Page 38 of The Midnight Secret

Chapter Ten

FLORA

30 December 1930

Port of Montreal, Canada

The tugs pushed and pulled them into Montreal port, a crowd gathering along the quays to watch as the magnificent liner glided serenely to her berth a full month later than scheduled. She was conspicuous by her presence – no other ships were making the crossing now, with the Atlantic in full high swell. Flora looked out from her balcony, seeing the river was already thickly iced in places; they had been lucky to make it here and not be diverted south to St John. Canadian winters came in hard, even the St Kildans’ cruellest season paled in comparison. The air was biting, the sky a shivering pale blue, unable to bring colour to its cheeks. Flora pulled her fur collar closer to her face as she continued looking down at the wharves.

She saw some reporters huddled in among the crowd, those distinctive round flashes catching her eye just as they had when she and her fellow islanders had docked in Lochaline, four months past to the day. Memories popped in her mind, blisters of a past hurt; she’d been so broken back then, merehours after the birth, struggling to move, to hold herself together as she walked down the gangplank and away from her child. But everything had changed since then. Now she was preparing to walk down another gangplank to reclaim him, and this time she had his father, the man she loved, by her side.

Far below, the dockers were working at speed, looping ropes onto bollards as theEmpresssighed to a stop. Flora had scarcely slept, waiting all night for the ancient groan of the engines far below in the belly of the ship that would tell them they were under way at last. The churn of the water was proof that finally this sleeping beast was awakened and they could make landfall. Their escape was coming in stages.

Yesterday, their papers had been approved on board. The doctor had examined them both and declared them free of disease; their personal effects had been inspected and found to be in order. Perhaps it was because they had so little luggage, compared to the other first-class passengers, that the immigration officers moved through with such haste, but the inspection had been perfunctory at best. James had told her it was a different matter entirely for those in steerage.

Now they were at port, finally, but still the wrong one: Montreal or St John, neither one was Quebec City, and they had another journey to make. A distance of 150 miles might be insignificant in a country measuring 4,700 of them, but for a girl who’d grown up on a rock only two miles long, it felt like going to the moon.

And yet the clock was ticking again, and that was something. It was mid-morning, the journey from their sea anchorage a short one. By dinnertime, God willing, they would be in Quebec City and their search could finally begin.

Impatience ferreted through her blood as she paced thebalcony, waiting for procedures to be followed. She heard the door close in their suite and turned to go back inside. James had been meeting Dickie and Bertie for a final drink at the bar; the men were well versed in cruising and knew the disembarkation process to be ‘a bore’.

‘I think they’re going to be a while yet,’ she said, slipping into the room and looking up to find James.

The blood pooled at her feet. ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered.

Tucker was standing in the middle of the room, wearing his hat, his coat folded over one arm. ‘I wanted to clear the air before our departure. It doesn’t feel right to part under a cloud. I fear there was a...misunderstanding between us.’

She swallowed. She had scarcely seen him since their contretemps in the reading room a week and a half earlier. In fact, it seemed as if he had been going out of his way to avoid her, no longer lurking; even James had noticed, commenting that they’d managed to shake him off. For her part, Flora had convinced herself she had overreacted; her emotions were balanced on a hair trigger at the moment and she wasn’t herself.

‘It’s quite all right, Mr Tucker. No hard feelings.’

She swallowed, waiting for him to leave as he continued staring at her.

‘But, if you don’t mind, James will be back any moment, so...’ She pointedly looked towards the door.

‘So?’ He smiled, drawing his hands out wide, clearly not going anywhere. Not yet.

‘Well, it wouldn’t do for you to be in here when he returns.’

‘Why not? Would he think we were engaging in something improper?’

There it was again, the slimy innuendo. It made her skincrawl and put her body on high alert. She was used to male attention, but she also knew when it crossed the line to something more threatening, and she saw now she hadn’t overreacted the other day. And he hadn’t come here toclear the air.

‘Get out,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Come, now, Miss MacQueen, that’s not how one welcomes a guest.’

Her heart beat faster at his use of her given name. She had never told it to him. ‘It’s Mrs Callaghan.’

He seemed to enjoy seeing her shock. ‘Did you really think people wouldn’t recognize you? A face like yours isn’t easily forgotten, especially whenThe Timesis hailing you as the toast of Paris one day and linking you to a murder the next. Of course, you were billed as Flora MacQueen, and to us you presented yourself as Mrs James Callaghan, so it wasn’t immediately obvious to some of the guests at first.’ He shrugged. ‘But word always spreads fast. You know how people love to talk.’

She swallowed. ‘I’m not inhiding, Mr Tucker. This is just a private trip with my husband.’

‘Only he’s not your husband,’ he said matter-of-factly.

Flora felt herself grow cold. ‘Excuse me?’ How could he speak with such conviction?

‘You’re passing yourself off as man and wife when, in fact, you are not.’ His eyes swept over the double bed. ‘And I see you didn’t even have the decency to book separate sleeping quarters. Do you think your dinner companions would have been so happy to share a table with you if they knew the despicable truth? You’ve drawn good people into your sordid deception.’

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