Titanic Affair Read Online Free PDF

left the room.
    The whole incident had shaken her. Mrs Latimer had seemed a dear, and she had longed to help her, but Mrs Latimer’s son was another matter. Not even his striking face could disguise the fact that he was ruthless and cynical.
    Although he wasn’t entirely ruthless, she was forced to amend her thoughts. He cared for his mother, and was doing his best to provide her with proper care. It was just that his wealth blinded him to what she really needed. She did not need cosseting, she needed stimulation. If she was not really ill, then being forced to behave as an invalid must be very tiring for her, not to mention depressing to her spirits. And if she was not used to a life of idleness - if, as Emilia suspected, Mr Latimer was a self-made man, and his mother had at one stage in her life been poor and therefore very busy - it must be even worse.
    But there was nothing she could do about it, and she must endeavour to put it out of her mind.
     
    Carl felt himself seething as the stateroom door closed behind Miss Cavendish. Try as he might to ignore what she had said he found he could not forget it, and even worse, he could not help wondering whether she’d been right. Ever since rising from the most crushing poverty he had put his faith in money and what money could do, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew that frauds existed - he’d sent enough about their business in his time - and he knew they preyed on the wealthy.  Which left him with the question, were the physicians he had consulted capable doctors, or were they quacks, who were keen to make as much money as they could out of him by pretending that his mother was ill when she was perfectly well?
    He crossed to the porthole, looking out over the ocean.
    It was a strange thing for Miss Cavendish to have said if it wasn’t true. But then, what did he know about Miss Cavendish, beyond the fact she had the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen?
    Now where had that thought come from? he asked himself. Miss Cavendish’s eyes were not of the slightest interest to him, even if they were an unusual shade of blue - almost sapphire - making a stunning complement to her golden hair.
    But this was nonsense. Miss Cavendish wasn’t an eligible young lady to be admired, she was a thorn in his side. How had she managed to unsettle him? he wondered. By challenging him? Yes. But not in the way he’d imagined. He’d thought she would challenge him on ground he was sure of, making him exert himself to the utmost in order to persuade her to relinquish her stateroom. Instead, she’d challenged him on ground he was much less sure of, awakening doubts over his mother’s illness and the doctors he employed.
    Fortunately, it would not be long before she was off the ship. He was uncomfortably aware, however, that he would not be able to acquire her stateroom before she disembarked. For the first time in many years, in either personal matters or business matters, he had to acknowledge that he had been defeated.
     
    Unaware of the disturbance she had caused him, Emilia retired to the reading room where she found plenty of headed note paper, and set about composing a letter to Mrs Wichwood. Having finished it, she returned to her stateroom in time to meet Freddy for tea.
    ‘I say, Emilia, you’ve fallen on your feet,’ said Freddy as he looked round her suite with admiration, going from the sitting-room to the two bedrooms, and then out onto the covered deck.
    It was in Tudor style, with black-and-white walls, but there its resemblance to the sixteenth-century ended. It was furnished with the most up-to-the-minute wicker furniture and was decorated with potted palms. It exuded a feeling of airiness and spaciousness, and was made even more cheerful by the sunlight falling through the windows and dappling the floor, for although it was only April, the day was remarkably fine.
    ‘Do you like it?’ she asked.
    ‘Rather.’
    After asking her stewardess to bring them some tea, Emilia