In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)

‘Miss? Please?’ The sailor gestured again.

‘All right. I’m coming.’

It was when I stood at the railing of the HMS Morning Star, the old lady who still was my pseudo-grandmother beside me, sitting in a deck-chair and knitting, that I saw the proof: I had not been dreaming. In front of me, from behind the hull of a massive trading vessel, emerged the sleek black form of the Mammon. At the prow stood a tall, dark figure, that, even from as far away as I was, could not be mistaken. The ship passed us and turned, sailing around the harbour and out of sight. The last thing I saw was that tall dark figure, still seeming to stare at me out of the immeasurable distance.

I raised my fingers to my lips, where, if I let myself fall into memory, I could still feel the burning pressure of his last kiss.

‘Bloody Hell,’ I whispered. ‘What am I going to do now?’

Beside me, the old lady ceased her knitting and blinked up at me, owlishly. ‘What? What did you say, dearie?’

*~*~**~*~*

Theoretically, the return journey should have been much more enjoyable than the one to Egypt. I was actually quartered in a comfortable cabin - one of cabins usually reserved for important travelling dignitaries and diplomats - with a spacious, soft bunk to sleep in. Plus, Captain Carter, considering his cheerful disposition, should have been much better company than Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Theoretically.

In reality, the return journey had one big drawback: I was alone with my thoughts of him.

‘It can’t have been real! No, it simply can’t have been! Why would he…? It’s impossible!’

I was in my cabin, with the old lady for company. While keeping one eye on her knitting, she watched me marching up and down, agitated, clearly curious about why I was trying to stomp grooves into the floor.

‘It can’t have been real,’ I chanted. ‘It was pretence. Everything was pretence. You have to remember that. You have to…’

I caught sight of my hopeful expression in the mirror on the wall, and groaned.

‘Don’t you dare look so damn girlishly excited?’ I growled, pointing an accusing finger at my mirror image. ‘Don’t you have any shame? You’re a feminist, remember! Any small hint of positive feeling you might have felt while he was… doing things with you that he shouldn’t have been doing - all that was simply a result of bodily fluids malfunctioning! Understood?’

My mirror image shook her head.

‘Gah! How can you be so stubborn!’ Picking up a pillow from my bunk, I hurled it at the mirror.

The old lady paused her knitting for a moment and looked at me, interested. ‘Something wrong, dearie?’

‘Yes!’ I groaned. ‘I have been molested by the richest, best-looking, most powerful, chauvinistic, annoying and ruthless man in the entirety of the British Empire, and I don’t know whether it was just pretence for an ulterior motive, which would be horrible, or whether he means to seduce me into a depraved, immoral affair, which would be even more horrible although part of me actually thinks it might be sort of interesting, or, worst of all, whether he might actually have meant the things he said and did, in which case I… well… I want to die! Or not! I don’t know!’

‘I see.’ The old lady nodded, philosophically. ‘That’s nice.’ She cocked her head. ‘Could you maybe just repeat it a bit louder, dearie? I don’t think I caught everything.’

I opened my mouth and took a deep breath, preparing to shout ‘I have been molested and seduced!’ at the top of my voice when, from outside, there came a knock at the door. Deciding that it might be better not to shout after all, I opened it. Outside stood Captain Carter.

‘Good evening.’ He bowed, smiling. ‘I wondered whether you two ladies might want to join me for dinner this evening.’

Over my shoulder, I took a look at the mirror on the wall and the pillow on the floor. ‘Yes,’ I breathed. ‘Thank you. I think I could use some company.’

Dinner that night was quiet. In fact, dinner every night was pretty quiet, except for the creaking around us as the ship was gently tipped this way and that by the ocean’s waves. Captain Carter studied me a great deal, but didn’t say much. Most of the dinner conversation was provided by the old lady, who seemed just as skilled at not needing other people’s talk as she was at not hearing it.

The days drifted by. I had several more, long, exhausting arguments with my mirror image, stubborn wench that she was! My pillow saw a lot of wear. Captain Carter kept watching me, his expression alternating between pensive and a secret, dreamy little smile I didn’t know how to decipher. Finally, the call came from the highest mast:

‘Land ahoy!’

I could hardly believe it when we finally drifted up the Thames, and London’s houses and towers slowly rose above the horizon. This was the real world. I was back. I was awake again. The fights, the tantalizing touches, the heat, the darkness of the sandstorm - everything that had happened in Egypt suddenly seemed only like the faint echo of a dream.

Almost involuntarily, my hand rose to touch my lips.

Well… maybe not everything.

Only a few minutes later, it seemed, the gangplank thudded onto the wharf. Captain Carter escorted my ‘grandmother’ and me off the ship. Once on solid ground, he stopped and smiled down at me this faint, dreamy, rather intense smile I didn’t know how to read.