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Bernard slid into the first class Veranda café unchallenged. He had already secured a key to the metal grills separating the first and second class areas of the ship. It had always been his experience that everything and everyone had a price. The trick was finding it. In this endeavour, Bernard had received the invaluable help of Lady Luck the night before they left Southampton. Having taken a room in an old coaching inn situated little more than a stone’s throw from the docks, he spent the evening enjoying a fine meal and experiencing the local ale. At the next table sat four men who spent most of the evening talking about their experiences working the Atlantic crossing. They compared amusing anecdotes and talked at length about their upcoming crossing on board the Titanic. Hearing this, Bernard asked the bartender to provide the table with another round of drinks while he introduced himself, claiming to be a reporter down from London to cover the ship’s departure. He spent a couple of hours with the men, who turned out to be ship’s stewards, observing them carefully.
Bernard prided himself on his ability to read people and wasn’t surprised when two of the men made their excuses and left the table. He watched as they left the hostelry by a side door then, draining his own ale, he excused himself from the table, citing a call of nature as the reason. Then he casually sauntered to the side door and stepped out into the chill of the evening, pulling his coat on as he looked up and down the narrow lane onto which he emerged.
To his left, the lane opened onto the main thoroughfare, and he could hear the voices and occasional laughter of revellers out enjoying the night. To his right, the lane led to a catacomb of small alleyways and crooked paths, servicing the shops and traders that provided for the dockworkers and their families.
Here and there, an occasional light cast an eerie glow, serving only to intensify the darkness of the surrounding shadows. It was in this direction that Bernard hastened, stepping lightly, the element of surprise being pivotal to his plan.
He followed the sidewall of the pub then cut across the courtyard towards the stables at the rear. He exercised caution at every turn so as not to stumble blindly into anything or anyone. Arriving at the end stable, he stood quietly in the shadows and watched as the two stewards fornicated in the straw.
Bernard had observed their sly glances, the gentle touch of hands and the almost imperceptible nod that passed between the men just before they left the bar. He waited a while, picking his moment, before stepping into the light. From then on it was only a little matter of blackmail, his stock-in-trade, and he had a key to pass freely through the dividing gates.
He looked around the café while waiting for a vacant table. It appeared, and the maître d’ confirmed Mrs. Black had not yet arrived. He’d sent her a note, conveyed by one of the over-amorous stewards who were still eager to ensure his continued silence, inviting her to join him for a light lunch followed, perhaps, by a stroll on the promenade. Bernard was eager to reel his catch in before the ship docked in New York, and he lost the romantic advantage afforded him by the ship’s grandeur.
Once seated at his table, he only had to wait a few minutes before the object of his financial desire strolled confidently into the café. As the maître d’ escorted her to their table, Bernard took the opportunity to appraise Kathleen Black’s classic good looks, deciding that, should he have to seal the deal in the boudoir, it would not be an unfortunate state of affairs. As she approached his table, he stood to receive her, subconsciously smoothing his bushy moustache as he did so.
“Sir Bernard, I do hope you have not been waiting long?” The shrillness of her voice caused several diners at the nearby tables to look up.
“I have myself, only just arrived,” Bernard replied, touching his lips to the back of her hand. He waited for his guest to sit before taking his own seat, dispatching the waiter with a flourish to fetch them the finest champagne White Star had to offer.
“It was good of you to invite me to lunch. It can get so boring when traveling alone.” Mrs. Black rearranged the cutlery as she spoke, glancing up coyly as she said the last word.
“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Black. I only hope you do not consider me to be, in any way, presumptuous. It is not every day a woman of your beauty crosses my path, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you dining alone.” Bernard had seen the coy look, and his insides were busy dancing a jig. This was going to be easier than he thought.
“It is only lunch. How can inviting a friend to lunch be presumptuous? And, please call me Kathleen. I hate all that formal nonsense. Why should friends call each other by their titles and surnames? It’s all so pompous.”
“I quite agree, Kathleen.” Bernard gave her the benefit of one of his well-rehearsed smiles. He picked up the menu, perused it for a few seconds, then placed it back on the table. “I can recommend the fish. I had it yesterday, and it was divine.”
“I shall heed your recommendation if you would be so kind as to order for me?” She smiled at him a little longer than was necessary, and Bernard felt his cynical old heart skip a beat.
They shared a fine meal during which Bernard found his smile was no longer that of a practiced con artist, but the true, warm smile of a man besotted with the elegant woman sitting opposite him. They talked about their upbringing, and although he lied about almost every aspect of his life, he discovered Kathleen’s early life wasn’t that much different from his own. It was when she married Theodore Black, an investment banker who, more by good fortune than shrewd business acumen, invested in a steel company just before it won the contract to supply several New York construction companies, her life took a turn for the better. Theodore became a millionaire almost overnight, but society never accepted the new money rich, and after twenty years of marriage, a depressed Mr. Black took his own life, leaving his entire estate to Kathleen. She, only being in her mid-forties, set out to see the world and was now on the final, homeward leg of her journey. Even her abrasive New York accent didn’t seem so bad when he was staring into her eyes.
After lunch, they took a stroll on the enclosed promenade before Bernard escorted her back to her suite. As they parted company, Bernard again kissed her hand, although this time he lingered over the contact, savouring the smell of her perfume, before hurrying away to find Patrick. They had much to discuss regarding their plan for blackmailing The White Star Line, and their ticket to the high life once in America. He was aware his burgeoning feelings for Kathleen Black threatened to set the cat among the pigeons and decided it would be better if he didn’t mention that part of his day to his young companion.
Arriving back at their cabin, he found it unoccupied. Seeing no sign of Patrick’s return, Bernard surmised he must either still be in the ship’s hospital or down in one of the lounges, drinking off the effects of shock. Not wanting to encounter the hard-faced nurse again, Bernard wrote a quick note, which he left propped against Patrick’s pillow should the younger man return before him, then headed to the second class lounge in search of either his friend or a good card game.
