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He strode across the room, his malevolent dark eyes shadowed by the previous night's lack of rest. Ruth had been watching him since he entered, and she watched him now, her eyes calmly following his progress toward the table where she sat. He broke into their conversation without a moment's hesitation. "May I have a word you with, Ruth?" he asked, rather abruptly, running a hand through his hair. She lifted the napkin off her lap and set it beside her plate. "Certainly," she said calmly. Ruth did not really want to talk to him, but as the minutes wore on she was finding it harder and harder to sit here in the cafe and pretend like everything was the same as it had been the day before. It was time to take some action, even if it meant entering into a conversation with Hockley and enduring more of his whining. "Excuse me," Ruth said, and the others nodded politely as she stood and stepped away from the table. "Good day, ladies," Cal said absently, nodding to them once and then leading Ruth out of the Cafe. When they reached the grand staircase, Cal stopped against one wall, out of the other passengers way, and Ruth reluctantly followed. "Well?" she said briskly. "What's this about?" "You know very well what its about, Ruth," he said sharply, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Your daughter. She has disappeared again." "Yes, I realize that, Mr. Hockley," Ruth snapped. "And do not use that tone of voice with me. You are being very rude." He closed his eyes briefly, and she wondered if he were counting to ten in his head. Well, she did not care if he was angry. So was she, and she had far more of a right to be. Her entire world had fallen to ruins around her, and the only thing bothering him was petty jealousy of a steerage boy. "Ruth," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "I would like to speak to Rose sometime today. There are things we need to discuss. And she has disappeared again, running back into the arms of her...her plaything." His face twisted in a sneer. Looking at him, something inside her just snapped. She was tired, tired of enduring his holier-than-thou attitude, tired of listening to his snobbish voice and his pompous speeches , tired of him treating her like a helpless female that needed to be told what to do. He was everything she secretly detested about the upper-class society in which she lived; he reminded her of her own father, and that made her detest him even more. "To you, Mr. Hockley," she snapped, "he may seem a plaything, but my daughter seems to honestly care for him, so I do wish that you would stop referring to him so disrespectfully!" There was an astonished pause. They were both shocked at her words, at the fact that she'd actually defended the steerage boy - actually reprimanded her daughter's fiance for speaking ill of him. They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Cal said in a strained voice, "We seem to be at an impass here, Mrs. Bukater. You are obviously having some trouble deciding what is best for your daughter. Perhaps if I found her and brought her back, we could all sit down and discuss this like civilized adults." "Fine," Ruth said flatly. "If you find Rose I want her brought back here immediately. If Mr. Dawson is with her, I wish to speak with him also. And if I hear that you in any way threatened or...detained....their return to my suite, you can be sure that there will be trouble, Mr. Hockley." She smiled coolly at him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to my luncheon." *** Cal glanced at Lovejoy out of the corner of his eye, wondering what his sense of purpose was; wondering why he seemed to be enjoying this errand that had nothing to do with him. The two men were striding down the corridor, heading for the gates which separated the third class from the rest of the ship. Lovejoy looked determined. A scowl darkened his lined face, and his fists were clenched at his sides. He was so cruel, so calculating...sometimes Cal envied him, because personal feelings never got in the way. Lovejoy had no feelings that Cal was aware of, something he had come to appreciate about his valet. His total lack of emotion; his unswerving loyalty, his need to get things done. Cal chuckled under his breath as they walked along. He knew that Lovejoy was easily as powerful as he was, perhaps even more. He was lacking the money, of course, and the social standing, but otherwise he was totally in control. Cal respected that, and did not look down on him for his faults. Lovejoy in return was like a pitbull waiting for his master's next command. Whatever Cal told him to do he did with a vengeance, because whatever Cal told him was always the right thing. There was not a friendship between them, but a mutual respect, and Cal was glad for Lovejoy's presence as they approached the gates. "Can I help you gentlemen?" the pudgy, boyish steward asked, a frown forming between his eyes as he warily watched them approach. "Yes," Cal said, smoothly but forcefully. "Open these gates immediately. It's extremely important that I go down there." The steward regarded them dispassionately. "Sir, those people value their privacy as much as you do. Now, would you mind telling me why you need to go in there?" Cal gritted his teeth. The silly twit. Nothing but a sniveling working class hound, only a few rungs up the ladder from Dawson. Perhaps if he offered him money... But then Lovejoy stepped forward, and spoke to the steward in a low, threatening tone. Cal couldn't hear what was being said, but it must have been impressive, for the steward's eyes widened and he nodded quickly. Suddenly he couldn't get the gates open fast enough. Cal hid a smile as they were ushered through the gates. Yes, Spicer Lovejoy was certainly turning out to be quite an asset. |
