S.O.S. Titanic by Eve Bunting Page A

running hard.
    He stood by the swing doors that led out to the deck, panting, his whole body wet with sweat. So close. They'd have left him battered and bloody. Would they come looking for him again tonight? He didn't think so. They'd picture him hiding in his cabin. They'd picture how they'd get him another time, when he wasn't ready. Well, there wouldn't be a time when he wasn't ready.
    And what about Pegeen? She'd have read the letter by now. Would she come? What had Mary Kelly meant, "And you all starry-eyed over him?" What did that mean?
    The door beside him rattled and swung open. Someone was coming in from the deck. Pegeen? No, she'd never dare step inside here. The dim, deserted first-class deck was one thing, but the gleaming luxury of first class proper would be unthinkable. He stepped back.
    Mrs. Adair came through the door; and behind her, holding it open, was the man Barry had seen her with twice before. She wore a pale fur coat. A pale, silky scarf patterned all over with yellow roses was tied around her head. She was half turned, speaking back to the man, and she hadn't yet noticed Barry. He wished there were somewhere he could disappear to and not be standing here with his two arms the one length, but there was nowhere for him to go. Mrs. Adair was smiling. She looked almost happy. Her smile wavered when she saw him.
    "Mrs. Adair," Barry said. "Hello." And to the man behind her he said, "Good evening, sir."
    "Good evening." The man wore a black homburg hat and a black melton coat with the collar turned up.
    "Barry?" Mrs. Adair bit her lip. Her eye began flicking in that horrible, hurtM-looking way.
    The man held out his hand: "Barry, we haven't met officially. Charity has told me how nice you are to little Jocelyn."
    "Well," Barry said. "It's not hard."
    "No." The man removed his hat and turned down the collar of his coat. "It's very cold out there tonight. We took a few steps and decided to come back inside." Under the light of the chandelier his hair shone silver and black. "Charity and I are on our way for a hot drink in the Café Parisien room. Would you care to join us? I hear they have wonderfvd cinnamon cocoa." His accent was American.
    "The stewardess stays with Jocelyn sometimes while I come up with Malcolm," Mrs. Adair said quickly, as if she needed to explain. She pushed back a strand of pale hair that had escaped the scarf. The painted roses were the same as the ones Grandmother grew in her garden, Barry thought, but bigger and brighter. Grandmother's were always a bit sickly and got chewed up by mites.
    "Excuse me," Mrs. Adair said. "I should have introduced you. This is my fiancé, Mr. Malcolm Bensonhurst. Mr. Barry O'Neill. Together we suffer the colonel's stories of his many adventures." She made a face at Barry. "Malcolm came with me to get Jocelyn from her father," she said. "But in the end we decided..." She paused.
    Mr. Bensonhurst finished the sentence for her. "We decided not to produce me just yet. Charity feels, and I agree, that Jocelyn should be introduced gradually to her new life."
    Barry nodded. "She misses her father a lot." The second the words were out he wished them back. What an awful thing to say to Mrs. Adair. To them.
    "Yes, she does." Mrs. Adair's eyelid flick, flick, flicked.
    Mr. Bensonhurst put a gende hand on her arm. "Jossie is too young to understand," he said, "and perhaps that is as it should be. The courts awarded her to Charity. Charity's ex-husband took Jossie, though—"
    Mrs. Adair put a finger to her lips. "Let's not burden Barry with our troubles."
    "It took Charity four years to find her daughter. She literally had to hit Mr. Adair on the head to free Jocelyn and get her away from him."
    "Barry knows a little about that," Mrs. Adair said. "It's hard, Barry, because Jossie doesn't know me." She shivered. "I'm sorry. I've said too much. Forgive me—" In the silence Barry heard the faint tinkle of the crystals that sparkled on the chandelier, the faraway