Chapter Preview from Perfume Over Corregidor
First-Class Conversations
The SS Corregidor smelled faintly of polished wood, coal, machine oil, salt air, and perfume.
Petra noticed this immediately.
Ships always possess personalities. Some smelled aggressively clean, as though attempting to disguise age. Others carried the permanent odor of cargo and damp rope; no amount of scrubbing could remove.
The Corregidor smelled respectable.
Not luxurious. But determined.
A steward in pressed white uniform guided passengers through narrow corridors lined with brass lamps that swayed gently with the movement of the sea.
“This way, señora.”
Petra followed while balancing her gloves and handbag carefully against her side. Through nearby cabin doors drifted fragments of travel life already unfolding:
a crying child,
laughter from a card game,
someone complaining loudly about luggage,
and the unmistakable sound of a married couple beginning an argument they would continue for the entire voyage.
Petra suppressed a smile.
Travel revealed people too quickly.
Her cabin proved modest but comfortable.
A narrow bed. A washstand. A small writing desk bolted against the wall. And a round porthole already silvered by mist beyond the glass.
The steward placed her luggage near the bed.
“You are traveling to Manila only, señora?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
There it was.
The question itself remained harmless enough. The tone beneath it never was.