Lettuce must be folded, never cut, but conveying a large leaf of lettuce to your mouth is ungainly. The secret is to fold it with your knife into a tiny parcel on your fork.
Miss Lily 1914
She could feel the change as the engines beat deep inside the ship, the water washed along their hull. A sea change, she thought, suddenly understanding the term.
For her world was suddenly different. This was not the world of war, of love and espionage and confusion. Nor was it yet home, which would have changed, as she had changed too. This was a place apart, timeless, only this small ship and its contents, the sky and sea, at least until they reached Cape Town.
Such a different ship from the vast luxurious one that had brought her to Europe. She had been a child then, unformed. Yet then she had dressed herself and now she stood as Green efficiently wrapped her in pale green silk lounging pyjamas with matching scarves, the latest fashion for afternoon strolling.
‘Will you join me on deck?’ She smiled at Green’s hesitation. ‘No one here knows you’re working as my maid, not out of uniform and in first class. I hope you will eat with me — I’d much prefer that to the stuffed shirts at the captain’s table. We can we have a table to ourselves. Georgina will want to eat with Timothy.’
‘Children eat earlier,’ said Green.
‘A table for three, then.’
‘Are you sure, Miss Sophie?’
‘Yes. If you call me Sophie. And I can’t keep calling you Green in public.’
‘Lily calls me Greenie.’
‘May I?’
Green . . . or Greenie . . . nodded.
It was cool on deck. A steward brought thin cups of hot beef bouillon and cracker biscuits. Sophie ate and drank. Her seasickness had vanished.
They did not talk at first. There was too much to talk about; it would take a lifetime, perhaps, to speak of what had happened in the past couple of weeks, and much else too. A maid and mistress’s relationship is often longer and closer than one between spouses, thought Sophie. Greenie fiddled with a box-like gadget, hanging from a strap around her neck, like binoculars. ‘A camera,’ said Greenie. ‘Jones bought it for me.’ Was there a faint blush? ‘I thought I’d try to take a photograph of Gibraltar from the sea, but I’ve no idea if I’m doing it correctly.’
‘There’ll be somewhere to develop films in Cape Town,’ said Sophie idly.
‘I think I’ll wait and set up my own darkroom when we get to Sydney. If you have no objection,’ she added hurriedly.
‘None,’ said Sophie, then realised she was returning to her father’s house. But surely he and Miss Thwaites would not mind turning one of the attics into a darkroom. Her father would probably enjoy the technical challenge.
And she would see them soon. For the first time in years she let the longing for her family, her home, her country to envelop her.
Soon.
The seagulls dived and squawked. Small grubby boys yelled and waved on the shore. She waved back. Clouds floated like small mushrooms in the sky.
The ship changed course and Gibraltar was gone.
She bathed, slowly and luxuriously with rose-scented soap, before dinner, then changed into a new creation, dark blue jacquard shot with thin silver silk threads, knee length, for the first night at sea was never formal. The purser showed her, Georgina and Greenie to a small table by the wall. She was glad not to have to make conversation with one of the officers or, even worse, the captain, though he had a kind and sensitive face, if too thin. But the captain’s table required formal manners. She needed a holiday from manners.
She glanced at the menu, suddenly ravenous, gave her order, then tore off a piece of roll, still warm and deliciously crusty, buttered it, nibbled, then asked, ‘How is Timothy?’
‘Wonderful. Incredible. Thank you. I . . . I don’t know how to thank you.’ Georgina gazed at her roll, not at Sophie, as if even meeting another person’s eyes might bring on tears of joy or relief.
The waiter slipped soup in front of them. Sophie waited till he was out of earshot. She kept her voice low. ‘I’ve been thinking. Once we are in Australia I will be extremely easy to find. If Emily tells William you have come to Australia with me, well, even if we do not both live in my family’s home, your connection with me will make you vulnerable.’
She took a mouthful of soup. Cream of mushroom. Wonderful, if a little heavy. She thrust away the echo of Dolphie’s voice, talking of wild mushrooms in the woods. ‘You will be harder to find — impossible— if you and Timothy leave the ship at Adelaide, then take the train to Melbourne. They say Melbourne is quite civilised, though I have never been there. I can arrange for a house to be rented for you under yet another name. You should be unnoticeable there, unless you go into society.’
‘I was thinking much the same,’ said Georgina quietly.
‘You could be a widow,’ said Greenie, and Sophie was glad Georgina showed no sense of affront that a maid might suggest a life for her. ‘And if I may be so bold . . . adopt an older girl, six or seven perhaps, an orphan. That way if an investigator looks for a single woman with a son Timothy’s age, they won’t take any notice of you. That is, if you do not mind the idea of taking in a stranger’s child.’
‘I think I’d like it,’ said Georgina. ‘An intelligent girl, who would like to go to university. Do archaeology perhaps. I have always been fascinated by archaeology.’
‘I am sure they’d be happy to make that a condition at the orphanage,’ said Sophie dryly. ‘Intelligent girl, between five and seven, must enjoy archaeology.’
The soup was replaced by fish, anonymous and white under a green sauce, fresh, though the fish course would be smoked later in the voyage, unless this ship kept tanks on board, as it well might, with so few passengers. She found Georgina staring at her.
‘Have I got sauce on my lip?’ she asked flippantly.
‘No. I have just never known anyone to enjoy food as much as you seem to be doing tonight. I don’t mean you are a glutton. Until tonight you’ve eaten far too little. But you seem to . . . to pay attention when you eat.’
‘Miss Lily said —’ said Sophie and Greenie together, then stopped, and laughed at each other.
‘Who is this Miss Lily? Will I ever meet her?’
‘Maybe,’ said Sophie cautiously. ‘She’s not Australian. But when you’ve been in Melbourne for a couple of years, and if no one has come looking for you, I think we can assume Emily has not betrayed your trust and we can all meet again.’ She glanced at Greenie. ‘Miss Lily might even visit us.’
‘Possible,’ said Greenie non-committedly.
Georgina twisted her napkin absent-mindedly. ‘And if an investigator does find me? Tries to snatch Timothy?’
‘We’ll make sure neither of you are alone. A secure house, and a car with lockable doors. You will need a chauffeur and a housekeeper, possibly a married couple. A gardener too, and a tutor for Timothy. I’ll ask my father to discreetly make sure they know you must both be protected at all times.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Sadly there may be as many unemployed men with combat experience looking for work in Australia as in England. I don’t think finding people to defend you will be a problem. And with a good car and a capable chauffeur you can drive all the way to Thuringa, if all else fails. Your husband might guess you are there, but we can make very, very sure he cannot get to you at Thuringa.’
‘But the law . . .’
‘He will have to prove Mrs Wattle is his wife. How can he do that in a strange country, where a dozen friends will swear she grew up with them, went to school with them? The constables at Thuringa will be . . . accommodating. I suspect my father is also on good terms with the police commissioner in Sydney. Business often requires it.’
‘But William is an aristocrat.’
‘And we are the colonies. A title is revered, but the police know which side their bread is buttered . . . and who may provide the jam. You will be safe,’ said Sophie firmly. ‘I promise.’
‘And I do too,’ said Greenie quietly.
A tear ran down Georgina’s face. She politely ignored it, took a bite of fish, swallowed it. ‘My friends call me Giggs,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to call me that, if you don’t mind. Both of you.’
‘Giggs?’
‘For Giggles. I was Giggles. Emily,’ said Georgina with satisfaction, ‘was Podge.’
‘Excellent,’ said Sophie. ‘Though I had better not refer to her that way for a few years, in case she decides to get revenge.’
‘Did you have a nickname?’
‘Not till I went to France. Soapy.’
Georgina raised her wine glass. ‘To Soapy, Greenie and Giggs!’
‘And may the world deal justly with us,’ said Greenie. ‘Or we’ll kneecap them from behind.’
Sophie suspected she was not joking. The waiter brought roast pork. And caviar, cheese, chocolate ice cream and fruits to follow. Delicious. All of it was wonderful.
And she was going home.