A Twist Of Fate

Chapter eight:

Entering the sitting room in B52 was an easy task. Cal's darkened eyes narrowed as Rose clasped onto Jack's hand, almost clinging to him like a child would its mother, not out of fear but of comfort from the other. The returned stare was chilling. Despite the nerves, determination coursed through Rose like she had never felt. After cleaning Jack's cuts and changing his shirt, they had made their way to First Class one final time. After returning the key to Thomas Andrews via placing it beneath his stateroom door, Rose had led Jack to the place she knew they would face Cal.

''I must converse with my mother, just once, I owe her that much,'' she had told Jack whilst pressing an ice-cold rag to his lip to reduce the swelling. He had refused to allow her to enter that world once more without his presence by her side. Truth be told, she needed his strength. There, with his hands reaching out to her, the sun and moon had risen in his eyes as his face had tucked itself within the materials of her dress near her stomach, the place which clenched with such knots just from a close proximity.

Extinguishing his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, Cal nursed a brandy in his tumbler as the door had opened unexpectedly for a late hour. Upon seeing that Lovejoy was not the person who entered, those dark eyes narrowed and scowled upon seeing the figures right there before him.

''Well, well,'' he raised an eyebrow, ''the wonderer does return.'' A glance to the clock atop the opulent mantel told him that midnight had well passed.

Rose stiffened at his voice. ''Yes, not for long.''

Painfully slow, Cal made his way to the divan couch. The one which Rose had lain naked on just the day before to allow Jack to capture her right there on paper. ''I see.'' His moves were slow, lethargic.

''Is my Mother abed?''

''Yes, darling, Rose. The hour is late and one does like to sleep. Not cavort about the ship like some lunatic with a man one doesn't even know.''

Aggression started in Jack's stomach, growling away but he remained outwardly calm. He promised not to speak a word, to support Rose and that would be all. This was not his battle to fight, though he did have more than one reason to want to connect his fist with that cocky, arrogant face just once. A slow exhale calmed him temporally.

''Well, then you will be happy to hear that I will be leaving to cavort with that man.'' Rose told him low, firm and with a raised chin.

''Very well.'' Cal crossed his leg over the other, casually and rested his arm atop the divan couch. A man of such extreme arrogance that it could have been nauseating if Rose hadn't known the man better than perhaps, he knew himself.

Rose shifted her feet, expecting an outburst. Something. A reaction. There was nothing. With a squeeze of Jack's hand within her own, it told her to not expect this to be the end.

''What shall I tell your mother?''

''Tell her the truth. I wished to speak with her myself.''

''Return to speak with her by the morning. I have no doubt she would love to hear the wonderful news from you herself. How she will be left and ruined.''

Rose stiffened. ''My conscious is clear, Mr. Hockley. I am a free woman and my mother is a woman old enough to fend for herself.''

''A laughing stock I believe is the term for a widowed woman retorting to work in a menial job to afford breakfast when one is used to fine dining, fabulous wealth and happiness.''

''Perhaps then she would have a back bone of her own. One to support herself rather than rely upon the money of others. Rather than implying it was my weight to take the role of unhappy house wife just to ensure her survival.'' There, the words which one had held inside for so long were spewing out one by one at such a rapid rate she had to take rein of herself, knowing the correct ears to out it to were her mothers, but perhaps Cal needed to hear it, too.