Titanic: True Love Forever

Chapter 14: The Search

We entered the dining room, which instantly shifted in tone from slightly darker outside to polished and bright, with large areas of white paneling and stately wood red supporting the main tones of the dining room. Andrew walks over to an empty dining table, lets go of my hand, and naturally pulls out my chair for me.

As I sat down, the other man, who had left the table to walk out, immediately doubled back, coming quickly to Andrew's side with a smile, "Tommy, did you take my whistle?"

"Artie, you're the one who forgot it again in the pocket of a shirt that needed to be cleaned, I can't find the pen for my drawing yet." Andrew gave him a skillful tap on the shoulder and proceeded to introduce me, "Artie Frost, Titanic's fitter, and this is Emily."

"Just a common man's laborer, Tommy." Frost smiles at me a little, not looking rushed, "Pleased to meet you, Miss Emily, I hope the journey has been a pleasant one for you."

It was very pleasant for me, and I would have been even more so if your crew hadn't been running after me.

"Hello." I nod and continue to smile.

Frost comes and goes in a hurry, and before he excuses himself he whispers next to Andrew, "I'm going to check the engine room, the whistle must have slipped by William, he just loves to use mine to play the ditty."

"I hope that doesn't frighten you, he's a little pushy." Andrew pulled out a chair and sat down, he waved a waiter over, the crowd in the dining room had gone quite a bit, there was always somewhere for this group of first class guests to go to spend their time after dinner.

The waiter came over and asked us civilly what we needed, I asked Andrew to take my order, this wasn't a place I was familiar with, and the quieter I was the less I'd have to break. After all, I'd been rolling around with the rats in third class earlier in the evening, so I had to keep myself from looking too rude.

The cutlery is all emblazoned with White Star's distinctive White Star logo, and the plates, knives and forks are meticulously laid out along a straight line on a clean white tablecloth. I really admire the service staff here, setting out so many hundreds of delicate plates every day, and still being able to insist on being neat and tidy without getting tired of it.

Although I don't like western food, I still have western etiquette in my mind. I tried my best to not look so different, not to attract special attention like every other unmarried girl here.

Time better hurry up to tomorrow, as long as I make it to noon tomorrow, I'll be completely relieved.

Andrew got up and walked over to the band after ordering his food and said hello to the band director, "Henry."

"What kind of music would you like to hear, Mr. Andrew?" Henry put the violin back on his shoulder as he looked up at Andrew, ready to change the position of the strings in his hand to suit his needs.

"Londonderry Minor." He commanded familiarly before retracing his steps back to me, pulling out a chair and sitting down saying, "If you're disembarking in Ireland tomorrow then I hope you don't mind taking a trip there to see the beautiful scenery. By the way, say hello to me and your uncle, and perhaps I can give you a tour of the ship before you disembark tomorrow. You're the first guest I've met who has praised the Titanic so much, and I'm sorry I won't be able to see you on the full ride."

During the small talk into the dining room, I told Andrew about the compelling need to disembark tomorrow when the ship docks because my uncle just couldn't take the seasickness. But an uncle who gets seasick even on such a smooth cruise is an oddball, and I calmly ignore the error of such a lie.

"I'll be choosing White Star Line for another cruise next time I get the chance, and I hope to see you then ......" I pause suddenly, feeling for the first time that such a lie is so hard to swallow, snapping to the realization that where I'm sitting, the cutlery in my hand, the daytime-beauty of the overhead lights that passed any of me, would be completely gone in a few days.

It's a giant tomb, a place of death of unrivaled splendor.

Londonderry arias began to flow slowly from the pulling strings of the violin, and the piano, and shortly after we sat down, the pianist who had been playing over in the reception hall followed suit to help with the ensemble.

The notes of the violin slowly, but gently tread on the footprints of the piano sound, speaking of Ireland's past quiet snow, the passing summer flowers.

"It's a Northern Irish folk song, I grew up listening to it, I hope you'll like it." Andrew turned his head intently to listen at the sound of a familiar tune, saying wistfully, "My father's favorite music, it began as a story of a father's love for his faraway son."

As I followed his gaze, I saw Henry, the orchestra conductor, who had his eyes closed and was playing with deep emotion, and the pianist, who occasionally wandered to match his sporadic piano playing.

Uncontrollable, I almost wanted to stand on tiptoe. I fell in love with this melody so slow that it was close to death, so warm that you could feel the sadness.

I was introduced to dance in my childhood, and music has been something that has been with me almost my whole life; my soul is a pile of dancing feet and beautiful music. Whenever there is a melody, I naturally know how to express it with my movements.

Getting up and dancing now was not something a lady should do, and I could only suppress the urge as I watched the restaurant waiter begin to serve the food.

The waiter's white, clean cuffs didn't have a single crease in them as he politely asked me what I wanted, ready to serve the table at a moment's notice. I sometimes want to shake the waiter's hand, look at how young you are, why don't you come off the ship with me tomorrow. I remember the great and unfortunate fact that the deaths of the staff on the Titanic outnumbered all the guests.

The first course was served with a quail egg terrine with a cute little bun on top. I'm still getting used to the Chinese aesthetic, and a lot of the Western accompaniments leave me with a sense of how they hooked into the dish. The square table was covered with a clean tablecloth and my feet were tucked underneath it, having noiselessly poked out of my shoes as I began to eat. To the tune of a Londonderry ditty, I tensed my toes with ease and secretly began to dance.

"Tastes good." Andrew doesn't mince words about anything worth praising, and not only does he smile amiably at his upper-class guests, but he even seems approachable to the waiters.

I nod along, shoving a mouthful of food into my mouth. Bare feet scrape the floor, little by little, tensing the muscles in my calves, then my knees, toes off the ground again, following the rhythm of the violin, tiptoeing to the tips of my thumbs as my feet jerk back to the ground, crossing and tiptoeing quickly again ......

The feet are moving while the body is unaffected.

I love this game where the band sits in front of the sheet music and plays the music from the album to themselves while I sit next to them and sneakily step and dance to their riffs.

"Mr. Andrews, why aren't there more lifeboats?" I stopped my own dancing, finally unable to resist reminding him again against the backdrop of the warm, soft melody.

"You think there are fewer lifeboats?" Andrew looked up at me strangely, as if he thought it was incredible that I would bother to notice this, and added, "The average guest who takes a stroll down to the lifeboat deck rarely notices them. Well, the boom was actually designed to hold thirty-two more lifeboats, but not all of them were installed for fear of detracting from the aesthetics of the deck."

I looked down at the white star symbol in the center of my dinner plate, hidden in my food, before continuing, "Why didn't you fit them all, are you risking the lives of your passengers?" Still wanting to do everything in my power to try and change something before getting off the ship.

For example, I hope that they will pay attention to the number of lifeboats, although I know that this hope sounds so remote. Because when the Titanic set sail, it proved that everything had already been decided internally, and probably there had been many tugs of war over such issues as lifeboats to get to this number.

"No, Emily, more people feel that placing too many lifeboats on the strolling deck is taking a risk with the passengers, because most passengers would be frightened at the sight of too many lifeboats, and that's the equipment that puts so much life-saving in place because they don't have confidence in their ship." Andrew seemed to remember something and the smile marks at the corners of his mouth hid, then he smiled again, "Actually, I once suggested that sixty-four lifeboats be placed. But the Ministry of Trade and my uncle both felt that sixteen was already in line with the law, and they're rather stubborn, ha, I'll try to gather the opinions of passengers who have the same idea as you. Of course, the ship is so sturdy that it is a lifeboat in itself."

"Never sink." I remembered what I had once heard someone say about the ship on the street when I arrived in Southampton Harbor. It wasn't clear if the Titanic campaign had been too successful, or if White Star had bought out the newspapers, but anyway, when the launching of this royal luxury liner began, it was seen by all as a ship that would never sink.

"On your honor, here's to never sinking." Andrew picked up his glass, he didn't hear a word of what I was saying and thought it was a wonderful blessing worth celebrating.

Fuck you Never Sink!

I wanted to grab this designer with a hole in his head by the collar and shake him for all I was worth, I was reminding you that the ship is sinking it's really sinking and that this is not at all a champagne celebration.

But can I tell him the ship is going to hit an iceberg and cause a huge shipwreck?

The violins continue to sound deep and gentle, as if to tell me to calm down and you will rest in peace.

I held back and held back, holding back that stifling feeling of knowing that everyone is going to run off to their deaths and you know the outcome but you can't say anything about it. Shoving my feet back into my shoes with all my might, not wanting to do any more sedate and beautiful modern dancing, I was now more interested in getting up and lifting the table and dancing flamenco in the cold.

"To the never-sinking Titanic." I finally swallowed the feeling of being so upset that I wanted to explode and pulled a stiff smile to follow, raising the glass in my hand. The clear glass visibly shakes a little, and I push so hard that I almost shake the wine out of the glass.

Andrew nodded, his smile was infectious when he smiled, and his every move was extremely charming.

As I brought my glass to my lips, my eyes wandered over to the entrance of the restaurant, where the wait staff had just opened the door to be greeting incoming guests. The first person I saw was a crew member in a black uniform of what must have been a lowly position, who seemed to be looking for something with a very sharp and alert demeanor.

I paused with my glass of wine on my lips, and watched without moving as the crewman whispered something to the waiter. The waiter looked around strangely, then shook his head and said something to him.

The hand squeezing the glass whitened a little with the effort, maybe from Carl's description they could find me by my clothes. But the color of the clothes I was wearing wasn't unusual, at least I'd seen at least three women along the way with similar styles of clothing to mine.

It's only now that I'm standing up that I'm telling them they've got the right guy.

The crewman didn't fix his gaze on my side, he suddenly turned his head back and by the look of him he seemed to be waiting for someone else, could it be the Carl's old poodle?

As long as Carl himself didn't come to identify me, no one would dare to come over and force me to ask if I was a thief from third class, just on the basis of my friendship with Andrew sitting at the table. I looked naturally over to the band again; the Londonderry Minor had come to an end, and the strings in the musician's hands were slowly coming to a halt.

When the music finally finished and there was a silent lull, I felt for a moment a certain eerie creepiness, as if someone's gaze had rested very maliciously on me. That bad feeling in my heart finally compelled me to look for answers, and I looked to the doorway where I had just been, and the first thing I saw was Carl's old poodle, Lovejoy in a three-piece suit eerily gazing at everyone in the restaurant.

That wasn't the worst of it, the worst of it stood next to him, the owner of the old poodle, Carl Hockley, with his hand over his stomach and his face frighteningly pale.