Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
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Corrine stared at Harry's pain-wracked features in horror. Even at her angriest, she had never wanted to hurt him. But she had been so consumed with giving vent to her feelings of betrayal and suffering that she hadn't even thought about how it would affect him.
Once again, she fluctuated between anger and sorrow - but this time, sorrow won. Sudden shame rushed through her. "I... I think I'd better sit down, Harry." Her voice wobbled again as she said it, and she retreated to the settee, not able to meet his eyes.
After a moment, she felt him sit down beside her, rather than in front of her on the chair. She exhaled deeply, feeling the anger empty from her body. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That wasn't fair."
"No, I deserved all that and then some. The truth hurts sometimes, but that doesn't make it any less true." She chanced a glance at him and saw that his reassuring words were in stark contrast to his miserable expression.
They sat there for some time in silence, shoulders almost brushing. He sniffled and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, wiping away the evidence of his anguish, and she almost reached out and touched his arm to comfort him, but thought better of it.
Once again, she was wracked with indecision. She didn't know what to say, or do... she didn't even know what to think. Her emotions were a whirl of regret, agony, sorrow, and embarrassment. At least that terrible fury had abated, though; she hated the way it had taken over her body, made her vengeful and vindictive.
But what now? Should she try to leave again? Her mind feebly endorsed that idea, but it was strongly overridden by her heart. No. She wouldn't leave him now. She owed him that much.
Harry hadn't said anything in a long while, and she sensed that he was waiting for her mind to clear. She was immeasurably grateful for his patience, that he didn't push her. Finally, she glanced over at him again, and found his gaze trained on her face. His expression had calmed, and she noticed to her great relief that he was no longer crying. When he saw that she was looking up at him with remorse, and not hatred, his tense shoulders relaxed. "Corrine? Do you feel better?" he ventured tentatively.
Silently, she nodded; she still didn't trust her voice, not after that recent outburst.
That must have encouraged him to pick up the thread of their conversation where they had left off, because he started in afresh, as if her tirade had never happened. "Corrine, all I can do is tell you once again how very sorry I am for everything. But if you forgive me, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
She almost groaned in exasperation. Harry had taken a frightful verbal beating at her hands - and had made no attempt to fight back, or defend himself. He just listened quietly, letting her expel the poisonous feelings she had pent up inside - and then went right back to pursuing a reunion. The amused part of her brain, which was still functioning independently of the rest of her, told her this was why he had risen so high in the merchant marines: because he didn't know when to give up. What was it going to take to get him to let it go, though? And how much more could she endure of his honeyed words, his heartfelt declarations?
