C H A P T E R   T E N

Eric had bought himself a berth in a cabin for six, which was almost the cheapest, but still took a good bit more than he had saved from the month under Sam. However, this was to be a long voyage — four weeks to be exact. By most standards, he was travelling light: only his bag, suitcase, and his haversack, whereas most passengers had steamer trunks stowed in the baggage hold.

Two weeks before the trip, Eric had returned to the ticket office with his cheque and his forms filled out. But first he had checked with Sam Holtby. Hesitantly, after a Scotch and a pipeful, he had broached the subject.

“Now why the hell do you want to leave, since you’re doing so well?” asked Sam. “I thought you and me, we’d have a fair little partnership. I already got another job for you to do after we finish this athletic field.”

Eric was prepared for this, having spent a sleepless night wondering how to justify his rather ridiculous impulse to his employer. “Sam, you’ll have to forgive me, because it’s kind of hard to explain. You see, in London during the war, I met this English girl.”

Kenny, Sam’s son broke in. “And you’re going after her! Good for you, Eric.”

“Well, it’s not as easy as that. You see, I don’t even know if she’ll want me. As a matter of fact, we haven’t seen each other for eight years.”

Sam looked in astonishment. But Kenny’s eyes glowed. “Well, when you wrote to her, she must have told you to come. Otherwise why book yourself a passage?”

“Damn fool thing to do,” Sam said, “if you ask me.”

How to answer these legitimate concerns? Eric started slowly. “Well, I just have no idea. Something told me — I’d been thinking about her all this time, while I was in university, and knocking around doing some surveying, and she... she kind of got pretty well locked into my mind.”

“Oh boy!” shouted Kenny, to the dismay of the other drinkers in the bar. “A real love story. But you didn’t answer my question. Did she not say to come?”

Eric shook his head. Sheepishly, he replied, “She doesn’t know.” He took a slug of whiskey.

Sam Holtby shook his head. “Darnedest thing I ever heard.”

“Dad, I think it’s real romantic. Like a Jane Austen novel.” He turned to Eric. “We read them at UBC. See, Eric, one day I might even be a writer.” Seeing his father’s head swivel fast in his direction, he went on quickly, “Well, I mean, after I get this job we’re angling for at the Stock Exchange. I can make a lot of money there, and maybe when I’m older I can spend my time writing.”

Sam shook his head wearily. “My son ...”

“Well, Sam,” Eric went on, “I know it’s crazy. I’ve been telling myself it’s crazy ever since yesterday, when I visited the ticket office. But the Aorangi —”

“Dad, that’s the biggest one in their fleet, the biggest that goes to Australia. I wish I could have been on that. But I had to get back here in time to arrange this job.”

“So you see, Sam,” Eric went on, “I haven’t bought the ticket, and I won’t if you need me that badly. But the fellas there, I seem to have them sorted out. They’re doing a fine job, and this construction foreman can handle them; so you might not even need to replace me. That’s what I’m hoping,” Eric added, weakly.

“Dad, you’ve got to let him go. This is the best story I’ve heard for long time. You never meet someone like Eric here, gambling his whole life on some vision of a girl he once met. I bet,” he turned back to Eric, “I bet you’ll knock her flat. I bet she’s never had anyone do that for her, in her entire life. She’ll be so excited...”

Sam lifted his eyebrows. “And on the other hand, she might not be.” He glanced at Eric with an almost sorrowful look. “Eric, if you come back here with your tail between your legs, you’ll have a job, don’t worry.”

***

The first while on board, Eric spent his time familiarizing himself with the great liner, bigger by half than the Makura as the girl had said, and one that took a good deal of exploration. The classes were segregated, of course, but some of the activities could be shared.

While most of the first-class passengers sat out in deck chairs, Eric contented himself with daily exercise around the great ship or leaning on the rail and watching the city of Victoria pass by on his right as they headed off into the great Pacific Ocean — twenty four hundred miles to Honolulu on the first leg of their voyage.

The first evening in the great tourist-class dining room, Eric couldn’t help but notice a tall, well-shaped beauty with brown hair piled in a fetching coiffure, wide eyes roaming the room but always returning to fasten on him. She sat at a table of older folk whom he took to be her parents and their friends. No one her own age. He figured her to be at least twenty, taken on this voyage by her folks.

The next day she approached him as he leaned against the rail. He turned to look, somewhat surprised. What perfect features — even a pert nose, but in those oceans of her eyes he found himself floundering. Quite a stunning young lady.

“Hello, may I introduce myself? We need a fourth for our shuffleboard and I thought you might like to join us. I’m Sharon Black.” She held out her hand.

Eric introduced himself and allowed as how he’d be pleased to join them.

After the introductions, an older man, who seemed taken aback by Sharon’s choice — was he jealous? — explained the game to Eric, though the forty-foot-long “court” with compartments and a triangle at each end seemed self-evident. “We use these sticks, called cues, to push pucks, those weighted disks, down and hope one lands on a square with a high number. Quite easy really.”

“Don’t listen to Arthur,” Sharon said, “I’ve played every day and I always lose.”

“Maybe our veteran here will bring you luck, Sharon my girl,” said the older man. His plump wife looked at him disapprovingly. “After we play all the pucks at this end, we go down to the other and start over again.”

Eric found he soon got the hang of it, and became one of their regulars, even joining them when they switched to deck quoits, played with hoops of rope, a bit like horseshoes. A good queue of names always waited for games.

After the first game, Sharon and Eric retired to the bar for a drink before lunch. Eric wondered at this Torontonian, obviously from a good family. Why had she booked in tourist class? The others at her dining table were neither friends nor relatives, she admitted.“Mummy and Daddy were appalled at my choice. They said I should travel with ‘my own kind’. They are so stuck-up. But I knew that I’d find more interesting people if I travelled this way. Up in first, they’re all old. If you’re looking for a shipboard romance, don’t go first!”

Eric was taken aback, but grinned. “Well, good luck. I expect you will find lots of pickings down here on this deck among us all. There must be a pile of us.”

She looked at him, with a slight frown. “Oh, I’ve been looking all right. But no one else has got what it takes. You’re a veteran. You’ve lived. I can see all that in your eyes, Eric.” She gave him a little wink and smile, patting his hand. “Going through a war. Does a lot for a man!”

Eric didn’t want to amplify that statement. It sure did a lot — and not all of it good. But he pushed that memory aside. No dwelling on shell shock on this trip.

Faced with her forthright come-on, he told himself to confess right away: I’m taken. But he realized: What a ridiculous statement! Taken? What on earth did he mean? Only ‘taken’ in the sense he was on this damn fool errand after someone he’d met years ago. He chastised himself. “Quite a ship, isn’t it?” he said quickly, to change the subject.

Sharon nodded. “But I know nothing about it. Daddy booked it for me.”

So Eric decided to learn something of this great liner they were on, heading into the unknown. That evening he spotted the Purser at the rail, taking a cigarette, and went over to look out at the setting sun. Fortunately, they had not yet struck a storm and the sea had been welcoming.

“Well sir,” the Purser said in answer to Eric’s question, “it is a new ship indeed. Maiden voyage only two years ago, January 1925. We left Southampton, went to Los Angeles and Vancouver; I was aboard. Great trip. Then we moved to this route. And you know, every time we stop in Vancouver and Sydney, we spend a day and a half disinfecting her. Got to be careful, travelling these tropical waters; you never know what kind of germs get aboard.”

“And she’s the biggest steamship afloat?”

“Steamship? No, she’s one of these new breed of large liners powered by diesel,” the Purser told him. “Average speed around seventeen knots. And you wouldn’t believe the amount of fuel we burn every day.”

“Several tons?” Eric ventured.

“Over fifty a day!” said the Purser proudly. “She’s going in for overhaul at the end of the year, but they’re keeping us officers on salary while she does. I’m looking forward to a bit of a holiday. Been working full time these past two years.”

With that information tucked carefully into his head, Eric went to his cabin, certain that on the morrow, he could entertain Sharon. His years of going to bed soon after dark on the farm and in the bush meant he retired early, well before the others here who loved the evenings’ pursuits: dancing, drinking, and playing card games. Alone in his bunk, he wondered what on earth would come of this sudden turn of affairs?