When Emanuel stepped aboard P&O’s SS Bungaree, he knew that Semah had already checked in. Her manservant, Veer Singh, was stationed outside her cabin door, his arms folded across his chest. Emanuel was glad that Semah had purchased a passage for the man who had served her so faithfully. Yes, the fierce-looking Sikh could act as a bodyguard for them both.
“Memsahib is at rest,” he said. “She begs you please to meet her for supper in the dining lounge at eight o’clock.”
Emanuel looked at his watch. “Very well,” he replied, and retired to his cabin to freshen up and have a lie-down before dressing for dinner. At seven-thirty, the ship’s horn blew three times to signal all gangways up. Ropes were flipped off their cleats and pulled in. The stacks let off thick clouds of black smoke and the vessel pulled away from its dock. Meanwhile, Emanuel had a stand-up douche and changed his clothes.
He exited his cabin. The Sikh was no longer standing guard at Semah’s door. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly eight o’clock. Obviously, she had preceded him and was waiting in the lounge as they had arranged. Other passengers were now leaving their cabins, crowding the narrow hallway as they made their way up the stairs for dinner. Emanuel followed the cavalcade, happily thinking that the worst year of his life was ebbing away. He was eager to put as much distance between himself and Fragrant Harbour as he could.
At the dining lounge, he looked about for Semah but did not see her. Nor, for that matter, was there any sign of her Indian bodyguard. So he asked for a table by the window and sat down to wait.