The remaining empty seat was taken by Arbuckle's secretary, a dark, silent, self-effacing man who appeared to be coming down with a heavy cold. Menu cards were studied and discussed. A steward came to take their orders, including Gotobed's for more champagne.
As soon as he left, Mrs. Gotobed took up the story of her friend's travails where she had left off. This time, she did not get far.
“The symptoms of
mal de mer
are indeed most distressing,” Miss Oliphant interrupted firmly. Daisy was convinced she had been a schoolmistress. “However, certain herbal remedies are remarkably effective. I am a herbalist by profession. Once, and in some societies still, many might consider me a witch.”
Mrs. Gotobed gaped at her. So did Gloria, who had been talking quietly with Phillip and had only caught the last few words.
“Here, I say â¦,” Phillip blurted out.
Miss Oliphant smiled at him kindly. “I do not deal in spells, Mr. Petrie. Besides, I see you and Mrs. Petrie have no need of love potions.”
Phillip and Gloria both blushed. Everyone else laughed, except Gotobed, who looked thoughtful. Perhaps he wondered whether Miss Oliphant might be persuaded to provide a love potion for his blooming bride, Daisy thought. She noticed that Dr. Amboyne's laugh was rather forced.
So did the witch. “I do not mean to set up in competition with you, Doctor,” she assured him. “I am more of a theoretician than a practitioner. I am going to America to study herbs used by the Indian tribes in hopes of discovering some of genuine utility.”
She and Amboyne continued to discuss medicine over the hors d'oeuvres.
Alec asked Phillip about the engines, whose steady throb underlay life on board, felt as much as heard. Phillip and Gloria were both full of enthusiasm, the former for the technical wonders, the latter for the sheer splendour of the huge, shining machinery.
“Shall we see if we can take a tour?” Alec asked Daisy.
“Yes, let's, darling.” She sighed. “This soup is divine, but after a seven-course dinner every day, I shall have to let out all my clothes when we reach New York.”
“We'll dance all night,” Gloria proposed. “We get an extra hour at midnight westbound, remember. And we'll play deck tennis every morning.”
Silently, Daisy groaned.
Â
The dancing started that evening, as soon as the dinner tables had been cleared away and a small dais erected at one end of the Grand Salon. Here a three-piece band, piano, violin, and
cello, and a tenor singer settled among a forest of potted palms to play fox-trots, tangos, Charlestons, and, for the old-fashioned, waltzes.
Daisy was not keen on dancing. She was certain she had two left feet, though she could just about manage a waltz, which she had been taught at school. Her War work, in the office of one of the military hospitals near home, had enabled her to avoid what was left of the London social season (to her mother's despair). Throughout their courtship she had successfully evaded displaying her ineptitude to Alec.
Now she could see no escape.
At least her humiliation was postponedâa waltz, “Dearest One,” had just begun when they reentered the Grand Salon. Alec swept her masterfully into his arms and whirled her around the floor. So firm was his lead that she had no time for doubts.
Intoxicated with the motion, not to mention four glasses of champagne, she gasped, “Darling, I didn't know you were such a marvellous dancer!”
Sadness flashed across his face. He and Joan must have loved dancing, Daisy thought. It vanished in a second and he grinned down at her.
“I'm a marvellous waltzer,” he corrected her. “I'm none so bad at the polka, two-step, and valeta, and I've been known to trip my light fantastic way through a schottische. But I've never tried a fox-trot, let alone a tango.”
“We could sit them out,” Daisy suggested hopefully.
“Consider the alternatives, love. You can abstain from seven courses at dinner, not to mention breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, and, I gather, a midnight snack to keep us happy. You can run around the deck several dozen times daily to work off your overindulgence. Or you can spend your time in New York with a needle and thread.”
“Beast!” Daisy groaned.
A one-step was next. Alec swore it was easy, and a sceptical Daisy discovered even she could do it. A fox-trot followed, to the tune “Melody Girl.”
“We'll sit and watch for a bit before we tackle it,” Alec suggested. Daisy was not about to argue.
They found a pair of free chairs. Many of the older couples were sitting out the dance at the small tables left around the perimeter, but among those on the floor were the Gotobeds, moving smoothly together in fine style. Gloria and Phillip were also worth watching.
A group of men heading for the nearby Smoking Room blocked their view. With them was a reed-thin girl with a very short, fair bob, very long, dark lashes, very red lips, and a very high hemline, higher even than last year's extreme fashion.
“But, darling,” she was complaining in a high, languid voice, “I simply must have a cigarette, and some old stick's bound to rag if I smoke in here.”
“Judas Priest, don't be a bore, Birdie,” said the man she addressed. He was tall, thin, sleek, and, despite his American accent, dressed in the best of English gentlemen's tailoring. “You can't go with us, so can it.”
“Why not? I play poker as well as you do, Chester.”
“It's gentlemen only, baby. Ever hear of smoking-room stories? If you wanna smoke that bad, go up on deck.”
A dull flush mounted her cheeks beneath the white powder. “On my own?”
“Take your momma. Tell her I said,” he jeered, and moved on with his friends.
She took two hesitant steps after them, then was intercepted by a ship's officer with the face of a kind and intelligent monkey. “I don't believe you'd enjoy it in there, Lady Brenda,” he said tactfully. “May I send for your wrap and escort you up on deck? It's remarkably warm for the time of year.”
Hearing him, the American turned back to say, “Go ahead.”
“Well, I will then,” said Lady Brenda sulkily. “It'll serve you right if I ⦔
“Oh, you won't, you won't,” he stated with calm certainty, and followed the others through the door.
“I could slaughter you,” she hissed, fists clenched, then turned with a sweet smile to the officer. “Thank you, Mr. Harvey, I'll accept your offer.”
As they went off, Daisy returned her attention to the dancers. To her astonishment, she saw Arbuckle prancing away with Miss Oliphant.
“Alec, look, the witch!”
“If she can do it, so can we. As far as I can see, everyone does different steps anyway. As long as we keep time, more or less, we shouldn't make absolute asses of ourselves.”
Not absolute, perhaps, but Alec's lack of certainty left Daisy floundering, though she did her best to follow his lead. Fortunately several other couples had tentatively joined in without much idea of what they were doing.
At the end, the pianist stood up and announced, “There will be a fox-trot lesson in here tomorrow after lunch.” Everyone laughed.
Daisy flapped her hand at her hot face. “What a pity fans are out of fashion!”
“Shall we go out and look at the stars?” Alec suggested.
Up on the boat-deck, they found several people strolling about or leaning against the rail. Some were bundled up in coats and hats against the autumnal nip in the air, some just in evening dress, presumably warmed by dancing or drinking.
Daisy and Alec found a semi-private spot between two adjoining life-boat davits. A near full moon shone down from the star-filled sky, painting a path across the smooth, black swells. Daisy didn't get much chance to admire the scene,
though; and in spite of a chilly breeze from the east, which ruffled her shingled hair, she remained remarkably warm for the time of year.
Eventually she disentangled herself and said, “Darling, must we really dance all night?”
“I can think of more enticing activities,” Alec admitted, pulling her back into his arms for another kiss. “Let's go down, love. We can always get up early and walk a mile or two before breakfast.”
As they emerged from their nook, another couple preceded them towards the companionway. Their silhouettes, against the light by the steps, were easily recognizable, one by her knee-length skirt, the other by his uniform.
“Did you hear what she said?” Daisy asked softly. “About slaughtering that American chap?”
“Silly child!”
“He was a brute. Don't you think it sounded as if he had some sort of hold over her? I wouldn't blame her for poisoning his pottage.”
“Great Scott, Daisy, please! We've been given an extra week of honeymoon. Let's just enjoy it without attempting to solve other people's problems or, heaven forbid, falling over any bodies.”
“Darling, I
am
enjoying it,” said Daisy.
T
he Fletchers did not get up early. By the time they appeared on deck, the
Talavera
had passed the Fastnet lighthouse and was ploughing through great Atlantic rollers. The south coast of Ireland was fading on the starboard bow. The weather remained unusually benign for mid-October, but Dr. Amboyne, taking the air, reported that quite a few passengers had failed to emerge from their cabins that morning.
“It always happens as soon as we move from the Bristol Channel into the Atlantic,” he said with a heartless grin. “Some can't take even this calm. There's really nothing I can do for them except advise tea and toast and fresh air. Not many take my advice.”
“Miss Oliphant said she has a remedy,” Daisy reminded him.
The doctor laughed. “I'm not about to recommend witchcraft to my patients! The Captain would have me in irons.”
Pluming themselves on their immunity to sickness, Daisy and Alec continued their brisk stroll along the boat-deck, circling the central massif of the bridge, funnels, masts, skylights, and mysterious machinery. The sun was warm, but it was after
all an October morning so most deck-chairs were set out on the enclosed promenade deck below. There were plenty of other obstacles to walkers, however, in the shape of ventilation ducts and game players.
They passed Arbuckle, Gotobed, and Miss Oliphantâin purple bloomersâplaying shuffle-board.
“The blooming bride's probably still doing her face,” Daisy observed.
“Cat. She may feel games are beneath her dignity. People who feel inferior have to stand on their dignity.”
“It raises them in their own estimation, if no one else's,” Daisy quipped. “No, that was beastly of me. I must try to be nice to her. I wish I liked her.”
“You can't like everyone, love.”
“Why do I feel I shall very shortly dislike Phillip extremely?” she asked, as that gentleman hallooed and waved them over to where he and Gloria were playing deck tennis against another couple.
“Daisy, Fletcher, we'll take you on next!”
“Phil, you know perfectly well I'm hopeless at games.”
“Gee, Daisy, that doesn't matter,” Gloria assured her earnestly. “It's only for fun.”
“As long as you don't chuck too many quoits overboard,” Phillip teased.
With deep misgivings, Daisy allowed herself to be persuaded. On their next circuit, she and Alec stopped to play. The best that could be said of her game was that not a single quoit was actually lost, but she enjoyed it anyway.
A second game with Phillip partnering her and Gloria playing with Alec was more evenly matched. At the end, quite a few spectators were there to applaud, including Arbuckle and Gotobed. Turning over the court to a waiting group, Phillip picked up his discarded jacket and offered his cigarette case to Alec.
“No, no,” interjected Arbuckle, “have a Havana.” He opened his cigar case.
Alec shook his head. “Thank you.” With identical gestures, he and Gotobed felt in their pockets and produced pipes and tobacco pouches, Alec's embroidered by Belinda with a wobbly “A. F.” Phillip took a cigar.
Daisy was not going to wait around for clouds of tobacco smoke. Besides, she was dripping. (Her nanny's maxim: “Horses sweat, gentlemen perspire, ladies merely glow,” had clearly not been intended to apply to deck tennis.)
“I'm going to change, darling,” she said.
“Me too,” said Gloria, who really was glowing, her golden curls slightly tousled but prettier than ever. “Daisy, have you figured out what you're wearing for the Fancy Dress Ball?”
“No,” Daisy admitted. “What about you?”
Together they went down the forward companion-way to the open area of the promenade deck, in the bows, where more deck games were in progress around the cargo-hatch. On each side was a door into the enclosed area, the glassed-in promenade encircling the public rooms. Here they parted, Gloria to the port door and thence down the port companionway to the Arbuckle suite, Daisy taking the starboard door and the stairs just within.
As Daisy moved from the door to the companion-way, she caught sight of Mrs. Gotobed some way along the promenade, sitting in one of the slatted, wooden deck-chairs. She was talking earnestly with the men in the chairs on either side of her.
The one facing Daisy was large and dark, good-looking in a rather flashy way. She rather thought she had seen him with the young American poker-player, Chester, going into the Smoking Room. The other was unmemorable, smaller, wiry, with thinning, mousy hair. Both sat stiffly, leaning
slightly towards Wanda Gotobed, giving an impression of nervousness.
Hot and sticky, Daisy had no intention of going to speak to the blooming bride. She was about to turn to go down the stairs when Mrs. Gotobed raised one hand and touched the smaller man's cheek.
Â
Daisy must have made some involuntary gesture which caught the other man's attention, for he stared straight at her. He said something which made Mrs. Gotobed look round and speak sharply. Both men at once rose and, with slight bows, hurried away.
Mrs. Gotobed waved to Daisy, an unmistakable summons.
Reluctantly, Daisy went over to her. “I was on my way to change,” she said. “We've been playing a rather energetic game of deck tennis.”
“Oh, games! So undignified. Mrs. Fletcher, I suppose you've heard I was on the stage?”
“Well, yes.”
“I wasn't a fancy actress or anything, not a star, but I did have my fans,” she said coyly. “That was a couple of them, just a couple of stage-door Johnnies, like they say. They recognized me and had the blooming cheek to come and introduce themselves, would you believe?”
“How ⦠er ⦠flattering.”
“Well, if you want the truth, it was, and no mistake. Ever so disappointed they was when I told âem I'm a married woman now and they wasn't to hang about. So I talked to them for just a minute, just to cheer 'em up a bit, like. Only Mr. Gotobed doesn't care to be reminded of what I was, so be a sport and don't tell, eh?”
“I wouldn't dream of carrying tales,” said Daisy, trying not to sound indignant. “Now if you'll excuse me, I really must go and change.”
If Mrs. Gotobed wanted to flirt with her admirers, it was none of Daisy's business, though it didn't make her like the woman any better. She just hoped Mr. Gotobed would not find out, since she did rather like him.
Â
They all met at the group of deck-chairs reserved by Mr. Arbuckle, forward, where they would catch the afternoon sun as long as possible. Here the deck stewards served hot bouillon, Bath Olivers, and digestive biscuits. It was very pleasant with the sun shining through the glass, the vast Atlantic spread glittering before them. They were still close enough to land for a few seagulls to sail alongside the ship, peering in hopefully. Gloria persuaded a steward to open a window so that she could throw them crumbs. Swooping, they caught them in mid-air, to her delight.
The
Talavera's
gentle pitch as she cut through the swells was cradle-like, soporific. Daisy started to drift off, only to be rudely awoken by the noon whistle.
Arbuckle jumped up. “Time for the mileage pool,” he said. “I'm not a gambling man in the general way, but I wouldn't miss this for the world.”
“Oh aye, it's like putting a fiver each way on the Derby,” Gotobed agreed. “Almost a patriotic duty.” He and his wife went off with Arbuckle to find out whether the distance the ship had sailed from Liverpool matched any of the numbers they had acquired in the auction pool last evening.
As half the take would go to seamen's charities, the others had each put a shilling in one of the lesser pools. Each drew a single digit to match against the last digit of the mileage. One of the stewards came round the promenade deck to report the result.
In spite of the one-in-ten odds, none of the four had won. However, a few minutes later Miss Oliphant came up to them,
glowing with delight at her winnings of seventeen and sixpence.
They congratulated her and invited her to join them. She was a “nice old bird,” as Phillip later remarked to Daisy.
Arbuckle and the Gotobeds returned.
“Nowt doing today,” Gotobed reported.
“If you was to ask me,” said the blooming bride resentfully, “that American Riddman rigged it with the stewards. I ought to've won, if he hadn't got hold of my number.”
“You sold it to him, lass,” Gotobed reminded her with a smile. “And I seem to remember you were right pleased with the price he paid.”
After glowering at him momentarily, she switched on a blinding smile and squeezed his arm. “That's right, love; and after all, it was you bought the ticket for me in the first place. So kind he is to his little Wanda!” She mouthed a kiss at him, then turned her glower on Miss Oliphant. “Hey, that's my chair!”
“I'm so sorry,” said the witch, flustered by the attack, and floundering as she tried to stand at the same time as retrieving her handbag from beneath the chair.
Alec sprang up to lend her his arm, and Phillip knelt down to fish for her bag.
“Don't go, ma'am,” said Arbuckle. “We can easily get ahold of another seat.”
“No, no, I really must go and tidy myself for lunch.”
“Me too,” said Daisy, tryingâas were all the restânot to look at Gotobed's red face. As she and Miss Oliphant walked towards the ladies' room, Daisy apologised. “My fault. I should have offered you my chair, or Mr. Arbuckle's.”
“My dear, how could you have guessed that Mrs. Gotobed was so ferociously attached to that particular seat?”
“I couldn't, of course. After all, I only met her yesterday.
But I'm afraid she seems to be rather on the look out for slights.”
“Only natural in her position,” said the witch forgivingly. “Lavender, I think, to lift her spirits and calm her nerves. Perhaps even St. 'John's-wort. It must be difficult for her, married to a gentleman so superior to her.”
“Oh, but she's not,” Daisy protested. “That is, Mr. Gotobed has lots of money now, but his antecedents are no better than hers.”
“One cannot help but notice the influence of Yorkshire in his speech. However, I referred to his manners, not his birth.”
“Only the most inveterate snob could hold his birth against him,” Daisy agreed. “From all I've seen, he's thoroughly
nice
.”
“So I have observed. I do not believe him a weakling, however, except in having married a ⦠No, I must not cast invidious aspersions! But if I were her, I should take great care how I behaved in his presence.”
“He's no doormat,” Daisy agreed, “or he couldn't have made his millions. You're right, he worships the ground she treads; but it wouldn't surprise me if he put his foot down if she carries on carrying on.”
Mrs. Gotobed was quite subdued at lunch, so perhaps her husband had put his foot down. In fact, Alec told Daisy later that he had whisked her off willy-nilly to their suite on the specious excuse of changing his tie before lunch. She even invited Daisy and Gloria to call her Wanda, forcing them to reciprocate.
After lunch, Alec and Daisy attended the dancing lesson, the teacher adding the tango to the curriculum. Alec emerged confident of having mastered the fox-trot. Daisy hoped she'd be able to follow his lead.
She breathed a sigh of relief when he said apologetically,
“I'm not sure I'm prepared to attempt the tango in public, not among experts like the Petries and the Gotobeds.”
“Let's not,” Daisy said fervently.
Next on the programme came the life-boat drill. Wanda didn't turn up.
“She said she wouldn't be seen dead in one of these hulking great things,” Gotobed explained, as they tried on the clumsy life-jackets under the direction of the second mate, Mr. Harvey. “Leastways, she wouldn't be seen in one unless the alternative was imminent death.”
“There are always a few who don't come,” sighed Harvey. “Ladies who'd rather risk their lives than don anything so unfashionable, and men who refuse to be told what to do.”
“That's why Chester wouldn't leave his blasted poker game.” Lady Brenda, who had created a fuss at the next boat station until she was transferred to Harvey's boat, batted her eyelashes at him.
“I'll
do anything you tell me,” she cooed, “but may I take it off now? It's frightfully uncomfortable.”
With great solicitude, he helped her undo the straps. If Wanda had bothered to attend, she could have learnt a lesson about making the best of the most unpromising occasion.
Later that afternoon, Wanda did unbend sufficiently to join Gotobed and Arbuckle in a decorous game of shuffle-board, at which she proved surprisingly adept.