50

The send-off for the countess was mostly noticeable by her sudden flood of generosity. She bestowed jewels upon Eva MacQueen, gave a gold watch to Patrick, and slipped Lieutenant Cyples an envelope containing ten American one-hundred-dollar bills. Her entire wardrobe was forwarded first (and sank without trace in the English Channel), but eventually the countess stood bravely at the railing of the grey Cunard liner and waved to her friends on the pier, the Pekinese yapping a storm of protest in her arms.

Patrick MacQueen was wearing his gold sunglasses and kept glancing at his gold watch. Eva MacQueen wore her new pearl necklace over a flowered silk dress and kept glancing at her sapphire. Lieutenant Cyples was smoking a Monte Cristo cigar and kept raising his sun helmet. These departures were always agonizing in length, as no one knew the actual time of departure. Every ship sailed past the Bermuda Censor Board, of course, and the thousand eyes there had come from all parts of the globe.

“It looks as though I’m the next one,” said Lieutenant Cyples. “God, I’d like a drink.”

“I wish she would go to her cabin,” said Eva MacQueen. “We can’t stand around here waving all day.”

“Why is she going back to London?” asked Patrick MacQueen, checking on the time. “The war is still on.”

“Peace is boring,” said Lieutenant Cyples. “The danger may be mostly over but the excitement is still there.”

Someone on board spoke to the countess and, with a final wave, she disappeared into the ship.

“Let’s have a quick one at the Twenty-One,” said Bill Cyples.

“I will miss Vivienne so,” said Eva MacQueen, hesitating as Bill opened the door into the terminus. “But the club will be much quieter.”

“Any word on your sailing, Pat?” asked the newly affluent lieutenant, ordering a round of drinks. Eva had a sherry, Patrick ordered a rum swizzle, and the lieutenant had a double scotch. He had left his cigar in the gutter of Front Street, and opened his gold case for a fresh one.

“I’m ready when they call me,” replied Patrick. “How are your troops?”

The lieutenant laughed and poured a little water into the scotch. “A few weeks back at camp on the prairies will fix them,” he said. “I won’t be sorry, really. Vivienne has been a revelation, but she isn’t a career. It’s time to get back to work.”

“The ship is moving!” exclaimed Eva MacQueen.

They went onto the balcony. They could see the violet figure of the countess standing at the rails once more. She knew where to look, and waved frantically. The funnel emitted a deep roar to warn small boats to clear the path. A small tug pulled her bow from the wharf, and the mighty screws churned sand from the harbour’s bottom. Puffs of white clouds were sailing across the sky as the big ship headed towards the Narrows. She made a prime target for harried submariners, but she was fast, totally blacked out, and no one knew her course until the captain broke the seal after the pilot left her. The admiralty planned to convert her into a troopship: this was her final voyage as a merchant ship.

“Have you any idea where you will be sent? Britain, I suppose?” asked Patrick as they resumed their seats.

“Maybe my visit to your mother’s surprising Chinese room was a forerunner.” The lieutenant was only half joking.

“Do you think Japan is going to get involved?” asked Eva MacQueen.

“The Germans and the Japs could divide the Soviet between them,” said Bill Cyples casually. “The United States is the real question mark. I have to get back to barracks.”

“Rene asked me to go dancing at the Belmont Manor,” Patrick said rather sheepishly to his mother.

“Don’t get too serious, my dear,” replied his mother. “She is married and has a son. Not to mention the countess remembered seeing her at Deanville—or somewhere—and she was gambling heavily.”

I wonder who she was with then? thought MacQueen.