A VOYAGE TO REMEMBER
Chapter Twenty
Isolde sat beside Harold calmly,
although she felt as if she should run back to the safety of her third class
cabin, take off the too-fancy clothes, and remove the makeup that changed her
on the outside and even the inside. Everyone was comfortable at the table.
Elizabeth’s family must have been very close to Mr. Andrews, for he had
escorted Edith and was now speaking in a joyful manner with the girls’ father.
Edith sat across from Isolde and
was looking at her intently. Isolde was being quiet and unsure of what to say.
Elizabeth was on the other side of Harold, attempting to make conversation with
him. He was just as quiet as Isolde, who was attempting to keep her eyes away
from him.
"Have you met our new
friend?" Elizabeth inquired brightly of the Fifth Officer, snapping
Isolde’s thoughts back to the brunch at hand.
"I don’t believe I’ve had
the pleasure," he replied politely. He turned towards Isolde, holding out
a hand. "Officer Harold Lowe," he said, shaking her hand instead of a
polite kiss on the knuckles.
"Is--" Isolde began,
but was sharply kicked in the leg by Edith. She changed her words swiftly.
"I am Anne Olen."
"Of Welsh descent, I
suppose?" he asked off-handedly.
"Yes," she said with a
nod. "As you are."
He simply nodded. In his mind,
however, he knew he had heard that exact line before. This could not be
coincidence. Harold glanced at her face again, swearing he had seen it nearly a
hundred times before. Isolde turned away as though shy at being studied, but
truly wishing him not to recognize her. Harold continued anyway.
"It’s rude to stare."
Edith reprimanded Harold as though he were a child.
"Yes, Ma’am," Harold
replied quickly, averting his eyes.
All through the meal, however,
Harold replied to everyone with short answers, keeping mostly to himself. He
kept sneaking glances at Anne Olen. She avoided his gaze.
The women stood in unison at the
end of their meal, the men courteously standing up at their sides. All said
their good-byes.
The Smith daughters and Isolde
walked out of the room. They all smiled fondly at her, Edith whispering that
she had done very well, excluding her mishap with spilling a cup of tea on
Officer Boxhall, but everyone had laughed and Isolde had gotten away with it,
exclaiming that she was just so excited about being on the grandest ship in the
world, those jitters just wouldn’t seem to leave.
The girls had barely eaten any of
the five course meal. The corsets wouldn’t allow it. Isolde stopped outside the
glass doors of the café, the sisters not noticing and walking forward. The
Welshwoman had a hand against her stomach, attempting to take in a few shallow
breaths. The room was spinning around her. Unable to stop it, Isolde collapsed
to the ground in a heap, no longer breathing.
Harold had still been watching
the mysterious Anne Olen as she walked out the door. He saw her collapse, and
without realizing what he was doing, he rushed to her side. The officer knelt
beside her in worry. Harold glanced at the shoes that were revealed from
beneath the beautiful dress. They were of worn leather. He had his proof.
Harold knew this woman quite well, and she was certainly not of the first
class. Anne Olen was Isolde Conway, his fiancée.