ship yet?”
“No, I’ve only just unpacked.”
“Hmm. Then you must let me show you some of the more interesting sights—”
“I’m not sure—”
“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked. “I promise you won’t come to any harm.”
Not unaware that this was the longest conversation she had ever had with him, she said, “Oh, no, I’m not afraid. It’s just that Grandmother may not like me to dominate so much of your time.”
“Trust me, she’ll be delighted. Besides,” he added quietly, “she’ll have other demands to make of me later.”
Again Sarah felt herself blush.
“You misunderstand—” he began.
“It isn’t any of my business,” Sarah said quickly, relieved to see Ada approaching, accompanied by two elderly gentlemen, one on each arm. The men seemed to be doing their level best to keep up with her. Sarah, acquainted with most of Ada’s friends, did not know either of these men. But as they drew closer, she thought one of them did seem familiar.
Ada came to their table with long strides, flamboyantly garbed in a hot pink and turquoise jogging suit, wearing a white turban. How does she manage, Sarah wondered, to wear such silly outfits and still look great?
“Sarah!” Ada called out, “Meet the congressman!”
“Oh, not yet, not yet!” the taller of the two men exclaimed. “A mere state senator at the moment, but with your grandmother’s generous help, I may trade Sacramento for Washington, D.C.” He extended a hand. “Archer Hastings, my dear, at your service.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Senator,” Sarah said, now realizing why he seemed familiar. She was sure she had seen him on the evening news once or twice. He wasn’t the senator for their district, but Ada had many political friends, not all of them her own representatives.
When Ada introduced the second man, Gerald Dolman, the retired army captain turned crimson and nodded in Sarah’s direction, but did not meet her eyes. He was a thin man with a prominent Adam’s apple. It bobbed as he swallowed nervously. She wondered why he was so flustered over meeting her, but soon decided he was merely shy—he would not, in fact, look directly at any of the others, and the blush which had stolen over his neck and face remained throughout the time he sat with them.
Archer Hastings had no such reticence. He gave the others a quick biography of himself, a sort of résumé from the time he was a paperboy in the 1930s. He spoke at length about his enlistment in the army, his service (mostly behind a desk) during World War II. By the time he was telling them about his return to California and his establishment of an accounting firm, the drinks had arrived. What a pompous ass, Sarah thought, but Hastings was only warming up.
“Have you had a chance to tour the ship?” Ada was asking him.
“Yes, yes. Wonderful! Wonderful place for this lovely lady to celebrate her birthday,” he said to the others. “I’m certainly looking forward to that party tonight. The Grand Salon. Used to be the first class dining room. Largest single public room ever built on a ship. You could fit all three of Christopher Columbus’s ships in there and still have space left over. Have you seen it yet, Sarah? No? Oh, you must see it. Probably won’t let you in while they’re getting ready for the big to-do, but”—he winked conspiratorially—“you have friends in high places. Then of course, you will see it tonight, won’t you? Yes, a grand ship.”
Captain Dolman was making quick progress through his drink as Hastings went on.
“A symbol of triumph over the Great Depression, that’s what it was to the British,” the politician said.
“Yes,” Robert Parsons said, “she was a symbol of hope.”
For reasons Sarah could not understand, this caused Captain Dolman and Ada to look at him sharply. But Hastings was oblivious.
“I’ve always liked the British,” he was saying. “Don’t you like them? Sure. Like to do things on a grand scale—just like you, Ada. Say, did you know that if you measure from the Queen Mary’s keel to the top of her forward funnel, this ship is one hundred and eighty feet tall? That makes her eighteen feet taller than Niagara Falls! Now, that’s something, but her length is spectacular. If you could stand this ship on end, it would be taller than the Washington Monument. Taller than the Eiffel Tower, too. In fact, the Empire State Building would only be two hundred feet taller.”
“Two hundred and thirty feet,” Sarah said without thinking.
Parsons smiled, Ada laughed, and Captain Dolman nervously rattled the ice in his glass, which he was studying intently. Archer Hastings seemed taken aback until he noticed Ada’s reaction, then burst into hearty guffaws. Sarah felt her own cheeks turning red, and wondered if her complexion now matched Captain Dolman’s.
“I warned you, Archer,” Ada said. “She’s a wonder with numbers. As addicted to facts and figures as you are.”
“Really?” Hastings seemed unable to resist the challenge of testing this claim. “I suppose you know about the anchors?”
Sarah hesitated, but seeing Ada’s expectant look, answered, “There are two eighteen-foot long an
chors, each weighs sixteen tons. The anchor chains are each nine hundred and ninety feet long. Each link of an anchor chain weighs two hundred and twenty-four pounds.”
“Very good, very good,” he acknowledged, although Sarah thought he did not seem to be truly pleased. “Your grandmother told me you had an excellent head for figures. Numbers have always been a specialty of mine. Making good use of them, not just dithering around with some theoretical nonsense. Of course, one can’t expect a young lady to have an appreciation of statistics; rare enough to find one who has any kind of brain for mathematics in the first place. No wonder your grandmother is so proud of—”
Sarah fixed him with a narrow glare, but it was Robert who interrupted, saying, “Mrs. Milington is proud of her granddaughter for a great many reasons, of course. Her abilities with mathematics and statistics are just one source of that pride.”
Hastings seemed to finally become aware Ada was looking at him in a way that seemed to indicate that subtraction—from the amount he was hoping to receive from her for his campaign—seemed the most likely piece of arithmetic to be going on in her mind.
“Oh, Sarah, I apologize,” he said quickly. “I behave just like a crotchety old man on some occasions. You are clearly an exceptional young lady! I am astounded at your knowledge of the ship.”
“I haven’t seen much of it,” she confessed in some confusion, still amazed at Robert’s defense of her, and uncomfortable with all the praise Hastings had heaped upon her.
“But she’s read a great deal,” Robert said.
“Ask her anything about it!” Ada said.
Sarah noticed a particular gleam in his eye as he said, “All right. What type of fuel did the Queen Mary burn?”
“Bunker C oil,” she answered promptly. “The ship averaged thirteen feet to the gallon.”
Ada gave a crow of laughter.
“Thirteen miles to the gallon?” Hastings asked.
“No, sir. Feet, not miles.”
Hastings, skeptical a moment before, now became fascinated by Sarah’s love of data and would not be side-tracked from his game. He asked for statistic after statistic, and Sarah answered accurately every time.
