Maiden Voyage

FORTY-NINE

Dick Charles had arranged to meet Lady Diana at two o'clock in the morning, after he came off duty. But because Rudyard had relieved him a few minutes early, he was able to change and wash him face and make his way down to her stateroom by a quarter of two. He cleared his throat, adjusted his blue silk necktie, and knocked. He smelled rather strongly of a German cologne he had bought two him ago in Hamburg.

He had been thinking about Lady Diana all day, except when the storm had demanded his full attention. At first he had been confused. Then, when he had begun to understand what they had been doing together, and all the Freudian implications of it, he had been seriously frighted. After the storm, though, he had begun to think of her again, and his fright had turned slowly to curiosity, and then to a peculiar kind of renewed desire.

He was breathless and jumpy as he waited outside Lady Diana's door, and he kept glancing nervously up and down the corridor to make sure that nobody was watching him. Ships, at night, were full of wanderers. People who felt sick, and who found their cabins claustrophobic. People who couldn't sleep, because of the endless drumming of the turbines. People who were surreptitiously visiting or returning from beds that were not their own. In third, they called such wanderers "the glass-o'-waterers", because even if they were caught outside some pretty girl's cabin with their pyjama pants around their ankles, they would explain that they had left their own berths for "a glass-o'-water".

Quite abruptly, Lady Diana's door was opened. But instead of Lady Diana, in her revealing silk negligee, a very tall man stood there, and by the way his collar was flapping and his trouser fly was gaping open, it was plain that he had only half-finished dressing.

"Yes?" the man demanded, in a sharp upper-class accent.

"Buh-buh-buh—I-I—buh—" stammered Dick.

"Well?" the man wanted to know. "What do you want?"

"I, uh, I, uh, I was j-just making certain that everyone was cuh—was cuh—was

comfortable."

"At two o'clock in the morning? My dear chap, if they're not comfortable by two o'clock in the morning, they're never going to be comfortable. Good night."

But before he could close the door, Lady Diana called out, "Who's that? That isn't Dicky, is it?"

"Oh," said the tall man, taken aback. "Are you Dicky?"

"W-well, I'm D-dick," said Dick.

"Ah,' said the tall man, in the manner of someone who has just been told that they have dropped their hammer through the conservatory roof. "So you're Dick. Or Dicky. Well—ah—that puts a different—ah—complexion on things. What?"

The last "What?" was so explosive and so interrogative that Dick thought he had actually been asked something. "Er, yes," he answered. It was a response that was strictly in accordance with the Keys Shipping Line Handbook of Passenger Service. "If you have any doubt about a question that a passenger has put to you, always answer yes and then ascertain afterwards whether whatever it is that he has requested is either possible or practicable. This rule does not apply, of course, to questions relating to dangerous, revolutionary, unpatriotic, immoral, offensive, or religious matters." Dick had always wondered what he would say if a passenger asked him, "Is there a God?"

Lady Diana appeared, in a pale blue concoction of flowing silk and frothing lace. She was drinking something bright blue in a martini glass. There was a maraschino cherry in it which looked mauve.

"My darling Dick, you must come in. You're early."

For a moment, the tall man completely blocked the doorway, but when Lady Diana prodded his arm with one of her long fingernails and said, "Come on, now, dear," he reluctantly stepped back and let Dick past. Dick gave him a smile which he hoped was cheerful, but which was actually horribly distempered (as he saw when he glanced at the mirrors over the mock fireplace).

"You must meet, er, Walter," Lady Diana gushed. 'He's my chiropractor. Aren't you, Walter? I don't know how I could survive without him. That's why he's coming to America with me. I never know when I might need him, night or day. Once my neck gave way when I was at the ballet. Just gave way! All I could do was stare down into my lap. Fortunately it was Swan Lake and I detest Swan Lake. I keep expecting one of the corps de ballet to lay an egg."

"Walter" was buttoning up his trousers and fastening his cufflinks. He looked extremely disgruntled.

"He has to change, you know, into his white uniform, don't you, Walter?" explained Lady Diana. 'That's why he's somewhat, well, deshabille." Rather impatiently, she added, "Hurry up, now, Walter. It doesn't take all night just to do up your cufflinks, does it?"

"No, madam," said "Walter", in a voice as heavy as West Indian treacle being poured into a bowl of junket. "Whatever you say, madam."

"People are so sarcastic these days," said Lady Diana twitchily. "Don't you find them so? Even people you don't expect to be sarcastic, like policemen. Do you know what a policeman said to me the other day,by St. James's Park?"

"No," said "Walter". "What?"

Dick glanced uncomfortably across at the "chiropractor" and then back to Lady Diana.

"I think I've c-come at an aw, at an aw, at an awkward moment," he said. He replaced his cap on his head and tugged the peak to straighten it.

"You're not going!" cried Lady Diana. "But why? You don't think that Walter and I were—well, you don't think that Walter and I—"

"I just think I've c-come at an," said Dick. And then, while both Lady Diana and "Walter" stared at him with furrowed and melodramatic expressions, he said, "awkward moment."

Lady Diana hesitated for a second or two, trying to decide whether to storm off into her bedroom, burst into tears, or fling herself down on the couch in frustration and despair. It didn't take her long to decide to fling herself down on the couch in frustration and despair.

"You're like all the rest of them, aren't you, Dick? A reputation counts for so much. You believe what people have told you about me, rather than what you've seen for yourself. Well, if that's the way you want it, who cares? I've still got the rest of the night to get drunk. Perhaps I'll throw myself off the ship."

"You c-can't d-do that," said Dick.

"And why not?"

"It's against c-company regulations. No d-diving off the side. No j-jettisoning of r-rubbish."

"So that's what I am? Rubbish? Rubbish that can't even throw itself away because of company regulations? Walter, I feel a twinge coming on. Walter, stand near me!"

"Walter" sighed, and took one or two reluctant steps in Lady Diana's direction. She threw him a poisonous little sidelong glance as he continued to wrestle with his collar stud. "God, you can't even trust your own chiropodist."

"I thought he was a chiropractor," said Dick. He felt stifled by something that could have been nasal congestion, but felt more like jealousy.

"My dear, they're almost the same thing," said Lady Diana distractedly. "But really if you want to go, go. I don't care what you think of me."

"As a m-matter of fact I think very huh, very huh, very highly of you," said Dick.

"Highly?" asked "Walter", as if it were one of those fashionable new slang words like "darb".

"Yes, Walter," said Lady Diana. "Some people do. Poor Dicky, have I misjudged you? Have I been mean?"

"W-when I t-talked about the rubbish, I was only quoting a r-regulation," Dick told her. He took off his cap again and tucked it under his arm. "I didn't mean to suh, to suh, to suggest that—"

"Walter" grimaced as he inserted his last stud and reached for his necktie. "That's all settled, then, is it?" he asked Lady Diana. "I can go now?"

"Yes, dear, I suppose so," said Lady Diana. "I'll see you tomorrow, shall I, for the usual treatment?"

"Hmph," said "Walter". He shook on his jacket, arranged his triangular white display of handkerchief in his breast pocket, and then marched out of the cabin without even saving goodbye.

"Extraordinary chap," remarked Dick as the door closed behind him.

"Yes," agreed Lady Diana in a tired voice. "I like to think so."

Dick sat down on the corner of the couch, his cap on his knees. "How long have you had t-treatment from him?"

"Treatment? Oh, years. Years and years and years. Would you mix me another Boopa-Doopa, there's a good boy."

Dick took her glass and went to the cocktail cabinet. He sniffed at the dregs of what she had been drinking, and frowned at himself in the pink-tinted mirror at the back of the cabinet, engraved with leaves. "I'm n-not entirely s-sure what a Boo, what a Boo—"

"Ice, gin, blue curacao, bitters, and a cherry, my pet."

"Sounds absolutely revolting."

"Well, it is. But to drink anything at two o'clock in the morning is revolting, so why not go the whole hog?"

"L-listen," said Dick, as he stirred up a Boopa-Doopa with a swizzle stick, and mixed himself a very strong gin and French, "I w-want you to know that what happened last n-night was—w-well, it wasn't my n-normal sort of thing."

"I would never have guessed," Lady Diana told him. "You're an absolute natural."

"B-but it c-can't lead anywhere," said Dick. "I m-mean, once we've got to New York..."

"Do you want it to lead anywhere?" asked Lady Diana. She sounded surprised.

"It depends what you mean by l-lead," said Dick uncertainly. He gave her his amateur version of a Boopa-Doopa, which she peered at closely, sipped once, and then put down carefully on her small side table, as if it were a mixture of Pepto-Bismol and hemlock.

"You don't want us to be lovers, do you?" asked Lady Diana. "I mean, we can't be lovers."

"I thought perhaps we were already," Dick told her. "If that wasn't acting like luh, like luh, like lovers, what we did last night, well..."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the nose. "You're so sweet! Your incoherence excites me beyond all bounds! A stuttering swain!"

"You d-don't have to be rude about it."

"But I do, my darling. You have to learn to live with it! After all, you'll be living with it long after we've waved goodbye."

"I'm not sure I want to w-wave goodbye."

Lady Diana's eyes widened. "You're not—stuck on me, are you?"

Dick looked down at his cap badge. "A little," he admitted.

"But after this morning, I couldn't possibly imagine that you'd take me seriously."

"I d-didn't, at fir—At first," said Dick. He swallowed a large mouthful of gin and wiped his mouth with the back of his fingers. "But you're n-not like the others, are you?"

"I'm sorry, dear," said Lady Diana. "I was only half-listening. I'm not like the other what?"

"W-well, the other women."

"Oh, I see. And that's why you acted so jealous when you came in?"

"J-jealous?"

"Aren't you jealous?"

"I suppose I am."

"God, I can't stand jealous men. What on earth gives you, a stuttering steamship officer, the right to be jealous of me? I've been adored by earls, by princes, by peers. I've even been proposed to by a nizam. Do you know what a nizam is?"

"Some k-kind of Indian chappie, I should think."

"My God. You're so ignorant. How could I take you to Ascot?"

"Ascot's g-going to be over by the t-t-time we g-get back to—"

Lady Diana held on to his protuberant ears and kissed him all over his face— dozens of little kisses, like forget-me-nots, so that he could scarcely breathe.

"Oh, Dicky, you're such a wonderful sort! But don't take me too seriously. I've seen too much, and loved too much, and all I want is a few days of fun. Life's so short on fun these days, don't you think so? And this is my chance, four days on the good ship Arcadia. Wooed and seduced by the wonderful Dicky Charles."

Dick clinked the ice in his gin and French and looked abashed. "It's nice of you to say so," he said.

Lady Diana lifted her drink, peered at it dubiously, and then put it down again. "I was going to say that I'll drink to that," she said, more to herself than to Dick.

"W-well, I'll drink to it," said Dick, and tipped back his gin and in one long swallow.

Lady Diana stood up, reached behind her, and released the thin ribbon which held her negligee together. She only had to shake her shoulders once and it dropped down to her hips, revealing her long dimpled back, with the pattern of moles on the left shoulder blade, just where Dick remembered them from last night.

Lady Diana had told him that the moles were in the pattern of Sagittarius, her birth sign. The outlook for Sagittarians for 1924 was an unexpected windfall from an official quarter. Lady Diana had taken this as a good omen, although she had refused to tell Dick why. "Women must keep their mysteries," she had said, turning away.

Dick, in spite of himself, and in spite of his tiredness, found that he was aroused. He put down his gin glass next to her scarcely touched Boopa-Doopa and stood up. He approached Lady Diana from behind and laid his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her hair, and then her cheek. She smelted of something so exquisite and so expensive that both his heart and his pay cheque began to tremble. She was so small, and so erotic! He could think of nothing else but a upraised hindquarters, her cheeky smiles, and the sexual games she had played with him.

He said, "I may stutter sometimes, you know. But that duh, that duh, that doesn't make me any less of a man."

"I know," said Lady Diana simply, letting down the front of her negligee so that her small breast was bared to the lamplight. "But you mustn't ever forget that you don't own me. Not a bit of me. Not even one toenail, when it's clipped off. Not even one hair, if it falls out. You don't even own the waft of my French knickers, when I toss them into the laundry basket."

Dick kissed the side of her neck and licked inside her ear. "You c-can be d-dashed c-cruel sometimes, c-can't you?" he said.

"Of course," she said. "And don't you adore it?"

She turned around and seized the buckle of his pants. With three quick jerks, one to the left, one to the right, one to the left, she unfastened his belt, and then her hand ran deftly down his fly buttons as if she were shelling peas. His redness bobbed up out of his woollen underpants, and he thought to himself, in delight and fright, "It's happening again! So quickly, and it's happening again!"

And he didn't once think of "Walter", back in his own cabin, who was fitting on his toupee and putting on his small dark glasses, and preparing himself for an early breakfast as the Arcadia's mystery man.

He was too involved in sighing, as he anointed Lady Diana's insides.