Page 27 of The Midnight Secret

Flora glanced over at Tucker, watching as he sank back into his book, even though it was patently clear he wasn’t reading a word. A satisfied smile sat on his lips and the ceiling lights shone down on his bald head. He had no sense of embarrassment, it seemed to her, intruding on private conversations and butting in where he wasn’t wanted. James had taken to referring to him as The Lurker, and Flora dreaded to think what Mad Annie would have made of him – she’d have given him short shrift for sure.

‘I suppose the icebergs were two-a-penny for you on your Greenland expedition, weren’t they?’ Dickie asked James, picking up the conversation again. He had a particularlylaconic way of speaking, as if his words were all threaded together on a chain.

‘Yes. I would estimate we saw perhaps three hundred out there? But it’s still a remarkable spectacle every time: watching them calve, the displacement of the water, the waves...The scale is just astounding. Spring’s the time to see the action. You ought to take in a tour before heading home, seeing as you’re out here already.’

‘Mm, yes, sounds super in principle,’ Bertie murmured. He rolled his eyes. ‘Sadly I don’t fancy my chances of talking the Long-Haired General into that particular trip. Her great-aunt was actually on theTitanic.’

‘Really?’ Tucker piped up with blatant curiosity.

‘Oh dear,’ Dickie frowned, ignoring him.

‘Quite.’

‘There’s really nothing to fear,’ James shrugged. ‘The International Ice Patrol keeps a running tally these days on any and all icebergs that slip south of forty-eight degrees north.’

‘International Ice Patrol?’ Bertie frowned. ‘Never heard of them.’

‘It’s operated by the US Coast Guard,’ James replied. ‘But it was set up on behalf of various maritime nations after theTitanic. It’s explicitly there to safeguard ships from icebergs in the North Atlantic.’

‘Ah, well, that may change things,’ Bertie said, a little more hopefully.

Dickie cleared his throat. ‘Tell me, Cally, seeing as you’re the oracle on all things icy – what will happen if the St Lawrence ices up before we can get through? Where shall we go?’

‘I should imagine we’ll be forced to dock at St John instead,’ James replied, glancing in Flora’s direction. ‘It’s the winter shipping port for when the sea ice becomes unnavigable.’

‘Where is it?’

‘At the mouth of the St John river. New Brunswick.’

‘Ah. So quite a way south, then?’

‘...Yes.’ James didn’t look happy at having to spell out the worst case scenario in front of her, and she sensed he held back his own fears from her. He put a hand on her knee. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he murmured. ‘They connected it by rail to Montreal forty years back. It’s just a short hop.’

Flora looked back at him with dismay. Connected it might be, but it would be yet another diversion. Getting to Montreal was all she could think about. Montreal, then Quebec – her world was no bigger than that route. It was bad enough that they were sailing right past Quebec City to Montreal as it was. It felt like a cruelty to be within touching distance of the port where Mary and Lorna would have disembarked, but have to go another 150 miles further along. James was adamant they could drive the distance back within an afternoon, but that would mean buying a car – another thing to do! Everything was delay, delay, delay.

‘...But I’m sure it won’t come to that anyway,’ James added as reassuringly as he could.

‘What’s so urgent that you chaps have to get to QC so quickly?’ Bertie asked curiously, reaching for his drink.

James shrugged, his hand falling back. ‘No urgency. We just want to get settled before the weather closes in.’

‘Have you family there?’

James nodded, although it was another moment before he could reply. ‘Exactly, yes...’ he said, his voice suddenly choked. ‘You? What are your plans?’

Bertie took a deep slug of his gin. ‘Elinor’s got cousins in Nova Scotia, so the original plan was to spend a few weeks doing the city loop – Montreal, Ottawa and Toronto – thenhead over there for Christmas. Of course, it’s all been blasted to smithereens now with this dratted delay, so I dare say we’ll have to cut a dash for the wilderness straight away.’

‘Hmm, so St John might work out rather conveniently for you, then,’ James mused. ‘You chaps, Dickie? What are your plans?’

‘We’re heading straight for the border, skiing in Maine – Sugarloaf. Have you been?’

‘To Sugarloaf? No.’ James shook his head. ‘Zermatt in Switzerland for me.’

‘Yes, yes, very nice there,’ Dickie agreed. ‘I rather fancy tackling the Matterhorn one of these days.’

‘Are you an Alpinist, then?’ James asked.

‘I’ve tried once or twice. Got halfway up Mont Blanc a few winters back.’

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