Dear Deceiver(3)

The kitten who, doubtless, had received a thousand or so pats to date  was graciously pleased to accept another. It stood up to make the most  of Haidee's fingers, laid its ears back and squeaked with interest. It  was short-lived. A sudden howl from the darkness of the passageway  behind sent the kitten scurrying away and Haidee's heart into her  throat.

'Oh, crumbs!' 'Fair Chignon's' voice exclaimed. 'Your toe!'

'Brown Waves' had already teased her about the weight of her suitcase.  For the even later comer than themselves who, edging past, had had it  set down on his foot it had obviously been no joke. Too dark to be seen  properly, he was a chunky build with a big dark head and the silhouette  of a Borg collared jacket and high sweater roll.

'Why not look what you're doing?' he suggested wrathfully.

'Why not sound your horn?' 'Fair Chignon' flashed.

'I don't expect-'

'And neither do I-when I pay x pounds to Aer Lingus-to have to hump my case for miles in the dark-'

'You're one of the air lot?' Haidee, diffident about joining them, could  detect no note of sympathy. 'I might have guessed. I've had them all  over me since Euston. Don't know when they're well off.'

'I beg your pardon!' 'Fair Chignon' gasped.

'About time. You nearly had my toes off,' the voice accused. It was a  strong voice and it sounded young. 'Come on. Give me that and next time  what about thinking about the trouble it's causing to get you home.'  Still speaking, he had shouldered both 'Fair Chignon's' coffin weight of  leather and his own dark grey slimline case and was now marching ahead.

'Nice work!' 'Fair Chignon' whispered irrepressibly to Haidee as they  fell into step behind. If anything, the encounter had restored her. It  was Haidee who in the darkness had not even been noticed whose cheeks  flamed with mortification. So true. They shouldn't grumble, and all  along she had felt a wretched coward for not saying so. She hoped the  aggressive stranger would once again not notice her when they reached  the ship.

He did not. Indeed 'Fair Chignon', to her marked disappointment,  received hardly a glance. At the head of the gangway he looked at the  ship's officer, said briefly: 'Saloon passengers,' and strode as  directed along the deck. Rather like a turkey cock leading his hens,  Haidee thought, stifling a giggle. At the foot of the companionway he  set down 'Fair Chignon's' case, disdained her thanks and went off about  his business.

'Just what I like with my morning tea,' 'Fair Chignon' said appreciatively.

'Him?' Haidee queried ungrammatically.

'Who else, love? In my book quite something.'

' In my book-very rude!'

'A man without rudeness is like a kiss without a moustache,' 'Fair Chignon' told her lightly. 'And now, my child, what next?'

Haidee said she supposed they ought to see about berths and a woman in  the crush beside them laughed in her face. They could queue if they  wanted to, of course, but where did they think berths were coming from  for twelve hundred extra people? The full complement had all been booked  weeks ago by the passengers who weren't ex-airline. 'We've been  conned,' she finished.                       
       
           



       

Haidee's 'sheep' half tried to be fair, her 'goat' half was dominant.  The ship in their first glimpse of it had looked incredibly small and to  say there wasn't a spare foot of space aboard was no exaggeration.  People were sitting on the steps of the stairs, stretched out flat in  the corridors, standing round the lounges.

'If I could only have a wash!' 'Fair Chignon' sighed and suddenly  brisked up. 'What's the betting he's got a cabin? He's not from Aer  Lingus or B.E.A. He as good as said so. So he'll be an ordinary  passenger with a berth booked at the time. Let's find it.'

'Find it?' Haidee did not think she had heard aright. 'What good would that do?'

'It worked before, didn't it? Unintentionally perhaps, but it worked.  I'm going to try again.' She bubbled with laughter at Haidee's  expression. 'No, love, not that. Just a hot water tap.'

'Do you mean...'

It was vain. 'Fair Chignon' was actually turning the handle of the  nearest cabin. She looked back grinning and shook her head. A few doors  on, however, she beckoned madly. It was impossible to go on ignoring the  urgent signals. Haidee gave in eventually and went to join her.

'I was right,' 'Fair Chignon' said triumphantly. She pointed to the  case, dark grey and slim line, which was resting on the neatly blanketed  bunk. 'That's his. I spotted the label when we were coming along.' It  had printing on it in a foreign language. 'Swedish or Norwegian,' 'Fair  Chignon' opined. 'And it's new. He's just been there.'

'I don't care where he's been,' Haidee retorted desperately. 'I'm not going in.'

'Not even for some hot water and a beautiful British Railway towel-and  soap!' 'Fair Chignon' mocked. 'You're chicken, as my son would say.' She  really was going to wash herself. She had laid down her handbag and was  turning back her cuffs. Water-and delectable it looked after six hours'  travelling-spouted from the tap. 'Fair Chignon' bent and splashed her  face. 'Marvellous! Come on, get the grime off,' she invited. 'He'll  probably spend the night in the bar.'

'I won't. I couldn't.' Haidee did not care how frantic she sounded  because frantic was the way she felt. If only they could have kept up  with 'Brown Waves'. He would never have let things take such a crazy  turn. 'Brown Waves' had been kind, straightforward, dependable-he'd  known about blinds and lights and where each station was, that kind of  thing, and mighty comforting it had been. 'I'm going back to sit on my  case,' she finished defiantly.

She had abandoned the said case quite recklessly, but thank goodness it  was still there protruding at an angle across the corridor. The queue  for berths had not moved an inch, so it was still there too, and a man  was easing along between it and the wall. For a second Haidee had to ask  herself was it he. She was seeing him now front view and in  colour-sweater deep blue, suit a smoky herringbone, hair mid-brown, face  long and wry-but yes, it was, she was sure, and in a minute 'Fair  Chignon' would be caught red-handed.

There wasn't a second to lose. Haidee forgot about the case and dashed  back to warn her. She had just reached the door of the cabin where the  miscreant was now drying her hands luxuriously when the crash came. She  didn't think he went right down, the passage was too crowded. She heard  voices, explanations, someone asking: 'Who left it there? Whose is it?'

Above all and tryingly she heard 'Fair Chignon' laughing. 'You're  priceless, you know that! I didn't need rescuing. I was looking forward  to the bedroom scene. Now you've probably broken his leg. Let's hope  it's not the other one.' She chuckled happily as Haidee, with the  strength of desperation, dragged her from the cabin.

'Sorry,' 'Fair Chignon' said penitently. 'I'm sure you were a good  little girl till you met me.' Contrite as she was, her way of making  amends had had exactly similar characteristics. She had made up to a  young steward in the dining saloon and he was letting them sit on at the  table long after other patrons had been evicted.                       
       
           



       

It was now something past five. It had been three-forty-five before  they'd slipped away from Heysham, the sea a grey table, and the past few  hours had been peaceful. Exhausted travellers had fallen asleep  anywhere and everywhere; Haidee had had to step over some when she had  stolen back up the corridor to retrieve her case, and outside the dining  saloon a youth had lain down on the open deck.

Peaceful too in another sense. 'Fair Chignon' gave her name, Irene, and  showed photographs of her children, unbelievably both in their teens.  She was on a visit to her mother in Dublin and she listened with  sympathy as Haidee, in turn, confided her circumstances. Asked, however,  for the name of her friend, she looked puzzled. 'Name? Friend? Oh-on  the train! I don't know, love, he didn't say. I don't know him from  Adam,' she went on. 'We just met up yesterday afternoon at the terminal  after he'd laughed at the lipstick on my husband's cheek. Why?' Her eyes  narrowed shrewdly. 'Did you like him?'

How to answer that one? 'Well-I...'

'He liked you,' Irene confided. 'Picked you out at Euston.'

Flannel, thought Haidee, who was not without shrewdness herself. If  'Brown Waves' had liked her on acquaintance he would hardly have been in  such a hurry to get away.

Time passed. The curtains of fog which had been waiting off the  Lancashire coast had well and truly closed in. Beyond the deck rail  nothing could be seen but grey. Haidee had got used to the monotonous  tramp of feet on the boards outside and in the dining saloon all the  tables except theirs had been cleared. Irene's little friend among the  stewards had certainly done his bit, and for the past twenty minutes or  so Irene herself had been nodding, her cheek against her hand.