After her father's promise that they would have a peaceful, party free vacation, Isabella was deflated to find herself in a complete stranger's house with other people she had never met, trying to look as if she was entertained. She was irritated with her father for going back on his promise, but she put most of the blame on Jocelyn. She couldn't fail to miss her step-mother's malicious side, unconvincigly hidden behind a courteous smile and several layers of make-up. The age old cliche of the evil step-mother applied scarily well to Jocelyn. Isabella watched her spin around the room, conversing with person after person, everything about her exhuding the qualities of the perfect party guest. In contrast, Caledon, who Isabella saw sitting awkwardly in a crowded corner, couldn't have looked any more unwelcome. He sat stiffly in a chair, dressed smartly in the same tuxedo he had worn to his anniversary party. While Jocelyn laughed, grinned and fit in well with the crowd, Cal didn't even make the effort to smile. Isabella wasn't doing much socialising either. She always kept herself to herself when forced to attend such ghastly events. She didn't even know who's party this was. Apparently somebody involved in film or entertainment. She doubted that he had anything of interest to discuss, these sort of people never did. She'd only been given an hour to prepare for tonight, so she was not as immaculately outfitted as she usually was. Her hair lay limp on her back, still a little damp at the edges thanks to her swimming pool incident. The dress she had carelessly slung into her suitcase prior to leaving was wrinkled at the shoulders, something she attempted to cover up with a silk shawl. While Isabella couldn't have cared less about her appearance under normal circumstances, she despised the prying eyes and gossiping vultures that circled these events and waited patiently for the smallest slip-up in appearance to tear apart. As a Hockley, she was expected to be perfect but she was far from that.
"Hello Miss Hockley,"
Isabella put on her best gracious smile and turned around, ready to greet whatever guest was calling her name. The smile fell when her eyes met with the familiar emerald glow of someone she did not want to be near.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, preparing to walk away.
"Erm, I just wanted to apologise for earlier today." Darcy mumbled, looking down at his feet like a bashful child. He had dressed for the occasion in an all black suit that was a little worn at the edges but fit him well.
"That doesn't answer my question." Isabella insisted. Darcy had insulted her and the fact that he as saved her life somehow didn't make up for it. She had inherited some sort of stubborn quality from her father. Nobody called her an idiot without paying for it!
"My dad's helping out with the waiter's service and asked me to come along."
"So you're a waiter tonight?"
"No, I'm a guest, just like you." Darcy smiled. "Anyway, I am sorry for calling you stupid. But let's be fair here, I did save your life."
"And called me stupid." She ran her fingers through her hair with boredom.
"I think the saving you thing outweighs the stupid thing."
"But you still called me stupid."
"This conversation isn't really gonna go anywhere. I think that you should be a bit more grateful that I didn't just leave you in there." He pressed on further. "But I'm a good guy and good guys save the damsel in distress, no matter how silly they are."
"Oh, so now I'm silly?" Isabella couldn't believe the cheek of this man.
"See, you're so easily offended!" He laughed and wiped his eyes. "Look, let's just start again from the beginning and pretend you didn't almost drown. Okay?"
Isabella begrudgingly agreed.
"Good," Darcy continued. "Intros first. I'm Darcy Preston, good to meet you." He held out his hand to Isabella who shook it slowly with little enthusiasm.
"Isabella Hockley," She murmered back. Although he seemed like a pleasant enough man, she didn't forget a grudge so easily. But she felt the need to try, if only to make her vacation a little easier. "You're Preston's son? Odd, I've never heard you mentioned before."
"Dad keeps work and family separate." He explained. "But I've been working with him for a while now, doing odd jobs around the garden and pool. You haven't been to the Hamptons for a while so I guess that's why I didn't know who you were. Stupid, I know, since there are millions of photos of you around the place. But I apologised about that already."
"Quite." She mumbled. "Oh God, I hate these places. I don't fit in at all."
"At least you've got a family to back you up. If you tell any of these people you're the butler's son, they look at you like a piece of crap. Gimme a night in the bar any day of the week."
"People are just snobs at these gatherings." Isabella dropped her voice to a level that only Darcy could hear her. "I can't get away with anything here. I once went to a party where I was ridiculed for wearing a trouser suit. But as soon as they find out who my family is, the crawlers come out and practically beg." Isabella sighed. It felt good to talk to somebody about the utter absurdness of these places. Darcy was normal and, dare she admit it, she found his company quite enjoyable.
"Well, ya look nice tonight." He told her. "And I ain't just saying that. You look real swell in that dress. Are you okay? You're looking a bit red in the face."
She blushed a little bit more because she knew he had noticed, even though she felt ridiculous. People always told her she looked lovely, and in more colourful language, but they never had such an effect on her.
"Oh I'm fine. It's just...a little warm in here." She said, trying to laugh.
"You wanna go outside and cool off?" Darcy asked, looking genuinely worried. Isabella was relieved that he was oblivious to the real cause for her blushing.
"No, it's okay. I'll be fine." She insisted as she felt her face cool down a little. "Do you go to these events often?"
"All the time when I'm holding the plate of drinks, not so much as a guest. Servants aren't at the top of the invite lists. But I don't care, I don't cope well with big crowds and stuff like this. Plus they're boring! It's like they all sit around and discuss how they're all fantastic and should rule the rest of the world."
Isabella laughed and ended up making a snorting noise through her nose which made her feel even more embarassed. The flush of red reappeared on her face, much stronger than before. Darcy laughed also but not in a cruel way. He liked watching Isabella act like a normal girl, not a pressurised rich girl. He was definately glad that he'd dragged her from that pool. He wanted to talk to her in a more pleasant place, somewhere without the pretension of this producer's house. He opened his mouth to talk more but was interrupted by a screech that sounded more cat than human.
"Miss Isabella Hockley! I am so glad I found you. You are a difficult little lady to find." The voice came from the host of the party, Glen Moody.
"Oh, hello." She replied.
"Glen Moody, ma'am. Film producer extraordinaire." He boomed.
A man who had helped to debut the cinema in America, Moody sported the most atrociously fake toupee that both Isabella and Darcy had ever seen. It rested upon his head like a skinned feline, drooping at the left side. It was clearly made from some sort of synthetic fabric and Darcy was tempted to pour water over it to see if it would repel the liquid. The scratchy voice matched his robust frame perfectly. Moody was a big man with big dreams and a voice that could break glass. Moody gave Isabella a welcoming, if slightly smothering hug.
"You shouldn't be sulking in a corner with a strange gentleman. You're a guest and I treat my guests well." He turned to Darcy, staring down his nose at him even though they were of equal height. "And you are?"
"Erm. Well, I'm Darcy Preston." He replied, stumbling with his words. "I came with...well, the head butler. He's my dad. I'm just here."
"Interesting. How proud you must be. Anyway," Moody turned back to Isabella. "I am afraid that I'll have to drag you away from Mr Darcy to some real company." He grabbed Isabella's wrist and coaxed her away from Darcy. They looked at each other briefly before he was lost to the crowd. Isabella made a mental note to apologise to Darcy the next time they met. He deserved much better than what Mr Moody was giving him. Eventually they worked their way around the partiers and met with Cal and Jocelyn, along with a few other people she didn't recognise. Moody did not loosen his fingers around her wrist. The feeling of his chubby, sweaty palms around her skin was grotesque.
"Hello Isabella," Jocelyn smiled, keeping a tight hold around Cal's waist. The pair's faces had contrasting emotions of joy and misery. Isabella couldn't understand why her father didn't just refuse to come. According to her grandmother, Cal had a reputation from his younger days for being a real party animal. She found this image unfamiliar and rather funny, her father wasn't anything like that, or at least he hadn't been since before she had been born.
"Hello father." Isabella said, ignoring her step-mother. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Ecstatically." He mumbled, sliding Jocelyn's arm from his body. He didn't want his wife near him, not after her outburst of malice earlier. He was afraid of her. It sounded so weak but he would have crawled on the ground if it kept Isabella's origins hidden. He had suffered a real downfall in control since his Playboy days but he would never swap his daughter for that.
"I was just telling your parents about the movie-business." Moody edged in. Isabella wanted to snap and correct him that Jocelyn was in no way related to her except by convenient matrimony but Moody boomed on. As his mouth exagerrated each syllable, droplets of spit flew from his overgrown cheeks. "It's all very exciting. I recently single-handedly financed this hilarious comedy filmed in Los Angeles. I am not kidding, it was so funny I almost choked!" He laughed hard, as if to prove his point. "It won't be long before we can put sound into the film, have the actors talk. We're working on them now. There's this fantastic actor called Al Jolson who's working on a talkie now! It's gonna be the biggest thing in entertainment ever! Then maybe one day there will be colour and all these magical things that nobody ever thought of before. What do you think, little Izzy? Isn't this all exciting?"
Isabella raised her eyebrows. Did this man just call her Izzy? "My name is Isabella. And I'm afraid I must disagree. I think that the motion picture is highly overrated. While I respect the hard work that went into it's development, I find the idea of film taking over rather frightening. Nothing can be more creative or imaginative than the literary works of this milennium and I don't think a camera will ever capture that. As for the comedy, it's not very amusing to me. I much prefer Austen's grace to Chaplin's pratfalls."
Cal 's face turned into a proud grin as he watched Moody fume with shock at Isabella's comment.
"Having said that, I thourougly enjoyed Nosferatu. F.W. Murnau has a real eye for vision, despite his obvious plagiarism of Stoker. Have you ever financed any of his films?" She asked.
Moody paused, suddenly becoming very interested in the bottom of his glass. "No," He eventually mumbled. "I didn't enjoy the film myself. Too...weird."
"Who said weird was a bad thing?" Isabella smirked.
"Well, that's you told Moody! One of the strangers laughed. "Maybe your newest film will tickle her fancy more."
"Ah yes. Well, Miss Hockley, you may be interested to know that I am putting $2 million into a new movie. It will be entitled Tragedy: The Story of the Titanic! I imagine it will be right up your alley. After all, your daddy was there!"
Cal looked horrified. The stupid loudmouth must have read the original papers from after the sinking because he had never told anybody outside of his family since that he was on the ship. He turned to his daughter who seemed perplexed.
"Sorry? I don't think you have the right person, my father hates sailing, he's never been on a boat before. Haven't you?" She only had to look at the tremble in his mouth to know he was lying.
"I think it's time for us to leave." Cal said, signalling Isabella towards the door. They parted from the crowd and Jocelyn without saying goodbye. Isabella heard the sniggers of contempt from Moody and his cackling crowd. Even Jocelyn seemed to join in. Cal and Isabella walked out into the open air, where the night had taken over the sky and a chill in the wind made her shake.
"Isabella," Cal started, signalling to their driver and the car. "I guess I should tell you about the Titanic."
"Why did you hide it from me?" She asked. Her father was always so open with her, she couldn't comprehend why he would hide such a small thing from him. The Titanic was such a huge event in history, every year there wa sa memorial service in New York to commemorate the sinking. The pair stepped into their car and Cal addressed the driver to take them home.
"Isabella, it was a long time ago. I didn't think it was important." Cal reasoned. He seemed nervous and his eyes fluttered more than usual.
"Then why hide it? Are you scared of something?"
"No, it's not that. I just don't like to bring it up. It was one of the most terrifying nights of my life, I was inches from death. If it wasn't for...well, it was a night I won't be forgetting in a hurry." Cal tried to calm himself. He was panicking now and finding it hard to control.
"I can't imagine what it must have been like." Isabella whispered. She had seen pictures of the ship on it's maiden voyage. It was truly a work of art in motion. "Was it a beautiful ship?"
"It was...stupendous." Cal admitted. He closed his eyes and instantly remembered little details he hadn't thought about in over a decade. "The 1st class deck was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. There was so much luxury on one ship I could hardly take it all in. To be quite honest, I didn't appreciate it back then. I was a brat. All I thought about was money and getting my hands on my inheritence. To me, going on the Titanic was just another journey, but it had to be as luxurious as possible. I took it all for granted. Of course I did, I had had the best of everything all my life and this was no different. My ticket cost the same as about 20 of the 3rd class passengers. I wanted the best and I got it. All the 1st class passengers were like that, rich and spoilt and proud of it. That woman you met at the anniversary party, Molly Brown? I met her on the Titanic. She was a brash woman, not what we were used to. She spoilt things for me a little bit. All I cared about was myself. But when that ship hit that iceberg..." He trailed off and looked back at his daughter. She urged him to continue, yet he didn't want to reveal too much. He never hid anything from her, other than the obvious, because it felt too wrong. He didn't have a very good relationship with his own father because of a lack of communication, something that had started in youth and continued throughout his life. He had always sworn, long before Isabella arrived, that things would change when he had his own children. Now, as they sat together in the car, the empty roads passing by them, he felt a sense that it was good to tell his daughter about the ship, with a few details omitted. He wanted to be honest but not that honest.
"You don't have to go on if you don't want to. I understand it must have been...well, horrifying." She said, putting a comforting hand on her father's shoulder. "Can I just ask one question?" Call nodded slowly. "Was I there with you? I would have been what, 3 or 4 years old. I don't remember anything of it if I was but...sometimes I have dreams. Dreams where I'm on a boat and I'm alone. There's a lot of screaming and panicking and I'm just sitting there crying. Did you take me on there?"
"No," He replied a little too soon. "No, you were in New York with your grandparents. I had to go to England to sort out some personal things." He didn't want to consider what would happen if she found out the truth. "Do you dream about that often?"
"Well, it's nothing. It's probably completely unrelated. It doesn't matter." She said. It was a coincidence though. Maybe it wasn't the Titanic in her dream. Why would it be? She'd never been on the ship and had not known of her father's connection until tonight. Her fear of water must have been some silly thing that had been created inside her head for no reason. She shuffled over and hugged her father, silently praying thank you that he had survived. She didn't know what she would have done without him in her life.
They sat closely together until they arrived home. Isabella headed straight to bed while Cal sat in the drawing room, looking at the many pictures of Isabella on his desk. They were a timeline of her life, from age 4 to 17. He always took pictures of her, as if he was going to forget what she looked like one morning. Inside one of the drawers, that he kept locked up, was a picture of Isabella sleeping. He had taken it 2 days after the Titanic sunk. She was so tiny, a shaking leaf with bundles of bushy hair tucked under a ragged hat. She had cried constantly ever sinced they had entered the life-boat together. That was the first time she had slept since he had taken her to his home. He asked her what her name was but she just continued to sob and tighten her hold on him. As she slept, he had thought of what would come of her. He couldn't just dump her in an orphanage, he owed so much to her. They had saved each-other and Isabella had given him so much more than that. He vowed to raise her as his own because she deserved a father who would do anything just to see her smile. The Titanic gave him the best thing in his life.