She diverts him as easily as the boys distract the priest when they ask him a question about the scriptures. He picks up another Champagne glass to polish while he considers the question.
‘I told my wife that we are making history. It will be something to tell the lad that his dad was on the maiden voyage of theTitanic.’
Her friend and his wife have just had their first child, and the experience is so fresh he still looks at everything through the eyes of a new father. The ice buckets are large enough ‘to bathe a baby in’, and the linen of the napkins ‘fine enough for a christening gown’.
‘So you prefer her to theOlympic?’
‘I’m not saying theOlympicwasn’t a grand ship, but this, well, this is…’ He pauses as he searches for the words. ‘… This is majestic.’
He’s right: the smart new robes of theTitanicare fine enough for a Queen. The ship may still feel like an impersonator, but she is a mimic in a splendid new cloak. Staircases sweep with gleaming banisters; etched glass partitions sparkle and shine; and the tiles of the Turkish baths shimmer in shades of turquoise and green, like jewels from under the sea.
But she thinks it is the fabrics within the ship that impress her most: the golden and red tulips woven into the first-class chairs, the softness of the wool carpets. And she has never seen lacework like the covers on the beds in the staterooms– lace so delicate it could be made from, well … from babies’ hair.
She smiles at the thought and promises her friend she will come back and see him when she next has the chance. She still has half her cabins to prepare before the passengers arrive, and time is sailing on.
Chapter 58
Emma
Gardenia & Wisteria
They catch the Eurostar with a minute to spare. Emma had forgotten how long security could take, the thought of simply boarding a train lulling her into a false sense of having plenty of time. Betty picked up on Emma’s growing anxiety as they waited to get their bags screened and as a consequence hasn’t stopped talking since.
‘… and here we are and no bones broken,’ she finishes as the train pulls out.
Emma is in urgent need of a coffee. She also thinks she had better call her mother. She has avoided making this call– better to ring when she’s on her way and there is no way of backing out. Beyond asking to see old photo albums and documents, she really has no clear idea what she wants to say to her mother– she just has a vague feeling it will come to her when they meet. She does her best to ignore a small voice in her head that keeps whispering: ‘Forty years of not saying how you really feel andnowyou think it’s going to be different?’
She WhatsApps the information on the small hotel she has booked for them to Betty and leaves her studying this as she goes to find a quiet spot to make her call.
Her mother picks up on the second ring.
‘Mum, I’m on my way to Paris. I’m hoping we can catch up over supper tomorrow or the next day. Or lunch, or maybe breakfast if you’re busy.’ She has at least got the words out but despairs that her voice has already taken on a conciliatory tone.
‘What are you talking about, Emma? Paris?’
‘I said, I’m on my way. I’m on the Eurostar,’ she declares, feeling foolish.
‘But what on earth were you thinking?’
‘I’m coming to Paris for a few days,’ Emma repeats. Is it really that hard to grasp? Or is her mother punishing her for their last call?
‘But you can’t.’
So, sheisstill angry she won’t come to the chateau in October.
‘Well I am,’ she says boldly, bravely.
‘Butno oneis in Paris in August.’
Emma stands by the baggage rack of the swaying train and closes her eyes. How can she have forgotten?
‘Emma, are you still there? Paris inAugust?’
Emma can hear her mother turning to someone else, and a muffled, ‘Emma’s going to Paris– I have no idea what’s got into to her.’
Her voice comes back more clearly into Emma’s ear. ‘No oneis in Paris in August.’ She says this as though to suggest otherwise would be a personal affront.
‘Well, I will be,’ and Emma starts to laugh, ‘Oh, and Betty will be too.’
