Titanic 2012 Part 8

"Oh, G.o.d, I just had this image of a long line and someone selling tickets, hah!"

I laughed, too, the image even sillier than the one I'd conjured.

"Well, you really made a beautiful picture up there. You looked just like her-like Kate Winslet."

She studied me a moment, as if trying to determine whether I was really serious, or simply being flirtatious. Then she grinned.

"Wasn't she lovely at the christening?"

"You were there?" I said, surprised.

She nodded. "I felt like her, just now. For a brief moment I felt as light as the air, as if I could actually take off and soar...." She spun in place, her dress billowing out, laughing again. "It was so wonderfully...transcendent. Do you believe in transcendence?"

My expression must have been comical, for she laughed again. "I guess you're one of those cynical old stick-in-the-muds, hmmm?"

"I don't know about being a stick-in-the-mud, but cynical is just about right."

"That's too bad, cynics miss out on so much."

"I disagree, I don't think we've missed anything. The problem is we've seen too much. Besides, don't you know all cynics are failed romantics?"

"Is that what you are, a failed romantic? No one waiting at home?"

"No, afraid not," I said, a wave of sadness stealing over me. "She and I-We didn't see things the same way."

She covered her mouth in embarra.s.sment. "Oh, G.o.d, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stir anything up for you."

"You didn't. I'm fine; I'm dealing with it."

"That may be, but I shouldn't be so blunt. It seems I'm always just saying whatever comes into my silly head. And here I am asking these personal questions, and I don't even know your name." She giggled.

I smiled.

"Believe me, I'm enjoying every moment. It's refres.h.i.+ng. I'm Trevor Hughes, by the way."

"Madeleine Regehr, but please...call me, Maddy."

She stuck out her hand, and I took it, surprised by the firmness of her grip. With most women shaking hands felt as if one were grasping a limp rag. It was that firm grip and the frank intelligence behind her eyes that caused me to be more forward than I normally would have been.

"I know this is going to sound a little strange, but would you mind if I interviewed you? I'm writing a book."

Her eyes widened. "Now, I know who you are! You seemed so familiar, and your name, too. I just couldn't put it together until now. You're the mystery writer Mr. Astor told us about. I'm really honored to meet you."

I felt my face flush. "Now, you're embarra.s.sing me."

Her expression became sly. "Something I'm very good at, I'm afraid."

"About the interview...."

She shook her head, emphatic. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to be a part of your experiment."

"I really wouldn't call it that. I just want to know why you wanted to come on this voyage. It's something I'm asking everyone."

"I would think the answer was obvious," she said, nodding toward her perch on the bow.

"Sure, but I think, for most people, it goes a lot deeper than the film. At least it has for the Captain."

"So, you've already talked to him?" she asked, curiosity evident in the gentle arch of her brow.

"And it was fairly painless."

"For him, or for you?"

I held up my hands. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. I have no problem with that."

"I absolutely do want to talk to you. I just would rather we do it as friends...not as something so...remote."

"All right, " I said, suddenly s.h.i.+vering from the chill wind that had sprung up. "But how about we go inside. It's getting cold and I'd like to take a walk through the s.h.i.+p. I've been so busy, I haven't had a moment, until now."

That sly look was back on her face. "I've been through it twice already. How about I give you the ten-cent tour?"

"Deal."

Grabbing me by the hand, she led me up the stairs to the boat deck, where we took a quick peek into the gymnasium. The quaint-looking rowing machines and stationary bikes were a far cry from the modern machines I was used to seeing. They looked dangerous. From there we descended to the p.o.o.p deck, the aftermost part of the s.h.i.+p, pa.s.sing several large groups of other pa.s.sengers who looked equally enthralled with exploring the vessel.

At the stern, we spent a few minutes staring over the railing at the wake created by the s.h.i.+p's triple screws, then made our way forward. She must have read my mind, for we headed next to the First Cla.s.s Dining Saloon. Stewards puttered about, busily setting the tables for the evening meal with fresh starched linen, hand-painted china and the sterling flatware stamped with the White Star emblem. From there, we made our way through the reception room to the Grand Staircase. I ran my hand down the polished oak handrail, marveling at its silky gloss, the wrought-iron bal.u.s.ters with their gold accents taking my breath away. In my mind's eye, I watched Kate Winslet descending, resplendent in her gown, her eyes locked with Leonardo DiCaprio's, who waited at the bottom like a young Adonis.

Maddy and I took the stairs down to E-deck and then down into the bowels of the s.h.i.+p, stopping to explore the hold. Holding hands, we threaded our way through tons of crates piled to the ceiling.

"It's all fake, you know," Maddy said. "Engine rooms are this way."

She nodded toward a door at the far end.

"Why?"

"Don't you want to see the engines?"

"No, no," I said, shaking my head. "Why is the cargo fake?"

Maddy gave me a strange look, then shrugged. "I guess your friend didn't want an empty room. Come on, slowpoke, let's go."

She took off ahead, and I had to speed up to a trot to keep up. She chattered on about the marvels of the s.h.i.+p's engines, but my mind still turned on her comment about the cargo. It bothered me. And while I could appreciate Harlan's single-minded desire for authenticity, I found this last detail stretched what bounds were left of credibility. Fake cargo? It didn't fit. So, I made a mental note to ask Harlan about it later.

The reciprocating engine room, one of the largest open areas on the s.h.i.+p, was a marvel of cyclopean engineering. Monstrous pistons shot up and down, turning on camshafts the diameter of sewer pipes.

Crewmen known as "greasers" and "oilers", tended the colossal machinery, making sure everything remained well-lubricated and ran smoothly, all under the watchful eyes of the Engine Room Officers standing stiffly by the bra.s.s commutators.

As for the boiler rooms, they took me completely by surprise. Instead of the anterooms to h.e.l.l I'd expected, they were almost antiseptic. And eerily deserted. No sweat-drenched men shoveling coal into fiery maws, only silent pipes leading directly into the burners.

"Isn't it marvelous?" Maddy shouted. "It's all oil-fueled."

It was marvelous. It was also perplexing. Harlan had been so adamant about authenticity. Why had he opted for oil-fueled boilers, rather than ones that burned coal? Unless it was because of pollution regulations. With scientists increasingly up in arms about global warming, and governments stiffening their laws, it was not an unreasonable choice. Burning coal was a lot dirtier than oil. Besides, I realized, who would want to spend the voyage of their dreams shoveling coal? That left the question of how he'd achieved the look of coal smoke emanating from the stacks. I made a mental note to ask Harlan about that, too.

Maddy tugged at my sleeve.

"Let's go forward," she said, pointing toward the bow. I nodded.

As amazing as the engine and boiler rooms were, I was all for leaving its sweltering and cacophonous environs behind.

Moving up a deck, we pa.s.sed through the third cla.s.s dining room, so bare and utilitarian compared to the Jacobean elegance of the First Cla.s.s Saloon. Next came the Turkish bath and the swimming pool, its chlorinated coolness inviting. Then it was down two decks to the Mail Room and the forward holds.

More of the fake cargo greeted us, though one of the pieces made me laugh. It was a 1912 Renault, much like the one from the film, in which Rose, the heroine, loses her virginity to Jack Dawson. Maddy saw the amus.e.m.e.nt in my eyes.

"I guess there ought to be a ticket booth for this one, too?"

"That's the funny thing, Maddy. I've been watching everyone from the time we all boarded, and while we were walking through the s.h.i.+p. n.o.body's with anybody. There are no couples, and I find that odd. As odd as finding a beautiful woman like you alone on this s.h.i.+p."

Maddy didn't say anything, her expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry, I guess it's my turn to put my foot in it. Did I hit a nerve?"

She turned to me, smiling wistfully. "Maybe...once, but not now." She put her arm through mine. "Now, my Galahad, would you please escort me to the bow?"

I could tell something bothered her. Maybe she and a boyfriend had booked pa.s.sage together, and they'd broken up days or weeks before the sailing. It was a plausible scenario, considering what had happened between Julia and me. I decided to let it go, but it made me want to know her all the more. Perhaps, if she got to know me better, she would change her mind about that interview. There was a part of me that wanted to a.s.suage her wounds-to take away whatever pain lived within her. And that very thought scared me to the core, because I'd never felt that way with Julia.

We'd just pa.s.sed Boiler Room Six and entered the first-cla.s.s baggage holds, when I spied a lone crewman standing guard at one of the watertight doors up ahead. He stood well over six feet in height, had a bulky mesomorphic frame practically bursting out of his uniform, and looked as if he'd pumped himself up further with steroids.

He stiffened when we approached. "I'm sorry, Sir, Miss, but this area's off-limits to pa.s.sengers."

He glared at me, and I felt a curious emotion: a mixture of anger and embarra.s.sment. It was the kind of lethal mixture that, with an attractive woman present, might ignite tempers. I kept my cool.

Aside from towering over me, the man had to outweigh me by at least fifty pounds. If I tangled with him, I'd likely end up as hamburger. And for what? What was behind door number one? h.e.l.l, it was probably more empty crates, and hardly worth the risk of bodily harm. Then again, if that were the case, if it was only empty boxes, why post a man to guard it? No, it was probably something personal to Harlan, something of great value, and that meant it was none of my business.

"Come on, let's go," I said.

But Maddy would have none of it. She walked up to the man, staring him down with a glare of her own. "You know, it's one thing to keep us out of there, but it's quite another to be so rude. Life's too short."

The man blanched at those last words and I saw him deflate, his expression turning grave. "I-I'm sorry, Miss, it's orders, you see. I didn't mean nothing by it."

I saw a look of understanding pa.s.s between them, and then Maddy came back to me. We started to leave and then she stopped and turned.

"What's your name, sailor?"

The man looked worried for a moment, then spoke. "Charlie, Charlie Nelson.

"Well, Charlie, Charlie Nelson, try not to work too hard, okay?"

A smile flitted across the big man's face. "You, too, Miss."

We returned to E-deck and took one of the lifts up three levels to B-deck. It was now a quarter past six, and we were due to dock at Cherbourg at any moment. We would lay in the harbor for approximately two hours, weighing anchor at ten past eight for the journey to the Irish port of Cobh, known as Queenstown in 1912. After a brief stay there, it would be due west into the vast Atlantic. The new t.i.tanic was retracing its ancestor's original route, though it would take on no new pa.s.sengers.

Outside the lift, I turned to Maddy.

"I want to thank you for the tour. It was infinitely more enjoyable than it would have been alone."

She smiled, revealing white, even teeth. "You're welcome, Galahad. Thanks for rescuing me."

"From what?"

"Boredom.... You've been fun."

"Me?" I said, exaggerating my reaction.

"Yes, you, Mr. Cynical," she said, chucking me on the shoulder.

The playful punch turned into an affectionate squeeze on my forearm. I could tell from the look in her eyes she didn't want the afternoon's idyll to end. Neither did I. She'd cast a spell on me without conscious effort, just by being herself.

"Can I walk you to your stateroom?" I asked.

"Not unless you want to go back to E-deck."

"E-deck?"

Maddy laughed. "You look so surprised."

"I guess I am. I just didn't figure you for a steerage girl. You seemed so-"

"Snooty, stuck-up, full of myself?" Her grin widened, belying her mock anger.

"Well, maybe a little...."

"Now, wait a minute!"

We both laughed then. "Seriously, I just a.s.sumed. I guess that makes me the a.s.s," I said.

"Not at all. It's only for tonight, anyway. I'm moving up to second cla.s.s tomorrow. I thought it would be interesting to work my way up to first cla.s.s."

"This s.h.i.+p is so empty it shouldn't be a problem. I don't know why Harlan didn't fill it. He actually told me that he'd turned people away. Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

Maddy shrugged, suddenly distracted. "It's his s.h.i.+p. He can do whatever he wants, I suppose. I'm just glad he let me come." Her eyes moistened and she blinked rapidly.

"Are you okay?" I asked, alarmed.

"I'm fine, Trevor. I guess I'm just a little tired. I'll see you at dinner, okay?"

"Of course," I replied, taking her hand and kissing it. "I saw this in a movie once, and I always wanted to do it."

When she didn't laugh, I stood up and let go of her hand, watching her retrace her steps back to the lift. The operator shut the gate, and a moment later she dropped from sight. It was then I realized she'd called me Trevor for the first time. The feeling that gave me was like an electrical charge racing through my body. Fate had indeed stepped in when I wasn't looking, and I was in big trouble.