Authors: David Roberts
‘That’s very kind of you, Captain, but we have decided to try out the Verandah Grill this evening and admire Miss Zinkeisen’s mural.’
‘Excellent! A race! What a good idea. I shall tell the Purser to make quite a thing of it. A prize . . . yes, we shall give a prize. It will lift all our spirits and encourage people to mingle. We English are so bad at talking to strangers. The Americans are much more friendly.’
Edward laughed. ‘I fear there are unfriendly people aboard but whether they are English or not we cannot tell.’
‘Do you think, Lord Edward, there can be any connection between . . . you know . . . Miss Barclay’s “accident” and Mr Barrett’s killing?’
‘I wish I knew, Captain. I wish I knew.’
‘We must be vigilant.’ Captain Peel pressed Edward’s hand. ‘I feel reassured that you are keeping watch – our Cerberus.’ He smiled but his smile never reached his eyes.
Edward found Frank deep in conversation with Verity and Sam Forrest. They were on the sun deck just below the Verandah Grill where they were to eat that evening. Somehow, Jane Barclay’s accident made it easier for him to meet Verity, as if his offer of marriage and her rejection had never happened. The steward had brought tea in a ‘silver’ pot and there were scones and little cakes.
‘I haven’t had tea like this for years,’ Verity said with her mouth full. ‘It must be the English in me. However far I wander,’ she continued, waving her arms for dramatic emphasis, ‘my heart belongs to –’
‘The Cockpit at Eton,’ Frank finished the sentence for her. ‘Don’t you remember? We had tea there last year when you were investigating –’
She cut him short. ‘Of course. Ah, there you are, Edward. What did the Captain say?’
The truth was Verity didn’t want Sam to think she hung around Eton having tea with the sons of dukes. Her Communist credentials had already been weakened by travelling First Class on the
Queen Mary
. She told herself she must start acting like the revolutionary she had imagined herself to be when she joined the Party to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.
‘He’s in a state about the bad publicity all this could bring Cunard. I promised him we would be discreet. He wants to believe Jane Barclay’s ordeal in the steam room was an accident.’
‘Huh!’ Verity ejaculated. ‘And what about poor Tom Barrett? I suppose he was killed by a carcass of frozen beef.’
‘Verity!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘You sound as if it’s all a joke.’
‘I don’t mean to,’ she said, looking at him earnestly, cream on her lips and a scone in mid-air. ‘I didn’t know Mr Barrett but he was killed protecting Lord Benyon and that makes it very much our business, doesn’t it, Edward? Look, here he is!’
For a moment, Edward expected to see the ghost of Tom Barrett but it was Benyon . . . looking like a ghost. Accompanied by Fenton, holding rugs and a bottle of pills, he was walking gingerly along the deck. Although the sea had calmed considerably in the last hour or two, Benyon still found the motion unpleasant. He was very pale but was at least able to leave his cabin without feeling he was about to vomit.
‘You must have thought I had died,’ he said, rather unfortunately in view of the conversation he had interrupted, ‘but I have survived. The Purser says it will be quite calm by tonight. He tells me that you two are going to race round the deck with some young American called Roosevelt?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir! Very sporting of Uncle Ned.’
It was clear Benyon did not know about Jane Barclay and it was tacitly agreed that nothing should be said to him about it until he was in better spirits.
‘I am determined to go back on one of the new airships – the
Hindenburg
, perhaps. I really don’t think I could face another day like yesterday. It’s that feeling you are never going to be on dry land again that is so awful.’ He shuddered. ‘Do you know, I think I could manage a cup of tea and a scone. That must mean I’m better, mustn’t it?’
Verity poured him a cup and they asked the ever-attentive steward to bring them more scones.
‘I think an airship can sway about,’ Sam said. ‘That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.’
‘But they must be the future, surely?’ Benyon insisted.
‘There’s always that outside chance of fire,’ Frank ventured.
‘No, you can put that out of your mind,’ Sam said confidently. ‘This friend of mine says they’re so safe now, they even have a smoking-room.’
The Roosevelt twins came by – it was the nature of their environment that you could never
not
see someone for more than half an hour if they left their cabin. Frank introduced them to Benyon and he was charmed by them, particularly Philly whose pale beauty was almost an aura which set her apart from her more mundane brother.
‘We thought we’d shove one of those thingamabobs about the deck, you know, shovelboard or whatever it’s called. Why don’t you come, Lord Benyon? It’s not energetic.’
‘No thank you, my boy. Perhaps tomorrow when I’m feeling stronger.’
‘Well, you’ll come, Frank, won’t you?’ Philly said, touching the boy’s hand. He looked wildly about him as if he had been energized by some alien force.
‘Would that be all right, sir?’
‘You run along. I’ll be all right with Fenton. He has been quite wonderful. If your master ever displeases you, Fenton, I hope you will come and work for me.’
‘That’s very kind of you, my lord,’ Fenton said, flattered.
The rather stooped figure of the elderly German who had dined with them on the first night at the Captain’s table appeared in front of them and addressed Benyon. ‘Forgive me, my lord. May I speak with you one minute . . . in private?’
‘Of course. It’s Professor Dolmen, isn’t it? Let’s walk a little. I think it will do me good.’
‘This sea! But you are better, sir?’
‘Much better thank you, Professor Dolmen, but may I take your arm? I’m still unsteady on my feet.’
‘
Natürlich!
And I only just since have known who you are, my lord. You must please pardon my English tongue. I practise for America but I am still not so good, I think.’
‘Your English is very good. I apologize that my German is bad but my French is better.’
‘No, it is good I practise English. You will correct me, please, if I am wrong.’
‘It is an honour to meet so distinguished a scientist.’
‘That is very kind of you to tell me, my lord, but the truth is I am not so – how did you say? – “distinguished”. I may still be refused entry to the United States.’
‘You are emigrating?’
‘With great regret,’ he said bitterly. ‘The Nazis! You see, I am a Jew.’
‘I thought you might be when I heard you refusing meat and shellfish at dinner with the Captain.’
‘Ah, you noticed. You have a sharp eye.’
‘But there’s a kosher kitchen on board.’
‘So I have been told but, I must tell you, we were trying not to – how must I say? – advertise my race.’
‘There is no prejudice against Jews in the United States. You have no need to worry and, as an aeronautical engineer, I am certain you will be most welcome.’
‘That is what I had hoped but I was recognized by Senator Day. He has much influence with the government and he hates Jews, and me in particular.’
‘Good heavens! Why?’
‘I do not know why he hates Jews as a race but so many do today. He hates me more than other Jews because, when he came to Germany to meet the Führer before he went on to London, I refused to do what he wanted.’
‘What was that?’
‘He has interests in an American aircraft company and he wanted me to hand over to him information about the new fighter I was working on. Reichsmarshal Goering is depending on it to win the war. If I tell you it has jet engines, does that mean anything to you?’
‘A little. We too have been experimenting. But how near to production is this new fighter?’
‘Not so near, my friend. Perhaps four years. The Reichsmarshal hopes the war will not come until 1941 when the Luftwaffe will be much superior to your Royal Air Force.’
It was absurd but also quite understandable, Benyon thought, that Dolmen should speak with pride of his work for a regime which was rejecting him and which threatened all his people.
‘The Führer has been told this by the Reichsmarshal,’ Dolmen went on, ‘but has chosen to ignore our work because he believes the war will be soon – next year perhaps – and so the jet engines will not be ready. He is making a big mistake, I think.’
‘So, when you refused to give the Senator the information he asked for, you were just being patriotic?’
‘That is so. But then, only four weeks later, I was told my life was in danger if I did not leave. As a Jew, you understand, I think the Senator made trouble for me.’
‘But he cannot prevent you entering the States, particularly with all you have to offer.’
‘He will try. You see, I did a foolish thing. In order to be allowed to work, I joined the Party.’
‘The Communist Party?’
‘No, no! The National Socialists – the Nazi Party. It was 1935 and I can only say I did not truly understand what these people were doing. And I was afraid. To be out of a job and a Jew! I thought I could protect myself.’
‘So Senator Day knows this and will inform the immigration people?’
‘Yes. He has told me he will do it.’
‘How can I help?’
‘Please, my lord, when we land in New York, speak to the immigration authority for me. You are going to meet the President, I understand? You can, perhaps, ask him to help me?’
‘My meeting with the President is supposed to be a secret but it seems everyone knows. Not that it matters,’ Benyon added hurriedly, not wanting Dolmen to think such a meeting was of any particular significance. ‘I shall do my best, Professor Dolmen. You must not worry. The Senator may believe he is all-powerful but, in reality, I doubt he can do what he threatens.’
‘That is so good of you, my lord,’ Dolmen said, seizing his benefactor by the arm. ‘I knew, as an English gentleman, you would come to my aid. The Herr Senator is not a gentleman. He is a . . .’ The English words escaped him. ‘
Ich hasse das schwein
,’ he ended and the look of fury which convulsed his face shocked Benyon. This determined little man was not an enemy to be underestimated.
‘I say, old boy, mind if I join you? I used to be rather good at this.’
The distraction caused Frank to miss his shot and Philly laughed heartily.
‘Damn boat! Why can’t it keep still?’ he said crossly.
‘Sorry, old boy, did I put you off your stroke? Didn’t mean to and all that rot. Major Cranton’s the name, what?’
He put out his hand and held it outstretched until, reluctantly, Frank had to take it. From his ramrod-straight back, watery blue eyes and small moustache cut to a bristle, to the heavy brogues on his feet, there could be no mistaking Major Cranton. Everything about him said ex-Army and his sallow complexion suggested some years in India. He only needed a swagger stick to complete the picture.
‘Or am I
de trop
, as the froggies say?’
There was something a little desperate in his attempt to be seen as a ‘good fellow’ and Frank softened. ‘Of course not, sir. By all means join us, Major Cranton. We were only fooling around. By the way, my name’s Frank Corinth. This young idiot is Perry Roosevelt and this is his sister, Philly.’
After hands were shaken, Cranton took hold of a shovel and soon proved himself adept at the game. After ten minutes, Frank threw down his shovel. ‘You’re too good for us, Major. What about a drink?’
They collapsed in deck chairs and the steward brought them fruit juices.
‘You have the cabin next to mine, don’t you, Major?’
‘I do. And may I ask whether you are going to America on holiday?’
‘I’m working for Lord Benyon,’ Frank said, importantly.
‘Lord Benyon? Is that who it is? I thought I recognized his face. In distinguished company, what? Reminds me of when I was in India. The Viceroy was visiting my chief and I was parading the guard of honour. Dash it, do you know, I failed to recognize the blighter. Felt the most awful ass and the CO didn’t half tear me off a strip. Deserved it, too, I dare say . . .’
The Major went on to tell a long and involved story of a scandal in Poona twenty years before and Frank’s attention wandered. He wondered how he was to detach Philly from her twin long enough to impress on her that she was the love of his life. He had heard that moonlight was good for that sort of thing and, with the skies clearing, perhaps tonight he might be able to lure her on deck. He had started rehearsing speeches he might make when suddenly he realized Major Cranton had stopped talking and was watching him with interest.
‘I was just saying, I met your father once. Very fine man, the Duke. Do give him my regards when next you see him.’
There was something banal yet rather odd about the Major’s chatter. It was as if he was determined to rub it in that he was a typical ex-Army bore but there was something in his face which made Frank suspect it must be an act. He had certainly been in the Army – no doubt about that – but what was he doing in a First Class cabin on the
Queen Mary
and, without wishing to sound snobbish, where had he met the Duke of Mersham?
Before he could ask any probing questions, however, they were joined by Verity and Sam Forrest and the Major made a surprisingly speedy exit.
‘Who the hell was that guy?’ Sam inquired.
‘A Major Cranton. He has the cabin next to mine.’
‘I thought there was something fishy about him,’ Philly said.
‘I know what you mean,’ Frank agreed.
Edward knocked on the door of Warren Fairley’s cabin and heard a muttering – almost a cooing – which persuaded him that his visit was inopportune but, as he turned away, the door opened and Fairley appeared. In the doorway, he looked enormous and his face threatening but, when he saw who it was, his expression softened and he bade Edward enter.
‘My wife owes her life to you.’ His voice resonated bizarrely in the enclosed space.
‘Oh, it was nothing at all. The main thing is she’s all right. She
is
all right, I trust?’
‘She’s sleeping now,’ Fairley replied, indicating the inner cabin. ‘But, Lord Edward, I say again, we owe you so much. If there is anything . . .’