66 The Love Pirate Page 5

  She had gone on to beg his assistance and, as the Prince always liked to help beautiful women, she finally coaxed him into speaking to Lord Saire.

  “I think you are being rather cruel to that pretty creature, Saire,” the Prince had said in his deep voice after dinner at Marlborough House.

  “Which one, Sire?” Lord Saire had enquired.

  He was well aware as soon as His Royal Highness started to speak what he was about to hear.

  The Prince had chuckled.

  “That is the sort of answer I like to give myself, my boy! You know as well as I do that I am speaking of Lady Gertrude.”

  “She always assures me that I make her very happy, Sire,” Lord Saire said blandly.

  “So you should!” the Prince exclaimed. “You are a fine figure of a man, Saire, and a damned good lover from all I hear!”

  “I cannot profess to emulate Your Royal Highness on that score,” Lord Saire had replied, “but shall I say modestly that I do my best?”

  The Prince had laughed until it turned into a fit of coughing.

  Then, after he had sipped his brandy, he said,

  “Confidentially, Saire, what are you going to do about her?”

  “Nothing, Sire, that I have not done already.”

  For the moment the Prince had looked nonplussed.

  Lord Saire was well aware that the Prince rather fancied himself as a Royal matchmaker. He would have liked to return to Lady Gertrude with the information that Theydon Saire would be speaking to her in the manner she desired within a few days.

  But Lord Saire had not won his reputation for diplomacy without knowing how to handle the Prince.

  He leaned forward to say in a voice that could not be heard by the other gentlemen at the table,

  “I would like to have a chance to speak to you privately and confidentially, Sire. As a matter of fact I need your help in several other matters which I cannot speak about at this moment.”

  The Prince’s eyes had glinted.

  He had been kept out of taking any part in political affairs for so long by his mother that he was forced to glean information from whatever source he could find.

  But he wished to be in the know and he was desperately frustrated at being deliberately isolated from the Foreign Office secrets.

  The mere fact that Lord Saire intimated he would be given information that he could not obtain officially was as exciting as the offer of a drink to a thirsty man.

  “I will arrange that we shall have a talk at the first opportunity, Saire,” he said.

  Lord Saire knew that at the moment at any rate Lady Gertrude’s problems were swept from his mind.

  Although he told the Prince enough to satisfy him, he was relieved that going abroad secretly and quietly without saying goodbye had doubtless saved him from being further embroiled in boudoir politics.

  It was a game all the women of the Marlborough House set played according to their own rules.

  The Prince could prove a very formidable opponent and at times, as Lord Saire was aware, an extremely disconcerting one.

  He was thankful where Gertrude was concerned that he did not have to risk Royal disapproval by stating bluntly and categorically that he had no intention of ever making her his wife.

  He did not think that he would be deliberately ostracised if he refused to do what the Prince wished. Yet stranger things had happened and the Prince could be a very real and warm friend, but also an extremely formidable enemy.

  ‘I have escaped unscathed!’ Lord Saire said to himself.

  He settled down comfortably in one of the deep armchairs with which his cabin was furnished and heard his valet unpacking his clothes next door.

  He had brought all the newspapers with him on the train and he picked up The Times, read the leading article and then started on Parliamentary Reports.

  It was a little time later that his valet, Cosnet, brought him the passenger list.

  “The ship’s absolutely full, my Lord,” he said as he set it down on the table. “But I expects there’ll be some passengers getting’ off at Malta and at Alexandria.”

  “I was afraid we might be overcrowded,” Lord Saire remarked, thinking that the decks would be congested when he wanted to take exercise.

  “Anyone we know on board, Cosnet?”

  He knew his valet was as au fait with his friends and his many acquaintances as he was himself.

  “There’s that Persian gentleman, my Lord, we met three years ago when we was staying with our Ambassador in Teheran.”

  “Oh, good!” Lord Saire replied. “I shall be glad to see him again!”

  “There’s Lord and Lady Sandford, the Honourable Mrs. Murray and Lady Ellenton, who I think your Lordship knows?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Saire murmured.

  They were all rather dull with the exception of Mrs. Murray, the wife of a diplomat, whom he had met on several occasions and thought attractive.

  There was a faint smile on his lips as he returned to his newspaper.

  The voyage might not be so dull after all and Mrs. Murray with her red hair and slanting green eyes certainly bore no resemblance to Gertrude.

  *

  The dinner on the first evening in the Second Class Saloon was a surprise to Bertilla.

  She had imagined that she would be able to have an individual table to herself, but she found that the passengers sat at long communal tables, decanters slung from the ceiling above their heads.

  The diners sat rather close together and it had been impossible to remain reserved and uncommunicative with the persons on her right and left.

  She was in fact next to a rubber planter who had been home on leave from Malaya and was eagerly looking forward to going back to his wife and three children.

  He expounded at great length on the appearance of his two sons and the profits he intended to make on his plantation.

  On the other side of Bertilla was an elderly Scotsman who was the European buyer for a Chinaman who owned several shops in Singapore.

  At her end of the table the white Europeans were all placed together, but she noticed that on the other side, fortunately a long way down the room, was the Dutch-Javanese man who had stared at her when she arrived on board.

  She was well aware that he kept looking at her all through dinner and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he intended to speak to her as soon as the meal was finished.

  She circumvented him by moving away quicker than the majority of passengers and going immediately to her own cabin.

  She had unpacked and, now that they were at sea, the cabin did not seem so constricting or so drab.

  With her possessions scattered about, it seemed almost like home.

  Because they were out in the Channel and the sea was rough, Bertilla undressed and, picking up one of the books she particularly wanted to read, lay down on her bunk and turned on the reading light.

  It was quite comfortable, she thought, and perhaps when she became used to the ship and the strange people aboard it she might even make a few friends.

  She thought with a smile that her mother would have been horrified at her speaking to, let alone being friendly with, any of the people she had seen so far in the Second Class.

  But she was well aware that, even if she wished to do so, she could not mix with the First Class passengers and she must therefore make the best of the condition she found herself in.

  The food had been edible, if not very exciting and she was sure that if nothing else she would learn at first hand a great deal about the people who lived in the part of the world to which she was journeying.

  So far she had recognised Chinese, Indians, two men who she was certain came from Bali and, of course, the Dutch-Javanese.

  ‘I think he may be rather tiresome,’ Bertilla told herself and she made up her mind to make every effort to avoid him.

  It was, however, one thing to make a decision at night and much more difficult to keep it the next day.

  The se
a was rough and when Bertilla went on deck wrapped in her warmest coat there were very few people to be seen.

  She had intended to walk briskly round and round to take exercise, but the rolling of the ship made it impossible.

  Having stayed for a little while to watch the waves breaking over the bow, she was just about to go back inside when a voice with a decidedly Dutch accent said,

  “Good morning, Miss Alvinston!”

  It was the Dutch-Javanese and she replied as coldly as possible,

  “Good morning!”

  “You are very brave. I thought you would not leave your cabin on such a rough day.”

  “I hope I am a good sailor,” Bertilla replied.

  She would have moved away, but it was impossible to pass the man who was standing close to her without lurching into him owing to the movement of the ship.

  She therefore stood where she was, holding onto the rail, her eyes on the sea.

  “I hope, Miss Alvinston, we shall be friends on this voyage.”

  “How do you know my name?” Bertilla enquired.

  The man gave a deep laugh, which seemed to come from the very depths of his somewhat stout body.

  “I am not a detective,” he replied, “I merely asked the Purser.”

  Bertilla did not reply and after a moment he said,

  “My name is Van de Kaempfer and, as I have said, Miss Alvinston, I hope we shall be friends. I see you are travelling alone.”

  “I-I have a great deal of work to do in my cabin,” Bertilla said.

  It was foolish of her, she knew, but she felt as if this large man was encroaching on her, coming closer not only physically but also mentally.

  She had no wish to talk to him and she wanted to run away, but was not quite certain how she should do so.

  “Ladies who travel alone,” Mr. Van de Kaempfer was saying, “need a man to look after them, to protect them. I am offering myself in that capacity, Miss Alvinston.”

  “Thank you very much, but I can look after myself.”

  He laughed again.

  “You are much too small and too pretty to do that. Have you never thought to yourself how dangerous it is for a pretty lady such as you are to be alone in a crowd of strangers?”

  There was something in his voice that made Bertilla shiver.

  “It is kind of you, Mr. Van de Kaempfer, but I now wish to go back to my cabin.”

  “Before you do that,” he said, “let me buy you a drink. We will go to the Cocktail Bar. I am sure you would find that a glass of champagne would make it easier for you to find your sea legs.”

  “Thank you, no,” Bertilla replied.

  She turned round as she spoke, but the ship gave a sudden roll and threw her against Mr. Van de Kaempfer.

  He laughed and put his arm through hers.

  “Let me help you,” he said. “As I have already said, there are many dangers at sea and the waves constitute one of them.”

  Without making a scene it was impossible for Bertilla to extricate herself from his arm.

  He drew her firmly along the deck and through a heavy door, which took them inside to the heat and warmth and away from the wind that had whipped Bertilla’s fair hair round her cheeks.

  “Now for that nice glass of champagne,” Mr. Van de Kaempfer said, leading Bertilla towards the Cocktail Lounge.

  “No, thank you. I do not drink alcohol,” she replied.

  “Then it is time you began,” he answered.

  With an effort that was almost a struggle Bertilla pulled her arm from Mr. Van de Kaempfer’s and before he could prevent her she hurried away from him.

  She thought as she went that she heard him laugh and she was conscious when she reached her cabin that her heart was beating quickly and her lips felt dry.

  ‘I am being stupid – very stupid,’ she admonished herself.

  After all what was there to be afraid of?

  The man was common and pushing, but it was to be expected that he would think since she was travelling alone that she would be only too pleased to accept his hospitality.

  ‘I shall simply ignore him,’ she decided.

  At the same time she had the uncomfortable feeling that it might be a very difficult thing to do.

  Chapter three

  “I must go back to my own cabin.”

  Rosemary Murray spoke softly and with infinite regret in her voice.

  “That would be sensible,” Lord Saire agreed.

  She stretched her arms out in a despairing gesture.

  “God, how I hate being sensible. It is what I have to be all my life!”

  She turned round to put her head on his bare shoulder as she said passionately,

  “But I am not complaining. An interlude like this makes up for everything, even for the utter boredom that I shall find in Egypt.”

  Lord Saire did not answer and after a moment she went on,

  “If only I could come with you to Singapore and did not have to leave the ship at Alexandria.”

  Her voice vibrated and with a little throb in it she added,

  “Promise that you will not forget me. I shall be praying that we shall meet again someday, somewhere and that everything will be as wonderful as it is now.”

  “I shall be hoping that too,” Lord Saire said.

  But he knew as he spoke that he was being insincere.

  He had enjoyed this flirtation, if that was the right word for it, with Rosemary Murray, between the White Cliffs of Dover and Alexandria.

  Her red hair had been a promise of everything he expected, that she was fiery, tempestuous and as passionate in her own way as Lady Gertrude had been.

  But inevitably he had had enough and he knew that, when she went ashore at Alexandria tomorrow there would be no regrets on his side but rather a feeling of relief.

  As she put on the diaphanous negligee in which she had crept along the passage to his cabin, Lord Saire watched her speculatively and wondered why she was the type of woman of whom one tired so quickly.

  There was no doubt that she was beautiful, her figure was exquisite and she enjoyed lovemaking with a primitive greediness that had an attraction all its own.

  And yet his first ardour had been replaced by a boredom that had grown day by day as they steamed across the Mediterranean, until now he was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

  He put on a long brocade robe and as he stood looking at her, Rosemary Murray turned towards him with a sound that was almost a sob.

  “I love you! Oh, Theydon, I love you!” she cried. “You have captured my heart. I shall never find another man who could take your place.”

  She flung her arms round his neck and her lips were lifted to his and he kissed her as he was expected to do.

  “You must go,” he said quietly as her body moved against his. “You know in a ship, more than anywhere else, the walls have ears.”

  Rosemary Murray gave a deep sigh.

  “I love you! I shall love you for all eternity,” she said dramatically, “and we shall meet again – yes, Theydon, we shall meet again – I know that!”

  Lord Saire opened the door, looked out to see if the passageway was clear, then beckoned to Rosemary Murray to leave.

  She did so, kissing his cheek as she passed him, the exotic fragrance of her perfume seeming to encompass him and leave behind a lingering fragrance on the air as she moved swiftly and silently away.

  Lord Saire closed the door of his cabin and gave a deep sigh.

  It was over!

  This was the finish of another affaire de coeur that had ended in exactly the same way as all his others had.

  He thought that d’Arcy Charington would laugh if he knew what he was feeling and would undoubtedly ask,

  “What are you expecting, Theydon? What are you looking for?”

  The trouble was, he did not know the answer.

  He saw that left behind on the chair in his cabin was a photograph.

  Rosemary Murray had brought it with her when she had
crept into his cabin two hours earlier.

  “I knew you would want it to remember me by,” she had said.

  He saw that she had signed it,

  ‘Yours until eternity, Rosemary.’

  It was indiscreet and the sort of thing that no sensible married woman would do.

  But another inevitability of his love affairs was that women trusted Lord Saire not only with their photographs but also with innumerable passionate and wildly indiscreet letters, which would be utterly damning to say the very least should they ever be read by an outsider.

  Yet women willingly gave Lord Saire not only their hearts and their bodies but also their good names.

  In consequence he was always extremely careful, where it was possible, not to make them suffer for their own indiscretions.

  It was he rather than they who took care to protect them from unnecessary gossip.

  It was he who persuaded them not to come boldly to his house in London as they invariably wished to do or to make it very obvious to all and sundry when they met in public that they were in love with him.

  “Damn it all, they seem to want to commit social suicide!” he said once to d’Arcy Charington.

  His friend had only laughed.

  “They don’t care how heavy the chain that binds them,” he replied, “as long as it binds you too.”

  But somehow, mainly because he was extremely intelligent, Lord Saire had managed so far to avoid an open scandal. That was not to say that he was not talked about and people suspected a great deal of what had actually happened.

  But that was a very different thing from proving it and Lord Saire made very certain that jealous husbands and the world in general found it difficult to produce concrete evidence of any indiscretion.

  He looked at the clock by his bed and saw that it was nearly two o’clock.

  He was just about to climb back into bed when he felt a sudden distaste for Rosemary Murray’s scent, which lingered on the pillows and was annoyed at the fact that the bed itself looked untidy and the sheets were crumpled.

  On an impulse he pulled off his long robe and dressed himself with a quickness that would have annoyed his valet, who thought himself indispensable.