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WRITERSCIRCLE.NET

white star at night
alan peat

“Daddy I’m cold,” nine year old Victoria groaned and stamped both feet on the promenade decking.
 
Her father leaned down and pulled the collar of her coat upright and adjusted her woollen scarf. “We’ll go back to our cabin in a few moments darling,” he whispered, his breath forming a cloud of vapour in the clear night air. “I just wanted to show you the stars.”
 
His daughter followed his gaze skywards where the constellation of Ursa Major, the Great Bear, hung like a perfect scattering of bright diamonds on a dark velvet backdrop.Suddenly the little girl pointed across the deck rail. “What are those?” she asked.
           
The man drew heavily on his Cuban cigar. “They’re called icebergs,” he told her, and realised for the first time how awfully huge those mountains of frozen water could be.
 
*
 
“Will mummy be waiting for us in New York?” Victoria asked her father.
 
He raised a warm smile. “Of course she will”’ he assured her and tucked the blankets tighter about her little body.
 
She moved her head on the pillow and wrapped one small arm around her teddy bear. “Why did she go and stay with Auntie Elizabeth?”
 
The man stubbed out his cigar. “No more questions. You need to go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”
           
He poured himself a stiff whisky and soda, picked up a copy of The Ambassadors by Henry James and read a few pages while the other occupant of this First Class cabin gradually fell asleep. Upon hearing his daughter’s gentle breathing, he waited a few more minutes and closed the book. He then reached for his black astrakhan overcoat and stealthily let himself into the corridor outside.
 
*
 
The wireless room was situated on the boat deck, in the officers’ quarters, and provided a twenty four hour service for sending and receiving telegrams.
 
I DID A TERRIBLE THING - (STOP) -
I DON’T EXPECT YOU TO FORGIVE ME - (STOP) –
BUT VICKEY NEEDS YOU – (STOP) –
ARRIVE NY 17TH - (STOP) –
 
He handed over the eighteen shilling fee to the young operator and lit another fat cigar before proceeding back to his cabin. He felt privileged to be living in the early part of the twentieth century. Transportation was improving in leaps and bounds: motor cars that could reach a top speed of 75 mph, aeroplanes which could fly non-stop to the Continent and ships that could cross the mighty Atlantic Ocean in less than a week.
 
Moving swiftly down the opulent corridor with its brass fittings and plush décor, one could hear the constant heartbeat of this incredible liner as its three massive steam engines thrust their way through the cold water.

Suddenly, without warning, he was thrown to the floor and a violent shudder reverberated through this part of the ship. He got quickly to his feet and began running, this enclosed space of ostentatious wealth now having transformed itself into a claustrophobic tomb.
           
                          
 
 

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