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“Why not focus on how many things will go right,” said Harry, “and take Grace’s advice, try to relax and treat the whole experience as a holiday.”
“I’m only sorry she won’t be joining us on the voyage.”
“Grace was never going to take two weeks off during an eight-week term.”
“Giles seems able to manage it.”
“Only one week,” Harry reminded her, “and he’s been fairly cunning, because he plans to visit the UN while he’s in New York, and then go on to Washington to meet his opposite number.”
“Leaving Gwyneth and the baby at home.”
“A wise decision given the circumstances. It wouldn’t have been much of a holiday for either of them with young Walter bawling his head off night and day.”
“Are you packed and ready?” asked Emma.
“Yes, I am, chairman. Have been for some time.”
Emma laughed and threw her arms around him. “Sometimes I forget to say thank you.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me. You’ve still got a job to do, so why don’t we get going?”
Emma seemed impatient to leave, even though it meant they would be hanging about on board for hours before the captain gave the order to cast off and set sail for New York. Harry accepted that it would have been even worse if they’d stayed at home.
“Just look at her,” said Emma with pride as the car drove on to the quayside, and the Buckingham loomed up ahead of them.
“Yes, a truly hysterical sight.”
“Oh, help,” said Emma. “Am I ever going to live that down?”
“I do hope not,” said Harry.
* * *
“It’s so exciting,” said Sam as Sebastian turned off the A4 and followed the signs for the docks. “I’ve never been on an ocean liner before.”
“And it’s no ordinary liner,” said Sebastian. “It’s got a sun deck, a cinema, two restaurants and a swimming pool. It’s more like a floating city.”
“It seems strange having a swimming pool when you’re surrounded by water.”
“Water, water everywhere.”
“Another of your minor English poets?” said Sam.
“Do you have any major American poets?”
“One who wrote a poem you could learn something from: The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.”
“Who wrote that?” asked Sebastian.
* * *
“How many of our people are already on board?” asked Lord Glenarthur, trying to remain in character as the car drove out of Bristol and headed for the port.
“Three porters and a couple of waiters, one in the grill room, one in cabin class and a messenger boy.”
“Can they be relied on to keep their mouths shut if they were interrogated or put under real pressure?”
“Two of the porters and one of the waiters were hand-picked. The messenger boy will only be on board for a few minutes, and once he’s delivered the flowers, he’ll hot-foot it back to Belfast.”
