My Clarity

Chapter sixteen

Rose was stood beside her mother on the tour of the ship led by Thomas Andrews. On the way, Cal had heckled Colonel Gracie as they had passed the squash court and Gracie had missed a serve, Cal had been lightly smug since with his arrogant manner shining through at every chance, he had to show just how his talents seemed to exceed that of others. The air was still and stuffy, turning thicker by the minute. Her mother wafted her fan about every now and again, pleasantly engaged in what Thomas Andrews had to say about the magnificent ship but to her, there was nowhere else for her attention to waver aside from the game of squash which was currently taking place between Mr. Dawson, and her fiancée.

Mr. Andrews had suggested that the two able bodied gentleman indulge in a friendly game and since Cal seemed to participate in any sort of activity which would create a rivalry with Mr. Dawson and perhaps leave him red faced, he was more than willing to share the court with the man. Her mother, although quiet, seemed in favour of seeing Cal entertain the others on the tour as though any attention drawn toward him could not be bad for the sake of the family.

Cal had served brilliantly, and his face was entirely pleased.

‘’The basic principle of squash is to keep hitting the ball against the front wall until your opponent cannot successfully get it back – either by the ball bouncing twice, or them hitting the ball out of play.’’ Mr. Andrews explained as the gentleman played brilliantly, perhaps on par with the other. ‘’ If a ball in play touches the person who last returned it or anything he wears or carries before it hits the wall, the player so touched loses the point.’’

It wasn’t the game which enthralled Rose so, but the agility of the certain man playing it who had removed his jacket to participate, and now, the top of his collar had come loose and his tie hanging to the side all in a disarray whereas Cal was barely breaking a sweat. The flat muscles at the back of Mr. Dawson’s neck shifted as he bent for the ball, to strike the front wall once more. Another point gained. She wondered what it would be like to encounter the tough muscles of his chest, the catch of his shirt buttons. He was the only solid thing in a kaleidoscopic world. If she touched him on the knotted muscle; would it tense and ripple beneath her fingertips just the way that it did when he moved to save or to serve? Would his hair, so wonderfully long and loose fall into his eyes the way it did when he watched with such precision how to strike the ball? Her hands had felt the bulging muscle of his upper arms once. Rose had never seen him like this before; so flushed and orientated. So, determined. It was what her father used to gingerly refer to as ‘’animal spirits.’’ A man who was so hell-bent, focused, razor-sharp and determined. Perhaps the type of man that her papa had aspired to be. The sounds Mr. Dawson made when playing, she wondered, were they primal? It was a primal need to be closer to him. When he had played with her tongue in such a sinful way, Rose had felt the need to pull him closer to her, to cradle him within her and to feel every inch of the way that his bare skin would feel beneath her innocent fingertips.

Cal was completely perspiring suddenly in a way which Rose had never seen, lunging for the squash ball but even when he did hit, it seemed with be with less precision than how Mr. Dawson did. Perhaps the game would go on for a length, and the bridge tour would cease for Rose had very little interest in the mechanics of a ship, well, not anymore, and it was then, Mr. Andrews called time on the game.

‘’Halt!’’ And Rose seemed to snap from the day dream. ‘’Mr. Dawson wins.’’

There were a few claps of other passengers who were joining them on the bridge tour, and Mr. Macauley the gymnasium instructor handed two fresh white towels to both men to dry off. Mr. Dawson, spoke with Cal and responded with a short nod, seeming to contemplate a spot on the groundwork with undue concentration. He was very still, seeming to listen for some nearly imperceptible sound. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck again, he rubbed it as if to soothe a warning prickle. Slowly he turned and looked directly at Rose. A little shock went through her as their gazes met. Although they were standing several yards apart, she felt the full force of his notice. His expression was not tempered by warmth or kindness. In fact, he looked pitiless, as if he had long ago found the world to be an uncaring place and had decided to accept it on its own terms. As his detached gaze swept over her, Rose knew exactly what he was seeing; a woman with a temper. One which he had been the recipient of. A woman who was perhaps too short for the curves of her figure with the rosy cheeked wholesomeness of the DeWitt family. Perhaps now that his little dalliances were well and truly ended with her, Mr. Dawson would see her for what she truly was. With one final open appreciate glance over his lean form, Rose felt his gaze fall onto her and her midriff felt as though it was soaring out, miles above the sea. Mr. Dawson looked away from her. Without a word or a nod of acknowledgment, he walked to the back entrance of the gymnasium which would be their next stop on the tour. His pace was unhurried, as if he were giving himself time to think about something. There was a distinctive ease in his movements. His strides didn’t measure out distance so much as flow over it like water.