Jan Burke - Eighteen

Robert’s suite was near Ada ’s, but not adjoining it. Having braced herself for the likelihood that Ada would make the most of such a romantic setting, Sarah was surprised by this arrangement. He had been given a room that certainly placed his status well above that of hired help, but an adjoining room would have made assignations much easier.

Ada had offered a suite to Sarah, but Sarah had opted for one of the staterooms. Not as grand as the suites, it was nevertheless spacious, and like the suites, had many original furnishings in it. Sarah opened the two thick portholes, which provided a view of the Long Beach shoreline and downtown skyline. Taking a deep breath of cool air, she soon put aside her questions about her grandmother and Parsons. She spent the next half hour exploring her own luxurious room.

Soon her toiletries had been neatly arranged, her clothes hung in one of the closets, and nearly every other item she had carried with her stowed in an orderly fashion. She was just deciding where she would place a pair of books she had brought-about the history of the ship-when the phone rang.

“Sarah? Be a dear and run along to the Observation Bar, will you?” Ada said. “I told Robert I would meet him there, but now I’ve learned that Captain Dolman will be here any moment.”

“Captain Dolman? Is he the ship’s captain?” Sarah asked.

“No, no, an old friend. An army captain, retired for years. Now be a dear and don’t make Robert wait there alone-some young wench might look at his handsome face decide to lead him astray. A man like that, drinking alone in the bar-the consequences are not to be thought of.”

“I don’t-”

“Think you can find it? Of course you can. It’s near the bow of the ship, on the Promenade Deck. Thank you, dear, it’s such a relief to know I can depend upon you.”

Sarah bore this with her usual good grace. She climbed the stairs to the Promenade Deck and moved quickly through the ship’s shopping gallery to the cocktail lounge. Stepping into the curving, multi-level room, she saw before her a row of tall windows with a view of the main deck and bow, and the harbor beyond; nearer, in the room itself, a nickel-colored railing made up of a mixture of creatures real and mythological. She turned; above the mirrors behind the bar, she saw a painting that, up until now, she had only seen in black-and-white photographs of this room. For several long moments, she forgot all about looking for Robert Parsons.

The painting stretched across the length of the bar, and depicted a street scene. More than two dozen figures were caught in motion. They were people from all walks of life, dancing hand-in-hand: sailors, bakers and men in top hats cavorted with stout matrons, elegantly clad ladies and women in everyday dress. All were laughing as they circled round and round in celebration. Pennants fluttered above them; one of the revelers had lost her footing, but this was forever that moment before the others would notice.

“Makes you want to join them, doesn’t it?” a voice said from just behind her right ear.

Startled, Sarah turned and found herself nearly nose-to-nose with Parsons. “No, Mr. Parsons-”

“Robert-”

“No, Mr. Parsons,” she said, taking a step away from him. “It doesn’t. They’re all about to stumble over the one who has fallen.”

He looked up at the mural and smiled. “They’ll help her to her feet and carry on with the dance.”

“At best, they’ll step over her and continue without her.”

He shook his head, but said nothing.

“The banners carry the insignia of St. George,” she said quickly, fixing her eyes on the painting.

“In honor of King George the Fifth’s twenty-fifth year as king,” Parsons said, “which is being celebrated by the dancers. The work was painted by A.R. Thomson-and is called ‘Royal Jubilee Week, 1935.’ ”

She turned scarlet.

“Oh, now you’re angry with me. I’ve spoiled your fun. Let me buy you a glass of wine.”

“I don’t-”

“You can toss it in my face if you like. I’ll present myself as a target.”

“No, no I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine, spouting off facts and figures nobody cares to hear.”

“But you’re wrong-I’m very interested in what you have to say, Miss Milington.”

“Please, let’s go back to Sarah and Robert.”

He smiled. “All right.” He motioned to a doorway. “I’m sitting outside, but if you find it too chilly there for you-”

“No, I prefer it,” she said truthfully.

She was seated at his table, shielded from the afternoon breeze by a row of Plexiglas panels. Belatedly, she remembered to deliver her message.

“It was kind of you to walk all the way here to tell me,” he said, “but Ada is so seldom on time, I don’t think I would have worried.”

“I think she sent me as your chaperone,” she admitted.

He laughed. “No, no, I doubt that. Tell me, have you had a chance to see much of the ship yet?”

“No, I’ve only just unpacked.”

“Hmm. Then you must let me show you some of the more interesting sights-”

“I’m not sure-”

“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked. “I promise you won’t come to any harm.”

Not unaware that this was the longest conversation she had ever had with him, she said, “Oh, no, I’m not afraid. It’s just that Grandmother may not like me to dominate so much of your time.”

“Trust me, she’ll be delighted. Besides,” he added quietly, “she’ll have other demands to make of me later.”

Again Sarah felt herself blush.

“You misunderstand-” he began.

“It isn’t any of my business,” Sarah said quickly, relieved to see Ada approaching, accompanied two elderly gentlemen, one on each arm. The men seemed to be doing their level best to keep up with her. Sarah, acquainted with most of Ada ’s friends, did not know either of these men. But as they drew closer, she thought one of them did seem familiar.

Ada came to their table with long strides, flamboyantly garbed in a hot pink and turquoise jogging suit, wearing a white turban. How does she manage, Sarah wondered, to wear such silly outfits and still look great?

“Sarah!” Ada called out, “Meet the congressman!”

“Oh, not yet, not yet!” the taller of the two men exclaimed. “A mere state senator at the moment, but with your grandmother’s generous help, I may trade Sacramento for Washington, D.C. ” He extended a hand. “Archer Hastings, my dear, at your service.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Senator,” Sarah said, now realizing why he seemed familiar. She was sure she had seen him on the evening news once or twice. He wasn’t the senator for their district, but Ada had many political friends, not all them her own representatives.

When Ada introduced the second man, Gerald Dolman, the retired army captain turned crimson and nodded in Sarah’s direction, but did not meet her eyes. He was a thin man with a prominent Adam’s apple. It bobbed as he swallowed nervously. She wondered why he was so flustered over meeting her, but soon decided he was merely shy-he would not, in fact, look directly at any of the others, and the blush which had stolen over his neck and face remained throughout the time he sat with them.

Archer Hastings had no such reticence. He gave the others a quick biography of himself, a sort of resume from the time he was a paperboy in the 1930’s. He spoke at length about his enlistment in the army, his service (mostly behind a desk) during World War II. By the time he was telling them about his return to California and his establishment of an accounting firm, the drinks had arrived. What a pompous ass, Sarah thought, but Hastings was only warming up.

“Have you had a chance to tour the ship?” Ada was asking him.