The Ecliptic (26 page)

‘Well—’ He surveyed the limits of the viewing gallery. ‘If you can find any relief aboard this heap of metal, good luck to you. Failing that, I know a very good person in
New York who you could talk to. I have his number somewhere.’

‘A professional, you mean?’

‘Yes, he really is terrific.’ He squinted at me, tapping his chin. ‘What are you? Five foot five, twenty-odd years of age. I wouldn’t think he’d charge you any more
than thirty dollars an hour.’

This seemed to be another of his jokes.

‘Look,’ he said, evening his face, ‘you don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. But this chap is a friend of mine, and he’s helped a lot of people
get their muses back. Can’t move for struggling artists in the Village these days.’ He reached into his pocket, as though to retrieve a business card, but came out with a scrap of
paper. ‘In case you want to look him up while you’re in town . . .’

Victor had such a placid temperament, such an innocuous way of inducing conversation that I almost felt obliged to explain myself to him right there in the viewing gallery. ‘Oh, I
don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ve never really believed much in the powers of psychiatry. No disrespect to you. The only thing that’s ever helped me feel any better is
painting. And now—well, now I suppose I’ll have to take up squash.’

‘Perhaps you will.’ He unscrewed the cap on the steward’s pen and scribbled a line on the paper, holding it to the rail. Then, folding it up, he said, ‘That’s the
number, anyway. He’s just a block from Union Square.’

‘Thank you.’ I put the paper inside my book without even glancing at it.

‘Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever known Jonathan stay this quiet before,’ Victor said, pocketing the pen. ‘How on earth did you manage it?’

‘Kryptonite.’

‘Please. You’d be amazed how often I hear that.’

Almost in unison, we moved to check on the boy. He was crumpled in the chair, asleep, with the comic still open at his chest.

‘He seems to be out for the count,’ Victor said. ‘Hang on. Don’t say anything—you’ll jinx it.’ He walked over to Jonathan and took the comic gently from
his clutches. Then he laid his jacket across the boy, sat down on the chair beside him, and skimmed the pages with a face of consternation.

The match trudged on below us. I could hear Dulcie grunting like a bull, her thudding footwork, and Amanda’s helpless cries. The ship began to pitch again, and I felt a quiver in my knees,
a rising nausea. I gripped the railing, and must have looked unstable on my feet, because Victor called out in a hushed voice: ‘Everything all right?’

‘Just a little seasick,’ I said.

‘There are medicines for that, you know.’

‘Yes, I’m taking pennyroyal and honey. Dulcie swears by it.’

‘Crikey. That won’t do. You might as well take salt and pepper.’ He stood up, stooping to lift the boy, jacket and all. ‘A little Dramamine is all you need. Hand me that
briefcase, would you? I have to get this one downstairs before he wets the upholstery.’ The boy’s legs hung and swayed like wind chimes in his father’s arms. ‘He
doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, the bladder goes with him.’ Victor reached to take the case from me; I hooked it over his fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘Will I see you at dinner?’

Victor inhaled, considering my question; his answer came rushing out in one breath. ‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘The result,’ he said, nodding at the court. ‘Mandy hates to lose.’

When I got back to my suite, I found my telephone had been replaced with a much fancier unit: it had a carved jade handset and a golden stand, like something Fabergé
could have crafted. I had asked the crew manager to remove the original phone that morning, as the ability to call London from my room at any moment was too great a temptation. But he had clearly
mistaken this request for a complaint about the furnishings and had supplied me with an item several times more alluring.

‘
Connecting now,
’ said the girl at the switchboard. The engaged tone sounded again, and the girl’s voice came back: ‘
I’m sorry. It seems to be busy.
Should I try it one more time?
’

‘Yes, if you don’t mind.’

‘
Not at all. Connecting now.’

The warble of the dial tone went on and on, and then: ‘
Hello. Connaught Hotel.
’ The line was surprisingly clear.

‘Oh, good. It’s been hard to get through. Are you closed?’

‘My apologies, madam. I’m the only one at the desk at the moment and the phones haven’t stopped.
’

I had forgotten there was a time lag between London and the mid-Atlantic, and I must have been calling in their peak hour. Now what was I supposed to say? ‘Well, I think I left a scarf
somewhere in your hotel. About five weeks ago.’

‘
I see. And where exactly did you lose it?
’

‘In the corridor. I think it might have been handed in by one of your guests.’

‘
Do you know the guest’s name?
’

‘It’s Searle, Wilfred Searle.’

‘
Ah yes, of course. Mr Searle. I’m afraid he’s no longer staying at the hotel, but if you describe the scarf I’ll see if I can—
’

‘Did he leave a forwarding address? It’s just that, well, I’d really like to thank him for his kindness.’

‘
I’ll check that for you, madam. Please hold
.’ I could hear nothing for a moment but my own huffing in the earpiece. Then: ‘
I’m sorry, he didn’t
say where he was moving on to this time. But we do have his billing address. So if you’d like to write to him care of the hotel, we’ll make sure the letter reaches him.
’

‘Thank you. I’ll do that.’

‘
Now perhaps you could describe—
’

There were three little knocks on my door. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ I said. ‘Have to let someone in.’

‘
Of course, madam.
’

I set the phone down on the table and went to answer, expecting to be met by a stewardess with a silver trolley and a little dish of English honey for my tea. Instead, I found Dulcie standing
crookedly in the corridor. She was listing to the right, as though missing a crutch, with her tracksuit top buttoned all the way up. ‘I’ve completely wrecked my shoulder,’ she
said, nudging her way past me. ‘Have you got any aspirin?’

‘Yes. Somewhere, I think.’

She smelled a little tarry. Her hair was wet and combed, clipped oddly at one side. ‘Sorry, were you in the middle of something?’ she said, noticing the phone was off the hook.

‘Oh, don’t mind that. Just calling my mother.’ I went and put the ugly thing back on its perch.

‘Well, that’s no way to treat her, is it?’ Dulcie said. ‘Poor woman.’ She fixed herself a glass of tonic water at the bar, one-armed, and sat down on the couch.
‘Anyway, aren’t you going to ask me the score?’

‘It was two all when I left. I assume you didn’t lose.’

‘Of course I bloody didn’t!’ She downed half the tonic, then rolled her arm about in its socket, wincing. ‘Actually, I thought she was getting on top of me in the last,
but then I started to clear a little bit faster to the T, and she didn’t have the energy to keep up.’

‘What happened to your shoulder?’ I said.

‘Not sure. It’s just muscular, I think. A good massage ought to fix it.’

‘I’ll get you that aspirin.’

‘You’re a darling. Thanks.’

I went to the bathroom and dug out a bottle from my vanity case. There were only two pills left. Coming back into the sitting room, I found Dulcie lying on the couch with my fancy phone clutched
to her ear and her dusty squash shoes on the cushions. ‘Mm-hm. All right, then we’ll just have to take what’s available,’ she was saying. ‘Very good of you to fit us
in. Thank you.’ Hanging up, she reached out for the aspirin bottle. ‘Is this all you’ve got?’

‘Yes, sorry, I thought I had more.’

‘They’ll do for now, I suppose.’ She tipped the pills straight into her mouth and swallowed, chasing them with tonic. ‘There’s a dispensary aboard somewhere. Let me
know if you need anything.’

‘Have you ever taken Dramamine?’ I said.

‘No, and I don’t think I want to.’

‘I’m still getting the queasiness, that’s all.’ My hands dropped to my belly.

‘Always takes a while to find your sea legs, first time round. We’re not far off land now, anyway.’ She gave a timid burp into her fist. ‘Ugh. Sorry. Your tonic’s
awfully warm.’

‘Who was that on the phone?’

‘The Turkish baths,’ she said. ‘I’ve booked us in for quarter past.’

‘You’re not dragging
me
down there with you.’

‘Well, I can’t go on my own again,’ Dulcie said. She got up, kneading her shoulder. ‘You never quite know who’s lurking in those cubicles, and, yesterday, I got
saddled with the most dreadful Chicago woman. Please don’t be difficult about this. I’m in agony.’

As we headed down the corridor in our dressing gowns and slippers, Dulcie paused by a room marked electric therapy. ‘I’ve always wondered what goes on in
there,’ she said, trying to see in through the keyhole. Narrow strips of ultraviolet light tinged the edges of the doorframe, brightening her face, showing all its downy hairs. ‘I
don’t see any electrodes or wires. Perhaps I’ll give it a go.’ She straightened up, clutching her shoulder as though plugging a bullet wound. We moved past the locker rooms
towards a line of cubicles screened off with drapes. At the reception desk, an attendant in a white uniform greeted us and ticked our names in his ledger. ‘Mrs Fenton, if you’d like to
follow Katarina, she’ll soon have those kinks worked out of you,’ he said, then set his big wet eyes on me. ‘Miss Conroy, is there a particular treatment you’re interested
in today? I’m afraid the jet-showers are currently out of order, but everything else is more than shipshape.’

‘I’d rather go with Dulcie,’ I said, ‘if that’s all right.’

The attendant went quiet. He knitted his lips and brought his hands together. ‘Well, there’s only space for one in the massage room—it’s fully booked.’

‘You can wait for me in the baths, darling. I shan’t be long.’ Dulcie headed off with her masseuse, calling back to me, ‘Raymond will take care of you, won’t you,
Raymond?’

‘She’ll have nothing but the best,’ the attendant said. He turned to me, presenting the empty corridor. ‘Let me show you to the hot rooms, madam.’ He walked on,
reeling off a very practised script about the levels of pampering that were available to me, and I trailed behind, pretending to be tempted by all his talk of ‘alcohol rubs’ and
varieties of soap. The further we went, the drier the air became, and my forehead began to mist over. I could not tell if I felt more or less seasick, but I was building up a serious thirst.
‘Tell me, madam, how much heat do you favour?’

I thought it was a very strange question and did not know how to reply.

The attendant smiled, as though familiar with this type of silence, as though it were the lifeblood of his working week. ‘If I might make a suggestion?’ He paused here, quite
dramatically. ‘Most of our female guests prefer the caldarium—we keep that running at a hundred and seventy-five, Fahrenheit, that is. But if you like it a bit warmer, we have the
laconicum.’

‘And how hot is that?’

‘Well, we’d never let you cook all the way through,’ he said, tittering. ‘We keep it around two hundred degrees. As I say, most of the female guests
prefer—’

‘The caldarium,’ I said. ‘That will be fine.’

‘Lovely. You’ll find towels as you go in. It’s just this door to your right, madam.’