She carefully unpacks the boxes, laying the flowers side by side, keeping the cards and messages in order. ‘Bon Voyage’, with the translucent white lilies; ‘I love you, my Darling’, with the rich roses; ‘Bonne chance à New York’, with the pale pink carnations; ‘Safe journey, Dearest’, with the violets. There is no message with the lily of the valley.
She finds other flowers like this– no message, just a name, sometimes a cabin number: the bronze orchids, the creamy white daisies and the tall yellow roses.
No one has ever sent her flowers, but if they did, she thinks she would like a card to come with them, handwritten with a message of love. She cannot imagine the words, but she thinks of dark ink and of curling handwriting against the white of paper.
She smiles a little as she trims the roses, flicking the thorns off the stems into the straw with her thumb. She is a hard worker, a busy young woman, and except in the worst storms, she is calm and efficient. She is also someone who tries to find the good in every situation. In this, she knows she is her mother’s daughter. She thinks that her friends and family know this about her, but she is certain they do not know that she traces her finger wistfully over the cards that say, ‘I love you’.
Before she begins to move the bouquets she has arranged into her passengers’ cabins, she stands still, surrounded by dozens of flowers– glorious fresh blooms, their fragrances mixing into a unique perfume just for her. For a few minutes, these are her flowers. No other passenger on the ship will have the joy of such abundance or hold so many kind and loving messages in their hand.
Chapter 64
Emma
Anemones
Alistair is still silent (and Emma and Betty are holding their breath) when he suddenly grins, declaring, ‘Violetdidarrange the flowers on theTitanic.’
‘Really?!’ Emma is aware of having squawked. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Betty exclaims simultaneously.
Alistair laughs. ‘I was trying to keep a straight face– couldn’t do it. But yes– she did. On board, she had a number of passengers to look after, and she wrote about arranging their flowers. Apparently, boxes and boxes of flowers arrived for the voyage as gifts, and she struggled to get enough vases for them all.’
‘Amazing,’ Emma says, sitting up in her chair.
‘She wrote about those roses you told me about.’
‘What? American Beauty?’
‘Yes, those boys.’ He frowns slightly. ‘She doesn’t mention doing flowers around the ship,’ he sounds regretful, ‘but that’s not to say she didn’t. The way I figure it is, the young stewardesses got more than their share of the work, so she would have been one of the first the purser asked to help with the flowers. And he knew Violet from their time together on theOlympic– they were friends, apparently.’
‘Yes, and if she had been able to decorate her mother’s hat with fresh roses, I bet she could have made a corsage and buttonholes.’ Emma smiles to herself: a girl with the gift of flowers. But something is bothering her– a memory of something she has read but can’t quite recall.
‘What’s up, Em?’
‘I’m just trying to remember … no, hang on, it might be in my notebook.’ She darts up from her seat, returning a few minutes later, by which time Alistair and Betty are deep in conversation. It appears Betty has found out all about Alistair’s sisters and the rest of his family, too.
Emma sits back down and flicks through her notebook. After a few minutes, she lets out a triumphant yelp, ‘Got you!’
Betty looks at her expectantly.
‘And?’ Alistair prompts.
‘Andthe purser of theTitanic, Hugh McElroy, was a man who liked flowers and understood the importance of them.’ She knew it was there somewhere.
‘How do you make that out, love?’ Betty asks.
‘The night before theTitanicsailed, he took his wife to the ballet.’ Emma is momentarily sidetracked. ‘That’s so sad– that would have been the last time she saw him.’
‘Flowers, Em,’ Alistair urges.
‘Right, yes– it was a famous Danish ballerina who was dancing, and Hugh McElroy organised flowers to be sent to her dressing room after the performance. He chose a special bouquet in her national colours, including red and white anemones. Nowthatis a man who thinks about flowers–thatis a man who would have wanted his passengers to have beautiful flowers around them. You say he was friends with Violet? Then he must have known she loved flowers, too, and that she had the skill to arrange them. So surely she would have been the obvious choice for helping with flowers for the public rooms and for special bouquets for passengers.’ She looks expectantly at Alistair, desperate for him to agree.
‘I’ll buy that.’
She laughs, shakily. ‘Youdothink I’m right, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Em,’ he says patiently.
