On a Cold Dark Sea(85)

“He’d have lived if I had had control of the boat. I went over those minutes again and again, all those nights at my parents’ house, when I couldn’t sleep. What I’d done wrong. How I might have spared those women their grief.”

“You can’t take all that upon yourself.” Charlotte felt a ridiculous urge to press her hands against Edmund’s cheeks. To pull him close and whisper her forgiveness. “You did your best. We both did.”

Edmund took a deep breath. “No point going on about it. What’s done is done.”

“Do you know, I’d never done anything selfless before that night,” Charlotte said. She couldn’t allow this conversation to sink into despair. “I was a liar and a thief, pining after a man who’d never have married me. I hate to think where I’d have ended up if the Titanic hadn’t sunk. Prison, most likely. It’s terrible to say, given the loss of life, but it was the making of me. I’d never have known what I was capable of, otherwise.”

“I changed as well,” Edmund said. “Though I can’t say if it was for the better. I wasn’t the boldest lad, growing up, and I was used to following orders, not giving them. I wasn’t as strong as I should have been.” He brushed away Charlotte’s attempt to protest. “I wasn’t, and I learned from it. By the time I went back to sea, I was a better sailor. More disciplined.”

And something precious was lost: the impulsive decency that made Edmund throw a line to a dying man. The self-possessed man sitting opposite Charlotte would carefully weigh the costs and benefits of such a rescue; he valued caution over action. But wasn’t that true of everyone, as they aged?

“There’s something freeing about surviving the worst,” Edmund said. “There were chaps who worried about German submarines, during the war, and I’d find myself thinking, what if we are hit? If I live, I live; if I die, I die. It’s out of my hands.”

“That sounds like a rather useful approach to life.”

“It can be.”

Charlotte wondered whether Edmund had applied that same mind-set to his marriage. If we’re happy, then we’re happy; if we’re not, so be it. His imperturbability must be a great asset when commanding a ship, but how did it affect his private life? Her most recent lover, a theater director, had been a tempest of moods, ranging from buoyant elation to self-pitying misery. It had been rather thrilling, at first, but exhausting by the end. How much easier to come home to a man who was always quintessentially himself.

“I have my regrets, as anyone would,” said Charlotte. “But I’ve made my peace with it all. We survived. That’s enough.”

Edmund looked at her tentatively, seeming to gather up his nerve. “May I speak honestly?” he asked.

Haven’t you already? Charlotte wondered, but she simply nodded.

“I was curious when I received your letter, but I expected this meeting to be rather uncomfortable. I didn’t think there was anything to be gained by discussing the past. But I’ve enjoyed talking to you very much.”

“Thank you.”

“You have a way of inspiring confidences. I suppose that’s why you’re so good at your job.”

Edmund gave Charlotte a pointed look. An attempt to tease her, she hoped, but she didn’t want him to question her motives.

“I told you before, I don’t intend to write anything about the Titanic,” she said. “I’m not here as a reporter. I’m here as a friend.”

It felt strange, saying it out loud, but right.

Charlotte glanced at her watch, shocked by how much time had passed. She usually kept to a strict schedule, her mind always calculating where she needed to be next. Edmund’s parlor had shielded her from the chaos of her everyday life.

“I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, rising from the sofa. “I’ve got to catch the three o’clock train back to town. There’s a dinner tonight . . .”

A dinner she’d been looking forward to. Noel Coward was going to be there, and that gorgeous Laurence Olivier. She’d been looking forward to it for weeks, savoring the anticipation each time she glanced through her diary. Now, to her surprise, it felt like a burden. The rush back to her flat, choosing the right dress, preening in front of the mirror, all so she could sit through the same gossipy conversations, the same judgmental pronouncements. It all seemed so pointless.

“Please, don’t let me keep you.”

Edmund was standing, too, flustered. He hurriedly placed his teacup on the tray and went into the hall to fetch Charlotte’s hat. She wished her departure weren’t so rushed. It felt wrong to follow a heartfelt conversation with such a superficial parting.

“I’ll arrange a visit with Mrs. Tipton,” Edmund said, and Charlotte replied, “Yes, please do,” and then the door was open, and Charlotte was standing with one foot inside the house and one foot out, and it felt, for one swooning second, that they were together again in the lifeboat, the Carpathia looming above them. Now, as then, they reached for one another, and Edmund clasped Charlotte’s hands, just as he had when she was about to climb up the ladder. It wasn’t goodbye. It was a promise.

Edmund’s house wasn’t far from the station, but Charlotte hailed a taxi, just to be safe. She found herself already anticipating her next visit. Tea and biscuits in the parlor. Speaking freely about her worries. Edmund’s understanding nods. The relief of his undemanding company.