Justice Done (6 page)

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 by 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 of 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 résumé from the time he was a paperboy in the 1930s. 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.

“Yes, yes. Wonderful! Wonderful place for this lovely lady to celebrate her birthday,” he said to the others. “I'm certainly looking forward to that party tonight. The Grand Salon. Used to be the first class dining room. Largest single public room ever built on a ship. You could fit all three of Christopher Columbus's ships in there and still have space left over. Have you seen it yet, Sarah? No? Oh, you must see it. Probably won't let you in while they're getting ready for the big to-do, but”—he winked conspiratorially—“you have friends in high places. Then of course, you will see it tonight, won't you? Yes, a grand ship.”

Captain Dolman was making quick progress through his drink as Hastings went on.

“A symbol of triumph over the Great Depression, that's what it was to the British,” the politician said.

“Yes,” Robert Parsons said, “she was a symbol of hope.”

For reasons Sarah could not understand, this caused Captain Dolman and Ada to look at him sharply. But Hastings was oblivious.

“I've always liked the British,” he was saying. “Don't you like them? Sure. Like to do things on a grand scale—just like you, Ada. Say, did you know that if you measure from the
Queen Mary
's keel to the top of her forward funnel, this ship is one hundred and eighty feet tall? That makes her eighteen feet taller than Niagara Falls! Now, that's something, but her length is spectacular. If you could stand this ship on end, it would be taller than the Washington Monument. Taller than the Eiffel Tower, too. In fact, the Empire State Building would only be two hundred feet taller.”

“Two hundred and thirty feet,” Sarah said without thinking.

Parsons smiled, Ada laughed, and Captain Dolman nervously rattled the ice in his glass, which he was studying intently. Archer Hastings seemed taken aback until he noticed Ada's reaction, then burst into hearty guffaws. Sarah felt her own cheeks turning red, and wondered if her complexion now matched Captain Dolman's.

“I warned you, Archer,” Ada said. “She's a wonder with numbers. As addicted to facts and figures as you are.”

“Really?” Hastings seemed unable to resist the challenge of testing this claim. “I suppose you know about the anchors?”

Sarah hesitated, but seeing Ada's expectant look, answered, “There are two eighteen-foot long anchors, each weighs sixteen tons. The anchor chains are each nine hundred and ninety feet long. Each link of an anchor chain weighs two hundred and twenty-four pounds.”

“Very good, very good,” he acknowledged, although Sarah thought he did not seem to be truly pleased. “Your grandmother told me you had an excellent head for figures. Numbers have always been a specialty of mine. Making good use of them, not just dithering around with some theoretical nonsense. Of course, one can't expect a young lady to have an appreciation of statistics; rare enough to find one who has any kind of brain for mathematics in the first place. No wonder your grandmother is so proud of—”

Sarah fixed him with a narrow glare, but it was Robert who interrupted, saying, “Mrs. Milington is proud of her granddaughter for a great many reasons, of course. Her abilities with mathematics and statistics are just one source of that pride.”

Hastings seemed to finally become aware Ada was looking at him in a way that seemed to indicate that subtraction—from the amount he was hoping to receive from her for his campaign—seemed the most likely piece of arithmetic to be going on in her mind.

“Oh, Sarah, I apologize,” he said quickly. “I behave just like a crotchety old man on some occasions. You are clearly an exceptional young lady! I am astounded at your knowledge of the ship.”

“I haven't seen much of it,” she confessed in some confusion, still amazed at Robert's defense of her, and uncomfortable with all the praise Hastings had heaped upon her.

“But she's read a great deal,” Robert said.

“Ask her anything about it!” Ada said.

Sarah noticed a particular gleam in his eye as he said, “All right. What type of fuel did the
Queen Mary
burn?”

“Bunker C oil,” she answered promptly. “The ship averaged thirteen feet to the gallon.”

Ada gave a crow of laughter.

“Thirteen miles to the gallon?” Hastings asked.

“No, sir. Feet, not miles.”

Hastings, skeptical a moment before, now became fascinated by Sarah's love of data and would not be side-tracked from his game. He asked for statistic after statistic, and Sarah answered accurately every time.

She could not help but feel a glow of pride, and her original appraisal of Hastings mellowed considerably. But just as she was saying that there were over six miles of carpet on the ship, she happened to glance at Robert Parsons. He was frowning at Hastings, and his fists were clenched on the table.

I'm boring him, Sarah thought, all the pleasure suddenly going out of the game. Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at her hands, too humiliated to continue. Robert was obviously wishing that Hastings would stop encouraging her. She probably hadn't amused anyone other than Hastings and her grandmother; Robert and Captain Dolman, she was sure, were wishing Ada had left her at home. She had been an obnoxious, unbridled know-it-all.

She was about to apologize when she heard Robert say, “I have an extra pass for the next guided tour, Sarah. Would you care to go on it?”

She had not thought she could be more deeply mortified, but she was wrong. So he wanted to send her off on a ship's tour, as if she were a child not ready to share the company of adults. Well, and why not? She had just behaved as if she were the kid in the class who waves his hand and shouts, “Me! Me! Call on me!”

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

“Yes,” her grandmother agreed, “an excellent notion.”

So even Ada was defecting, she thought, as Robert, ever the gentleman, stood and helped her from her chair. She was a little surprised when he continued at her side, but she said nothing. She crossed the bar and took the exit to her left, and still he followed. As they passed two of the larger shops along the passageway, he said, “These were once the first class passengers' library and drawing room. Winston Churchill was given use of the drawing room when he was aboard the ship during World War II. He and other leaders finalized plans for the invasion of Normandy while on this ship, probably in that room.”

Sarah glanced into the rather barren souvenir shop that now occupied the space.

“Don't worry,” he said, reading her thoughts. “Not all of her dignity has been lost.”

“Where does the tour begin?”

“The port side of this deck,” he said.

“I'm sure I can find it,” she said.

“Undoubtedly. But I'm going with you.”

“But you've been before . . .”

“Yes,” he said, “but much of the ship can only be seen on the tour. You don't mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.”

T
he tour (she couldn't prevent herself from counting the group—eighteen sightseers, including the two of them) was led by a retired naval officer. Parsons stayed at her side, but did not touch or crowd her. She soon relaxed and began to thoroughly enjoy the tour itself, fascinated by the grandeur and history of the ship.

When the tour group reached the cabin class swimming pool, she heard a woman say, “I've heard that it's haunted.”

Sarah looked around the room of beige and blue-green terra-cotta tiles, the etched wire-and-glass image of an ancient sailing ship behind her, the glimmering mother-of-pearl ceiling above, the empty, sloping bottom of the pool itself. There were no windows or portholes, but the room was large enough to prevent her from feeling claustrophobic. Nothing about any of it struck her as particularly scary, nothing sent a chill down her back. But when she turned to make a joke to Robert about ghosts who had turned green from chlorine, she saw that he was pale, and had a strange, intense look on his face.

The guide was making light of the woman's remark. “Do you mean the woman in the mini-skirt or the one in the bathing suit? I'd settle for a glimpse of either one.”

“There's more than one ghost?” the woman asked.

“Oh yes, the ship has long been reported to be haunted,” the guide said lightly. “If you believe in such reports, this ship is loaded with ghosts. Myself, if I see one, I hope it's one of the young ladies who rove in here.”

The group laughed and began to move after the guide as he went on with the tour. Robert, however, remained motionless, and continued to stare into the pool.