Unsinkable

      UNSINKABLE

          By Lynn Murphy

Copyright 2014 by Lynn Murphy

No part of this manuscript may be copied or used for any purpose without the express written consent of the author except for a brief quote in a review or article.

  For Sara Martin

B
eckett MacKenzie walked through the open air market nearly oblivious to the sounds and sights and smells that surrounded him. His thoughts were still on the conversation he had shared with his father before he left the hotel.

It was more of an argument than a conversation, although true to character, his father had never raised his voice. His disapproval, however, was crystal clear.

Beckett had finally summoned the courage to tell his father that the one thing he wanted to do was write. Novels, books of any kind, but especially fiction.

Stories that were about anything except the life his father expected him to live, which was an extension of his own.

Beckett couldn’t disagree that being born into wealth was not a bad thing, as his father was fond of pointing out and had mentioned again this morning. He was grateful not to have to worry about the cost of living. But he did not want, and could not see himself taking a position in his father’s bank.

“You’ve graduated from college,” his father had said, “and had the opportunity to travel for the last six months. It is time to settle down and take your place in the family business.”

“That’s not what I want,” Beckett had insisted.

“Perhaps not,” Jackson MacKenzie had said, “but I have worked hard all my life so that you could have this opportunity.”

“And I appreciate that, Dad, I really do,” Beckett had said. “I just want to do something …different.”

“Different? Investing? Industry?”

Beckett hesitated. “No, I want to write.”

“
Write?
You want to go into publishing?”

“No,” Beckett said. “I want to
be
published. I want to write books.”

“Is that the sort of idea they put into your head at Harvard?”

“I’ve always wanted to write,” Beckett said. “I just never knew how to tell you.”

His father had looked hurt at that admission. “Have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me?”

Beckett’s silence was admission that in some ways, he
was
a little afraid of his father. Not because he was unkind or abusive, but rather because he was intent on having things his way.

“You will take your place at the bank two days after we land in New York, as planned.”

Beckett had decided to make it a challenge. “Can we strike a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

“If I have a credible start, a first draft of a novel by the time we arrive in New York, then I can have one year to prove myself. If I’m not published by the time that year is over, then I will start work at the bank without ever questioning it again.”

“And I suppose that I am to finance your living expenses during that time?”

Beckett smiled engagingly. “I had hoped that you would.”

Jackson had waited several minutes before responding.

“Very well then, you show me what you have by the time we dock in the states and we will consider your challenge. I expect that you will take this seriously if it means anything to you.”

“Yes sir.”

“I don’t understand where this is coming from, but I will at least consider it. How are you spending the day?”

“Warren and I are going to explore the market.” His closest friend, Warren Sheffield, was traveling with them on this tour.

“Plan on having dinner here at the hotel with your mother and I this evening. I have a business contact who will be dining with us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jackson shook his head. “I am not sure what to make of this conversation, Beckett. But you keep your end of the bargain and we’ll see.”

As Beckett wandered through the market, he knew that his father expected for him to fail. Not because he thought so little of his son’s abilities, but because he truly believed that Beckett would have no choice but to step into the position waiting for him.

“You are awfully quiet,” Warren pointed out.

“Sorry. I had a discussion with Jackson this morning.”

Warren knew Beckett’s father well. “About?”

“I told him I wanted to write.”

“I can imagine how well that went over. Did he laugh at you or just forbid it?”

Beckett said, “Actually we struck a deal. If I have at least a credible draft of a book by the time we reach New York, I can have a year to try and get published. If not, I’m stuck with a job at the bank.”

“Have you got an idea for a book, then?

Beckett laughed. “Thousands. But I haven’t actually started writing anything yet.”

“So we leave for our return to Europe tomorrow. In Southampton we board that big, new, glorious ship your father can’t stop talking about, and you have what,
six days
to write a book?”

“No, I have eleven days. It will take us five to get back to England.”

Warren laughed. “Then you had better get started. Look here’s what you need.” He paused at a table piled high with intricately carved leather bound books. Beckett looked at the selection, then picked one up. He opened it to see that it was filled with high quality paper.

The turbaned man behind the table spoke good English. “You have excellent taste, my friend.”

“Have I?” Beckett asked.

“The book you hold is special.”

Beckett felt certain that whatever book he had chosen from the pile would have been special, but he didn’t insult the vendor by saying so. “Is it now?”

“Quite so, my friend. That particular book has the power to change lives. You control destiny by what you write within its pages.”

“Just what you need, Beckett,” Warren said, laughing.

Even though he knew the man was trying to make a sale, Beckett liked the look and feel of the book and purchased it. He thanked the man as he paid for the book.

“Be careful what you write, my friend,” the man gave as a final warning.

“Now what?” Warren asked.

“A special pen to write with, I guess,” Beckett said and they both smiled. “Have you found anything for Rachel yet?”

“You mean aside from the twenty other gifts I’ve gotten her on our world tour?”

Warren planned to propose to his college sweetheart upon their return. He was constantly urging Beckett to find the right girl as well. So far it hadn’t happened, not that Beckett’s mother hadn’t tried to encourage it either. Both Warren and Alice Beckett MacKenzie were constantly telling Beckett that he was far too particular when it came to girlfriends. The writer in Beckett was hoping for a great moment of discovery, when in a glance he would know that a girl was right for him. Besides, he was young and had all the time in the world.

They spent the day exploring the wonders of the Moroccan town. After dinner with his father’s clients, Beckett reclined on the sofa in his elegant hotel room and picked up the leather book and turned to the first page. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to write.

“
A
ll you had to do was just say yes!”

Carrington St. Clair looked back at her mother as she spoke, waiting for a moment to speak.

“I couldn’t do that, Mother. I don’t love him.”

“What has
love
got to do with anything?”

Carrington said softly. “Everything. You want me to spend the rest of my life with a man I don’t even like?”

“Carrington, he is enormously wealthy and will inherit his father’s title. It is a good match.”

“A
good match
? What about what I want? My feelings. We’re talking about my life, Mother.”

Rose St. Clair sat stiffly on the edge of her chair.

“Have you any idea how much time and effort we put into arranging this visit, with intent purpose of presenting you as a candidate for a wife for the Viscount?”

“That sounds like a business arrangement. In fact, that’s all this is, a chance for you and Father to merge your fortune with his parents’ fortune and I don’t like that one bit.”

Her mother said, “And so you would throw this chance away? For what, Carrington?”

“I told you. I want to go to Egypt.”

Rose rolled her eyes and her voice showed her disapproval. “Not that again. It isn’t appropriate. Not for a young woman. We should never have allowed you to spend so much time reading about that. All you’ve done since we came to England is visit that museum.”

“How can it be inappropriate to study history? Why do men alone have that opportunity while I am expected to ‘marry well’ and have a dozen children?” Carrington tried hard to control her anger.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Carrington. No one said that you had to have a dozen children. We will be having dinner with the Tregarrons again this evening. I will expect you to be more open and more civil to Alastair.”

Rose swept out of the suite and left Carrington to her own thoughts.
How
could her mother expect her to accept the proposal of a man she barely knew and agree to become his wife? Her parents had not let her discuss the possibility before they left New York and they clearly expected her to be engaged by the time they boarded the ship for the return voyage.

Why did they have to be so close minded when it came to what she wanted? Egyptology was her passion, the one thing that she wanted to pursue. Why was anything acceptable for a man, but anything beyond ‘marrying well’ not acceptable for her?

What Carrington wanted was to work on a dig in Egypt, to see the pyramids, to discover the riches of the Valley of The Kings. To see for herself all the wonders about which she had read so much. The discovery earlier in the year of Nefertiti and Amen-Ra in Cairo had enthralled her and made her dream of going to Egypt even stronger.

Her impression of Alastair Tregarron was that he was stuffy, filled with his own sense of self importance and would never be the friend, confidant and partner that she wanted for her future husband.

What she wanted was probably a man who didn’t exist. A man who would understand that she had her own ideas and interests and that she was smart, as intelligent as she was, and yes, one she found attractive as well. Poor Alastair was certainly lacking in that regard.

She knew her mother would never just let this go. But she also knew that she couldn’t, just couldn’t marry this man and give up on everything she wanted, just to please her parents.

                                    ******

Carrington sat across the table from her parents, beside Alastair, dressed in a heavily beaded gold colored gown. A string of sapphires and diamonds hung around her neck, a bracelet that matched was on her wrist. If her mother could have added a tiara, she thought, she would have. She smiled and answered politely when spoken too and most of the conversation was between her parents and Alastair’s. Only after dessert had been served did Alastair turn to her and speak.

“Perhaps we could go for a stroll in the garden?”

She felt her mother willing her to go and so she said, “Of course.” It was hard to ignore the pleased expressions of the two older couples. Perhaps, they were thinking, she had reconsidered Alastair’s proposal. Carrington knew what they were thinking even though they had not said a word.

She walked beside the man her parents wanted her to marry in the garden.

“I may have been a bit hasty in asking you to marry me,” he began.

“We barely know each other,” she agreed.

“I know that you know as well as I do that this has all been engineered by our parents.”

“Yes.”

“Even so, I find it a pleasing arrangement, if you would consider it.”

Carrington stopped walking. “Is that what you think marriage is? An arrangement?”

“Of course it is more than that. Perhaps it would seem less distasteful to you if we got to know each other a little better. You still have a few days before your ship sails.”

“What would you want to know?”

He smiled. “What subjects interest you, Carrington? You have hardly spoken about anything at all.”

“I like books. I like history.”

“History?”

“Ancient history in particular. Especially the study of Egyptology.”

“The pyramids and rulers of Egypt? That interests you?”

She sighed. “More than anything. I would love to work on a concession.”

“Digging up remains? Is that the sort of thing a well- bred young woman ought to be doing?”

Carrington said quietly, “Perhaps I am not as well-bred as everyone seems to think. I have a mind. A very good one. I cannot imagine anything more thrilling.”

“I have no problem with you going there, but certainly not
working
there.”

“Do you think that because you find the work demeaning or because I’m a woman?”

He shrugged. “Both.”

“I don’t see how this is going to work between you and me.”

“Why not? You can read about Egypt or anything else. I’ve no problem with books. I read them myself.”

“Do you have a problem with a wife who knows about current affairs, reads the newspapers and has an opinion?”

He laughed. “You sound so fierce.”

“I think it is a valid question, if of course, you are going to consider being married to me.”

“I see now what your mother meant.”

“Excuse me?”

“She said you could be…headstrong.”

“I really can’t see this working.”

 “It would be a good union for both of us. I believe that given time we could be friends. I would be willing to let you explore some of the things you are interested in. We could travel.”

“What about love?”

“It isn’t entirely necessary for a successful marriage.”

Carrington stared at him. “I’m afraid it is for me. The answer is still no.”

She turned and walked back into the house, leaving him standing there.

                                  ******

“I cannot believe that you said no again,” Rose St. Clair said to her daughter.

“The answer will always be no to him, Mother. There is no reason pretending otherwise. Please don’t schedule anymore meetings or dinners or tea parties. I am not going to marry Alastair.”

“This entire trip was a waste, then,” Rose mourned.

“I’m sorry. I truly am, for disappointing you and Father. But I don’t know what else to do. I can’t spend the rest of my life with him."

“Why would that be so terrible?”

Carrington turned to face the window, not wanting to see her mother’s face. “Do you love Father?”

“We have been married for thirty years. What kind of question is that?”

“One you didn’t answer. You’ve been married for thirty years. Have you
loved
him for thirty years?”

Rose hesitated to answer. “I respect him and we get along well. I am quite fond of him.”

“No wonder you don’t understand why I would rather be in love with the man I marry.”

“I wish you would reconsider.”

Carrington turned back to look at her mother and felt some regret for making her mother so unhappy. “I know you do, but I can’t. Is it all right if I visit the museum today?”

Her mother nodded and rose to go. Carrington breathed a sigh of relief. She was certain that her parents might be angry with her but she had made up her mind once and for all concerning the prospect of becoming Alastair Tregarron’s wife. She dressed in an outfit suitable for sightseeing in London and prepared to spend some time at the museum. The one thing she wanted to see again was the coffin lid of the Princess of Amen-Ra.