Captain Edward Smith shooed the man away with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, yes, another sea ice warning. Good lord, Phillips, don't you have anything better to do than bother me tonight? We've heard from the RMS Caronia already. Now the RMS Baltic! It's the North Atlantic in Spring. There will be ice, but we will not be late!"
Captain Smith turned away from the young radio man, indicating the matter was concluded. Jack Phillips paused, warning in hand for a moment, then turned around and headed off the bridge. As he reached the door the Captain offered one last piece of 'advice'.
"I don't want to see you back up here tonight. You concentrate on catching up with all the passenger cables. We won't be in range of Cape Race forever, and I will not have complaints."
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In the dining hall, a man watched a woman approach. Even here, surrounded by the height of glitz and glamour that this new century had created, some things remain as they have been for all history.
When a man desires a woman, and his lust is reflected in her eyes, then his focus can't be distracted.
"Madeline."
She nodded to him as she reached him, but with smile fixed, continued on.
"Thomas. I do wish you wouldn't look at me so, in public."
"My dear, then we must retire somewhere less public", he returned, with smile equally fixed. She didn't reply. He watched her leave for a fraction longer than he should and was startled by the clap of a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Mr Andrews, pardon me for disturbing you, I just wanted to check in with you, and make sure you were being well catered for."
Thomas turned to see the weathered face of a lifetime seafarer smiling at him.
"Captain, yes thank-you for enquiring. It is a perk of designing a vessel, that one knows the best spots to enjoy its charms".
Madeline caught his eye from behind the Captain. A single raised eyebrow before she turned for the door told him all he needed to know.
"Sorry Captain. Will you excuse me? I have some business to see to."
"Of course, Thomas. May I call you Thomas?"
"Err, yes of course." he replied distractedly, plotting an intercept course through the throng.
"Good, good. Well, enjoy your evening. I'll see you at dinner tomorrow."
Thomas thanked the Captain and followed his course, ahead full.
The Captain watched him go. Saw him catch his quarry. Saw the hand on the lower back of his First Officers wife as they left the room.
Moved on already, the Captain thought to himself. The bastard. Like she meant nothing to him.
He walked away, seething with a cold rage. Like the foaming wash left in the Atlantic by his command. Perhaps it was his own fault. Leaving a wife that young and beautiful at home far too much. He had thought status and children would occupy her. But no, it was dashing young shipbuilders that had fulfilled that task.
He re-entered the bridge and listened to the report from the watch officer.
"Very good. Hold course steady. Increase speed to 22 knots. I want to make enough time overnight that we can give the passengers a nice cruise into New York".
"Sir? What about the ice reports?"
"Well, we've heard no more about it. I'll warrant the other ships overreacted. Anything big would have been reported by those ahead of us. Increase speed."
"Sir."
Captain Smith walked away from his subordinates and stood, gazing into the dark, hands clasped behind his back.
Like she was nothing.
He felt the thrill of the gambler. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe it would. He would see if that bounder made hulls as well as he made plays on married women. Regardless, nothing would get him off this bridge now. Not the arms of cheating wife if they made it to port, not the clarion call of disaster if they did not. They say a good Captain goes down with his ship. A bad Captain is just the same.
