LADY FOR SHANGHAI

Wairarapa Times-Age, 7 August 1939, Page 10

LADY FOR SHANGHAI

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

KAYE FOX

CHAPTER VII

(Continued)

‘’Mrs Parr isn’t talking io me just now. Grant. What news?'’ "One of her passengers is transfering up here, this very night—Mrs Farrant. She says it’s so hot in her room that she can’t sleep, and as number sixteen is empty, she’s arranged with Mr Perrin to move up into it?’’ "Mrs Farrant? Isn’t she mother of the little boy, Dion?” "I believe so, though the boy sees so little of her that he must wonder sometimes whether he really belongs to her. You’ll have another kid on your hands, Miss Jordan.” "But I’m glad, all the same, that I’m going to have Dion,” Christine said. She had often noticed Dion Farrant, the pale, silent little son of a woman who was as irresponsible as Doria Smythe, and who left the child almost entirely to himself. Christine had seen him wandering round the promenade deck like an uneasy little ghost, while his mother was playing deck games on the boat deck or bridge in the smoke-room —both places which were barred to children. When she went down to the stewardesses’ cabin, Christine found Mrs Parr in a furious temper because she was losing a passenger, though Mrs Farrant was certainly no great loss. Mrs Parr and Miss Crane were still not speaking to Christine at all, but they were discussing the subject between themselves, and they went on talking after Christine came in. "After all the trouble I’ve had,” Mrs Parr said indignantly, “with breakfast to take up every day whe,n we were in the Bay, dresses to press, and that child to look after. And I don't suppose I shall see a penny from her at the end of the voyage—she’ll forget that she’s had two stewardesses.”

"Some people,” Miss Crane said, with a meaning glance at Christine, “would go shares with what they get from her when she leaves the ship at Hong Kong.” “Some people would—but we’re dealing with other people this trip, Miss Crane. 1 can count that room as a dead loss. If there’s one thing I hate it’s having a passenger transferred in the middle of the voyage. Well—l must go and help her ladyship put her things together.”

Dion Farrant was in bed when Christine went round during the passengers’ dinner time to put her rooms in order for the night. It was at this time that she always took a last look at the children, but the three already in her section were very seldom awake so late: Dion Farrant. who was older, was sitting up in bed reading a book when she went in that night. "Are you my new stewardess?” he said, politely, closing his book. "I read your name on the card that hangs up —Miss Jordan, and the steward’s name is Grant, an' I asked him if 1 might knock at the doors in the morning, when he takes the teas round, an’ he said I might.’’ "Do you get up as early as that. Dion?” she said, sitting down on the end of his bed.

“I get up ever so early—but Mummy doesn't you know. May I knock at the doors for you, too?" "Of course. It will be a great help,” she said gravely. "I like you better'n Mrs Parr,” lie declared. "I like Grant, an’ George in the bar —he gives me a lime squash every morning. Do you think I might have a lime squash now? —I’m terribly thirsty, an’ it’s so hot.” She slipped along to the bar. “Does that kid ever sleep?" George asked, when she told him what she wanted. "His mother never goes near him after dinner, as far as I know, but almost every night lately, since we got into the heat, one of the men on watch has come along for a squash for him any time up to closing time. His mother cheerfully-pays for the lot. but it never seems to occur to her that the kid's awake long after all good kids should be fast asleep.” And with that warning in mind. Christine was not surprised to see that the light was still on in number sixteen at ten o'clock. She glanced into the smokeroom, and saw that Mrs Farrant was playing bridge, and then opened the door of sixteen and went in.

Dion was still sitting bolt upright in bed. though his small face was pale with weariness, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He had a haunted look: Christine could see at a glance that something was bothering him badly. "Can’t you go to sleep. Dion?" she said quietly. "Not—just yet," he whispered.

“Are you too hot? Wouldn’t it be rather a good idea if I made the bed all over again and changed your py-

jamas?" "Yes—that would be a good idea he said.

Christine took a long time over making the bed and changing his expensive silk pyjamas for another pair. She had the feeling that it wasn’t only because ho was hot that he couldn't sleep, and that he wanted her to stay with him —and that if she did stay, she might find out what the trouble was. "Are you sleepier now?" she asked him, tucking in the sheet. "If I turned out the light ” "Oh. no—don't turn out the light." he gasped, and there was sheer panic in his voice.

"Not if you don't want me to —but Dion, you can't go to sleep with this light in your eyes.”

He said, in a sudden rush: “In the Suez Canal, when the ship was so close to the land, you know—there was a tiger jumped on board. I'm not afraid of tigers in the daylight, but this one — he's always in the room at night.” “If I stay with yon until you go to sleep, 'you wouldn't be afraid of the

[tiger. would you?” she said. “And toi morrow night you shall have a little light-—big enough to keep off tigers. I but not big enough to keep you awake. I'll ask Grant to change the bulb in the light, over your bunk.” "Grant would think I was a baby.” he said doubtfully. "That's what mummy said last night, when she found the light on.” "We needn’t tell Grant that it’s to keep off tigers. Why, there's a passenger in this section, quite an old gentleman. who always had a little light on all night, and hangs his watch under it. so that he can see the time at a glance if he happens to wake up in the night.”

"I’ve got a watch —it doesn't go. but if I hung it up. Grant might think that's why 1 wanted a light, too,” Dion said, and she noticed that already he had stopped thinking about tigers, and that the strained look had gone from his face.

j But it was a long time before she could get him to go to sleep. Christine, sitting by his bed with his small hand in hers, talking to him in a low. soothing voice. Christine's thoughts wandered to Fay. whom she had hushed off. to sleep so often, years ago. She had not seen Fay since their quarrel, and she had been so harassed by all the trouble about herself and Grant, so nerve-racked by Perrin's bullying, that her anxiety about Fay had slipped into the background. Closely watched as she was, now, it would be almost impossible to see Fay alone, even for a few moments. The chances were that at this very minute Pussyfoot was looking out for her, hoping to get some real evidence to back the fantastic story which he had set about. CHAPTER VIII. "What on earth is the matter, stewardess?” Mrs Farrant, turning on the light as she came into the room, stared at Christine in astonishment.

“Dion couldn’t sleep—he's frightened

of being alone in the dark,” Christine said quietly. “He’s asleep now, and I was just going.” “He’s a naughty little boy, simply

making a silly fuss because he wants attention. You should take no notice of him, stewardess,” Mrs Farrant said, opening a drawer of the dressing table and taking out a box of cigarettes. She went out at once, and Christine followed her without saying anything more. Glancing at her watch, Christine saw that it was well past eleven o'clock.

Would it be safe, she wondered, to go to Fay’s room for a few moments? There was no sign of Pussyfoot, but some instinct warned Christine that he was on the watch, and that he would almost certainly catch her if she went to Fay. She went straight down the narrow companion amidships, the nearest way to her own cabin. With her hand on the half-closed door, she turned hei' head. There was a bathroom almost opposite to the end of the short alleyway which led to the stewardesses’ cabin, and Christine noticed suddenly that the door of the bathroom was a few inches ajar, though the bath steward on that deck was always careful to close all doors.

She went into her cabin and picked up her bath towel and sponge bag. In that heat, it was by no means unusual for a stewardess who had been working late to have a bath before she went to bed. If there was a watcher in that bathroom, he would think she had discovered him by sheer accident. Pussyfoot must have known as soon as she came out of the cabin, with a towel over her arm, that she was bound to find him, for he stepped out of the bathroom with a very casual air.

"Passenger dropped a cuff link, and though he might have left it in there,” he said hastily. “I was just looking for it.”

"In the dark?" she said, giving him a long, cool stare. • "I'd just turned out the light when 1 heard you coming.” Christine went into the bathroom and shut the door, without taking any more notice of him. Of course, when he posted himself in the bathroom he hadn't known that she was on the upper deck —he had simply been waiting to sec whether she came out of the cabin after the other 'stewardesses were asleep. But since, from the bathroom door, he had a clear view right along the main starboard alley-way. he would have seen her if she had gone to Fay's room.

She remembered, suddenly, a form of madness which the old doctor on the Brent had once told her about—claustrophobia, the panic fear of being shut up in a small space. It seemed to her that life on board ship, under a Chief Steward like Perrin, must produce that form of madness a terror because there was no escape. Cator and Edwards, Mrs Parr and Miss Crane. Pussyfoot, even the bellboys—she’d lose her nerve entirely if she began to reckon up all the people who were Perrin's spies, and who would run to him with the story if they found out anything at all against her. The only thing to do was to try to convince herself that she was not scared of Perrin, and that she did not care what people told him: she must laugh, like Arthur Grant, who was having almost as bad a time as she was, but who was taking it much more lightly. Of course Arthur was luckier than Christine, in one way, and it was a very important way. He could forget his troubles in the company of his friends, George and a few others, while Christine spent her scanty leisure

Of course Arthur was luckier than Christine, in one way, and it was a very important way. He could forget his troubles in the company of his friends, George and a few others, while Christine spent her scanty leisure time with Mrs Parr and Miss Crane, who were her declared enemies. (To be connniiea.)