‘Do you know what happened to them, love?’
‘They all died.’
Emma wonders if Betty is also thinking of Mrs Humphreys, who lost both her husband and her son.
‘I got hopeful when I found Jacob Gibbons. He was a second-class steward, and although his father started work as a labourer, he became a gardener and Jacob worked for him as his assistant.’
‘And?’ Les asks.
‘I thought maybe Jacob was The Florist until I read that father and son worked as gardeners in the grounds of the Dorset County Lunatic Asylum. I wouldn’t say they had much call for corsages or bouquets.’
Les looks genuinely disappointed, so Emma adds, ‘Jacob was saved in lifeboat eleven. When he got to New York, he sent his family a cable. It read: “Saved. Well. Daddy.” And it wasn’t long before he came home to them.’
Les suddenly rubs his eye as if he has some dirt caught in it.
Emma recalls Betty telling her about their son in New Zealand and asks them if they think Ben will ever return to live in England. Betty has to answer for Les. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, love. He’s in the wine trade. We keep telling him that English wine is on the up, but you know, with his wife having the new baby and their son Zac getting on so well at school…’
Emma has no idea what to say, so offers, ‘Jacob went on to have a good life. It doesn’t look like he ever went back to sea and he and his wife ran a guesthouse overlooking Poole Harbour. They already had a daughter, Jeannie, but they went on to have a son, Arthur. Jacob lived until he was very nearly a hundred.’
Betty shakes her head slightly. ‘You really remember all those details?’
Somehow, Emma feels it is the least she can do. She thinks of the words spoken by Jacob about that night:
It has been denied by many that the band was playing, but it was doing so and the strains of‘Nearer my God to Thee’came clearly over the water with a solemnity so awful that words cannot express it.
‘So where does that leave us?’ Les asks, slowly, and Emma is warmed by the word ‘us’. She thinks suddenly how very fond she is of Les.
‘You know, Les, I have no idea. I keep thinking there must have been a florist, even an unofficial one. I mean, think of the buttonholes– it looks like Bealing’s provided some, but surely they couldn’t have prepared enough for the whole trip? If every first-class male passenger was given one every evening, that would be … depending on your source, about one hundred and seventy-three male first-class passengers.’ Emma is aware she is becoming a Numbers Nerd. ‘They left on the tenth April and were due in New York on the morning of the seventeenth, so let’s say one hundred and seventy buttonholes, times seven nights, that’s…’ Emma starts reaching for her phone.
‘One thousand, one hundred and ninety,’ Les declares.
Betty goes to speak but closes her mouth like a trap. The St Bernard has got one over the tortoiseshell cat. Emma imagines this doesn’t happen very often.
Betty is quick to recover. ‘Which brings us to what we wanted to talk to you about, love.’
Emma detaches herself slightly, protecting herself from what is coming. Last time they offered help, she wanted to cry.
Betty walks over to stand by her husband. ‘We have been doing our own investigating.’ They both stand straighter, like a couple of magicians about to pull off their most audacious trick. Emma cannot decide if Betty is Les’s assistant or his rabbit.
‘I also did some thinking last night, and I decided it was a matter of working out the logistics,’ Betty pronounces solemnly. ‘I thought we needed some expert advice, and Les reminded me that thereissomeone you could talk to. I have a friend whose mother worked on theQE2as a florist, and she’s done a few bits and pieces herself for a cruise ship.’
‘Betty, that’s amazing!’
‘It was daft really, love– I should have thought of her sooner. She’s a florist I’ve known for years, and when I needed a refresher course, when we decided to start the Flower Cabin, I went along to one of hers. Clementine really knows her stuff. Anyway, I called her last night when we got back– she’d love to talk to you. The only thing is, she moved to Cambridge, so it will mean another day out if you want to meet her in person.’
Emma jumps in, keen to make amends for yesterday. ‘You’ll come too, won’t you? It would be fun. We could even stay the night?’ Emma looks enquiringly at Les, suddenly unsure if she should be checking with the St Bernard.
‘Not this time, love,’ says Betty, ‘but thanks for asking. I think better you see Clementine on your own.’
Emma is about to ask why, but is distracted by Les, who is looking at her with anxious expectation.
‘So you think it’s a good idea?’
‘Of course I do, Les. It’s a brilliant idea. And thank you.’
Emma is in no doubt; the magician and his assistant deserve a standing ovation.
Chapter 30
