When the young doctor visits an ailing patient he little realises the emotional upheaval that is instore.
(forthcoming novel: Thw Waldorf Street Paradox by Susan M. Phillips published by Rainfall Books Summer 2004)
Stumbling in the darkness, Robert followed the throng to his place on the longboat which was to carry them across the bay to the waiting ship. There was a hum of subdued excitement amongst the passengers. The baggage had already been taken and Robert could hear in the distance the sounds of it being hauled aboard. The party included several young men setting off together on their grand tour of the classical cities of Italy, Greece and France. They would travel around, experiencing European society by night, historical monuments by day and return home two or three months hence with the required social polish and a trunkful of ‘genuine’ ancient sculptures and Greek urns, manufactured especially for tourists in countless backstreet workshops. For now, they were excited and for the most part, more than a little drunk. It took only a few minutes for the oarsmen to draw level with the embarkation ladder. They assisted the less agile to clamber aboard where the purser greeted them politely, holding his lamp high in order to be seen. ‘On behalf of Captain Weller, I bid you welcome aboard the Constantine.’ His voice was gravely with a trace of an accent that Robert did not recognise. ‘The weather’s set fair for a smooth passage and we shall be underway on the dawn tide.’ One of the young men responded by leaning over the side and vomiting. Robert was glad to be shown to his cabin on the starboard side of the ship. He was to share with another fellow, but for now was alone. Through the small porthole window, he could see that the sky had changed. Soft greys and pinks had taken over from the inky blackness. It was probably the last sunrise Robert would ever see in England. He had no plans to return. ‘Doesn’t it stir your soul?’ Robert turned towards the owner of the voice, a small middle-aged man, who bore a close resemblance to a toad. His beady eyes were intent as he added: ‘Jeremiah Hipsbey. We’re to be travelling companions for the next few days. Don’t you find the dawn entrancing from aboard a ship?’ ‘Oh, er, yes,’ he agreed, ‘entrancing.’ Hipsbey took this as an invitation to launch into a recitation of every poem that had ever been written on the subjects of dawn, or sailing, or both. The words flowed endlessly like a dull grey river with no one part seeming any different from the rest. A voice on deck called ‘Weigh anchor!’ and the little man paused mid-verse. His voice became a high-pitched squeak, ‘I must go back upstairs; I mean topside. I want to witness our departure. Robert welcomed his release from the toad-faced man’s monologue. He needed time to put his thoughts in order. Jane had woken up as he was getting ready to leave. She had been shocked and there had been tears and harsh words. She kept asking why. Why was he leaving her? How could he answer? It didn’t really make sense to say he was leaving because of a woman who was not even alive. He had left his diaries where Jane would find them. When she read, she would understand. .......----Copyright 2001 Sue Phillips First published Terror Tales Online.
No part of this work or associated illustration may be copied without the consent of the author
Want to review or comment on this short story?
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Reviewed by Claywoman
11/3/2003
Okay, you've got me hooked! I am putting you on my tracker list!
