Who could tell? Maybe he would get lucky and discover another Toby Temple.
Shortly after Clifton left, Claude Dessard walked up to Jill’s cabin and knocked at the door. There was no response, but the chief purser could hear sounds inside the room. He waited a moment, then raised his voice and said, “Mrs. Temple, this is Claude Dessard, the chief purser. I was wondering if I might be of service?”
There was no answer. By now Dessard’s internal warning system was screaming. His instincts told him that there was something terribly wrong, and he had a premonition that it centered, somehow, around this woman. A series of wild, outrageous thoughts danced through his brain. She had been murdered or kidnaped or—He tried the handle of the door. It was unlocked. Slowly, Dessard pushed the door open. Jill Temple was standing at the far end of the cabin, looking out the porthole, her back to him. Dessard opened his mouth to speak, but something in the frozen rigidity of the figure stopped him. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, debating whether to quietly withdraw, when suddenly the cabin was filled with an unearthly, keening sound, like an animal in pain. Helpless before such a deep private agony, Dessard withdrew, carefully closing the door behind him.
Dessard stood outside the cabin a moment, listening to the wordless cry from within, then, deeply disturbed, turned and headed for the theater on the main deck.
At dinner that evening, there were two empty seats at the captain’s table. Halfway through the meal, the captain signaled to Dessard, who was hosting a party of less important passengers two tables away. Dessard excused himself and hurried over to the captain’s table.
“Ah, Dessard,” the captain said, genially. He lowered his voice and his tone changed. “What happened with Mrs. Temple and Mr. Kenyon?”
Dessard looked around at the other guests and whispered, “As you know, Mr. Kenyon left with the pilot at the Ambrose Lightship. Mrs. Temple is in her cabin.”
The captain swore under his breath. He was a methodical man who did not like to have his routine interfered with. “Merde! All the wedding arrangements have been made,” he said.
“I know, Captain.” Dessard shrugged and rolled his eyes upward. “Americans,” he said.
Jill sat alone in the darkened cabin, huddled in a chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring into nothingness. She was grieving, but it was not for David Kenyon or Toby Temple or even for herself. She was grieving for a little girl named Josephine Czinski. Jill had wanted to do so much for that little girl, and now all the wonderful magical dreams she had had for her were finished.
Jill sat there, unseeing, numbed by a defeat that was beyond comprehension. Only a few hours ago she had owned the world, she had had everything she ever wanted, and now she had nothing. She became slowly aware that her headache had returned. She had not noticed it before because of the other pain, the agonizing pain that was tearing deep into her bowels. But now she could feel the band around her forehead tightening. She pulled her knees up closer against her chest, in the fetal position, trying to shut out everything. She was so tired, so terribly tired. All she wanted to do was to sit here forever and not have to think. Then maybe the pain would stop, at least for a little while.
Jill dragged herself over to the bed and lay down and closed her eyes.
Then she felt it. A wave of cold, foul-smelling air moving toward her, surrounding her, caressing her. And she heard his voice, calling her name. Yes, she thought, yes. Slowly, almost in a trance, Jill got to her feet and walked out of her cabin, following the beckoning voice in her head.
It was two o’clock in the morning and the decks were deserted when Jill emerged from her cabin. She stared down at the sea, watching the gentle splashing of the waves against the ship as it cut through the water, listening to the voice. Jill’s headache was worse now, a tight vise of agony. But the voice was telling her not to worry, telling her that everything was going to be fine. Look down, the voice said.