Titanic: A Date With Destiny. Marguerite Kaye
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had gone quite pale. If he didn’t know better … But he did. Max ignored the tiny flicker of unease. ‘Look, I’m not going to make any trouble so long as you don’t …’
‘No, you look, Mr Whatever-your-name-is. It seems to have escaped your notice, but this is a uniform. I am a stewardess. I signed up to be a stewardess some weeks ago. Until you walked through that door I had never laid eyes on you! What’s more, I’ll be happy if I die never seeing you again. Now please get out of my way, I have work to do.’
Jennifer fled out onto the deck before he could stop her. The crowd helped conceal her as she darted past and headed for the service stairs, ignoring his cry to wait. Throwing open the door of her own cabin, her eyes smarting with tears, her one thought was to find a place where she could be alone.
‘Hello, Jenny. Surprise!’
Sitting on the bed, a rueful smile on her pretty face, was her twin sister. Slowly, like the grinding wheels and cogs of a windmill as the breeze caught its sails, Jennifer realised what had happened.
‘Oh, Maud, what have you done this time?’
Chapter Three
Having ascertained, by the simple means of exchanging hard cash for information, that his runaway stewardess was off duty and not in her cabin, Max combed the ship methodically. He found her on the poop deck, gazing out over the grey, choppy waters and the white wake left by the huge liner as it steamed towards Cherbourg.
She was out of what he realised now had indeed been a uniform, wearing a suit the colour of an aubergine. Sans hat, her hair was escaping in long dark tendrils from the heavy bun at her nape, whipping around her face and clinging to her skin. She looked sad, world-weary even. Last night he’d thought her rather empty-headed, but today she seemed overloaded, as if her troubles were too myriad to cope with. The contrast struck him anew. It was crazy, but he felt as if he were staring at a different woman.
‘Don’t even think about running away,’ he said to her.
‘You!’ Jennifer tried to back away, only to find herself caught by the rail, trapped by the bulk of him in front of her. Though he wasn’t really bulky, just well-built. At least she understood his anger now.
‘I want an explanation.’
Jennifer nodded reluctantly. He deserved that, and seeing him again, she found she wanted to clear up the confusion. ‘The woman in the pub. It was Maud. My twin.’
‘Your twin.’
He sounded sceptical. No, downright disbelieving. Jennifer met his gaze, the anger that should have been directed at Maud bolstering her courage. Attractive he may well be but, she reminded herself, he had made some horrible and unjustified accusations. ‘My twin,’ she repeated curtly. ‘Maud sneaked on board, pretending to be me. It would seem she is intent on joining me in America, despite the fact that I did not invite her. Not that that ever bothers Maud. Another one of her love affairs is over, you see. Another man has disappointed her and destroyed all her dreams. And just because her big sister is emigrating she thinks she can escape picking up the pieces of her own life. Again.’ She sighed. ‘I am not Maud, Mr Blakely. My name is Jennifer. And before you ask, I know your name because my sister told me, not because I consulted my almanac of eligible bachelors.’
His instincts hadn’t been wrong after all, which was quite a relief. It was strange, Max thought, studying her intently, how two people could share the same features, yet look so utterly different. ‘Jennifer …’ he said. ‘So you’re the responsible twin, are you? The one who “picks up the pieces”?’
Was it understanding in his eyes? Yes, and warmth, too. But she would not be drawn in by him. Jennifer shrugged. ‘Luckily for you, Maud has not fallen victim to your charms, Mr Blakely. You’re not her type, apparently.’
He grinned. ‘Nor is she mine.’
‘So why the kiss?’
Max ran his fingers through his hair, obviously a habit. Damp with spray, it stood up in endearing spikes. ‘I realise it was dumb of me,’ he said. ‘I was so taken aback, I thought you—Maud was playing games and I decided to call her bluff. But then you kissed me, and I didn’t know what to think. That was quite a kiss.’
He touched her cheek, and she remembered the kiss, just as he was obviously also remembering it. It really had been quite a kiss.
His thumb ran along the sensitive line of her jaw, and he leaned in….
Chapter Four
Jennifer jerked herself free from Max’s caress. ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared up our misunderstanding. I expect you want to go back to first class.’
‘I like the company here,’ he replied. ‘Tell me, what made you sign up for service on the Titanic?’
‘I’m working my passage to America. I need to make a fresh start away from … from everything. I’m planning to set up my own business.’
She waited for Max Blakely—who, according to Maud, was one of America’s most successful businessmen—to sneer. He didn’t. ‘What kind of business?’ he asked.
‘Mail order. Luxuries imported from England. Soaps, perfumes, lace, tea sets, linens. The kinds of things people will buy so they can say I believe that Lady Lansbury uses the same one,’ Jennifer said in a fair imitation of her most recent employer.
‘And how do you know what Lady Lansbury uses?’
‘I’ve spent the last five years in service. Believe me, I know everything about aristocratic households.’
‘Tell me more. Seriously, please.’
She hesitated, but he drew her out with questions, his interest piqued by both her idea and the mind that had formed it. Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she talked, and he recognised that sparkle, that steely determination.
‘That’s a good business proposition,’ he said, after she’d explained her idea fully, ‘but it will need funds. Do you have them?’
‘I’m planning to start small. My husband left me some money, and since he died I’ve been putting a little aside from my wages.’
Here was the reason for the sadness in those big eyes, Max realised. He didn’t like that she’d been married, though why that should be the case he had no idea—he couldn’t possibly envy a dead man. ‘How long has it been since you lost him?’
‘Five years. But he had been an invalid for five before that. He was wounded in Africa, fighting the Boers.’
‘You’re what—twenty-eight or nine? You must have married very young.’
‘I’m thirty, actually. I was eighteen when we married. We were young, but Peter knew he would most likely be posted abroad and we were in love. You understand.’
‘Not really.’ Max had never even stopped to smell the roses, never mind consider settling down. ‘You can’t have had much of a life, caring for an invalid.’
‘It certainly wasn’t much of a life for Peter.’
‘But if he left you well provided for, why wait five years to do something with it?’
‘I lost my husband, Mr Blakely. We may not have had the kind of marriage we’d hoped for, but we were together for seven years. When he died, though, I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted.’
‘But you do now?’
‘I know I’m finally ready to find out.’
‘You’re an extraordinary woman, Jennifer Spencer. And a woman, if I may say so, after my own heart. What you’re doing, it’s bold on the verge of madness, you do realise that?’
‘Of course I do, and frankly I’m terrified.’