All by Myself, Alone

Acting on her decision, she dressed quickly in Lululemon and sneakers and went up to the promenade deck. She was surprised to see Willy and Alvirah standing there.

She was about to pass them with a friendly wave, but Alvirah was having none of it. “Oh Celia,” she said, “I want to get to know you. I know you helped Willy pick out that beautiful sapphire ring for me. I’ve never had anything nicer.”

“I’m so glad you like it,” Celia said sincerely. “Your husband was so hoping that you would.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Alvirah said. “He was probably sure I would say it was too expensive. Did you know that Devon Michaelson is going to throw his wife’s ashes into the ocean? He asked the people at his table to join him for a little ceremony.”

“Oh, then I’ll get going,” Celia said.

But she was too late. Before she could resume walking, Michaelson had come up to them.

“I told Celia why we’re here,” Alvirah said.

Michaelson was holding the silver urn in both hands. “I’ve been intending to tell you how much I enjoyed your lecture, Miss Kilbride.”

“It’s Celia. Thank you. This must be a difficult moment for you. When my father died two years ago, I took his ashes up to Cape Cod and gave them to the ocean as well.”

“Were you alone?”

“No, some close friends were with me.”

“Then perhaps you will join me, along with my friends from the table?”

Devon Michaelson’s expression was that of a man devastated. Celia felt a wrench of pity. “Of course, if you would like me to stay.”

It was only a minute later that Ted Cavanaugh and Anna DeMille joined them.

“Oh, it’s chilly,” DeMille said. “I should have worn a warmer jacket. But it doesn’t matter,” she added quickly. “We all want to be here with you, Devon.” She patted his shoulder with tears in her eyes.

She’s trying to be the chief mourner, Alvirah thought. She glanced at Willy, who nodded to let her know that he was aware of what she was thinking.

“I thank all of you for being with me today,” Devon began. “I want to spend a few moments telling you about Monica. We met in college in London thirty-five years ago. Some of you may understand what love at first sight is all about.”

Alvirah glanced at Willy to signify, “We do.”

Anna DeMille’s expression was focused adoringly on Devon Michaelson. He was saying, “I’m not a singer, but if I were, the song I would select would be Monica’s favorite, from the movie Titanic, ‘Nearer My God to Thee.’?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear as I was passing.” Chaplain Kenneth Baker had paused at the group. He looked at Devon. “May I bless the urn with your wife’s ashes?”

Alvirah could see that Devon Michaelson’s expression was startled, his face crimson-red and his voice hesitant before he said, “Of course, Father, thank you.”

In a low voice, Father Baker said the words of the Christian burial, finishing with, “May the angels receive you. Amen.”

Before Devon could turn and lift the urn high to scatter the ashes into the sea, Alvirah could see how his face had become. It’s not that he’s sad, she thought. He’s embarrassed because Father Baker asked to bless the urn. The big question is, Why?

They watched as Devon opened the urn and turned it over. The ashes danced in the breeze before descending and disappearing into the swiftly moving wake.





31




Lady Em began choosing the jewelry she’d wear tonight to the Captain’s cocktail party.

“I think I’m going to wear the Cleopatra necklace tonight,” she told Brenda. “I was planning to wear it for the first time to dinner with the Captain tomorrow night, but why not tonight as well? I’ve had it for fifty years and have never worn it in public.”

Her eyes became dreamy as she remembered intimate dinners with Richard as he recounted the story about his father’s purchase of the necklace. She looked up at Brenda. “What do you think?”

“Why not?” Brenda asked indifferently, then caught herself. “Oh, Lady Em, what I mean is that you have so few opportunities to wear it, why not display your necklace on several occasions on the ship, especially since, thanks to Celia Kilbride’s lecture, everyone will be fascinated to see it?”

“And perhaps to see if the Cleopatra curse will be fulfilled in the next few days,” Lady Em observed dryly, then wondered why a chill went through her body.

“Absolutely not,” Brenda said firmly. “I’ve been with you twenty years, Lady Em, and I never heard you say anything like that. And I have to tell you, I don’t like hearing you talk like that. I’ve never seen the Cleopatra necklace, but already I don’t like it.”

“The only ones who have seen it in the last one hundred years are my husband, his father and I,” Lady Em said.

Brenda had sounded so passionate and sincere in expressing her concern that Lady Em chided herself for her suspicion that there was something in her longtime assistant’s attitude that was anything but loyal. I’m so upset about the situation with Roger that maybe I have been brusque with her the last few days, she thought, and that certainly isn’t fair to her.

They had pouches of jewelry on the bed and she began opening them one by one. The first one contained the pearls, earrings and ring she had worn the first night on board. They’re probably the next most valuable pieces, Lady Em observed. “Brenda, I know I may have told you how the twenty-one-year-old wife of the great opera singer Caruso wrote a memoir about her life with him. In it she wrote of going to Delmonico’s after the opera and having everyone who mattered come up to their table to pay homage to him. In the memoir she wrote, ‘And I was wrapped in sable, pearls and enchantment.’?”

“I think you did tell me,” Brenda replied to her employer gently.

“Oh, I’m sure I did,” Lady Em agreed cheerfully. “I suppose it’s that as you get older you talk about the past more and more.” She held up a diamond bracelet. “I haven’t worn this in years. The very expensive jewels I brought to wear on the cruise were the pearls I wore the night we sailed, the ruby-and-diamond necklace, and of course, the emerald necklace. That I’ll wear tonight. But I love this bracelet. Richard picked it up for me one morning when we were walking past Harry Winston on Fifth Avenue. We stopped to look at the window display and I happened to admire it. Richard propelled me inside and a moment later it was on my wrist. He paid eighty thousand dollars for it. When I protested, he said, ‘It isn’t that expensive. Wear it to picnics.’

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