Doctor Who_ Ghost Ship - Keith Topping [9]
'So, Doctor,' said the man eagerly. 'You must tell us of the dire perils that await us over the next few days.'
'This is my first voyage on the Queen Mary,' I answered, truthfully. 'I'm as unaware of what the future holds as any of you.'
That brought the conversation to a thoughtful pause.
'I feel it necessary that I should apologise for my behaviour last night,' said Miss Lamb, suddenly, and still without tearing her eyes away from her plate. 'What must you think of me?'
I was aware of a series of curious glances from the others seated with us. What could I say, except to tell the truth? 'I think you're frightened,' I replied. 'There's really no need to be. The only thing to fear is fear itself.'
'Well said, Doctor,' added the ruddy-faced man, banging the table with his fork for emphasis. 'That's what we've been telling the lass all morning. But would she listen ... ?' He paused, and smiled with a wholly surprising gentleness at Miss Lamb. 'We've all suffered that long dark night of the soul,' he continued. 'Human nature, dove. We're each of us afflicted by that, even if we spend all our time on this Earth denying it.'
They were, I was forced to admit, and despite some initial misgivings, quite interesting people. First impressions are often deceptive, I have sometimes found to my cost. The ruddy faced man was called Bryce. A northern industrialist from impoverished lower-class roots who had made his vast fortune in coal or steel or something that required a process of extraction, purification and production. Despite a boorish laugh, desperately poor table manners and some colourful language, he possessed a gruff, down-to-earth charm that was surprisingly endearing. It was, however, difficult to escape the obvious conclusion that the man was trying to be something that he was not. And, similarly, it wasn't hard to imagine how those to whose position in society he aspired would have regarded him. As a charlatan. A rich vulgarian with New Money, a few acquired social graces and an obscenely obvious pretence towards sophistication. But people who hold such views are the kind that one usually crosses the room to avoid at swanky dinner parties.
I, on the other hand, liked Bryce enormously. He called a spade a spade.
Two of his fellow travellers, Deekes and Illingsworth, were members of his company board. Young and eager sharks. Bright university boys with cunning minds who knew when to laugh at the boss's jokes, when to shut up and when to strike like a cobra. I would have hated to have done business with either of them. Both had wives, Jessica and Rachel, respectively, decorated like Christmas trees with ostentatious jewellery. Glittering prizes, to be shown off to the watching world. Yet they, like their husbands, had the keen intelligence to know when to say the right thing. And when to say nothing at all.
And then there was Miss Lamb, as seemingly out of place in this company as I was.
They were all going to New York to strike an important deal. They
could have flown, they admitted. Air travel would actually have been cheaper and certainly a much quicker and a more efficient use of their company resources. I was forced to wonder why they were spending such huge amounts of money and time on the journey. 'It's a once in a lifetime experience,' Bryce said. Something about the phrase caused me to begin shivering again.
'You value that which is unique, singular?' I asked.
Bryce nodded eagerly. 'Life and how you live it,' he noted obliquely. 'You're put on this Earth for a damned limited time and you're full of misery for most of it. Like a flower you riseth up, says the prayer, and like a flower you're cut down.'
'In the midst of life, we are in death, et cetera,' Illingsworth added quickly, seeming to know this gospel according to Raymond Bryce like a wellrehearsed play.
'But, First Class?' I ventured, taking a bite from a bread roll. 'A symbol of status rather than taste, I've always found. Wouldn't you agree?'
Illingsworth seemed surprised by the question.