Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9) (10 page)

His chest puffed out a little, which was a feat, since it looked permanently puffed. “I’m the regional director for Bethlehem Steel. Finest steel in the world.” He looked around the room. “I can only hope Harland and Wolff used close to the same quality in constructing this, or it will be a short trip, gentlemen.”

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about there,” Kimball said. “Looks pretty sound to me.”

“From what I have read,” Dr. Hass said, “it is virtually unsinkable. I think we are all right on that front.”

Simon drained what was left of his brandy.

“I’m just saying, I’d feel better if it was built in America,” Sheridan said. “No offense.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would take some,” Hass said with a glance toward Simon, who hid his smile.

“Well, it’s just that when you do something better than everyone else, there’s no shame in being proud of it.”

“You Americans are boastful,” Katarov said. “I will give you that, but even that you do not do as well as a Russian.”

Sheridan looked ready to respond to that, but they were all saved by the arrival of the caviar.

The waiters set down two trays—one with a silver cloche, small pieces of toast and a half dozen spoons, the other with a bottle of vodka and six glasses.

Katarov clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Prepare to be amazed, gentlemen.”

He removed the silver cloche that covered the iced bowl of caviar and studied the contents like a mother bear checking on her cub.

He picked up one of the spoons and admired it. “Mother of pearl. Never let metal touch your caviar.”
 

He piled a scoop of caviar onto one of the pieces of toast and then shoved the entire thing into his mouth. He swayed his shoulders from side to side and practically purred in delight.

Finally, he swallowed. “A taste of the Caspian Sea. Please.” He gestured toward the caviar. “Enjoy.”

Kimball leaned forward. “That’s fish eggs, right?”

Katarov, his mouth already full again, nodded.
 

“I think I’ll pass.”

“What?” Katarov said, mouth still full. He swallowed. “You are a fool.”

Kimball eyed it suspiciously. “I can live with that.”

Katarov blew air between his lips in disgust and shoved another bite into his mouth. “You’re not getting the cigar back.”

Kimball laughed. “That’s all right.”

Simon had to admit he did enjoy a fine caviar and leaned forward to try some.
 

It was excellent.
 

“You see?” Katarov said. “He has taste.”

The others politely tried some. Sheridan piled his piece of toast so precariously high with the stuff, Simon was sure it was going to slide off onto his shirt front before it got to his mouth. Somehow he managed, and Katarov slapped him on the back, pleased.

“Now, the vodka! A fine vodka is only a Russian vodka—”

“I think that I might call it a night,” Niels said before Katarov could go off on another nationalist rant.

“So soon?”

Niels smiled tentatively but struggled to stand up to him.

“I think I might join you,” Simon said as he stood, taking the pressure off Niels.

Katarov pouted like a spoiled child. “Nooo.”

“It’s been a long day,” Simon said.

“But the evening is young.”

“And so is Cross’s wife,” Kimball said as he stood.

That made Simon bristle a little, but Kimball seemed to be trying to help.

“And I assume beautiful? In this case,” Katarov said, “I understand.”

He held up his glass of vodka. “Tomorrow, yes?”

Simon inclined his head. “Tomorrow.” He looked around at those who were remaining and said his goodnights.

He and Niels left just as Katarov resumed his lecture on the virtues of Russian vodka. Kimball caught up with them as they reached the door.

“He’s a character, isn’t he?” Kimball said. “Quite the talker.”

He fell into step with them as they headed for the staircase. “Talks a lot,” Kimball added. “Not that I mind, mind you, but it was hard to get a word in edgewise, you know what I mean?”

Simon did indeed know.
 

So, apparently, did Niels, who raised an amused brow and smirked at Simon.

Kimball chatted away as they descended the stairs. Niels’ stateroom was on D Deck. It was farther away than Simon would have preferred, but he had little to say in the matter.

“And she looked just like Mabel Normand.” Kimball put his hand on his chest. “Hand to God. Just like her.”

“Yes, well,” Simon said, wondering if the man ever took a breath.
 

“This is me,” Niels said, as he pointed toward D-18.

“Oh, right,” Kimball said nodding his head.

Simon waited for something more, but he just stood there. “Are you nearby?” he finally asked.

Kimball frowned and looked around. “Where are we?”

“D Deck.”

“Are we really? Wow. Completely lost. I’m, um.” He pointed up. “C-77. Up one.”

Again Simon waited. He wanted to have a private word with Niels, but Kimball wasn’t making it easy.

Finally, he seemed to get the message and clapped his hands together. “Right then. I guess I’ll …” He pointed up.

“Have a good evening,” Simon said.

“Right.” Kimball took a few steps away and then turned back. “See you tomorrow?”

There was no escape, Simon thought. “Yes, tomorrow.”

He waited until Kimball had disappeared down the hall before turning to Niels.

“Well then, goodnight,” Niels said.

Simon touched his arm to stop him from going inside. “Niels, Nicholas, even though we haven’t seen our friend, that doesn’t mean he isn’t here. Or that there isn’t someone else who doesn’t want you to reach your destination. You understand?”

Niels’ brow creased. “I do. What I do not understand is why this is so important to you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d believe we’re merely good samaritans?”

Niels smiled but shook his head.
 

Simon knew they were going to have to tell Niels something sooner or later, but he just wasn’t sure what. “Will you believe it for tonight at least?”

“For tonight.”

“Good.”

“Goodnight,” Niels said and stepped inside his stateroom.

“Lock the door.”

“Yes, mother.”

Simon waited outside and listened to make sure he did. Once he heard the lock click he made his way back to his own suite.

“Elizabeth?”
 

He closed the door to their suite and listened for an answer, but none came.

He walked through the empty sitting room into the bedroom. “Elizabeth?”

Not there either. He even checked the second bedroom and the promenade, but she wasn’t there. A small, but noticeable, knot started to tighten in his stomach. Of course, it wasn’t so strange that she hadn’t returned yet. He hadn’t spent that long with the others.

He checked his watch, surprised to see how late it actually was. After midnight.

He put the watch away and tried to do the same with his worries. This was, after all, hardly one of their more dangerous missions, at least not yet.
 

As soon as he had that thought, the knot in his stomach doubled. It would be just like her to find danger when there wasn’t any, or shouldn’t be any. Hell, the woman could find trouble in a box of kittens.

Best to go find her, if for no one’s sake other than his own.
 

He took the stairs with a purposeful stride. After scanning the deck, he searched for the First Class lounge, the signage thankfully led him straight to it.
 

The room was nearly empty now. He scanned it quickly, that knot tightening just a bit with each empty chair.

He walked over to the fireplace and put his hand on the mantel to steady himself. He was being absurd and yet … they were on the bloody
Titanic
! Being absurd was the most reasonable choice he’d made today. He turned around to look again. If she wasn’t here, where was she?

He turned to scan the room one more time when he noticed the bookcase and remembered the reading room along the long hall to the lounge. He turned and walked back to it. Opening the door, he stepped inside. Empty.
 

He took a few frustrated steps into the room. Fists on his hips in exasperation now, he turned and that’s when he saw her. She was nestled in the corner of a large sofa in a small, nearly hidden alcove in the back of the room. Her legs were curled under her like a cat and her nose was buried deep inside a book.

He let out a relieved breath. “Elizabeth.”

“Hmm?” She lowered the book and smiled up at him. “Hi.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”
 

She looked up at him guilelessly.

“What are you reading?”

She held up the volume to show him. “
Pride and Prejudice
.”

“Again?”

She held the book against her chest. “It’s so romantic, and after you Mr. Darcy’d yourself earlier, I couldn’t resist.”

“Mr. Darcy’d myself?” He knew it was foolish to ask, but sometimes he really had no idea what the words coming out of her lovely mouth meant.

“When you fished Niels out of the river. All wet-shirted and phrowr.”

Her eyes flashed appreciatively.

“Elizabeth.”

“You’ve got the pride thing going, too. If only I were prejudiced.”

He chuckled. “Sadly, you are without flaw.”

She laughed and put the book aside. Simon held out his hand and helped her up.
 

“How was your evening?” she asked. “Anything exciting?”

“Rather sedate,” he said, choosing to omit his recent near heart attack.

“Mine, too.” She gestured to the book. “As you can see.”

“Good.” He took her arm and wound it through his. “The more of those the better.”

Elizabeth scrunched up her face in disappointment.

“We have enough excitement ahead, don’t you think?”

She looked up at him and nodded solemnly before leaning her head against his shoulder. He slid his arm from between them and put it around her waist as they walked back to their rooms.

“Meet anyone interesting?” he asked. “Other than the Bennets?”

“Louise Sheridan.”

“Sheridan? I might have met her husband.”

“She’s lovely.”

“He’s … I’m not sure yet.” Sheridan had been a bit of a nationalist, but that was hardly uncommon. Katarov had done everything but sing the Russian national anthem. There was something, however, about Sheridan, that Simon didn’t like. He couldn’t put his finger on it and it was undoubtedly premature to make such a judgment, but it was there, nonetheless.

“We didn’t talk for very long,” he said in answer to her unspoken question. “Other than Mrs. Sheridan?”

“Oh! Madeleine Astor! Of the John Jacob Astor variety. She’s just a kid.”

He looked at her in amusement.

“I know, glass houses and stuff, but seriously, Simon, she’s a kid. Barely nineteen. One year younger than his son. They went to Egypt to escape the gossip.”

“And she told you all of this?”

“No, Louise did. She reads all of the papers.”

“I see.”

“We did meet Madeleine, but only for a little bit. Mr. Robbins, Astor’s valet, shuttled her off to her room before we could spend much time with her.”

Simon opened the door to their stateroom.
 

“And,” Elizabeth continued, “Henrietta Rivet is an actress. Going to be in
Macbeth
or something on Broadway.”

“That’s impressive,” Simon said and for some reason won a pouting frown from Elizabeth. “What?”

“I don’t know, I hated it when she was all, ‘Oh, is that Cartier? Is that foofoowhoever?’”

Simon chuckled again. “To some, that sort of thing matters.” He took her into his arms and the world felt right again. “Give them your pity not your scorn.”

“Maybe a little of both?”

He smiled, shook his head and kissed her.
 

“Spoilsport.” She turned and presented her back for him to unhook her dress, which he started to do.

“What did you think of the rest of them? At dinner?”

She took off her shoes and proceeded to undress as she answered.

“Maggie’s great. I like the doctor, and Kimball’s okay, a bit much, but …”

“Agreed. And the others?”

 
She started work on her corset. “Who’s left?”

Simon removed his jacket and hung it over the wooden valet. “The countess and her escort.”

“Oh,” she said with a slight laugh. “I don’t know. He’s …” She lifted her eyes toward Simon, something unspoken in them, as she took off her corset and set it aside.

“He’s …?” Simon prompted.

She took off the last of her underthings, leaving her naked. She reached for the top to his pajamas and pulled it on over her head before turning around.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I ran into him after dinner.”

“You did?”

She shrugged and walked over to the bed. “I was looking at the water from the deck and he came to say hello.”

Simon grunted and untucked his shirt. “I’m sure he did.”

She crawled on top of the covers. “Totally came on to me.”

Simon told himself not to react. It was childish and petty. “I see.”

“Pretty sure he checked out my boobs.”

Simon dropped a cufflink. “Well, he is a lothario. I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Elizabeth pouted. “Maybe, but your reaction isn’t. Where’s the old ‘Bess, You Is My Woman Now’ Simon?”

He laughed at that as he picked up the cufflink and put it and its partner on the dresser. “Should I be worried that you aren’t?”

“No,” she said and then repeated it more vehemently, “but I don’t know. I thought you’d be a little more upset.”

She seemed disappointed that he wasn’t. Little did she know. Right now, he’d very much like to throw Señor Carrillo overboard, but he’d overreacted enough for one night.
 

He sat down on the bed next to her. “I trust you.”

“It was nothing really. I put him in his place.”

“I’m sure you did.”