Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Emma

Anemones

Alistair is still silent (and Emma and Betty are holding their breath) when he suddenly grins, declaring, ‘Violet did arrange the flowers on the Titanic .'

‘Really?!' Emma is aware of having squawked. ‘Really?'

‘Oh, my goodness!' Betty exclaims simultaneously.

Alistair laughs. ‘I was trying to keep a straight face– couldn't do it. But yes– she did. On board, she had a number of passengers to look after, and she wrote about arranging their flowers. Apparently, boxes and boxes of flowers arrived for the voyage as gifts, and she struggled to get enough vases for them all.'

‘Amazing,' Emma says, sitting up in her chair.

‘She wrote about those roses you told me about.'

‘What? American Beauty?'

‘Yes, those boys.' He frowns slightly. ‘She doesn't mention doing flowers around the ship,' he sounds regretful, ‘but that's not to say she didn't. The way I figure it is, the young stewardesses got more than their share of the work, so she would have been one of the first the purser asked to help with the flowers. And he knew Violet from their time together on the Olympic – they were friends, apparently.'

‘Yes, and if she had been able to decorate her mother's hat with fresh roses, I bet she could have made a corsage and buttonholes.' Emma smiles to herself: a girl with the gift of flowers. But something is bothering her– a memory of something she has read but can't quite recall.

‘What's up, Em?'

‘I'm just trying to remember … no, hang on, it might be in my notebook.' She darts up from her seat, returning a few minutes later, by which time Alistair and Betty are deep in conversation. It appears Betty has found out all about Alistair's sisters and the rest of his family, too.

Emma sits back down and flicks through her notebook. After a few minutes, she lets out a triumphant yelp, ‘Got you!'

Betty looks at her expectantly.

‘And?' Alistair prompts.

‘ And the purser of the Titanic , Hugh McElroy, was a man who liked flowers and understood the importance of them.' She knew it was there somewhere.

‘How do you make that out, love?' Betty asks.

‘The night before the Titanic sailed, he took his wife to the ballet.' Emma is momentarily sidetracked. ‘That's so sad– that would have been the last time she saw him.'

‘Flowers, Em,' Alistair urges.

‘Right, yes– it was a famous Danish ballerina who was dancing, and Hugh McElroy organised flowers to be sent to her dressing room after the performance. He chose a special bouquet in her national colours, including red and white anemones. Now that is a man who thinks about flowers– that is a man who would have wanted his passengers to have beautiful flowers around them. You say he was friends with Violet? Then he must have known she loved flowers, too, and that she had the skill to arrange them. So surely she would have been the obvious choice for helping with flowers for the public rooms and for special bouquets for passengers.' She looks expectantly at Alistair, desperate for him to agree.

‘I'll buy that.'

She laughs, shakily. ‘You do think I'm right, don't you?'

‘Yes, Em,' he says patiently.

‘I certainly do,' says Betty.

The three of them sit quietly for a moment. There is a burst of laughter from the adjoining bar.

‘So how do you feel now?' Alistair breaks the silence.

‘On one hand, still confused as to why I think I recognise Violet, yet on the other I'm pleased and I suppose proud to think we've found a florist on the Titanic – even if it's not the traditional florist I was envisaging at the start. And I think you were right in what you said in London– you shouldn't ignore someone's contribution just because it's only a small part of a bigger team.' She smiles at Betty.

‘That's history for you, Em,' Alistair says, ruefully, ‘I should know. People think it's about finding one big truth– something no one else knows. But it doesn't really happen like that. In fact, a lot of egos have crashed and burned chasing after one spectacular historical find. Most of the time it's small discoveries, tiny triumphs. When you add your bit to the mix you're fitting into a much bigger picture. Then when you stand back and look at it, you don't really see your bit anymore, but you do notice the other people standing beside you gazing at the same view…'

‘And?' Emma prompts.

‘And then, if you have any sense, you all go to the bar and have a few drinks.'

Emma smiles at him. The three of them are looking at the same view now. It's like her scientific work. Terrible genetic conditions, diseases, viruses– only ever beaten when people worked together.

Her mind drifts to her home and her garden. Her plan to gather together all the people who have helped her returns– she will mow the lawn under the apple trees and cook lunch for them all. She could serve butternut-squash ravioli to start and then slow roasted lamb, and maybe hang some lights from the branches above the table.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Alistair. ‘Look, I've got to head out now, but I wanted to catch you before I went. There's more stuff to do with what happened to Violet in later in life, but I'll email you all that.'

‘Fantastic,' Emma says, gratefully. She is feeling lightheaded with all they have learnt and wonders if Betty feels the same. She seems unusually quiet and thoughtful.

‘Look, before I go, there's one other thing I did want to show you. I'm going to hold it up the screen so you can read it for yourself.'

She leans forward.

There, on the screen is an extract that Alistair has highlighted– words written by Violet Jessop, stewardess of the Titanic : I myself could not live without flowers.

‘Oh! There you go, love,' Betty enthuses, losing her air of self-absorption.

As Alistair's screen goes blank, Emma finds she is lost for words. She links her arm with Betty's and squeezes it tight. Her mind cannot seem to take in all they have found out and how far they have come. She feels exhausted and giddy, but also exhilarated. She doesn't know quite what to do with herself. She turns to Betty, and it strikes her that she looks tired. ‘What now—?' she starts, thinking perhaps they should head for bed.

But it seems Betty has other ideas.

‘I rather liked Alistair's idea of all those historians getting together and sharing a drink. I do feel we ought to celebrate.' She glances towards the warm glow of the bar. ‘Do you know, love, I have never had a Champagne cocktail and I rather think I would like to try one.'

Emma grins and pulls her friend to her feet, dismissing the ache that is now working its way down her neck to her back.

‘Then that is exactly what we'll do,' she proclaims as she leads the way to the bar.