Taking the Titanic by James Patterson & Scott Slaven

Author:James Patterson & Scott Slaven [Patterson, James & Slaven, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316504096
Amazon: 0316504092
Publisher: BookShots
Published: 2016-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Nigel Bowen

Atlantic Ocean

Friday, April 12, 1912, 2:00PM

On the way back to our cabin, neither of us said a word. But I watched Celia out of the corner of my eye, and I could all but see the wheels turning in her mind, faster than a locomotive. Whatever she was hiding, she was furiously working out how she could continue to do so.

Inside the room, Celia walked over to my bureau and poured a drink—the first I’d ever seen her take. She took a large sip then glanced over at me.

“Nigel, I think…” she said slowly, carefully. “I think we should separate. Everyone is talking about our argument and the fight you had with Phil. If you were to take another room, we might still be able to convince Mr. Davies that by a friendly separation we are striving to save our marriage.”

I sat on the couch and contemplated her. She slowly paced back and forth across the room, her mind obviously still abuzz.

“You might even go to him and ask him to help you conquer your need for liquor,” she said. “It would make him feel important. And it would seem as though you were really trying.”

“And then what?” I asked tartly. “We dock, you decide that I truly am incorrigible and throw yourself into Davies’s protective arms? Then you cash the check and disappear forever?”

Celia’s eyes flashed with anger, but she made yet another effort to control herself. She walked over and sat next to me on the sofa.

“I haven’t always been honest with you, Nigel,” she said intently. “But I ask that you trust me this last time. You can have the money—all of it. It doesn’t matter to me. Just please, please do as I say and take another room.”

I laughed bitterly. “Not three hours ago you said the money was all that mattered to you. Come, my dear, you might start this new era of honesty by telling me who that Frenchman is. And who you are…Molly.”

Celia sprang up from the sofa and went to her vanity. She stood with her back to me for several moments. She then suddenly dug into a drawer and, riffling through some papers, pulled something out. She walked up to me and held out Davies’s check. “If I tell you about that man, will you promise—swear—to take this check and book another room?”

“Celia, darling, you’re not very good at this kind of bargaining.” I sighed in exasperation. “You must know that check is worthless if we part. I have no doubt that Davies will honor his word about helping you divorce me—until he finds out that there can be no divorce because there never was a marriage. You won’t get a dime. You might even land in jail.”

Her shoulders slumped, and it was as though I could actually see her fighting spirit rise out and float away. She sank down onto the couch again and pressed her head against the back. In a flat, dead kind of voice she spoke.

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