Edward’s arrival at the dockside had come as such a shock that the contents of his gift—the most beautiful set of Winsor & Newton watercolor paints and brushes—did nothing to calm my emotions. But it was the accompanying letter that surprised me the most.
Glad to have a few moments alone in our cabin and away from Madeleine’s prying eyes, I read his words over and over, my hands shaking as I tried to come to terms with his honesty, his passion, and his intent.
I find myself unable to imagine the weeks passing without our usual lessons and laughter. Your going away has made me realize how much I enjoy your company, Clara, and I will miss you terribly. Which is why I have settled on attending the exhibition in Venice after all, despite Annabel’s lingering resentment about my career, and my desire to see it grow. Perhaps we were always meant to be in Venice at the same time? Perhaps fate, and your dear grandmother, have intervened! The truth is that life with Annabel lately feels like sitting at an old canvas, a tired thing to be reused over and over. When I’m with you, there is only purity and newness and such wonderful possibility.
I have included, below, the address of the hotel I’ll be staying at while I’m in Venice. It would make me so happy to hear from you while I’m there.
I didn’t know what to think, what to do. I was marrying Charles in a matter of months. There could never be anything more than a mutual love of art between Edward and me. Could there?
A knock at the door disturbed me.
Quickly, I put the paints and brushes on the writing table and pushed the letter among the pile of newspapers Madeleine had infuriatingly left lying around. Flustered, I opened the door to a stewardess carrying an enormous bouquet of white roses.
“For you, Miss Sommers,” she said as she bustled inside, filled a vase with water in the bathroom, and proceeded to arrange the roses. “Someone must be missing you already, and we’ve only just departed!”
“Gosh. There are a lot,” I replied as I gazed at the obscene amount of flowers. I was a little embarrassed by the extravagance and waited patiently for her to finish her job and leave. “Here,” I said, pulling a stem from the vase and handing it to her.
“Oh, I couldn’t, miss.”
“I insist. I’m not exactly going to notice one less, am I?”
Muttering a thank you, she took the stem and left with a smile on her face.
My smile, meanwhile, dissolved as soon as she closed the door behind her. I knew the roses were from Charles even before I picked up the accompanying note. Darling Clara. Have a wonderful trip. I will be thinking of you.
I’d never told him I didn’t care for roses, and he’d always assumed that, like most women, they were a favorite. As I stared at the impressive display, and Edward’s thoughtful art supplies beside them, it struck me that I preferred the wrong man’s gift.
Overwhelmed by the heady perfume of the flowers, and by an overwhelming sense of guilt, I left the cabin in a hurry.
* * *
THE ILLUSTRIOUS Queen Mary, the pride of the Cunard-White Star Line, was enormous and I found myself tiring as I ascended yet another sweeping staircase. It would have been easier to take one of the many elevators, but I didn’t trust them, so I continued my exploration without their assistance.
Options for entertainment, exercise, and dining on board were seemingly endless, the deck plans dizzying in their detail of indoor swimming pools, beauty salons, libraries and public rooms, outdoor paddle tennis courts, and dog kennels. The dining room for first-class passengers was three stories in height. It was almost inconceivable to think that such a construction was possible on a liner, floating on the ocean. I gave myself an ache in my neck from staring up at the columns and decorative ceilings.
Having explored as much as I wished to for the time being, I began to make my way back to the cabin, pausing briefly to admire the art in the observation lounge. I wasn’t familiar with the work of the artist but recognized the style as Cubism. I admired the abstract imagery and the unusual use of texture and color. It was a technique I hadn’t attempted yet, and I wondered if I might try it once we arrived in Paris.
In the weeks after Violet had announced her plan for our trip, she’d talked a lot about the great works of the Renaissance and Impressionist masters I would see. She knew that the prospect of seeing Canaletto’s views of Venice and Degas’s beautiful ballet dancers might just make up for the fact that I would have to spend time with Madeleine, and time away from Charles. “Imagine seeing some of the most famous paintings in the world! I don’t know many artists who would turn down such an opportunity.” While she had diminished in height over the years, Violet certainly hadn’t lost any of her powers of persuasion.
I continued on to the first-class restaurant but stopped as my attention was drawn to an enormous painting titled Birds of the Old World. It depicted peacocks in the most glorious colors, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Something about their beauty and freedom spoke to me.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Startled by the voice at my shoulder, I turned to see an elderly gentleman admiring the painting beside me.
“Yes. It’s striking,” I agreed. “The use of color is so interesting.”
He studied me with narrowed eyes. “You must be an artist.”
I nodded. “Trying to be. I’m hoping to find inspiration from the masters in Paris and Venice.”
“I envy you,” he said with a sigh. “I’m afraid my journey isn’t quite so romantic.”
“Oh?”
“I’m returning to my family in Austria, but I’m not entirely sure what I’ll discover when I get there.” He pointed to his skullcap. “My religion is not tolerated there as it once was.”
“Ah.” I fidgeted with my hands, unsure of what to say. “I’m afraid I don’t know too much about it, only what I hear from my sister. She’s a journalist, of sorts. She’s been following the rise of the Nazi Party. She rather obsesses about it.”
He smiled thinly and rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “She is right to be informed. With knowledge comes power.”
“Well, when it comes to my sister, knowledge more often comes with trouble.”
He chuckled softly. “Sisters, huh. No greater friends or more loathsome enemies!” He held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss . . .”
“Sommers,” I replied, shaking his hand.
“I hope you and your sister can enjoy your travels safely.” He pulled a prayer book from his coat pocket. “I will include you both in my prayers. The Queen Mary is the first liner to have a Jewish prayer room, a stance by the shipping line against anti-Semitism in Nazi Germany. Let’s hope others will follow.”
He tipped his hat and bid me farewell. As I watched him walk away with the assistance of his cane, I worried anew about traveling through Europe when it was clearly heading in the direction of another war. I decided to share my concerns with Madeleine over dinner, even though I disliked talking to her about politics and there was very little we could do about it now that we were already en route.
The motion of the ship, while minimal, was enough to make me unsteady on my feet and I braced myself against this wall and that wall as I made my way back to our stateroom, only to discover that I was on the wrong side of the ship.
A young steward, whom I stopped to ask for assistance, looked amused as he explained that I was on the starboard side of the vessel.
“Your cabin is port side aft, miss.” He threw nautical terms at me as if I were a sailor and had any idea what he was talking about. “Would you like me to escort you?”
I assured him I was perfectly capable of finding my own way, but quickly regretted my decision as I took another wrong turn and found myself back at the observation deck in front of the birds again.
Tired of getting lost, I ordered a ginger ale to help settle the queasiness that had come on suddenly, took a seat beside the window, and thought again about Edward’s letter and his planned visit to Venice. Would it be improper for us to meet? We were simply two friends visiting a couple of art galleries, that was all. What harm would there be in that?
As my thoughts wandered, I gazed at the painting and the sense of freedom among the birds, and I wondered if Madeleine was right in what she’d said about us being free for once, at liberty to go where we liked and do as we pleased. Perhaps I should embrace it while I had the chance, before I became Mrs. Charles Hancock, and the duties of marriage and motherhood closed around me. Violet and Mother both said my doubts were perfectly normal and that all brides-to-be felt that way. Despite my apprehension, I was very fond of Charles. He had his faults, certainly, but I wasn’t without fault myself, and I’d never want for anything with him as my husband. Besides, it was too late to start second-guessing myself with the wedding already planned and the invitations sent.
Like the Queen Mary conveying me across the ocean, some things, once set in motion, were very difficult to stop.