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  Then, suddenly, all was quiet. Not a trace of the great ship was visible except for its wake, which was pulling more unfortunate souls to their deaths.

  “We made it, Madeleine.” Joe shivered beside her, his black hair silvered with frost.

  “That’s right.” Madeleine smiled as brightly as she could, but the boat which could save them—save him—appeared farther away than ever.

  She clung to hope like a lifeline.

  “Just a bit further to go.”

  She moved to swim toward the boat, but Joe could barely lift his arms to follow her.

  “I can’t feel my legs. Perhaps I should have come better dressed for the occasion.” Though his voice was scarce more than a croak, he managed to give her a weak smile.

  A sob tore through Madeleine. “I’ll get us there, Joe. I will.”

  She hauled him by his life vest, trying in vain to pull him to safety. But this bear of a man whose strength she once reveled in was now a hindrance. Too much for her to carry alone.

  Tears of frustration and grief slipped from her face to mingle with the salt water of the ocean.

  “Joe, just hold on to me, and kick your legs.”

  But the heavy weight of his arms around her neck limited her own movement and compounded her sorrow.

  “We’ll rest a while and then try again,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck.

  She hugged him tight and prayed for salvation. “Of course, my darling.”

  She could do nothing more now, only soothe him as the arctic desolation turned her soul mate to ice.

  Chapter Five

  April 2012

  “Come on, slowcoach,” Nancy called. “Anyone would think you didn’t want to be here.”

  “I don’t,” John mumbled under his breath, half in jest and half in honesty. It was a miscalculated comment that stopped his younger sister in her tracks.

  “Well, that’s gratitude for you!” She put her hands on hips, and he knew she was going to make him sorry he’d opened his mouth.

  “I thought you would enjoy this,” she continued. “You’re always reading up on this Titanic business and boring me with documentaries about it. I figured coming to Belfast for the hundredth anniversary would be the ultimate experience for a nerd like you.”

  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her efforts, but some might say coming all this way from England to gawp at the belongings of drowning victims was a tad morbid. There was also the matter of the time off work she forced him to take. Abandoning his managerial post at the bank wasn’t something he usually did on a whim, but little sisters had a knack for wrapping big brothers round their little fingers.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the Harland and Wolff drawing offices and the historic tour of the Titanic’s birth,” he said. “It’s just . . . well, the exhibition to me is a bit crass, like grave robbing.”

  “But I’ve paid for the tickets. I even paid for our flights, seeing how reluctant you are to set foot on a boat.”

  Nancy’s bottom lip protruded until she looked like a petulant child rather than a twenty-four-year-old woman. Sucker that he was, John hated to see her unhappy.

  “Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.” He linked his arm through hers and walked along the edge of the River Lagan toward the exhibition center. “I’m sure it will prove fascinating.”

  Constructed specially to host the anniversary proceedings, the building resembled the prow of a ship in shape, and something about it gave him a great sense of unease. Seeing a representation of Titanic’s hull rising from the water disturbed him, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

  * * * * *

  Madeleine drifted from one glass case to the next. Each contained the personal effects of Titanic’s passengers, telling the tales of the individuals they belonged to.

  She saw a bag of perfume samples from a travelling salesman and an ornate mirror and comb, which no doubt belonged to some young debutante, and she wondered what fates their owners met that night.

  Did I cross paths with them? Could I have done more to save them?

  For a hundred years, with guilt her constant companion, she had tried to somehow make amends for her failings. In the decades since the tragedy, she had escorted numerous seafarers to safety, but she could never compensate for her selfish neglect of Titanic. She should have known danger was imminent that fateful night—the calm waters, the frosty air—but she had been blinded by love. A love that died in her arms and made her long for her own demise.

  A couple of gum-chewing girls interrupted her reverent regard for the artifacts.

  “Do ya think somebody died wearing that?”

  One of the teenagers, a heavily made-up peroxide blonde pointed a false fingernail at a single leather boot encased behind the glass.

  “Nah. There’d still be a foot in it,” her look-a-like said between chews.

  Madeleine turned away from the ghoulish conversation, determined to pay her respects in the manner she intended. She had come here to remind herself of the souls lost and remember the real people behind the stories. After the last Titanic survivor’s death in 2009, Madeleine was the only person alive to have witnessed the tragedy. She owed it to all those who had lost their lives to never forget.

  Facts and figures about Titanic lined the walls of the exhibition space, along with photos of her grand interior. In all her years, Madeleine had never seen another vessel that could compare, and, in a way, she felt privileged to have seen it firsthand.

  When she came to the wall of passenger photographs, she found herself scanning them in the hope of finding Joe’s likeness. Without success. The vivid memories she held in a special place in her heart would have to suffice for the rest of her days on Earth.

  “Dead. Dead. Dead. Oh, he survived. I wonder if he bribed someone to get in the lifeboat. Dead. Dead.” The insensitive pair had caught up with Madeleine and were matching the pictures to the list of survivors.

  She couldn’t bear much more. This wasn’t some gruesome game; for her, it was still a grim reality.

  “Show some respect,” Madeleine scolded.

  The harsh tone of her voice reverberated around the room. She drew glances from a couple quietly making their way around the exhibit, and she felt obliged to mouth an apology for disturbing them. The tall, dark-haired man smiled back at her kindly. To her surprise, a strange fluttering sensation stirred in her stomach. She needed to get out of here before she caused an even bigger scene, but she had to do one thing before she left.

  The main focus of the display was a section of Titanic’s hull recovered from the sea bed, on loan from America. The cabinet it resided in had a hole cut away so the privileged few who attended the exhibition could actually touch a piece of history, but for Madeleine it represented so much more. To her, it symbolized a shard of the shattered dream she lost when the ocean took Joe from her forever.

  She dipped a tentative hand into the box to stroke the black steel. Suddenly, the wall she had constructed around her heart that night, came crumbling down. To feel this ship under her fingertips assaulted her senses with memories—the smell of the crisp night air, the sound of the band playing the death knell for so many, and the sight of the signal flares’ ethereal green light as she and Joe waited for help that came too late. A sob ripped from her throat.

  A male voice sounded by her ear. “Are you okay?”

  She snatched her hand from the box of sorrow and turned to the concerned gentleman.

  “I . . . I’m fine. Thank you,” she stuttered, losing herself in the soft brown eyes of the man who had smiled at her earlier. His handsome face, creased with worry, seemed comfortingly familiar.

  He paused for a second, patting his index finger against his lip before speaking. “I guess it is an emotional event when you remember
there were over fifteen hundred souls lost.”

  Madeleine was hypnotized by the telling tic. The finger on lips which once kissed her so thoroughly, brown eyes forever imprinted on her memory—it had to be . . . it couldn’t be . . . .

  “Joe?”

  The past collided violently with the present; the room spun around her until everything disappeared into swirling blackness.

  * * * * *

  Oh, Lord!

  “Nancy, help!”

  John caught the beautiful stranger in his arms as she collapsed into a dead faint.

  His sister looked on without lifting a finger to help. “What did you do to her?”

  Nancy’s eyes were agog as she watched him struggle to keep the woman from falling to the floor.

  “Nothing. Now help me get her to a seat, for goodness sake!”

  John took hold of the stranger by the waist. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he maneuvered her to a chair in the corner. He did his best to resist burying his face in the soft, golden tresses that brushed his cheek. Nancy’s sole contribution to his efforts consisted of picking up an abandoned shoe that had fallen off the woman’s foot.

  The stranger’s mournful countenance, along with her striking beauty, had caught John’s eye upon his entrance into the building. Normally, members of the opposite sex didn’t turn his head so easily; he tended to keep a level head where women and relationships were concerned. It wouldn’t do to run off with a girl on a whim and leave his mother and sister to fend for themselves. But beyond this woman’s flawless, pale skin and troubled, green eyes lay a haunting vulnerability that stirred his protective instincts. He had observed the humble manner and respect she showed in that room, so unlike others in her vicinity, and she tugged at his soul. Little wonder he found himself by her side when she was overcome by the significance of the event.

  He set her into the chair, careful not to jolt her, but the little movement proved enough to bring her around. She gave a groan, and Nancy fanned some air around her face with her hand.

  “You fainted, love,” Nancy informed her.

  “Did I? Sorry.”

  The woman focused on Nancy for a moment, but when she turned to John, her eyes clouded with confusion once more.

  “Joe?”

  She’d called him that before she fainted.

  “I think you’re confusing me for someone else.” John hunkered down beside her and covered her shaking hands with his. “Why don’t we take you outside for some fresh air?”

  He nodded towards Nancy, who followed his lead and helped her up.

  The woman rose shakily to her feet. Her eyes bored into him with such intensity he squirmed beneath her gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . . you look so much like him.”

  John forced a smile through his discomfort. “I get that a lot. I guess I just have that sort of face.”

  He pushed the door open, and the bracing Irish wind immediately met them.

  “That should put a bit of color back in your cheeks . . . . Sorry, what’s your name?”

  He couldn’t help but want a name he would be able to put with that face whenever he thought of today.

  “Madeleine,” she said, her voice so small the wind almost carried it away.

  “Madeleine,” he repeated, testing it on his tongue. It sounded fragile, something precious. “I’m John. John Morrison, and this is my sister, Nancy.”

  Nancy gave an awkward grimace, looking as though she would rather be anywhere else than here, playing Samaritan. With his new charge now standing unaided, John decided to give Nancy a reprieve. He fished in his wallet for a few banknotes.

  “Here, Nance, why don’t you hit the shops before they close, and I’ll take Madeleine for a coffee.”

  Nancy planted a smacker of a kiss on his cheek and didn’t hang around to see if he changed his mind. Madeleine, on the other hand, looked horrified.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said. “I’ve already intruded into your day.”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered.” John wasn’t in the habit of picking up strange women, and, once he realized he’d boldly invited himself to join her, he began to backtrack. “I mean, that’s if you would like to go for a coffee with me?”

  Her simple “I would love to” was enough to unfurrow his worried brow.

  * * * * *

  It may have been only a short distance to the nearest coffee shop, but it was far enough along the unsheltered dockside that John lost the feeling in his fingers. Madeleine didn’t appear as affected by the cold, despite the fact she only wore a light dress. But, personally, he couldn’t wait to get into the central-heated café.

  Maybe she is more used to the cold than I am?

  When they settled into a corner booth with their hot drinks, he wrapped his hands around the mug in the hope its radiating warmth would get his circulation going again.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

  He blew on his coffee to cool it enough to drink.

  Madeleine took a sip of her latte before she spoke.

  “I’m fine. Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

  He hadn’t quite figured out her accent—English with a hint of something exotic—so he couldn’t begin to guess at her background.

  “No problem at all.”

  He reached out to brush away the spot of creamy foam at the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Time stood still with that slight touch which connected his skin to hers. An intimate gesture for two complete strangers, yet it felt so right. If she thought him forward, Madeleine didn’t object. Her eyes fluttered shut as he continued tracing the outline of her mouth. Her lips parted in a sigh, and he fought the urge to lean across the table and kiss her.

  What the hell am I doing acting out a scene from a chick-flick in the middle of a coffee shop?

  He snatched away his hand and took a gulp of scalding coffee. In the instant he broke contact, Madeleine’s eyes flew open. She stood, bumping into the table and sloshing her drink over the table.

  “I’m sorry for everything. Thanks for all your help.”

  She disappeared into the crowd in the shop, leaving him to wonder if she had simply been a beautiful dream.

  * * * * *

  Madeleine needed to get back to the sea, far away from Joe’s doppelganger, before she embarrassed herself any further. She ran back toward the Lagan weir, wind beating in her face and the murky gray sky mirroring her foggy mind. He wasn’t Joe, but he looked like Joe, acted like Joe, and her body had responded to his touch as though he were Joe

  She made it to the bridge just as the rain began to pelt down. Shoppers and workers hurried past, heads down, desperate to find shelter from the weather. Madeleine enjoyed the cold, wet weather. It reminded her of home, and she was content to stand and wait until she was alone on the bridge. Leaning over the rails, she watched the water rush beneath and couldn’t wait for it to carry her away from her bizarre encounter with John Morrison.

  * * * * *

  Like the ghostly will-o-the-wisp drawing travelers from their safe path into the unknown, Madeleine flitted through the city with John following close behind. It took him a while to spot her but, eventually, the flash of her green dress separated her from the crowd. He could see her in the distance, letting the rain wash over her. Lord knew why he cared, but something within her was calling to him for help.

  He raced across the road, dodging the traffic, in time to see her clamber onto the railings.

  “No!” he shouted. His heart almost stopped at the sight of her poised to jump into the treacherous waters.

  But his cry was in vain. She slipped soundlessly from view.

  John didn’t stop to think; he hurtled over the barrier to leap in after her. The cold
immediately attacked his body, but his focus was on Madeleine. He saw no sign of her.

  “Madeleine,” he spluttered.

  He tried to swim against the current.

  “Madeleine!”

  Through the rain and his own splashes, he made out a blonde head bobbing above the surface close by.

  “John?”

  “Whatever is going on with you, it’s not worth this,” he gasped.

  Physical pain snatched his breath away.

  “Come with me, and we’ll talk it out.”

  His teeth chattered as he pleaded with her. He made to swim toward her, but his body, in shock, refused to comply.

  As his head dipped under the water, a terrible sense of déjà vu crowded in on him.

  A hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and he felt himself being pulled to the surface.

  “Don’t you do this to me again!” Madeleine practically screamed in his face.

  In his mind, he wondered about her words, but he couldn’t summon the energy to form a question out loud.

  His thoughts began to drift, as did his body, and he gave himself up to the floating sensation. Images flitted behind his closed eyelids, images that didn’t make sense—he and Madeleine together but in a different time, a different place. He saw himself with her, laughing, talking, even making love, and if that was the last thing he would ever think of, he would die a happy man.

  “John, help me please.”

  Madeleine’s plaintive voice filtered into his subconscious and yanked him out of the enjoyable daydream. Coming to, he realized she was trying to haul him out of the water onto the bank.

  With all the strength he could muster, he pulled himself onto dry land and collapsed.

  “Some rescuer I turned out to be,” he said, making a weak attempt at a joke.

  Tears ran freely down Madeleine’s face.