Every Man for Himself - Beryl Bainbridge [38]
‘She won’t do it,’ he wailed. ‘She absolutely refuses.’ His cheeks wobbled in distress.
‘You mean Adele won’t sing?’ I said.
‘She will sing her head off . . . but not in my dress. Where is Scurra?’
‘Why won’t she wear it?’
‘She says it is not suitable for her song. She has in mind something oriental. I need Scurra.’
I said I believed Scurra was resting but would be in the Palm Court at tea-time. Pointing at my forehead he asked if I had been fighting. He had heard of a fracas in the dining room. One or two of the older passengers had complained of the younger members not being able to hold their drink.
‘It was Ginsberg,’ I told him. ‘Ginsberg and Hopper arguing about the Kaiser.’
‘Such things the young bother themselves with,’ he marvelled, looking heavenwards and clapping his hands like a child at a party.
I didn’t immediately slip the letter under Wallis’s door, believing it more prudent to turn the words over in my mind while taking a stroll on deck. There were several couples at the rail, admiring the dramatic aspect of the sky. The afternoon was dying, the horizon piled with black clouds tipped with silver light. Even as I watched the blocked sun burst forth, dazzlingly pale and ringed with crimson as it sank towards the sea. A little ratty dog skidded towards the rail and jumped upwards, jaws wide, thinking he might catch it. This so perfectly mirrored my own deluded behaviour that I took out my letter and was in the act of casting it overboard when a sudden gust of wind tore it from my hand and blew it back on deck, at which the dog, cheated of the sun, pounced on it and trotted triumphantly away. Horrified that others might read what I’d so foolishly written, I gave chase.
I was led the devil of a dance along the full length of the deck, and just when I thought I had the wretched animal cornered it leapt the iron gate separating the first and second class areas and disappeared from sight.
Convinced that at any moment the thief would deposit my letter at the feet of its owner and not wanting to be identified, I turned hurriedly back. No sooner had I reached the gymnasium doors when something amazing happened – the dog appeared round the corner of the port promenade and racing towards me dropped my letter on deck. Miraculously, though the paper was a little damp at the centre and the speck of blood slightly fuzzy, my love-note was otherwise unspoilt. I was so elated by this stroke of good fortune that I decided to go at once to Wallis’s room.
I was advancing cautiously along the starboard corridor of A deck – I didn’t want to encounter either Wallis, Ida or Molly – when who should approach from the opposite end but Scurra. We met in the middle and expressed surprise at seeing one another. I said I’d taken a wrong turning and he agreed that it was easy to get lost in a ship of this size. We retraced our steps and entered the lift, he remarking that he’d slept for two hours.
‘I had a knockabout on the racquets court,’ I told him.
‘So I see,’ he said, looking at my forehead. ‘One should never dive for the ball. The trick is to let the ball come to you, don’t you think?’
He then told me he’d been thinking over our conversation of earlier that day and come to the conclusion that he’d been too hard on me. After all, ideals were important and it was good to have the courage of one’s convictions.
‘I’m delighted you think that,’ I said, to which he replied that convictions were worthless unless based on insight.
We both got out of the lift on C deck and I assumed he was going to his quarters. We were nearing the door of my stateroom when he took a tumble. The corridor was narrow and we were walking side by side, jostling one another, and suddenly he tripped and fell down. He sprang up again immediately but the blood had drained from his face. I was about to commiserate and give him my arm when I realised