This is my second attempt at writing Titanic from Rose's POV. Hope you enjoy it, it's not long, but since I'm going by scenes, some will be longer than others.
I guess I'd better disclaimer here that I don't own Titanic or the characters, James Cameron does. I'm just enhancing his brilliance with my version of events.
Chapter Two
Leaving Port
We entered our suite and I was immediately impressed, but again I refused to let Cal have any satisfaction in knowing that. The servants began bringing in our bags and the crates that held my paintings. I was fascinated with them… the colors, the strokes. It was a world that I could only look upon but wished that I could become a part of.
There was one in particular that stood out to me and I wanted to set it out to look upon it. I asked Trudy to help me as I wafted through the crates.
"This one?" Trudy asked holding one out for me.
"No," I replied. "It had a lot of faces on it." Suddenly, I found it and lifted it from the crate. "This is the one."
"Do you want all them out?" Trudy asked.
"Yes, we need a little color in this room." I answered her still holding the painting. I held it up for closer inspection when a porter came in at that moment bearing more of Cal's luggage.
"Ah, put it in there. In the wardrobe." Lovejoy immediately directed him.
Cal entered the room from the promenade deck and saw what Trudy and I were doing. "God, not those finger paintings again," he exclaimed. "They certainly were a waste of money."
I cringed for a moment at his criticism. He had told me on more than one occasion over the last few weeks what he thought of my paintings. Cal was not a lover of art in any form, his only love was money and the art of making more of it.
Turning away from him I responded with a thinly veiled insult. "The difference between Cal's taste in art and mine is that I have some. I think they're fascinating." I said as I sat the painting down on the sofa. "It's like being in a dream or something. There's truth but no logic."
"What's the artist's name?" Trudy questioned me.
"Something Picasso…" I told her absently.
"Something Picasso," Cal sneered laughingly behind me. "He won't amount to a thing. He won't… trust me."
I had to get out of that room, away from Cal and his presence. It was as if he was suffocating me and I couldn't breathe. I picked up the Degas and walked into my suite with Trudy behind me.
"At least they were cheap." I heard him tell Lovejoy, who once again directed the porter as he brought in Cal's safe. He took it everywhere we went all over Europe. No matter where we were, that safe was with us.
Later that evening we anchored in Cherbourg, France where more passengers embarked and from there to the coast of Ireland where more passengers embarked, mainly from third class. By the next afternoon we were steaming west with nothing out in front of us but ocean.