Part 14 (1/2)

”What are you going to do until dinner?” she asked.

”I've got some writing to do.”

”That's one of the things I love about you. You're dedicated.”

”Some would say obsessed. I guess it depends on your perspective. Anyway, I'll see you later.”

Another quick peck and she was gone, the door clicking shut in my face. I turned and retraced my steps down the hall, hating myself. I'd lied to her.

I had no intention of writing anything until I'd spoken with Harlan. And while my guilt mounted, so did my need for the truth.

Five minutes later, I was back on B-deck standing in front of Harlan's suite. This time no steward guarded the door. And when I knocked, I half-expected him not to be there, a part of me dreading any sort of confrontation. I was surprised when the door opened and my friend greeted me with a warm smile and a drink in his hand, dressed in a floor-length dressing gown made of brocaded red silk. ”Hey, kiddo, come on in.”

Harlan's suite was one of the two Parlor Suites renowned for their rococo opulence. Aside from having a s.p.a.cious sitting room lying between the two large bedrooms, each also boasted a private promenade deck, where one could breakfast in sumptuous seclusion. Richly appointed beyond even the regular First Cla.s.s suites, they were not referred to as the ”Millionaire Suites” for nothing.

Harlan shut the door, glided over to the bar and picked up a lead crystal decanter half-filled with what appeared to be Scotch. ”Would you like something?” he asked, picking up a fresh tumbler.

”No thanks.”

I watched him refill his gla.s.s from the decanter, then pull a bottle of pills from out of a pocket in the dressing gown. He shook one into his palm, shut the bottle and put it away. He saw me watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

”For my nerves,” he said, knocking the pill back and taking a swallow of the whiskey.

”Since when have your nerves ever been a problem?”

”Since I became the owner of the world's biggest yacht. You wouldn't believe all the red tape I went through to get this baby back in the water. People think the ocean is a free place, well, it isn't....” He noticed I was still standing and pointed toward an overstuffed chair. ”Why don't you have a seat, take a load off?” He then went over and plopped down onto a delicate-looking Louis Quinze sofa, the ice in his drink clinking noisily.

”I won't be here that long, I've got some work to do.”

”Well, if I can't tempt you with creature comforts and a stiff drink, what can I do for you?”

”You can tell me about Mrs. Bates.”

Harlan's smile disappeared. ”Lousy, huh? Her steward found her in her suite. Someone noticed she wasn't at breakfast this morning-”

”No, I don't mean that. I mean, why did we have to leave Cobh so fast?”

Harlan shrugged. ”No mystery there. We have a schedule to keep, and I wanted to get rid of that idiot mayor and his entourage.”

I looked at him for a moment. ”You must think I'm just as dumb. Come on, Harlan, somebody dies, you take care of it, you don't turn tail and run.”

Harlan put down his drink on a hand-carved table made from flamed cherry and stood up. ”Trev, I've got my reasons.”

”I'm sure you do, but if you don't mind, I'd like to know what in the h.e.l.l they are.”

He eyed me with a sober glance. ”Christ, kiddo, you sound like one of those bleeding-heart crusader types, the ones you always hated back in school.”

”Do I? Well, maybe I've changed. We all have. You used to confide in me.”

I saw a flicker of anger and pain flicker across his face, replaced instantly with the old bravado. ”All right, but you're going to feel foolish.”

”Try me.”

”When I was interviewing prospective pa.s.sengers, Mrs. Bates revealed her heart condition, said it had reached a critical stage, and would I please let her come aboard? What could I do? I knew she might die on the voyage, but the old woman was dying anyway. I wanted to let her have her dream. Is that so bad?”

”Then why the big announcement? Why p.i.s.s off your guests and get the rest of us to wonder what the big deal was?”

”I guess I overreacted. I'm human, too, Trev, even if I try my best not to be, sometimes.” He laughed and took a swig of whiskey.

”Are you really going to bury her at sea? Is that legal?”

Harlan motioned for me to follow him. ”I want to show you something.”

Inside his bedroom, a study in Georgian elegance, he went to his dresser, pulled open a drawer and removed a strongbox with a combination dial in the center of its lid. With a few twists of the dial he had it open and pulled out a sheaf of papers. ”This is Mrs. Bates's will,” he said, flipping through the thick doc.u.ment. ”I know it seems a bit weird, but like I said, she knew it was touch and go, and wanted to be prepared.” He threw it to me, and when I caught it I saw a handwritten codicil on the last page.

”What you're seeing was added by her a few days before sailing. It says that if the worst happened, she wanted to be buried at sea.”

Harlan was right, I felt foolish. Who was I to refuse a dying woman's last request. And whom did it really hurt? No one.

”I'm sorry, Harlan, I guess I'm too much of a bleeding-heart crusader.”

Harlan grinned. ”Stick with me and we'll fix that in no time.”

I started for the door then stopped. ”When is the funeral?”

”Sunrise, tomorrow, on the p.o.o.p Deck. I'll be announcing it at dinner for those who wish to attend.”

”All right, I'll see you then.”

I headed back to my suite. Suddenly, I felt very tired, wanting nothing more than a few hours of blissful oblivion. Upon entering the suite, I noticed Henry had laid out my evening clothes on the bed.

My ”boiled s.h.i.+rt” had been cleaned and starched, and the tails had been brushed and pressed. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what Henry did when he wasn't there. Did he sit in the s.h.i.+p's library reading Victorian novels? Did he play whist with the stewards? I shook my head, too tired to think anymore.

Leaving the clothes undisturbed, I opted to lie down on the bed in the adjoining room. The mattress was harder than mine, but my fatigue overcame my discomfort and I fell asleep soon after, my dreams once again filled with vague and disturbing images.

12.

”Sir, you need to wake up!”

I heard Henry's voice as if through a layer of cotton in my ears.

Then he must have shaken me, for I bolted awake, sitting up in bed semi-alert. ”What's wrong, what's wrong?”

Henry stood a few feet from the bed, looking somewhat sheepish. ”So sorry to bother you, sir, but its time for the funeral.”

I shook the remaining sleep from my fogged brain. ”What? Funeral? That's tomorrow morning.”