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

“So you’re a doctor?” she asked. “Of medicine, not somethin’ else?”

“Of medicine.”

She turned to Kimball. “And what do you do, Mr. Kimball?”

“Harry. Dry goods. Not as exciting as being a doctor I’m afraid.”

“Nope, nope. Don’t apologize. Any job is a good one if a man enjoys it.”

Her eyes fell on the countess, then Antonio, who smiled and said, “I have always thought so.”

She chuckled. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

She turned to Elizabeth and Simon. “I’ve met the countess and Mr. Carrillo before.”

“Doing charitable works,” he said.

“Is that what you’re callin’ it now?”
 

He laughed a little uncomfortably. She eyed him for a moment longer, then turned to Simon and Elizabeth.

“So, what do you two do?”
 

“We are the idle rich, I’m afraid,” Simon said.

She shook her head. “I know an awful lot of rich people and not one of them is idle.”

“You don’t know enough Englishmen then,” Simon said.

Her round cheeks jiggled as she laughed. “I like you.”

The waiter arrived and began to pour their champagne.

“And what about you, Mr. Baker?”

Niels shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tugged on his collar. “I am a teacher.”

“Well, then you’re the best of all of us.”

She picked up her champagne glass and raised it in a toast. “To an interesting voyage. I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

Simon and Elizabeth exchanged glances, then drank. If only it ended that way.

~~~

After dinner, Kimball shanghaied the men and took them to the smoking lounge. He’d taken a real shine to Niels and practically forced him to join them, despite Niels’ protests, leaving Simon little choice but to go with them.
 

Maggie Brown threatened to join them, but decided to call it a night instead. Elizabeth could have crashed the party; it wasn’t unheard of for a woman to be in the smoking room, but Simon might have a better chance to bond with Niels if she wasn’t along. The closer they got to him, the easier it would be to protect him. Although, from the looks of things, the only thing they had to protect him from now was dying when the ship sank. Just that one little thing.

She walked with the men up to A Deck where Simon promised he wouldn’t be late. He kissed her cheek and walked aft with the others toward the smoking room.
 

That left her to her own devices again. There probably wouldn’t be any run-in with someone interesting like Edmund this time, though. However, on a ship like this there had to be oodles of interesting people. She just had to find them.

She decided to try the First Class lounge. As she walked there, couples strolled along the promenade enjoying the evening air. The night was mild and the skies clear. The stars sparkled above and a few lights lit the coast of Cornwall as they sailed around the southwestern tip of England on their way to Ireland, their last port before sailing to New York. It was calm and peaceful. The engines hummed below decks and the ship quietly cut through the ocean. She could barely hear the water lapping against the sides of the ship and walked over to the railing to peer down.

The lights from the deck lit the oddly smooth water below. She’d always envisioned the Atlantic Ocean as one giant roiling pot of swells and sea monsters. But it wasn’t, at least not tonight. It was calm. And now, with the breeze from the ocean, a little cold. A large shiver ran through her shoulders.

“Would you like my coat?”

She turned to find Antonio standing mid-deck.

“No, thank you.” She turned back to the water and he joined her at the railing.

“I thought you’d be with the men,” she said.

“I much prefer the company of women.”

She smiled. He was pretty shameless, but she liked him. He was a little much, but charming.
 

“Won’t the countess be wondering where you are?”

“Lady Trauttmansdorff is resting,” he said. “It is a benefit of being a companion to a much older woman. They are like cats, they sleep most of the time.”

Elizabeth fought down her smile and looked out at the water.

“And they have very sharp claws,” he added with a small laugh.

She shifted to look at him. He was very handsome. Tall, dark and actually charming. At dinner he was erudite, clearly well-educated and engaging. Why a man with all of those qualities would be working as a, well, a kept man, was beyond her. Or maybe she was just reading too much into it.
 

“I should not speak ill of her. She has been very good to me.”

 
“Are you—?” she couldn’t find the right word. It sounded odd to say gigolo. “I mean are you two …” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

He tilted his head from side to side as he thought of how to respond. “We have an equitable arrangement. I have something she wants.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up.

“Youth,” he added with a knowing, amused look. “And she has something I want.”

“Experience?” she asked.

“Money.”

Elizabeth laughed at that. “Well, you’re honest.”

“Life is too short for games. If you see something you want,” he said, moving slightly closer, “you should take it.”

His eyes dipped down to her chest.

“And on that note,” she said, slipping away from the railing, “I have to go … elsewhere.”

He raised his hands in supplication in front of him. “I did not mean to—”

Elizabeth wagged her finger at him playfully. She wasn’t completely offended, but she also wasn’t a woman of this time who needed to demure to a man’s advances in order not to embarrass him.
 

“I think you did,” she chastised him lightly.

“Forgive me,” he apologized again. “I sometimes forget myself when I am around a beautiful woman. It is the curse of my people.”

Passionate Spaniard, indeed.

She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. I should go in though.” She rubbed her arms to remind him she was cold.

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

Elizabeth gave him one last tempered smile, and then turned and hurried inside while trying to look as if she wasn’t hurrying. She turned back when she reached the door to see if he was still there, but he was gone.

She puffed out a breath and looked around the entry hall. If she remembered the schematic of the ship right, the First Class lounge and reading room were to her left. She started down the long hall, passing through a heavy wooden revolving door to enter the large lounge. Beautifully upholstered sofas and small groups of chairs sat scattered around the room. Some people played cards or caught up on their correspondence while some just had a drink from the adjoining bar. There was also a large bookcase. Elizabeth smiled. That was the ticket. Not that she didn’t love a good drink, but she loved a good book even more. Of course, the two weren’t mutually exclusive, but she wanted to stay alert. Just in case.

Several large mahogany bookcases were arranged along the far wall. She walked over to them and browsed the titles. A woman only a little older than she was joined her. She put a book back onto one of the shelves,
The Portrait of a Lady
by Henry James.

She was pretty and slender, almost too much so. She tilted her blonde head to the side and skimmed the titles looking for something else. Their eyes caught and they both smiled politely and looked away.

“Wasn’t it good?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’m sorry?”

She nodded toward the shelf. “The book.
Portrait of a Lady
?”

The woman’s brow pinched together. “It was good,” she said finally, “it just wasn’t for me.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Have you tried his
Turn of the Screw
? Creepy.”

“No,” she said. “My life is frightening enough.”

She looked for a moment as though she’d surprised herself with the admission. Elizabeth bit her tongue and looked back to the books to give the woman a moment to reaffix her social mask. Although Elizabeth was curious, propriety hardly allowed her to grab the woman’s hand and pull her to the nearest settee and demand to know what frightened her.

The woman cleared her throat delicately. “I like to escape into books,” she added hastily. “To go somewhere or be someone I could never be.”

Elizabeth knew that feeling. “‘A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who doesn’t read lives only one.’”

The woman’s face brightened. “Yes. Exactly.”

Elizabeth didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t her original thought. Although she agreed with it whole-heartedly, George R. R. Martin had said it, or at least one of his characters had.
 

“My name’s Elizabeth, by the way.” She held out her hand. The woman took it and gave it a polite squeeze.

“Louise. Louise Sheridan.”

There was a lull after the introductions and Elizabeth turned back to the books. She saw the title she’d been looking for and pulled it off the shelf.

“How about this one?” she asked and handed it to Louise.

“The Time Machine?” Louise shook her head. “Science fiction, I—”

“Try it. Live a life you never would.”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s the magic,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “You don’t have to know. You just have to read.”

Louise looked down at the book and let out a small breath as if she were convincing herself to jump off a cliff and not read a book.

Finally, she nodded and clutched the book to her chest. “Just read.”

“C
IGAR
?”

S
IMON
SHOOK
HIS
head and lifted his snifter of brandy. “This will do, thank you.”

Kimball held out the cigar to Bohr, who also demurred and pulled a pipe from his pocket.

Even Dr. Hass turned him down, preferring his cigarettes.

Kimball shrugged and stuffed the cigar back into his breast pocket. “Don’t know what you’re missing. Cuban. Portagás. Best in the world.”

“Did you say Cuban?” Simon turned to see a very large man standing nearby about to light his cigar. Judging from his accent, he was Russian.
 

“I did,” Kimball said, clearly enjoying the attention and opportunity to impress.

The big man’s eyes lit. “Havana?”

“Of course,” Kimball replied. He tugged the tip of the cigar out of his jacket pocket. “Interested?”

The big man narrowed his eyes. “It will be our secret?”

Kimball looked at Simon in confusion then back to the other man. He shrugged. “If you want it to be.”

The match that still burned between the Russian’s meaty fingertips had nearly reached them, then without taking his eyes off Kimball’s cigar, he brought it to his lips and blew it out.

He looked at the cigar now in Kimball’s hands with unabashed avarice. He reached out for it, but hesitated, wiggling his thick fingers in anticipation.

Kimball nodded that he could take it then glanced at Simon with an amused grin. The man was like a dog with a new bone.

The Russian took the cigar and ran it beneath his nose, inhaling deeply. His smile was one of pure delight. Then he sobered.

“The Russians do many things well, but a truly fine cigar …” He shook his head and held up his prize. “I am in debt. I can pay you in caviar.”

Kimball held up his hands. “That’s all right.”

“I insist.”

Kimball looked ready to decline again, but from the look in the Russian’s eyes that wouldn’t be the wisest decision.

“Thank you.”

The Russian admired the cigar once more, then held out his hand. “Sergei Katarov. And to whom do I owe this debt?”

“Harry Kimball, but—”

“You don’t like caviar? Then you have never had mine.” He snapped his fingers toward a steward and then circled his hand around the seating area. The steward nodded. It must have been some prearranged signal.
 

“That’s very kind of you,” Kimball said.

Katarov waved his hand dismissively as he sat down. “Think nothing of it.”

Kimball introduced Simon, the doctor and Bohr. Baker, dammit.

Katarov cut the end of his new treasured cigar and lit it with a look of sheer indulgent delight. “Heavenly.”

He looked at Kimball. “You are my new favorite person.”

Kimball laughed. “You’re not married then I take it?”

Katarov took a puff from his cigar. “Oh, I am. But she is far from my favorite.” He leaned back in his chair. “Right now, she is somewhere between my current mistress, my old mistress and my dogs. The Bolsheviks give less grief than she does.”

Dr. Hass laughed but shook his head. “You say that now, but when she’s gone …”

“I will throw a party!”

As the others continued to joke about it, Simon turned to the doctor who sat in a club chair to his right. “Did you lose your wife?”

Hass’ eyes grew sad at the memory. “Three years, six months and seven days.” He took a sip of his digestif. “But who is counting?”

Simon’s jaw clenched at the mere thought of it, but the moment was shattered as Katarov roared out someone’s name.

“Robert!”
 

He waved to a barrel-chested, middle-aged man who was even bigger than Katarov.
 

The man gave him a wave of acknowledgment with his drink and joined their little party.

Katarov hefted himself out of his chair to shake hands with the new arrival. “Come join us.”

He introduced the newcomer as Robert Sheridan, an American.

“We sit together at dinner. Where is your lovely wife?” Katarov asked, then turned to the others. “If I were married to her, I might be a happy man.”

He playfully slapped Sheridan on the cheek. “Sit, sit.”

Sheridan smiled, although Simon saw the tightness in it. Whether it was the familiarity or the comment about his wife, Sheridan wasn’t as amused by Katarov as Katarov was.

“She’s probably with Emily.”

“Your daughter?” Katarov leaned back in his chair again. “Ah, the perfect family.”

Sheridan raised his glass. “I’d like to think so.”

“What do you do, Mr. Sheridan?” the doctor asked.