Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Emma

Daffodils

Emma tells herself she's not really doing anything wrong. She should have handed her university ID in months ago, but there doesn't seem any harm in using it one more time, and the university does have exceptionally good libraries.

She has hit a blank wall, or rather, she is faced with a dichotomy– cognitive dissonance brought about by two opposing pieces of information. As she wanders between the closely stacked shelves of books, the old language of her previous life comes back to her and she breathes out.

‘Can I help at all?'

A young woman approaches– probably a postgraduate earning some extra money by working in the library. The weekend shift was never popular with the regular staff.

‘Yes, I'm looking for books on the Titanic .'

‘ Really ?' The girl's surprise is palpable. She smiles. ‘I'm sorry– it's just that I thought I recognised you from…' She names the research project Emma was part of when she worked here.

Emma doesn't know whether or not to be pleased. She is certainly proud of her contribution– or is it her appearance that made her noteworthy?

‘My boyfriend is working on his PhD with the team. He always spoke very highly of you. He was sad to see you go and so sorry about…'

The girl can't finish and Emma doesn't want her to. She is just pleased that her former colleague had something good to say about her and feels guilty that she always thought the PhD student was a bit of an entitled plonker. She hopes he is worthy of this girl standing in front of her, so smiley and friendly.

‘Yes, the Titanic . Everything you've got.'

This turns out to be quite a lot, and soon Emma is sitting at a long wooden table surrounded by open books. She has decided (like the scientist she is) to go back to first principles. She got sidetracked in the middle of the night with thoughts of a florist, had even started thinking of her as The Florist, a very specific person to be sought out. She reflected what adifference a simple pronoun made: ‘The' rather than ‘a'– notjust any old person. Then she had brought herself up short:shouldn't she first establish whether there were flowers on board at all?

She has conducted quite a lot of online research at her kitchen table. But then she hit her ‘cognitive dissonance' and decided a change of scene and a good library were called for.

Every so often the assistant appears with more books, engaging her in easy conversation. Emma is filled with gratitude towards this smiley girl; it is good to be reminded that she can sometimes chat and interact like she used to be able to. At the garden centre, she talks to the customers in the Flower Cabin, doesn't she? All right, it's not exactly conversation, but she's doing okay.

The girl reappears at her side, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Have you found anything more?' It seems she is now fascinated by the flowers on the Titanic , too.

Emma nods. ‘I've got some more quotes.' She glances down at her notes. ‘When asked about her memories of the ship, one passenger clearly recalled that "the Titanic was a ship full of flowers".' Emma frowns. ‘What varieties of flowers is less clear. Roses are mentioned, as are daffodils, carnations and daisies.' She pulls another book towards her. ‘And here it lists all the things that were brought on board in Southampton, and there is a note in the loading log of five hundred vases.'

‘That's amazing,' the girl enthuses. ‘So what exactly are you struggling with?'

Emma spins a number of books around so the girl can see them more easily. ‘Look at these.' She points to the few interior shots of the Titanic that she has found, often repeated across other books. ‘Not a flower in sight.'

The girl studies them. ‘I see what you mean. So why all the vases?'

‘It makes no sense,' Emma admits, which still leaves her with the unanswered question:

Was there ever a florist on board?

When Emma answers Guy's Skype call, it is the closest she has come to smiling in a long time. She is back home in the kitchen, her half-eaten supper abandoned by her open laptop.

‘What are you so pleased about?' Guy demands.

Emma thinks he sounds relieved. Their conversations haven't always been easy. Disjointed calls. Guy wanting to help her. Emma sure of her brother's love and grateful for it, but unable to tell him how she really feels.

‘I've just found the flower stores on the Titanic .'

‘You've what?!'

‘It's where they stored the flowers. Sorry, that sounds a bit random, but I've been doing some research about flowers on the Titanic . I was just looking at deck plans, and on B deck near the Café Parisien I found a flower store and then another on G deck. Did you know, the Titanic was a "ship full of flowers"?' There is a touch of triumph in her voice.

‘Can't say I did.' Guy laughs, sitting back more easily in his chair and sipping his wine. ‘You know me– only interested in history if it's about art.'

Guy runs a very successful gallery in Singapore and has always had a passion for art, ever since he was obsessed with comic book artists as a young boy.

‘So what's with the Titanic and flowers? Is it your new floristry thing?'

Emma knows Guy doesn't really understand why she gave up on science and moved to her new job, but he did his best to sound enthusiastic when she told him, and he remembered, along with her, the hours she had spent with their father in the garden. He even admitted: ‘Well, I suppose you have always loved flowers.'

Before Emma can answer his query about the Titanic , he adds, ‘Will was always quite interested in that sort of history stuff, wasn't he?' And even with a computer screen between them, Emma can tell he quickly wishes this unsaid.

Emma hears a sharp, disapproving, ‘Ttch!' in the background.

This distracts her. ‘Is Mei Lien there?'

Guy doesn't answer but swivels his laptop around so that Emma can see his wife sitting at the other end of the table to him, bent over her own laptop. Mei Lien is a hedge-fund manager, and Emma has rarely seen her when she is not glued to a computer or a phone. Mei Lien raises her hand in greeting and her eyes upwards, towards her husband, acknowledging Guy's lack of tact. Then her head is down again, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Guy returns his screen to its previous position. ‘So, come on, what's with the Titanic ?'

Emma explains what she has been researching, although not why. She doesn't think she could even explain that to herself. ‘But in all the photos of the Titanic there aren't any flowers,' she concludes, having explained the conflicting evidence.

Guy looks thoughtful for a while. Eventually he asks, ‘When was this, nineteen … what?'

‘1912.'

After another pause, he continues, ‘Okay, how about this for a theory? You're talking early twentieth century. Photography wasn't really used that much. Advertising and publicity was geared towards illustration, right? Often really detailed. It's not my area of speciality but I know dealers who collect that early twentieth-century stuff. Also, photographs took time to be developed so they weren't used in the media like today…'

Emma interrupts him. ‘I know they didn't let the press on board the Titanic .'

‘There you go. I bet you the photos you are looking at were publicity shots taken weeks before the Titanic sailed. Maybe when the ship was completed and kitted out at the shipyard.'

‘Brilliant!' Emma feels a huge rush of love for her brother. ‘So obviously, no flowers.'

Guy stares intently at her. ‘This is really interesting, sis. It kind of changes how I imagine what the Titanic was like inside. I mean, I know it was opulent, but "a ship full of flowers"– that would have been something. I mean the fragrance alone…' He turns his head suddenly towards where his wife is sitting. ‘What?'

Emma can hear Mei Lien's voice but not her words.

‘Good idea,' Guy responds before turning back to Emma, ‘The boss says, try and find the flower supplier.'

Emma always knew her brother had married a smart woman. She tells him this before changing the subject and catching up on her brother's news.

That night, Emma dreams she is on board the Titanic , walking along the deck carrying a vase of white freesias. When she reaches the first-class restaurant, the tables are ready-laid with stiff linen, along with silver cutlery and glasses etched with the fluttering flag of the White Star Line. In the centre of each table is an arrangement of spring flowers: daffodil heads bobbing gently in time with the vibrations from the ship's engines.

The Florist has been there before her.