Page 45 of Haunting the Deep

I laugh, too, and breathe in the ocean air. What was I just thinking about? It must not have been that important. “You were going to tell me a story before I ran away earlier, I believe.”

“Ah, yes. The story of how I wound up here with you instead of stuck in France with my insufferable aunt for another week. Shall we walk?”

He offers me his arm and I accept it. My dress limits my movements, and we walk at a slow pace.

“As you know, many transatlantic ships were canceled because of the coal strike, and everyone was rescheduled to board theTitanic.”

I nod. That does sound like something I know.

“Well, my father and I had gone to Paris for business and somehow got coerced into staying for my aunt’s birthday. We tried every excuse we could think of, but she would not hear of our leaving.” He looks at me as we walk. “Samantha, her children screamed all day and all night, her friends were world-class snobs who talked about nothing but diamonds and hat feathers, and she kept finding ways to bring over young women she thought would be good marriage material forme.”

“That does sound bad. Especially the marriage part.” I examine his face. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in January.”

“Um, yeah. You’re much too young.”

He smiles. “Is that so?”

“Not even a question.”

“I wish you would tell that to my aunt.” A few men in top hats pass us, arguing over which of them is the best cardplayer. “Because there I was in Paris, one of the greatest cities in the world, having a perfectly miserable time. And it was no better for my father. My aunt was trying to arrange introductions for him, too.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

Alexander looks shocked. Did I say something wrong?

Alexander smiles, and again my question drifts from my thoughts. “My mother passed when I was small.”

I look down. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I really need to learn to think before I speak.”

“I actually quite enjoy your frankness. It is rare that you meet someone who says what they think without trying to manage your impression of them.”

His words feel almost familiar, like I’ve heard them from someone before. “So how did you ever escape your aunt?” I ask.

“With trickery and plotting,” he says, and raises his eyebrows dramatically. “I paid the butler to deliver a note to my father at dinner, pleading for his immediate return to New York to handle urgent business matters. Of course, he recognized my handwriting, and he scolded me for it later, but he took advantage of the opportunity without pause.”

“But how did you get on this liner? I heard it was completely booked up.”

“Aha, well, that is a whole other drama.” He gestures toward large windows that look into a gorgeous room with intricately carved walls and velvet armchairs. “Shall we sit for a while in the lounge?”

“Certainly. But then I must retire to my room.” Is it wrong for me to be spending so much time with him? Willmy uncle disapprove? Why am I even worrying about this?

For a moment disappointment flashes on Alexander’s face. “Well then, I must dedicate myself to making my conversation so interesting that you want to stay a bit longer.”

A butler opens the door for us and we enter the lounge. Inside, there’s a buzz of conversation. We navigate through tables of people playing cards, drinking after-dinner tea, and telling jokes. Near a wide bookcase, an older gentleman with a white beard and a bow tie sits by himself, reading.

“Good evening, Mr. Stead,” I say as we pass. How do I know his name? Wait, I met him in the café, right?

The man looks up from his book and smiles. “Good evening. Never a more beautiful night, if you ask me.”

“I could not agree more,” says Alexander.

Mr. Stead’s smile widens, and he returns to his book. Alexander leads me to a velvet couch that’s isolated from the loud socializing groups. He helps me take off my coat and drapes it over a nearby armchair. We sit.

For a second he watches me without speaking.

“What?”