wore the clothes that had marked their places in the hierarchy of the Princess—elaborate dresses, or simple ones; formal jackets, or uniform ones—although not in the smart manner of before. Now everything was tattered, dirtied, either loosened or shrunk by the assaults of the ocean and the sun. To a one they were a disheveled parody of their former selves. But none so much as Camilla. The sunburn on her face had mellowed in the course of the day, but the extreme contrast of her light eyes against the reddened skin gave her the appearance of some strange creature from the depths of the ocean. Or maybe from the clouds. She walked a little bent over all the time, as though she had just been hit hard in the stomach.
“But to me,” Fitzhugh said, bringing the eulogy to a close, “he will always be my brave and strapping older brother. He is with God now. May his soul be at rest.”
With this, Camilla threw back her head. A croaking sound came out of her mouth, followed by a wail. Sobs wracked her body. The first-class passengers of the Princess stared at her, not sure what to do. They were a staid sort of people, disinclined to displays of emotion. They appeared horrified by her unlovely grief. Vida wondered if someone would do something. Then she noticed that someone already had. Fitzhugh had reached for her, he had taken her hand. As he squeezed her hand, her sobs slowed and became less frequent until she made no sound at all. There was only the rise and fall of her lovely breast.
She had, with his touch, become lovely again.
Vida disliked herself for caring. But she had believed that Camilla was no longer the possessor of uncommon beauty, and she was disappointed to find that it had been there all along, lying in wait until she had the attention of this young man again.
They looked like the perfect pair—rumpled by the elements, yet somehow still handsome, with their light eyes against sun-darkened faces. And Vida, who would not have thought she could be moved by anything so trivial ever again, was shocked by the sharp pain that spread from the left side of her chest.
Fitzhugh had seemed as good as hers, but he belonged to another. The absurdity of the entire situation did nothing to assuage her unbearable loneliness.
She could not let these people see her cry, so she turned away, made her way carefully back down the rocks, to the wide beach where they had arrived that morning.
Could it really only have been that morning?
It seemed as long ago as the beginning of time.
At the water’s edge she sank down and gazed out. The little ripples went on forever, through crests of magenta, midnight blue, turquoise, bronze, to the mellowing sun. What a fool she had been to chase such a man. A man she thought she knew, but who she didn’t really understand at all. And where were the people she had blithely put at risk to chase a chimera? Nora, and her mother and father—where were they? Had they slept through the last hours of the Princess? Did they only realize at the final moments that the great ship was going down, when the cabins were flooded with the ocean and they could no longer escape? Vida wished them safe, but she couldn’t make herself believe they were safe. A happy ending seemed such a naïve and childish notion, now.
Sobs rocked her shoulders. Before she knew it, the water had crept up, had soaked the hem of her dress, of her petticoat. She glanced up at the rising tide, wiping the snot and tears from her face, trying to get control of herself, to put a stop to those heaving sobs before someone saw her.
Too late she noticed her skin prickle, that telltale sign that someone already had seen her.
A little way down the beach, back toward the rocks, stood a tall figure. At that hour he was just a silhouette. But she knew it was Sal—she recognized the leanness of him, the way his hair grew long around the ears. She couldn’t make out his face, but his body was turned toward her, and she could feel his gaze. So—Fitzhugh had sent his servant to see what she was doing.
For another moment Sal watched her, and she watched back, daring him to interfere.
After a little while he bent his head in understanding, saluted her, and returned to the others.