‘And what do you think of our great ship, theTitanic?’ he asks.
She tells him she thinks it a shame that the passengers must be on board.
When he laughs, she tries to explain.
‘It will never again look as it does on its maiden voyage. Everything is so beautiful and new. Everything is in the right place.’ Despite herself, she is warming to the imposter.
‘Ah, but even a beautiful stage is nothing without the players.’
She wonders if he is thinking of the ballet, and she knows the passengers are lucky to have such a man looking after them. If she were The Purser, she might be tempted to pull up the gangplanks and sail away without them.
He picks up his fountain pen, and he is back to the business of the ship. ‘I have been looking through your passenger list and have made a note here.’ He indicates the name of a gentleman, a rising man in the world. ‘His man sent instructions. He is particular about the buttonhole he wears and requires a white rose each evening. You will see to it?’
He is kind enough to phrase it as a question, but she knows that there is only one answer. She nods, but he does not notice. He is back to the list. He points to another name. It is a woman she knows of old from other voyages, other ships. She can hear her mother’s voice: ‘That woman has a tongue that could clip a hedge’. For some reason, she is not frightened of this woman, perhaps because she has learnt that her very lack of fear infuriates the Hedge Clipper so.
The Purser catches her eye. ‘Precisely,’ he says. It is enough.
He hands her a telegram. In it are instructions for flowers for her stateroom– a gift from her son. When her other son finds out about this, as no doubt he will from his mother, she suspects there will be more flowers to follow. The Hedge Clipper appears to delight in dangling her two sons like puppets, as they dance a jig for her favour and their expected inheritance. She has learnt this from her maid who is a watchful woman, known to be generous with her observations when she takes her nightly inch of whisky. After the second inch she sometimes prophesies, ‘She should be careful. One day they will get together and bury her in her garden and that will be the end of that’.
The Purser continues. ‘I will leave the choice of flowers to you. I know I can rely on your good taste.’
This is high praise from The Purser, who likes flowers almost as much as she does.
She suggests a seasonal mix of spring flowers. She has already been to check the flowers in the store and is on nodding terms with the daffodils and narcissi. She also found a container brimming with lily of the valley, but she does not think the Hedge Clipper deserves these.
‘Have you been to see the Ritz?’ he asks suddenly.
This is the nickname of the à la carte restaurant on board. She is unsure if he will mind that she has already explored the ship with her cabinmate. Certainly, he would not approve of their riding the elevator with the lift steward and bellboy for three trips.
She is relieved when he does not wait for an answer.
‘The tables are decorated with roses and daisies. They do look … just so…’
The Purser is a Christian, but she knows he still does not like to be outdone by the manager of the Ritz.
‘I think we should have some flowers arranged in the first-class lounge for the passengers,’ he remarks.
‘Bowls of roses and lily of the valley would be pretty,’ she suggests, ‘and the scent would be very welcoming.’
He smiles. ‘Ah, lily of the valley, one of my wife’s favourites.’
The Purser Priest is not a card player or a gambler, but they both know that lily of the valley trumps daisies.
‘You will see to it?’ he asks, and this time it is a question. He smiles like a little boy who once enjoyed toffees and beetles and jokes.
‘I will indeed, sir.’
At the door he calls her back. ‘Violet…’ His face is expressionless, but his eyes are gleaming still, ‘Bealing’s brought a particularly fine delivery of flowers for our maiden voyage.’
She knows this. The scent as she opened the flower store door was so beautiful it made her cry. She does not tell The Purser this. She just waits, interested to hear what is coming next from the man with the gleaming eyes.
‘We should not forget that God’s creations should be appreciated in their abundant glory.’
And so, The Purser Priest has given her his instructions. She should not stint in her endeavours– as a Bible reader, she knows this is the equivalent of being told to use her talents.
Much as The Purser does not like to be outshone by the manager of the Ritz, so she does not like to be cast in the shade by the other stewardesses helping arrange the flowers on theTitanic, even though some of them are her friends. She will happily follow The Purser’s instructions to the letter: nothing will compare with the flower displays in the first-class lounge.
Later some might even say that the fragrance from the flowers reminded them of the Riviera and that, without a doubt, it appeared that theTitanicwas a ship full of flowers.
