Titanic 2020

'Does that make him a very good liar or not?'

Claire shrugged.

'If they die,' said Jimmy, 'and of course I hope they don't — but if they do, then this is your ship. You're the boss. You can say, take me to the Antarctic, or take me to Australia, and they'll have to.'

Claire shook her head.

'No you will, seriously — you can tell Mr Benson to wear your skirts all the time and you can get the Puerto Ricans to pelt Pedroza with three-day-old pizzas. You can . . .'

Jimmy stopped. Claire had rolled up her sleeve and was showing him her arm.

It was covered in red blotches.

'Oh God,' said Jimmy.

'A lot of use he is.'

'Oh Jesus.'

'Him as well.'

'Claire . . . when did . . .?'

'About the time of the pizza incident. I thought perhaps I was just allergic to Pedroza, but I guess not. Jimmy — you can leave now, if you want. I wouldn't want you to . . .'

'If I get it, I get it.'

'That's nice, but stupid.'

Jimmy shrugged. 'Can I get you a Coke or something?'

'I can get my own Coke. I'm not an invalid. Not yet. I just thought I wouldn't get it. I'm . . .'

'Rich.'

'. . . never sick. I haven't had a cold ever. And now I'm going to . . .'

'Don't say that . . .'

'. . . die.'

'Claire.'

'It's the truth. These blotches will get bigger and bigger and then I'll get a fever and start throwing up, then there'll be the convulsions and I'll scream and beg to die and eventually I'll fall into a coma and that'll be that.'

Jimmy sighed. 'It's a pity you're not older.'

'Why?'

'Well, I could marry you then and when you died all the ships would belong to me. I'd be loaded.'

'And what makes you think I'd marry you?'

'Claire, for goodness' sake, who else would ask you? You're a nightmare.'

She thought about that for a moment. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, Jimmy, but I'd rather marry Pedroza.' He smiled. She smiled. They fell silent.

***

Ten minutes later Claire said, 'I don't want to go into the hospital.'

'They have the best—'

'They can't do anything. I want to stay here. I want to . . .'

'Don't say it.'

'. . . die here . . .' she adopted a haughtier version of her own quite haughty voice,'. . . in the style to which I've become accustomed.'

'I'll stay with you then.'

'No, I might take ages. And you've a job to do.'

'Stuff the job.'

'No, Jimmy — it's important. You know it is. I want you to go to St Thomas tomorrow, take my camera and go to that beach . . .'

'Magens Bay.'

'Yes . . . Magens Bay. You said it was one of the ten best in the world . . .'

'I didn't, some magazine did. They probably paid them to say it. It's probably crap. It's probably covered in cigarette butts.'

'No, it's not. Take a photo of it, Jimmy, and bring it back to me. I love beaches.'

'OK,' said Jimmy

'And make sure it's not out of focus.'

'All right.'

'And use a wide-angle lens. . .'

'I will. . .'

'And try to—'

'Claire. I know you're dying, but you're still very annoying. I know how to take a photograph.'

'Then prove it.'

27 The Beach

The Titanic's visit to San Juan had shown how easily control of the ship could be lost. If they hadn't removed the gangplank in the nick of time the crew would very quickly have been overwhelmed. Captain Smith wasn't going to take that chance again in St Thomas — particularly as the island had a long history of sheltering pirates. Cut-throats like Captain Kidd and Blackbeard had caroused there. Sir Francis Drake had launched his attacks on Spanish galleons laden with New World gold from the island. Granted, that was all very far in the past, but traditions have a habit of being handed down in small communities. So instead of sailing into the main port of Charlotte Amalie where fuel supplies were theoretically waiting, the Captain chose instead to sail around the island and drop anchor off Magens Bay. From there he would dispatch a patrol ashore to approach the capital from the rear. If it appeared calm, and the docks could be secured, the ship would then enter to refuel.

Once again, First Officer Jeffers objected to Jimmy being included in the shore party. Once again he was overruled. Nevertheless, Jeffers poked a finger at him and issued a stern warning: 'Don't get in the way; don't cause trouble; don't wander off.'

Jimmy shrugged. He sat in the back of a small inflatable as it was slowly winched down the side of the Titanic. He held Claire's camera in his lap. He had stayed with her all night. Less than an hour before, with her in the grip of the fever and having lost all lucidity, he had reluctantly called Dr Hill and he had ordered her immediate removal to the hospital wing. Jimmy knew it was the right thing to do, but he also felt sad about letting her down. He would take as many photos of Magens Bay as he could, and he would make sure they were fantastic. But deep down he knew she would never see them. People didn't get better from the Red Death, even rich people.

They gladed along — Jeffers, Benson, Jonas Jones, two crewmen and Jimmy — on perfectly calm, brilliantly turquoise water towards the beach. As they drew closer Jimmy began to understand why it was so highly rated — there was almost a mile of brilliantly white sand, backing on to palm trees which rapidly gave way to heavily-forested mountains. It all looked absolutely stunning. Jimmy knew that no matter how good his photographs were, they could never do justice to this. He took several panoramic shots anyway, but then he lowered his camera.

'What's that sound?' he asked.

They were still several hundred metres away from the beach, but others on the little craft could hear it as well.

Music.

'It's . . . Bob Marley!' said Benson.

And it was — reggae music, drifting across the water towards them. As they drew closer still they saw that the sunbeds, set at intervals along the entire length of the beach, were nearly all occupied.

Sunbathers!

'My God,' said Jeffers. 'It's passed them by.'

They were all smiles now. This was as unexpected as it was incredible. They ran the boat right up on to the sand. Bob Marley was singing 'One Love'; the smell of French fries and onions assaulted them (in a nice way). Jeffers jumped out first and dashed up towards the first set of sunbeds.

Then he stopped suddenly.

Jimmy and the others crowded up behind him.

Three sunbeds. Three bloated, putrid bodies, swarming with flies.

Jeffers turned immediately to his left and threw up.

Jimmy stared down at them, horrified.

Jonas hurried along to the next set of beds. They were dead there too — and as far as he could see along the beach.

'I don't understand,' said Jimmy. 'If they had the plague, how come they're all still here, as if they're sunbathing?'

'We know there's different strains of it,' said Jonas. 'Looks like this one killed them instantly. No bad thing, maybe.'

Jimmy couldn't bring himself to lift his camera. How could he take a photo of this back to Claire?

'OK,' said Jeffers, 'let's remember why we're here. There's a car park over there, let's see if we can find some keys or jump-start something that can carry us all. Jimmy — see if you can turn that music off, maybe get us something to drink.'

Jeffers pointed towards a bar about a hundred metres along the beach, which seemed to be the source of the music.

'See if you can mix me up a nice cocktail while you're there,' said Jeffers.

Jimmy hurried away along the sand. He forced himself to take several pictures — not for Claire, but for the paper. That was his role in life now. He was the official chronicler of the Titanic. A journalist and historian. He shouldn't think about Claire, dying on board, or those poor sunbathers, drinking their cold beers and playing with their children one minute, and the next, rotting and stinking. He had to edit it out. He had to focus on his job.