“That was an interesting evening, wasn’t it?” Ginger said when she and Haley returned to their stateroom.

Haley agreed. “It was.”

Ginger began the process of undressing, motioning to Haley to assist her by unzipping her dress. “The actress had eyes for the captain, and the chef—did you see the way he watched the captain’s wife?”

“A convoluted affair.”

“Great entertainment, though, wouldn’t you say?”

Haley nodded. “I would.”

Ginger couldn’t rest until she’d finished unpacking. Disgruntled, she stared at her three large trunks, four suitcases, and a dozen hat boxes. Of course, it wasn’t necessary for her to unpack everything for a five-day journey, but if she didn’t, the odious smell of pine and mothballs would most certainly be ingrained in the fibres of her wardrobe before she reached London, and that just wouldn’t do.

“Molly usually cares for this,” Ginger said. “Her fear of deep water was too great a barrier, and she refused to accompany me. I guess I can’t blame her for that.”

“I could assist,” Haley said, “though I’m not much attuned to fashion.”

“Your help would be so appreciated!” Ginger said. “The only skill required is the ability to arrange garments on a hanger. Day dresses together, starting on the left in the wardrobe, followed by tea dresses and evening wear.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the difference.”

“Really, Haley?” Ginger wasn’t sure if her friend was serious or in jest. “Very well. This is a day dress.” Ginger held up a simple streamline cotton frock in a bright gingham print. She opened up a second trunk and rummaged through the contents to produce an elegant dress with layers of cream chiffon with a wide black sash and taffeta bow. “This is a Jeanne Lanvin, suitable for afternoon tea or semiformal dining.”

“Who’s Jeanne Lanvin?”

Ginger stilled. “Only the most innovative, new designer in Paris!”

“Oh, of course,” Haley said dryly.

“And this evening gown...” Ginger said with a lilt to her voice, “... is a Coco Chanel, perfect for a night of dancing.” She held up a sleeveless, straight-line dress made of rayon that shimmered with layers of sheer crepe silk against her body. The skirt shimmied when Ginger swivelled her hips and had a shocking hemline that ended mid-calf. “Surely you’ve heard of Coco Chanel?”

Haley shot her an exaggerated look of offence. “I don’t live under a rock.”

Ginger laughed. She held a deep affection for her travel companion. They’d met in France during the war. Nurse Higgins had single-handedly saved a colleague of Ginger’s from certain death—the man had had an unfortunate encounter with a sharp German-made blade. Ginger had introduced herself as Mademoiselle Antoinette LaFleur. Her French citizen persona was so convincing that Haley’s jaw nearly hit the floor when they were reacquainted after the Great War in Boston. When it became apparent that her father needed personal care, Ginger specifically sought out Haley. To her credit, Haley accepted Ginger’s explanation that Mademoiselle LaFleur was created for the war effort. “She” ended when the war did—and Ginger was unable to speak about it further.

Boss’ head bobbed, and he stretched out a small black paw from where he slept at the bottom of Ginger’s bed. He yawned in greeting, then promptly closed his eyes and emitted a soft snore.

Ginger changed into her nightwear—a satin jade-green, one-piece teddy trimmed with champagne-coloured lace. Haley donned a plain white camisole and matching bloomers, and unpinned her curly, long brown hair, which twisted up at her neck to create the illusion of a wavy bob. Sitting in front of the dressing table mirror, she brushed out her hair and spoke to Ginger’s reflection. “Are you ready, Mrs. Gold?”

“Ready for what?”

“For your new life in London.”

“It’s been ten years since I’ve stepped foot there.” Ginger’s last foray to England had been on her honeymoon in 1913. All of her work during the war took place on the Continent. “I hardly know what to expect.”

“The world seems to have changed on a dime,” Haley returned. “I imagine we’ll both be surprised.”

“Surely you must be excited to continue your medical training,” Ginger said, secretly envying her friend. Ginger’s years studying at Boston University were among her favourite memories. She loved the academic atmosphere and enjoyed the camaraderie of her fellow students. Her studies in languages and math had turned out to be of particular use during the war, but now Ginger felt at a loss at what to do with her time.

“Yes,” Haley admitted, “but I think I’ll miss Boston.”

Ginger twisted a short strand of hair around her index finger to reinforce the curl that turned in towards her cheek. “I’m not sure I’ll be away long enough to miss it.”

“Oh?” Haley paused mid-brush. “Do tell.”

“I might just sell Hartigan House and return to the States. Even though I was born in England, I was only eight years old when Father married Sally and relocated. I’m afraid I’m rather American.”

“Indeed, Ginger, you are very American.”

“But, as you know, I can be as English as the next Brit when I set my mind to it. Father remained thoroughly English until the day he died.”

Haley returned the brush to the dressing table and climbed into her bed. “You are culturally versatile.”

“I won’t miss Sally one bit,” Ginger continued, “though I might become sentimental over Louisa.”

“Your half sister is ... memorable.”

“She’s spoiled, obnoxious, and unbearable is what you mean.”

“I would never say it.”

“I’ll enjoy London, I think, for a while,” Ginger said as she burrowed deeper under her covers. “But then what will I do with myself?”

“I’m sure there will be plenty to entertain you.”

“To begin with certainly, but then what? At least you have your career. Boston is my home, but with only Sally to welcome me back, well, it’s just not that inviting.”

“So, you’re divided,” Haley said. “Stay in London, where you don’t know anyone besides me and risk boredom, or sell Hartigan House and return to Boston, where you have a social circle. But due to that same social circle, you would be obligated to live with your evil step-mother.”

“Precisely. Haley Higgins, you are so perceptive.”

“It’s a skill required of my profession.”

“And yet you’ve managed to not help me at all. I’m no closer to an answer.”

“Dear Ginger, you’re young, beautiful, and an heiress, ergo there’s a good chance you’ll meet an eligible bachelor or two. That should keep you entertained. Unless, of course, your feelings for Mr. Wellington go deeper than you let on.”

Mr. Wellington was a successful accountant, born and raised in Boston, and a long-suffering suitor. He appeared out of nowhere just days after her official period of mourning over Daniel had ended. A man of virtue and good ethics, any woman would’ve jumped at a chance to marry him. His look was plain but not homely, his skin quite pale, and his stomach a bit paunchy—likely due to a sedentary lifestyle lived indoors—but not overly so. He valued order and logic and approached life with similar sentiments, having very little appreciation for passion or spontaneity.

The complete opposite of Daniel in every way.

She turned his offer of marriage down in the end, and though she hated to hurt him, she knew they would never make each other happy. Besides, he wanted children, and that was something she just couldn’t promise him. Mother Nature had seen to that.

Ginger’s mind drifted momentarily to the dapper gentleman she’d witnessed at Miss Guilford’s table. Here was a well-dressed man with intelligent eyes that sparked with passion. Ginger played with the gold ring on her finger, which was her habit, then stopped suddenly with a flood of mortification. How could she polish her wedding band whilst pondering the good looks of a stranger!

Boss, sensing his mistress’s emotional need, crept to her side as she slipped under the covers, and nuzzled her neck. Ginger whispered, “Oh, Boss, you’re such a peach.”

She and Haley spent some time reading with the help of the electric lamps beside their beds—Haley with a medical textbook and Ginger with a new Agatha Christie detective novel.

Ginger could have booked separate rooms, but she didn’t mind the company, especially with her maid, Molly, staying behind. She gave Haley the option of her own room, but Haley wasn’t one to take advantage because Ginger had money. She’d expressed her gratitude on having her passage to London covered in the deal.

Eventually, Ginger’s eyes drooped. “I’m ready to call it a day,” she said.

Haley flipped the switch next to her bed, and the electric lights extinguished. “Sleep well, Ginger.”

“Sleep well, Haley.”

Moments later, their peace and quiet was interrupted by a loud zipper sound.

“Boss!” Ginger shouted.

“Dear Lord!” Haley said. “Light a match!”