Dangerous Sea (7 page)

Jane Barclay spoke in a southern drawl which Verity thought was adopted for her benefit. Anyway, it was clear she was de trop so she said a quick goodbye and was favoured by Warren Fairley with a suspicion of a wink. As she made her way up on deck, she thought how odd it was that highly intelligent men left their brains at home when they chose their women.

Edward had also been making friends. He had gone with Frank to see how Lord Benyon wished to spend his first evening on board and discovered him deep in conversation with the man Major Ferguson had labelled a crook.

‘Ah, there you both are!’ Benyon said amiably. ‘I want you to meet a good friend of mine, Bernard Hunt, the distinguished art historian. We were discussing the art on board.’ Introductions were made and hands shaken. Hunt was a lean, tall man with the loricate, leathery skin of the chain smoker. He was smoking now, and his long, sensitive, nicotine-yellow fingers against his equine face made Edward want to wipe his own hand on his coat. There was something dirty about him. ‘He was telling me Cunard consulted him on who they should commission to decorate the ship. It was a brave move of Cunard’s chairman, Sir Percy Bates, to make the
Queen Mary
a showpiece of modern British art. It must have been quite a responsibility, Hunt?’

‘It was! A great responsibility and a great burden. I was bound to make myself unpopular and I did.’

‘Well, indeed,’ Benyon said, smiling mischievously. ‘My good friend, Mr Duncan Grant, was commissioned to paint some murals and then had his sketches turned down. He was very much upset, as you can imagine.’

‘That was unfortunate but, really, they were quite unsuitable.’ Hunt quickly changed tack. ‘Lord Edward, I would be happy to take you and your nephew on a tour of the ship if you were interested. The paintings in the private dining-rooms by Dame Laura Knight and Vanessa Bell – another of Lord Benyon’s friends – are very pleasing.’

‘Oh yes. I’ve seen Vanessa’s paintings,’ Benson responded. ‘Her work is absurdly undervalued in my opinion but, of course, you’ll say I’m
parti pris
.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Hunt,’ Edward said. ‘I would very much like to look at the pictures with you, and Frank should come too. He needs further education.’

Frank looked at him with distaste. ‘Sorry, not me. I’m playing squash with a man. Gosh, is that the time? I must run – that is, if you don’t need me, sir,’ he added guiltily, turning to Benyon.

‘No, that’s all right, Frank. I’m going to do some work. The steward tells me the long-range weather forecast isn’t good and we might have a rough crossing. I’m afraid I’m not much of a sailor so, if I’m going to get anything done, I ought to do it now before I’m prostrated.’’

‘Surely a modern ship like this won’t roll very much?’ Frank said.

‘I have to say that on the maiden voyage, on which I was privileged to be a guest of Cunard,’ Hunt put in, his face going a shade paler, if that were possible, ‘she did “roll”, sometimes quite alarmingly, and the weather was said to be good.’

‘Who did those amazing paintings on the walls of the Verandah Grill?’ Edward broke in, seeing Benyon looking apprehensive. ‘I think that’s what it’s called, isn’t it?’

‘Those rather risqué pictures of carnival crowds?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I’m glad you like them. They’re by Doris Zinkeisen who is on board with us. I’ll introduce you. If you’re ready, Lord Edward, we might leave Lord Benyon to his work and your nephew to his exercise and walk round the public rooms.’

‘Well, if you are sure that wouldn’t be a bore . . .’ Edward said politely.

‘That’s it! I’ve had enough! I thought I was fit but I’m licked.’ The young American looked at Frank with admiration. ‘You’ve hardly worked up a sweat and here I am on the floor.’

‘Isn’t it amazing!’ Frank said.

‘What?’

‘This place. Having a real squash court on a ship.’

‘Sure is, and I want to use it now, while it’s calm. Can you imagine trying to play squash in the Bay of Biscay!’

He laughed and his broad smile revealed the perfect teeth of the well-bred American. Frank had struck up an acquaintance with him in the cocktail bar and they had liked each other immediately. They were of an age – Perry Roosevelt being the elder by two years – and had both been brought up among the rich and privileged. Frank had rebelled against his background, hating to have it so easy. His running away to Spain had been designed to assert his position as an adult but, in an odd way, it had made him feel more of a child than ever. When he had been hauled back home, he had been secretly quite relieved. He would never admit it but Spain had been frightening in a way he had never imagined. His uncle had been tactful – he had not dressed him down or patronized him – and even the Duke, his father, had not berated him as he had anticipated. His mother had been so delighted to have him back in one piece that she said not a word to him of the anxiety she had felt. All this restraint had the desired effect: Frank felt guilty – ashamed – angry with himself and the world in general.

This trip with Lord Benyon was a godsend. He had longed to go to America. He instinctively loved all things American and, though he had felt a little bored at being made a baggage handler, he had had, in the event, an exciting time of it. Within two days of meeting his employer he had been shot at and, though he was able to pretend – after Spain – that he was ‘used to it’, it had given him quite a jolt. It was all very well dodging bullets in a country at war but in the Hampshire countryside . . .? That was unsettling. He had been impressed by Benyon’s behaviour under fire. He might not look ‘a man’s man’, as they said in the body-building advertisements in the newspapers, but he had been coolness itself.

Mr Fern, too, had seemed unmoved by the experience but, when Frank looked at the papers he had in his hand which he had been discussing with Benyon, he was surprised to see that Fern had, quite unconsciously, crumpled them into a ball. Barrett had taken charge and no one had questioned his authority. He had been sitting in front with the chauffeur and, even before the car had come to a halt, he had smashed a hole in the fractured windscreen with his gloved hand. Once he had ascertained nobody had been hurt, he had ordered the chauffeur to continue to Southampton.

‘That was a bullet, Lord Benyon, not a stone. We’re lucky to be alive and we should get away before whoever it is takes another shot at us. If we lose a tyre, we’ll be sitting ducks.’

‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’

‘There’s nothing to be gained by waiting here for the local police,’ Barrett said decisively. ‘They won’t know how to deal with the situation. For all we know, the gunman may be repositioning himself as we speak. From the position of the hole in the windscreen, I would say he’s somewhere over there.’ He pointed a hundred yards ahead of them where several trees lined the road.

Everyone had looked nervous and the chauffeur started the engine so clumsily that it stalled and they had to wait a few moments before he could try again. This time it started, to the relief of all concerned. The chauffeur swung the car into the road and they sped off.

‘Did you see anyone?’ Frank asked Barrett.

‘No, nor did I expect to. We’re not dealing with amateurs.’

Frank had wondered just who they were dealing with but decided not to ask. In their heavy ulsters, Barrett and the chauffeur were reasonably well protected against the wind but they must have been cold, Frank thought. The rest of them in the back were protected by the glass partition. When they stopped for petrol half an hour later, Frank saw Barrett probing a hole in the upholstery with a knife. ‘Ah, got it! I thought so.’ He had handed the spent bullet to Frank. ‘Keep it as a souvenir, if you like. It’s no use to me. Let’s hope it’s the last of its kind we see. It must have missed my head by an inch, damn it.’

After their game they showered and, at Perry’s suggestion, repaired to the bar. Frank would have liked to talk about being shot at with his new American friend but he stopped himself. Perry seemed ‘a good chap’ and was travelling First Class but, even so, he really knew nothing about him.

‘You’re related to the President?’ he asked.

The direct question seemed to fluster Perry a little. ‘I’m only a cousin . . . a distant cousin. It’s a huge clan. My sister and I hardly ever get to see the great man except at major family gatherings. You know Mrs Roosevelt is also a cousin? It must be odd to marry someone and not change your name.’

‘Your sister? Is she on board?’

‘Sure. Talk of the devil, here she is. She’s my twin.’

The girl who came towards them with the unconscious grace of the young was wearing a simple white dress, white stockings and a straw hat with a ribbon round it. She looked part angelic child – the kind you don’t trust – and part tennis player, Helen Wills without her racket. She was the most beautiful thing Frank had ever seen and he fell helplessly in love before she had even opened her mouth.

‘Philly, I want you to meet my new friend, Frank . . . Lord Corinth? Is that how I should introduce you?’

Frank did not hear what was said to him. He just gazed at the girl, his mouth a little open, proving that love really can strike a person deaf and dumb.

‘Hey there,’ Perry said, waving a hand in front of Frank’s eyes, ‘don’t fall in love with my sister like all the rest. You’re my friend. I found you first. Philly, Frank here’s a duke or he will be one day, I guess. He’s a genuine English aristocrat and don’t pretend you’ve met any others because you haven’t.’

Philly swung her long legs over a stool and said, ‘A Gibson, please, Roger.’ The bar steward looked gratified that the pretty girl already knew his name.

‘And for you, sir?’

‘Oh, a gimlet,’ Frank said, trying to sound sophisticated. ‘What’s a Gibson?’ he inquired, unable to sustain the fiction that he was a habitué of nightclubs.

‘Gin and vermouth,’ Philly replied. ‘Just a martini really. I was trying to impress you.’

‘You succeeded.’

Perry gave every sign that he was bored – or was it jealousy? ‘Have you seen the swimming-pool? It’s a killer. What say you? Shall we go use it before the
hoi polloi
find it? I need to shower anyway and so do you, Frank. Doesn’t he stink, Philly?’

‘I don’t smell anything. Come over here.’

Obediently, Frank got off his stool and went over to the girl. She raised her face to his and sniffed. ‘Closer,’ she commanded and Frank lowered his face to hers. A whiff of scent made his head swim. He thought he must kiss her or die but, before he could do so, she said, ‘You’re right, Perry. He does stink.’

Frank looked from one twin to the other, bewildered and not a little in love with both of them. ‘I’ll go and get my costume,’ he said with an effort. Feeling very thirsty all of a sudden, he swallowed down his cocktail and almost choked. The twins laughed.

The pool was the most luxurious Frank had ever seen. He guessed it must be over thirty feet long and maybe twenty wide. It had two diving boards and was faced with glazed terracotta tiles. The walls shimmered green and red while the mother-of-pearl ceiling added to the impression of being in a jewel box. Perry and he showered and then, laughing loudly to fill the emptiness of the place and hear the echo, pulled on their trunks and made a dash for the water. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw the girl leaning against one of the faience columns which supported the arches over the pool. She too had changed but seemed in no hurry to get into the water. Making every effort to impress her, Frank dived off one of the boards and resurfaced to find Philly had not even been watching. She had been fitting her bathing cap in a mirror on one side of the pool.

Frank pulled himself up on to the side and watched the water stream off him. It was quite warm but, feeling suddenly naked, he pulled a towel round his shoulders. Perry came to sit beside him. ‘Fancy swimming in February in the middle of the Atlantic!’

‘I don’t suppose you’d last many minutes if you were swimming in the Atlantic.’ Frank paused but Perry made no comment so he continued, ‘With a name like Roosevelt, I suppose that means you are going into politics.’

‘I don’t think so. Not immediately, anyway. I want to make money.’

‘But aren’t you rich?’ Frank asked naively. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds rude.’

‘No, I don’t mind. I guess we are rich compared with other folk but we’re not rich by the standards of the rich, if you know what I mean.’

‘But there’s always going to be someone richer than you,’ Frank laughed.

‘Maybe, but not much richer by the time I’m through. You can’t go into politics without money, anyway. I expect it’s the same in England.’

Frank considered. ‘Money always helps, I suppose, but politicians aren’t rich the way you mean it. Stanley Baldwin’s father was an industrialist – steel or iron, I think – and the Chamberlains are not poor but we don’t have Rockefellers and Mellons like you do in the States.’

‘Not even dukes? Aren’t they rich?’

Frank blushed but tried to answer coolly, as if talking about how rich you were was something he did all the time. ‘My father is rich in land but he doesn’t have millions in the bank.’

‘Did you go to Eton?’

Frank found there was something distasteful about being questioned so blatantly but he had, after all, started it. He knew it was the American way not to beat about the bush and, in theory at least, he approved.

‘I went to Eton but then I went off to Spain before I was finished to join the International Brigade,’ he said casually.

Perry was impressed. ‘Wow! You’ve been to war? And all I’ve done is prepped at Grotton and now I’m at Harvard – just to please my Pop.’

‘Your parents are here, on the ship?’

‘My mother is. Pop’s in Washington. They’re divorced.’

Frank could not prevent himself being shocked. Where he came from divorce did not happen – or, if it did, it meant social ruin. He had heard divorce did not carry the same stigma in the States, but still . . .

They turned to watch Philly on the end of the board, preparing to dive. She was clearly waiting until she had their full attention. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ Frank said, without meaning to.