Every Man for Himself - Beryl Bainbridge [65]
‘Charlie,’ I protested, ‘you have more common-sense than any man I know . . . and kindness and a generous heart—’
‘I would have so liked to make him proud.’
‘Hopper and I are in the foyer,’ I told him. ‘We rather wanted you with us.’
‘I’ll come and join you in a bit,’ he said. I hesitated, but felt it my duty to ask, ‘You’re not frightened are you, Charlie? There’s no need to be.’
‘There’s nothing on this earth that frightens me,’ he said. ‘It’s what comes after that concerns one. I’ve not always behaved decently.’ His voice wobbled. I couldn’t help smiling. If the worst happens, I thought, God will surely send all his angels to bring Charlie to heaven. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to atone,’ I said, ‘a life-time, in fact,’ and at that he faced me and, sheepishly grinning, followed me down the stairs.
Ida and Rosenfelder hurried to meet us. Neither of them could find Wallis. Ida had looked for her everywhere, asked everyone if they recalled seeing her, but nobody had. ‘She was in the dining room when I got back after your faint,’ she babbled, ‘but then I went off to a concert in the second class lounge and later I had coffee with Molly in the Café Parisien . . . then that dreadful bump came and Molly said it was safer to remain where we were. Mr Rosenfelder’s been awfully kind. He went to our room but it’s locked, in case of looting or something, and the steward shooed him away.’
‘I knock and knock,’ Rosenfelder said. ‘And I think I hear voices, but there is no one opening and the steward tells me I have no business in that passage.’
I offered to go there again, just to set Ida’s mind at rest, and walked away in a deceptively leisurely manner. Once out of sight I fairly sprinted. The corridors of A deck were deserted, as though this was an ordinary night and all good folk were abed. I didn’t attempt to knock on Wallis’s door; instead I sought out the steward and demanded he hand over the key. He refused, saying it was more than his job was worth. I told him I would break the door down, if necessary, to which he retorted he would report me to the chief steward. I shouted he could report me to Captain Smith for all I cared, and we glowered at one another for some moments. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I have reason to believe that Miss Ellery is in there with a gentleman friend. This sort of thing can’t be new to you. Naturally, when you first knocked she thought it would compromise her to respond. She possibly waited until she believed you’d gone away, only to find the door locked. You take my meaning?’
‘Perfectly, sir,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?’ Taking the key off its ring he planted it in my hand. I told him to make himself scarce, which he did, beetling off down the passageway no doubt eager to inform the second steward of the salacious goings-on. I turned the lock, slipped the key under the door and ran for the companionway. I had no wish to confront Scurra.
In the short space of time I’d been absent, the atmosphere in the foyer had undergone a change. Some course of action had at last been resolved upon; there was a sense of relief rather than urgency as the stewards moved discreetly from one group to another, urging the women to proceed to the top deck. Ida refused to budge an inch without her sister until I said I’d go with her, mark where she was and bring Wallis to her side the moment she was found. I assured her it wouldn’t be long.
The chief saloon steward led us by way of the crew’s narrow companionway up to the forward boat deck. Colonel Astor and his bride, the Carters, the Theyers and Mrs Hogeboom went ahead, slowed down by the stately progress of Mr and Mrs Straus, linked as always. Hedged by Hopper and Charlie I held tight to Ida’s hand. Mrs Brown’s grandchild, riding his father’s shoulders, bobbed above our heads blowing on a tin whistle. There was even some laughter as we squeezed upwards. Behind, abreast with Lady Duff Gordon, nudged Rosenfelder, clad in a fur coat the colour of beeswax.
Captain Smith appeared at the