I laughed. “I don’t have much of a coiffure to worry about. My hair refuses to be tamed.”
“Like its owner, perhaps?” and he gave me a most flirtatious look, which should have outraged me and prompted me to tell him I was a married woman. Actually it raised my spirits.
“I was looking for icebergs,” I said. “Do you think we’ll see one?”
“I sincerely hope not,” he said. “They have been a constant worry this spring, coming further south than is normal. The captain has decided to take a more southerly course than normal. We would have sailed close to Newfoundland, but that puts us in the path of stray icebergs. So we cross the open Atlantic and risk more storms and high seas. But that is surely better than meeting an iceberg during the night.”
“Are we in for a stormy crossing, do you think?”
He shrugged in that Gallic way. “The signs are not good. But do not worry. This ship can handle the worst of seas. I have seen waves like mountains…”
Somehow I didn’t find this comforting. “Will it not make our voyage quicker if we sail directly across the ocean, rather than going so far north?” I asked.
“The opposite,” he said. “You see, the Earth is like an orange, no? If we make an arc like this”—and he drew a rainbow shape with his finger in the air—“it is actually a shorter distance than traveling like this. You understand?”
I didn’t really but I nodded. “So will we arrive on schedule?”
“Let us hope. I suspect we will be a little late, unless the wind moves to the west and drives us along with the waves. But we will get you there safely, have no doubt.” He saluted, gave me another saucy grin, and went on his way. I continued my walk and when I reached the leeward side of the ship out of the worst of the wind I paused to catch my breath. It was then that I noticed I was not alone. The mysterious girl was standing at the railing, staring out to sea, her light hair streaming out in the breeze.
I went to join her at the railing. “I’m glad the wind isn’t quite as fierce on this side,” I said. “I thought I was going to get blown away.”
She turned and looked at me, then she grinned. “You look as if you almost were blown away.”
I put my hand up to my head. “My hair must look a frightful sight. It won’t stay pinned up at the best of times.”
“I don’t put mine up,” she said. “I like the feel of it around my shoulders. I don’t think one should have to conform, do you?”
“I’m afraid one does have to eventually,” I said. “I haven’t always conformed. I have never worn a corset, for one thing. But once you are married it’s different.”
“You mean you have to obey your husband?” and she wrinkled her button of a nose.
“Not ‘obey’ necessarily, but not do anything that might let him down or damage his position. I’ve had to learn to temper what I say. I’ve always been a trifle hotheaded.”
“Me too.”
“Are you going to Paris? If so you’ll find plenty of people who don’t like to conform, so I’ve heard.”
She frowned. “I’m joining my fiancé and his family there. They’ve been in London and sent me a ticket to join them. But they are Bostonians. Everything has to be done properly and with decorum.”
“Then I don’t think you’ll be going to the Moulin Rouge or Montmartre.”
A wicked smile twinkled in her eyes. “They expected me to sail on an American ship out of Boston but I found this one sailing a week earlier. I plan to enjoy my freedom in Paris before they arrive.”
“Mercy,” I said. “Your family must be very modern if they will let you run around Paris on your own.”
The wicked smile spread. “They don’t know. They think I’ll be meeting Peter straight away.” Then a little sigh. “I had to make the most of my one moment of freedom, didn’t I? When I marry Peter I’ll have to behave like a Boston matron and hold tea parties.”
“I know just how you feel,” I said. “I only married recently and I certainly had to think hard about giving up my freedom. But surely you’re not traveling alone?”
“No, not exactly. Mademoiselle is with me. She was the French teacher at my old seminary and she is returning home to France so she was asked to accompany me to Paris. I just have to make sure she doesn’t find out that Peter won’t be joining me for a few days. She’d have hysterics and cable Mama and all would be lost.”
Finally I dared to pose the question I had been longing to ask. “Has anyone told you that you look remarkably like the girl in the Reynold Bryce—”