Page 23 of The Sapphire Child
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Stella answered.
‘We were trying to work out what stars we’re looking at,’ said Hugh.
Moira thought this was funny. ‘Goodness, don’t ask me! Anyway, if you’ve finished being astronomers then they’re organising a game of charades downstairs. You love charades, Stella, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Good, I thought so.’ Moira turned to Hugh. ‘And I bet you can manage with your sticks. It’ll be such a hoot. Come on, you two; they’re picking teams. Let’s be on the same side.’
Stella knew it was useless trying to resist Moira when she’d set her mind on something. With a longing look at Hugh, she fell into step behind Moira and they made their way below.
Chapter 9
By the time they reached Port Said, Andrew had made friends with an American boy, Bob Werner, a couple of years his senior, who was travelling with his parents. His father was an engineer with an oil company in Assam and the Werners were using a spell of leave to tour Europe. Bob was athletic and happy to play deck cricket – he’d been taught cricket by the sons of tea planters – and in turn he explained baseball to Andrew.
Stella seemed happy that he’d made friends with the polite American boy and stopped watching him so vigilantly. Andrew had noticed that she spent an increasing amount of time on deck with Hugh rather than on the dance floor with Moira. Andrew and Bob would come across them playing backgammon – Stella always seemed to be winning – or helping each other over a game of patience.
Hugh would greet them enthusiastically, but never invite the boys to join them. If Stella suggested it, Hugh would laugh and say, ‘The lads don’t want to sit around when there are more active games to be played.’
Out of earshot, Bob said, ‘I bet you a dollar MrKeating will propose to Miss Stella before we get to Marseille.’
Andrew was aghast at the idea. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! She hardly knows him.’
Bob looked earnest. ‘Mom says the India ships are famous for whirlwind romance and quick engagements. The men on leave don’t have much time. And Miss Stella looks mighty taken with your cabin-mate.’
‘Stella’s much too sensible for that,’ said Andrew.
But the thought troubled him. What if Stella did lose her head over the Irishman? What if she went off with him? Andrew dismissed the idea. Stella would never leave him to face his mother and Ebbsmouth on his own. She’d promised his parents that she’d look after him and Stella always kept her word.
The voyage began to pass more swiftly and they were soon on the final stretch through the Mediterranean. The nearer they drew to Marseille and the train journey through France, the more Andrew’s thoughts turned with expectation to arriving in Scotland. What was his mother really like? He thought of her as some distant deity or the Snow Queen from Hans Christian Andersen’s tale – beautiful and remote – but not at all motherly. Recently, Stella had been trying to reassure him by telling him little anecdotes of how his mother had been kind to her as a small girl at the Raj. But what would his mother be like with him?
His father kept no pictures of his mother and the only photograph Andrew possessed was one that Esmie had given him out of her battered album. It showed Esmie and his mother standing arm in arm, smiling broadly on the steps of a bungalow. Esmie looked much younger. From what he could see of the tiny black-and-white picture, his mother was pretty and Esmie had told him she was fair-haired. On the back it read, ‘Buchanan Road, Pindi, January 1st 1920.’ So Esmie had still been good friends with his mother in those days – before he was born.
He wondered what had happened to break up their friendship. Was it just Esmie being loyal to his father or was there another reason? George’s poisonous words about Esmie resurfaced.‘Your father never married her. She’s just his whore...they’re like a couple of sewer rats copulating!’
How could anyone speak about his beloved Meemee like that? To stop himself dwelling on it, he thought of Stella again. She must come with him and not go off with the Irishman, however amiable he was.
The next time Andrew was talking to Moira he asked, ‘What do you think of MrKeating?’
‘He’s very charming – a bit of a ladies’ man, I’d say.’ She smiled. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘He likes you too,’ said Andrew. ‘He told me.’
Moira looked surprised. ‘Really? Did he say so? I got the distinct impression he’s keen on Stella.’
‘Well, he’s nice to Stella but I think he prefers someone a bit – er – more mature.’
‘Goodness, you must have some very grown-up conversations for your age in the Keating cabin,’ Moira said in amusement.
Andrew reddened. He wasn’t lying when he said that Hugh liked Moira, but he was pretty sure if Stella gave him any romantic encouragement, Hugh would press his suit with her rather than the failed governess. It worried Andrew that Stella might already have done things with Hugh, such as kissing, for they’d started calling each other by their first names and he’d witnessed them touching hands under the table and sharing secret smiles.
Moira tweaked his nose playfully. ‘Will you be my little cupid and tell MrKeating I’ll meet him on the upper deck at cocktail hour?’
‘Of course,’ said Andrew.
Later, when cocktail hour came around and Stella seemed disappointed not to find Hugh in his usual deckchair ready to play backgammon, Andrew felt guilty. She ended up playing dominoes with Andrew and the Werners instead. The next day was suddenly stormy and Stella kept to her cabin trying not to be sick. The day after that was their last at sea and Stella was kept busy packing Andrew’s trunk and her suitcase and marking them for disembarkation.
To Andrew’s relief, Hugh was staying aboard until Tilbury, London. Moira surprised them by saying that she was too.
