I've Heard the Mermaid Sing (Short Story)

Description

Extract

It was the Summer of 1928. In the Verandah Café of the RMS Aquitania, Albert Sternheimer was finishing his whisky and soda. He dabbed his lips with a silk handkerchief, stood up from his wicker chair and strolled over to the adjoining Kensington Palace Smoking Room where he settled into an armchair beneath one of the skylights. He struck a match with his thumbnail, smiled for a moment and lit his cigarette. One day he'd be travelling first class. He blew out a stream of smoke. Sure, that's right. He'd have one of those fancy staterooms and dine at the captain's table.

His dreams spiralled up with the smoke towards the raised central area of the ceiling, but the cigarette eventually burnt down to his fingers, and he headed back to his second class cabin on C deck. It had two berths, but the other guy had missed the boat, so Albert had it all to himself. He slid the bolt across on the door, pulled out a black case and settled down on the sofa. His fingers trembled as they flipped the catch that released the hidden compartment at the base. He removed the top portion to reveal a bed of gems sparkling in the lamplight. Diamonds, rubies and emeralds tumbled around his fingers as he slid his hands over and under them. He scooped up a handful and buried his face in them. It didn’t seem right to exchange them for bundles of bank notes. What was paper compared to this? The gems trickled back into the compartment but, as he smiled, he saw the diamond bracelet staring up at him like a buck-tooth girl in a room full of débutantes. Damn lousy cop trying to play the hero.

A rattling sound made Albert leap up. He glanced around. Above the throbbing of the ship’s engines he heard a click, clatter, click. It was coming from above the top bunk. He climbed the ladder and laughed. It was just the vent which let out onto the deck. He jumped down, took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead and the back of his neck. It was too damn hot in here. He tidied away the case, left the cabin and strolled around the ship until he found himself on the quoits deck.

He lounged against a rail, lit a cigarette and watched the game that had just started. It was kind of like tossing the horse shoe that he used to play on the back streets of St Louis, only here they had rope hoops and, instead of a post, there were concentric circles drawn on the deck.

A trans-Atlantic voyage needed a bit of fun to break up the monotony. He eyed the three women players. One had a hell of a chassis: tall, slim with a neck full of pearls, but she had two guys hanging around her with sleeked-back hair, looking like they were trying to be the next Rudolph Valentino. Sure they seemed pretty dumb — he could easily palm her away from them — but they were the kind of birds who’d make a fuss, and there was no sense in drawing attention to himself. The second girl had a face full of freckles, round framed cheaters and a laugh loud enough to travel all the way down to the bums stuck in steerage.

The third girl looked no more than twenty-one and was wearing a white sailor jacket with brass buttons. A few short, dark curls peeped out from under her cloche hat. He’d seen her boarding the ship just ahead of him back in New York, and she’d looked like she was travelling alone. The freckled dame handed her the quoits, but the little sailor doll threw such a lousy shot that the hoop hit Albert’s ankle. Her gloved hands flew to her mouth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, mister.”

He flicked his cigarette over the rail, picked up the quoit and took it over to her.

“You got to keep your eye on the jack and follow along the line. Like this.”

He stood close behind her and held the quoit in her hand. Her neck smelled of lavender. Sunlight glinted off a diamond ear-ring that might have been the sister of that bracelet. Back in St Louis, Four-fingered McGee had given him hell over filching from a dead cop like some lousy small-time hick. Well he wasn’t going to be laughing at Albert no more.

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