The Captain's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

weepy.
    Grover would have insisted she had his money’s worth but Grover wasn’t here, she thought defiantly.
    By ten o’clock Mrs Grant was half asleep and Celeste amused herself listening to the chatter and laughter around her, the clink of glasses, savouring the noise before another night descended and she’d be alone with her increasingly dark thoughts. The glitter of diamonds flashing in the lamplight, the scent of Parisian perfume, the shimmer of silk and feathers was a feast for the eyes. Everyone around her looked so relaxed and glamorous but Celeste could take no pleasure in this ambience. Her heart was not in the First Class dining room, with its gilded opulence and Louis Seize décor, but was yearning for what she had left behind.
    She’d had enough of sitting with Mrs Grant, who was hard of hearing and wanted to regale her with gossip.
    ‘It’s like a club, you know; they all gather in Paris, Cairo . . . wherever. Captain Smith is their favourite so that’s why they’re all here now. They only travel on his ship. He’s never had an accident . . .’
    ‘What about the incident before we left Southampton?’ Celeste asked.
    ‘There you see, it didn’t turn into anything and that’s because Captain Smith is so lucky.’
    There was no use arguing, and Celeste was horribly bored, trying not to yawn. Once again it annoyed her that she – a respectable married woman – was unable to sit alone. She didn’t want any unnecessary attention from some of the single men who were ogling her table with interest. They’d gathered a coterie of giggling females to their side but still had time to give her the glad eye, mourning or not. She’d have to fend them off for three more nights.
    When Celeste returned to her cabin, a stewardess came to help her undress. She laughed when Celeste clutched her full stomach and groaned.
    ‘You’ve not seen anything yet, madam. We’re coming to the “Devils Hole” where the icebergs float and the water boils.’
    ‘Oh, don’t tell me that!’ Celeste said laughing. ‘I’ll never sleep now.’
    ‘You will, I assure you – there’s nothing like a rich meal, fresh air and Mr Hartley’s band music in your ears to send you off.’
    Celeste did indeed nod off but woke about midnight, her stomach protesting at her gluttony. She felt a small shudder, a shake, a jerk, enough for her crystal water jug to rattle and her tumbler to slide along the mahogany surface. Then the engine seemed to judder to a stop like a train pulling into a station. Was she still dreaming? She turned back, irritable at being woken, and drifted back to sleep. Suddenly there were noises in the corridor, not party revellers but the sound of rapid footfall, and the echoing bangs of doors opening and closing in haste. Instantly she was wide awake, alert to trouble.
    ‘What’s going on?’ she called out, wrapping her Japanese silk kimono over her nightdress as she opened the door. She was thinking about deaf Mrs Grant down the corridor. Did she know what was happening?
    ‘The ship’s hit an iceberg,’ someone called across.
    ‘No! Not at all . . . no panic,’ the same stewardess who had helped her undress hours before called. ‘There’s nothing to be alarmed about but we would like you all to make your way up on deck as a precaution. Wrap up warmly, please, and take your life jacket too. I’ll assist you if you are unable to reach.’
    Celeste threw on her black jacket, tugged her skirt over her nightdress, found her thick coat and her fur tippet, and pulled on her boots. Without thinking, she took her purse, a photo of Roddy and the rings Grover had given her. Everything else could wait for her return.
    She followed a line of hastily dressed passengers, wondering where they were being led. She’d felt nothing at all to suggest a crash, but suddenly the corridors were lined with stewards checking them over and pointing the way to the boat deck. What on earth was going on? Why were they