Part 11 (1/2)

”So, how are you two getting along?” he said, the smile returning. ”It isn't often I get to play the yenta.”

I looked to Maddy, whose expression was unreadable.

”Not that I'm complaining, Harlan, but you've never been so inclined in the past, certainly not when we were at Harvard together. Why now? And how do you two know each other, anyway?”

He laughed, and turned to Maddy. ”Now, you see why I invited him. He's going to write a h.e.l.l of a book. Knows just the right questions to ask.”

”So, how about answering them?” I said.

”Which one?”

He was toying with me, evading the questions, perhaps because of a prior relations.h.i.+p with Maddy. And even as the anger rose within me, I knew it was c.r.a.p. I'd known Maddy for mere hours, and yet I knew-with an instinctive certainty-she wasn't the type who'd let an old boyfriend fix her up with a new one. Unless, of course, it was all part of some sick joke. I shoved that ugly thought from my mind. It was unworthy of both of them. Still, the doubts lingered.

I was about to restate my questions when Harlan laughed. ”I'm sorry, kiddo, too much wine tonight. I've only known Maddy since the news broke about the s.h.i.+p. She was one of many applicants I personally interviewed, and she impressed me with her joie de vivre, and her artistic nature. I thought the two of you would hit it off. Nothing mysterious.”

Now, it was my turn to laugh.

”What are you talking about? Your whole method for peopling this s.h.i.+p is mysterious.”

Harlan shrugged, and I chalked it up to another one of his rich-man's idiosyncracies. Lord knew he had plenty; I was standing on one.

I sensed Maddy's impatience growing, and so I bid him goodnight. We resumed our stroll, this time along the port side, and it was a long time before we spoke.

”What are you thinking?” she said, finally breaking the silence.

I halted in my tracks, turning her to face me. ”I'm thinking that I must be losing my mind. First, I let Harlan sweep me off my feet with his improbable dream to rebuild the t.i.tanic, then I rushed through the revisions of my new novel, so I could write a book about it, a book I'm now having doubts about, and now I find myself falling in love with a woman I've just met, who won't even tell me the least bit about herself. So, what do you think? Am I nuts?”

Her eyes went wide as saucers.

”What did you say?”

”I said, I think I'm falling in love-”

She lunged into my arms, pressing her lips against mine with a desperate frenzy. I responded in kind, pulling her to my body, eliciting a sharp moan from deep within her throat. She clutched my back, nails digging into the fabric of my evening clothes. I grew dizzy, drunk with a pa.s.sion that left me trembling, and the world spinning around me. Aroused beyond any moment I'd ever known, I reacted with instinct and reached for her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

”NO!” she screamed, pulling away from me, her arms wrapping around herself protectively. She moved toward the railing, her breath coming in short gasps.

I was both alarmed at her reaction and ashamed that I'd caused it, wondering if perhaps she was the victim of an a.s.sault. But she didn't fit the psychological profile, at least not according to the one Julia often quoted: that a.s.sault victims inevitably withdraw into themselves.

If anything Maddy was too outgoing. Could that be the sign of a different paradigm? As a writer it sounded plausible, but as a man on the verge of hopeless love, it was an idea my heart had to reject.

Another moment pa.s.sed and I saw her steady herself. I moved to the railing.

”Maddy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I got carried away. Can you forgive me?”

She shook her head, and when she spoke, it was as if she hadn't heard me, caught up in some distant fugue within herself. ”This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. G.o.d, what was I thinking!” She turned to me, her emerald eyes piercing the dark with an intensity that rocked me. ”Trevor, I want you to know that you're a sweet, wonderful man, and any woman would be lucky to have you.... But this can't work. I'm sorry....”

She burst into tears and ran off down the promenade, disappearing through the door leading to the forward Grand Staircase. I stood rooted to the spot, stunned into immobility, my heart on the verge of shattering. To have come so close to that which so many aspire and so few attain, only to have it s.n.a.t.c.hed away, was unbearable.

I fought back my emotions and the urge to run after her, knowing it would be a fool's errand. Whatever it was that haunted her, I knew it was a demon she would never subdue alone. I only hoped she would come to see that we could destroy it together. If not...?

I had no answer for that question, at least not one I wished to confront alone on that dark cold night in the North Atlantic. And while I knew the coming of the dawn would find my feelings for her stronger than ever, I could only pray Maddy would feel the same way.

9.

I awoke before dawn broke and tried to write an opening to the new book. I sat in my silk dressing gown, the light emanating from my MacBook the only illumination in the room. I was having little success.

Aside from the fact that nothing I wrote inspired me, I was haunted by what had happened with Maddy on the Boat deck. She'd even invaded my dreams, my waking time disturbed by vague feelings and images I could no longer clearly recall.

Outside, the sky turned gray, the stars winking out one by one, signaling the inevitability of the new day. I had to find a hook for the narrative, or I was afraid the project would never come together. Oh, the public would love the back story: how Harlan had announced his intentions to rebuild the t.i.tanic with such flair and drama. And I fully intended to infuse the story of the s.h.i.+p's construction with as much of that as possible.

But the story still lacked a heart, and I needed to find it. The captain's interview, while affecting, was only one such story. There were others on board, equally moving, and I needed to hear them, to find out why they were here. Even as I typed, one thought kept running around in my head: I love Maddy.

As crazy as that sounded, I was as sure of it as I could be of anything; and I wanted her to feel that way about me-needed it, in fact. But as my agent always so eloquently put it, ”it was time to screw the muse.” I had to stop moping around and get to work. Maybe then, I could deal with Maddy without losing myself in the process.

The sun had just crept over the distant horizon when a soft, insistent knock came at the door.

”Come in, Henry,” I said, without looking up from the screen.

He bustled in pus.h.i.+ng a cart laden with an enormous breakfast, consisting of Eggs Benedict smothered in Hollandaise sauce, a rasher of bacon that looked as if it were half the pig, kippers, toast with marmalade, milk, orange juice, and a silver pot filled with steaming coffee.

”I hope you're joining me, Henry,” I said, enjoying his nonplused reaction.

”Sir?”

”Surely you don't expect me to eat all of this myself?”

”It wouldn't be seemly, sir.”

”Seemly? For Christ's sake, this isn't 1912, or did Harlan instruct you to behave as if it were?”

”Nothing of the kind, sir. Mr. Astor never mentioned any acting as part of my job.”

I poured myself a cup of the coffee and grabbed a piece of toast, slathering some marmalade on it. ”You could have fooled me, Henry. You're playing the part to the hilt. Probably get an Oscar, or whatever it is they hand out to menservants.”

The arching of his eyebrows was the only comment on my lame attempt at wit. He then turned his attention to my MacBook, now displaying my custom screen saver. It showed a miniature t.i.tanic sailing back and forth across the screen.

”I see you've begun, sir. Bravo.”

”Maybe you'd better save your bravos, for the moment.”

He bent over the cart and began preparing a plate. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, while he piled on the food, curious to see if it was for him or me.

”Going badly, sir?”