by Clare Revell
“Thank you.” Her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”
“You’re not,” Dr Rogers said. “It’s nice to actually be needed for something other than stubbed toes and sea sickness.”
“Thank you.” Connie looked down at Oliver’s hand in hers. It felt so good, so right and so natural. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Oliver’s smile lit his eyes. “I must admit, so many times I’d imagined meeting you for the first time in forty-eight years and in a thousand different ways. You collapsing on me, however, didn’t feature in any of those musings.”
“Literally.” She rolled her eyes at him.
Oliver chuckled. “Yup.”
“Forty-eight years?” Dr Rogers asked.
“Pen pals,” Oliver said. “We lived next door to each other until I was sixteen.”
“He was meant to be meeting me off the ship in New York,” Connie added. Her mind was finally starting to clear. “Instead he flies over here to surprise me and we end up in neighbouring cabins by sheer accident.”
Oliver smiled. “Actually neither of us should have been on this bit of the ship. I heard they upgraded you, and Anthony changed my booking without telling me.”
Dr Rogers nodded. “I’d like to see you in the morning after breakfast, Mrs Johnson. If you feel like it, you can go down to dinner, otherwise just call room service. Well, I’ll be off. If you need anything just give me a shout.”
Oliver stood. “I’ll see you out. Don’t move, Connie. I’ll be right back.”
Pleased that Connie was no longer as pale as she had been, Oliver saw the doctor out and returned up the stairs. “I should let you rest,” he said, standing by her side.
Connie reached for him, grasping his hand tightly, tugging him to sit on the edge of the bed. “Don’t leave.”
His cheeks burned. “But this is your bedroom.”
“And technically I haven’t slept in it. So it’s a room with a bed in. Please, Oliver. I’ve imagined this for so long now.”
Oliver couldn’t help the wink and wicked chuckle. “This? You in bed and me sat on it, holding your hand?”
A delicious rosy hue brushed her cheeks, complementing her silver hair. “No…”
He kissed her fingers. “I know what you mean. You haven’t changed.”
“I have. I’m not the short, skinny kid with straggly yellow hair anymore. I’m the short, plump and grey old woman I see in the mirror each morning. I dyed my hair for years to hide the grey, but after the orange incident, I gave up. I had to have my hair cut to a grade two.”
He laughed. “Oh I remember the orange hair. Paul emailed me a photo just after you’d done it before you went to the hairdressers. You never mentioned the grade two though.”
“Oh, he didn’t…bad Paul. Wait until I see him again.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nice that he keeps in touch still. We email once a week or two. I love the way he still calls me Uncle Oliver.”
“They all do.”
He studied her. “Do you ever hear from Ezra’s family?”
“No. Not a word since his funeral. It’s like I ceased to exist. Mind you I didn’t hear from them the whole time we were separated, and it was only Ezra that ever got a birthday card. I always got the impression they think I trapped him into marriage and never liked me.” She shrugged. “Their loss.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked. He couldn’t fathom cutting off part of his family like that. It’d be like turning his back on Patricia’s family now she was gone.
“It did at first, not now. Well, only the way the kids never hear from them.” Connie angled her head in a cute fashion. “So, tell me the real reason you came all this way. And I don’t believe the speaking engagement line. You could have flown back the day after.”
“I could, except it’s a little more complicated than that and I had meetings Monday and yesterday in Dorset as well. But the real reason is you.”
“Me?” Hope shone in her eyes.
“Anthony wanted to come to New York with me to meet you. Honestly, I think his intentions were to vet you. I wanted time alone with you. Well, as alone as we can get on a ship of three thousand people. To give this, whatever it turns out to be, a chance.”
Connie’s phone rang. She glanced at it. “It’s Dorcas. One of those video calls. How do I answer?”
Oliver grinned. “You really do hate technology, don’t you?”
“Not hate, just don’t get it.”
“Slide that bar to the right and look at the phone rather than holding it to your ear.”
Connie did so. Her smile seemed almost forced as the call connected. Did she resent the interruption as much as he did?
“Hey, Mum,” said a woman’s voice. “How are you doing? What’s the ship like?”
“Big. We left Southampton a little while ago.”
“Are you okay?” The woman’s voice changed tempo. “You look sick. Are you in bed?”
Groan. Did nothing ever get past her eldest child?
Connie tried not to sigh. “I had a slight accident while boarding, but I’m fine. Really. Don’t fuss.”
“What did you do? Is that a sling? Show me.”
Connie tried to angle the phone and dropped it.
Oliver picked it up and held it for her.
She nodded to him. “It’s not easy one handed. It’s not broken, just bruised. A couple of days and I’ll be doing those cat’s cradle things on deck with the rest of the old folks.”
Dorcas gave her the ‘look’ as they called it. The not quite rolling eyes, but ‘I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that’ look. “You mean calisthenics and you’re not old.”
“Sixty is old.”
Her daughter laughed. “Wait ’til you get to Uncle Oliver’s age. Or Uncle Matt’s.”
Oliver’s face creased and he turned away, shoulders shaking with mirth.
“The captain upgraded my cabin. I’ve got a huge one now. I’ll take pictures at some point. I’d show you now but the doctor wants me to rest.”
“Okay, Mum. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Connie shook her head. “No, honey, I’m fine. I’m on holiday, remember? The trip you and the others paid for. I’ll speak to you later in the week. Love you. Bye.”
“Bye, Mum. Love you.”
Connie ended the call and sighed. “She does worry so.”
Oliver smiled. “That’s what daughters do. Abi’s like that. So, apparently with our upgrade, we get twenty-four hour room service and a reserved table in the swish restaurant. But you should rest before we eat.”
Connie glanced at the clock. “It’s six-thirty. How about eight? Not that I have anything suitable. I packed one dress for formal night, but I can’t wear that ten times.”
“I’m sure whatever you have will be fine. We can always explore the shops here tomorrow and find another one. I’ll see myself out and come back for you at eight.” He stood. “By the way, my middle name is certainly not Salamander either.”
Connie leaned back against the pillows as he headed out, pausing in the doorway to blow her a kiss. She mimed catching it. She could hear his soft footfalls on the stairs, and then nothing until the main door clicked shut.
She glanced around the room. Was this really happening? Oliver was here. He’d come all this way to see her.
To be with her for longer than the few days they’d planned in New York.
To see where this friendship/relationship would go.
Her heart pounded. She could feel it beating rapidly under her sling-protected arm. Her breath caught in her throat and her cheeks burned at the very idea he loved her so much he’d cross an ocean for her.
She wasn’t a teenager in love. She was a grown woman. Was a second chance at a relationship possible? She couldn’t say a second chance at love, because she hadn’t had that the first time around.
Yes, they’d spoken in terms of love on the phone and on paper, but this was different, somehow. To see
him… To touch his hand… To talk in person…
Her eyes closed and her mind began to drift, as the pain meds and tiredness combined with the movement of the ship, sent her floating away across the oceans of time. But he was here. Her anchor. Her friend. Her soul mate? Would God grant her a second chance, give her someone who really cared for her? A world of difference from someone one who rather tolerated her because he had to.
Oceans apart from what she’d known before.
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver fastened his bow tie for the sixth time. There was a reason he didn’t wear the wretched thing. Not being able to tie one was the primary reason.
Groan.
He tore it off and flung it to the bed in a fit of temper. Despite what people seemed to think, pastors were human too and got angry, upset and every other emotion known to man. He should have gone and bought a readymade clip on tie years ago. He longed to give into the desire to shred it, burn it, jump on it, and scream like a little kid. But he was a pastor and couldn’t do that, no matter how much he’d love to. Instead, he prayed for forgiveness for this thoughts and loss of temper, and picked up the tie, turning it over in his hands.
Patricia had always done it up for him. He hadn’t worn it since that last formal dinner they’d attended three weeks before she died. His heart twinged at the thought. He still missed her. The sense of loss was nowhere near what it was ten years ago, but he missed her and guessed he always would.
Turning his back on the mirror, he took a deep breath. Maybe he was overthinking this. He closed his eyes and attempted tying the bow again, pretending it was a shoelace. Surprisingly, it turned out half-decent. It would suffice, as he didn’t have time to do it again.
Oliver slid into his jacket, resolving to check out the shops on board the ship and buy a clip-on tie before dinner tomorrow evening. Making sure he had his wallet and key card, he shoved down the heart-thumping, stomach-churning nerves. He was sixty-two, not seventeen. He was taking Connie to dinner, not on a prom date.
Yet he’d picked up a corsage for her—having bought it before he left home. A silk one in case a real one wilted before he found her. He’d packed it carefully in his suitcase, trusting it’s small plastic box to protect it against the airline staff who threw cases rather than placed them. He opened the box, revealing the pale yellow flower to wear on her wrist, remarkably intact and unharmed. Although of course in England a corsage was a flower worn by a woman over her heart to a wedding. Men wore buttonholes, women wore corsages. Would she read too much into it? Think he was going too far too fast?
He shook his head. He was developing a habit and overthinking again. One date, no, one day, at a time.
Leaving his cabin, he walked the five yards to the next door along the carpet lined corridor. Even the passageways on the ship were beautiful. He knocked on the door, half expecting her to still be sleeping, but the door opened.
“Wow!”
The word was out before he realised.
A vision of pure beauty, there was no other word to describe her, stood in front of him. Her pale cream, silk dress clung in all the right places, the hem almost reaching her ankles. She wore cream sandals and had a light green wrap over her shoulders.
“You look exquisite.”
A rosy hue coloured her cheeks again. Did she realise how beautiful that made her? She smiled, her eyes lighting. “Thank you. Come in, I’m almost ready. This was the longest dress I’d packed. Like I said I wasn’t expecting formal every evening.”
He smiled, leaving the door slightly ajar. “So we buy another nine shawls, one for each night and you’re set as that dress will go with anything. Like I said, Anthony upgraded my booking without telling me. I’d picked an inside cabin, no window, nothing fancy. Just a bed to sleep in. But according to my son, travelling economy is beneath me. He even sent a case of suitable attire to meet me on the ship.”
“Really? Beneath you?”
Oliver shrugged. “He has ideas above his station. He does the books, knows what comes in, and wants me to splurge on things he insists I need.”
“But that isn’t what the money is for.”
“Exactly. I keep telling him that. It’s the Lord’s money, not mine. I have a small salary. I live on site, and just have the bills to pay.”
“What about the house you and Patricia owned?”
“I sold it. Put most of the money into the mission and kept a small amount for myself. Between that and my salary, I have more than enough to cover my needs. I did, however, buy you this.” He held out the corsage. “It goes on your wrist.”
She held out her left arm. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”
He put it on then offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Connie picked up her small beaded evening bag and slid the gold-chain strap across her body. Smaller than her everyday handbag, it contained her coin purse, tissues, and a tiny bottle of perfume. She took his arm. “Yes.”
“Did you dress with that sling on, or did someone help you?”
She laughed. “I took it off. My arm hurts, but it was worth it for the look on your face.”
“You’re beautiful.” He smiled, his gaze drinking her in like a drowning man gasping for air. He wanted to kiss her, but her stateroom wasn’t the place for that. Instead, he led her to the door, hoping his stomach wouldn’t rumble too loudly before they got to the dining room.
Connie walked on air to the restaurant. She gazed around the opulent room, before glancing back to, by far, the best-looking man on the ship. His white shirt, black tux and shiny shoes were pristine. His bow tie was more than a little crooked, but she guessed he’d tied it himself. Ezra always refused to wear one, so she’d be no help tying it even if she did have two hands.
She glanced at the flower on her wrist. She’d seen enough American TV shows to know they were a popular gift for a girl’s prom. “We never had a prom,” she said. “We just left school. It’s only recently become popular in England. Sarah had one.”
“It’s strange to think your granddaughter is older than you were when I moved away.” Oliver glanced around for their table.
“We were young and innocent. And stupid in some ways.” Connie hoped they’d have been seated at the same table. Perhaps they could change the seating if they weren’t.
“We all make mistakes. It’s called being human. But without Ezra you wouldn’t have had your five beautiful children or your ten grandchildren.”
The fact there were ten always amazed her. She didn’t keep count, just accepted each new one as they came along. “Might be eleven soon. Micah’s been hinting at wanting more children. I often wonder what Titus would have grown up to be. Whether he’d have got married and had children too.”
“Anthony and Abi are total opposites. Anthony is uptight, jealous, and needs to be in total control. He is slightly better since he got married. Emerald tells me he’s a work in progress. Whereas Abi is loving, generous, full of spontaneity, and loves to sing.”
“No grandchildren?”
“No. Abi wants kids desperately, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
First Officer Rand appeared at her side. “Good evening, Mrs Johnson. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better, thank you.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. Captain Merrick asked if you and your companion would like to join him at the Captain’s table for dinner this evening.” He glanced at Oliver. “Are you Oliver Voight? The evangelist?”
Oliver nodded. “The very same.”
The First Officer looked star-struck for a moment as he held out a hand. “Sir, it’s an honour. I was converted under your ministry in New York a few years ago.”
Oliver shook his hand. “How’s it gone since?”
“Not always wonderful or easy, but we have a great God.”
“We sure do.”
Connie glanced at Oliver, not sure what to do about the invitation to the Captain’s table. She’d been looking forward to dinner alone, just the tw
o of them, but how could they refuse? It was an honour to be chosen from the thousands on board, especially on the first night. “Oliver, dinner with the Captain?”
He nodded, eyes sparkling. Did he know something she didn’t? “Sounds good.”
“This way, please.” First Officer Rand led them across the restaurant.
Connie leaned in. “There’s always breakfast,” she whispered.
He grinned. “I’m here all week. And we can walk on deck in the moonlight once dinner is over.” He lowered his voice. “And it also means I can surprise someone else.”
She looked at him, confused. “Who?”
Oliver winked. “You’ll see.” He walked with Connie on his arm across to a large window table.
Captain Merrick turned as they reached him and smiled, his attention focused solely on Connie. “Mrs Johnson, so good to see you again. How are you feeling this evening?”
“Good evening, Captain Merrick. I’m better. The arm’s a little sore, but not too bad.”
“And how’s the suite?”
“Huge.” She smiled. “Far too big for just me, but it’s lovely. Thank you. And thank you for the invitation to join you tonight, it was most unexpected. May I introduce my friend—?” She broke off as Captain Merrick beamed.
“Uncle Ollie! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me yourself that you’d be on board my ship?”
Oliver chuckled as he hugged his nephew, the look of surprise, or was it shock, matched on both Johnny and Connie’s faces. “I’m surprising a lifelong friend. And it would have been a surprise for you as well, had Anthony not ruined it.”
Johnny grinned. “You know Mrs Johnson?”
“Forty-eight years. Connie, Johnny is my nephew. Ethan’s eldest. That’s Patricia’s brother.”
“Small world,” she said.
Johnny nodded. “You’re not in economy are you, Uncle Ollie?”
Oliver laughed. “I was, or at least that’s what I’d booked. Anthony had other ideas and upgraded me. I got the suitcase of clothes he sent on board because I hadn’t packed posh enough.”
“Shame he forgot the clip on-bow tie,” Johnny teased.
