An Unfamiliar Kindness

Chapter 6

2

At sea. 8 December, 1969

It was lunch hour the following day before Douglas Harding had success in locating the two young ladies from cabin 54 who had run him over. He chastised himself for not being able to extract the anonymous one’s name from her before he had to sound the retreat. He stood behind the buffet tables armed with a small stack of menus, which he had reprinted late that morning.

He bided his time. He could not afford another fumble with the redhead. There were over eight hundred passengers on this vessel, with scores of young ladies, and he had to choose these two. If he caught him here, his boss in the printing shop would demand his head.

He approached their table and leaned in next to Caroline’s chair. “Excuse me, Miss Caroline, I hope I’m not too late. I printed a couple of fresh menus for your table. I was hoping . . . .” He offered the blushing Caroline two of the menus.

“Thank you, Mr. Harding,” Caroline stammered.

Emilee leaned forward and hissed, “How did you find us? Are you a stalker?”

“No, Miss,” Douglas said. “I only brought you those, as well as this,” and he took a folded sheet from his back pocket. “Perhaps, if you missed the daily news-sheet.”

Caroline slapped her friend’s arm, “Stop it, Emilee. It’s a peace offering.”

“Stalker,” Emilee insisted.

He ignored her comment. “Thank you, Miss Caroline. I have to go. Have a pleasant meal. Please excuse me, Miss Emilee, Miss Caroline.” He hesitated, took the news-sheet from Caroline, scribbled on it, then handed it back to Emilee, bowed, and took his leave.

“What did he write?” Caroline cried as she tried to take the news-sheet, but Emilee pinned it down on the white tablecloth.

Miss’s E & C, please meet me at the entrance to the smoking room at 4 p.m., aft side. Douglas Harding.

“He likes you,” Caroline purred as her friend let go of the sheet and she inhaled the fresh printer’s ink. She closed her eyes.

“Oh please, he’s a pip-squeak who stalks us.” Emilee leaned back in her chair as they waited for their order. “I think we should rather socialize with the engineers or radio operators. That sounds so much more exciting and sophisticated than printing-shop assistant.”

Caroline gasped, “You are a snob.”

“Or better still,” Emilee laughed, “what about the sonar operator?”

“Be careful what you beg for,” Caroline said. “The sonar guy might be a blubber of a sailor with a stubble beard and missing teeth. If you wish to meet the upper class, we’ll have to hang out in the dance hall every night, or go on hourly excursions with the captain—if you can convince him.”

As soon as they left the dining hall, Emilee made them search for two unoccupied deck chairs. “Please let me lie down—my sea legs feel all wobbly. I’m not used to this constant heaving.” She dropped down on the first open canvas chair. Her complexion was similar to the mint color of their cabin.

Caroline was easy to be alarmed. “Shouldn’t we rather go to the hospital? Let the ship surgeon attend to you.”

“No . . . no doctor. It will pass. Let’s rest for a bit.”

Emilee broke the silence after two minutes. “Aft. Is that at the rear, the stern?”

Caroline laughed. “It’s the rear. He’s a stalker, remember? Now you want to go and meet with the man.”

“He’s only a boy. It will be bad manners if we don’t show up.”

“A beautiful boy. He looks twenty, though,” Caroline mused.

“Nineteen, max. He has such a weird accent.”

“He’s British, silly. They must think we speak funny.” She turned on her side facing her friend. “Somebody’s smitten.”

Emilee snapped upright. “I feel better already. Smitten? Who’s silly now? Let’s grab our swimming gear and do laps in the pool.”

Their hair was still damp from the swim as they hovered outside, close to the stern entrance to the smoking room, leaning against the outside railing, trying desperately to look old enough to hang around a bar facility.

Douglas Harding was on time, to the second, and walked over with a wide grin. He had changed out of his uniform. “Miss Emilee, Miss Caroline, I am honored—you both came.”

“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Harding,” Emilee said. “Please, can you drop this Miss thing. We are not princesses.” She curtsied.

“Shame on you!” Caroline chided.

“I see milady mocks me,” Douglas said.

“Well, stop acting like a fool. And what’s it with the smoking room? None of us smoke.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, is this really the only place on the ship where you can meet a young lady?” Emilee asked.

Caroline tried to put her hand over her friend’s mouth.

“Very few people actually smoke inside,” Douglas said. “Children are not allowed in here, so there’s no one who can run you over, and besides, they have a decent bar. You’ll love it. Both of you are eighteen, aren’t you?”

Emilee blushed. “Touché, Mr. Harding. Yes, we’re over age. Sorry for being such a bitchy female.” She held her hand, which he took and squeezed.

“That’s a contradiction of terms, but you’re forgiven,” Douglas said. “Let’s go inside.”

Fresh-poured liquor, tobacco smoke, and leather upholstery greeted them as the three found seats at the far side of the bar counter. The two girls got lost in studying the cocktail menu. Caroline bumped Emilee’s elbow, whispering, “What are you going to order?”

“Tequila sunrise.”

“It sounds like a breakfast drink.”

Douglas laughed. “It would be wiser not to start with that in the morning.”

“Well, it’s healthy. Got tons of orange juice in it,” Emilee replied.

Caroline continued whispering, “You never drink. Where did you learn all this about cocktails?”

“I did some research before we came, in the school library.”

“You learned about mixing cocktails in our school library?”

“One only needs to know where to look.”

They were thirsty from the swim, and Emilee finished her first sunrise with three gulps. She immediately ordered a second one and downed it on the spot. Caroline sipped on her first one with caution. Douglas said nothing as he nursed his drink, his hooded eyes resting on them.

“Wow! I can feel the orange juice surging through my veins,” Emilee said.

Douglas raised his brow, and Caroline touched her hand. “That’s not the orange juice you’re feeling. Slow down.”

Emilee bubbled over, “Oh no, Carrie, I am filling up with vitamin C,” and she laughed with unfamiliar abandon.

They sipped in silence for several minutes, but as soon as the tequila and vitamin C found equilibrium inside her, Emilee turned in her high seat, all sweet and nice. “What exactly are you doing on the Windsor Castle, Douglas Harding?”

“I chaperone unescorted young ladies from the Cape of Good Hope all the way to Southampton and deliver them in one piece to the doorstep of her Royal Majesty.”

Emilee snorted in her drink. “Douglas, you Philistine! Not only are you a stalker, you are a charlatan.” She turned toward Caroline. “See why I need to be hard on him?”

Douglas laughed and clinked their glasses. “I’ve been employed on this Royal Mail Ship for the past twelve months. I started as a cleaner in the dining hall, which I didn’t enjoy. I got to meet all the passengers, but they all, especially the young ladies, took me as a fool because of my low status. I transferred to the printing shop, where I am now the first assistant, my day job, and I love it.”

“And first printing assistant has status?” Emilee asked.

He pulled up his shoulders. “I enjoy it.”

“And what is your other job?” Caroline asked.

“Oh, that is my chaperone portfolio, my extracurricular activity, from after work till I start again the next morning. But I don’t charge for the service. It’s free.”

Both girls turned scarlet.

“That’s not what I meant!”

Emilee jumped off her chair, “We’ve heard enough. Carrie, let’s go. He’s indeed a charlatan. Thanks for the drinks, Mr. Harding. Please excuse us.” Emilee took Caroline by the arm and they made for the exit.

Douglas was quicker and bolted ahead of them. “Ladies, that was unfair! I said nothing improper. I was pulling your legs. You act as if I run an undercover white slave-trade business on this mail liner.”

Emilee pouted her lips. “For all we know, you do.”

“Let’s at least finish our drinks,” he pleaded.

“My friend feels I’ve had enough,” Emilee said.

“Remember that it’s not water, and sip it slower,” he said.

The girls took their time to return to their drinks at the bar counter and slipped back onto their seats, eying their companion with suspicion, not touching their cocktails.

He threw his arms up in mock surrender. “Why are you guys glaring at me like that?”

Emilee jumped up again, this time with her drink in hand. “There’s an open table in the back. Come along.”

Once they sat down, she downed her third drink with little hesitation, hiccupped twice, and giggled. She leaned forward in an unhurried fashion and murmured, “Douglas Harding, did you think just because we wear bell-bottom jeans and our hair all long and wavy that you could bring us here, get us all tipsy, and then make love to us?”

Caroline gasped. Douglas choked on his drink.

“Make love?” he whispered, still coughing.

“Yes, Douglas, have intercourse with us—one after the other. I can see you are young, fit, and trim. You could do that.”

Douglas Harding was pale when he stood up, keeping his voice down. “Is that what you want?”

“No, Douglas,” Emilee said, “that’s what you were hoping for. Two for the trouble of one.”

Although she had temporarily lost her tact and sensibility, she was still able to read his expression, witnessing the extent of his turmoil. She immediately regretted her words. Not once since they’d met (even in the most awkward fashion on the hallway floor when she’d run him over) had she found him staring at her in a gawking or lusting fashion, undressing her with his eyes, as many of the other males on the vessel had done with both her and Caroline. Although, he had openly demonstrated an interest in her, which was, she realized now, an appreciation of her unbound spirit, of her fearless honesty.

His eyes and mouth showed the unexpected hurt: a mixture of shock and disappointment, but also a declaration of hope that he was not wrong in his initial assessment of her character. Those fleeting expressions confirmed his noble intent: that he was innocent of what she had accused him—the betrayal was all hers.

“Miss Emilee, you’re not used to alcohol, to cocktails for that matter, and definitely not on an empty stomach.” Douglas’s voice was hushed. “You’re probably a little drunk. Why would I want to make love to you? Sorry, that came out wrong. You are both alluring females, two exceptionally gifted individuals, and I was . . . .” He blushed, coughed, and continued.

“A man can dream—but that was not my intention. I thought you were different from all the other girls on the ship who only care about fancy nails and designer clothes and five-course meals and copulating. They don’t make love—they have nothing between their ears. I thought you were of a class apart. You have such a fresh and effervescent spirit. I was wrong. Excuse me, ladies.”

He bowed and stormed from the smoking room.