The Cruise

by Anthony Hulse

  “I’m a musician.”

  “No, damn it. Your occupation on the ship.”

  Danny was startled by the outburst. “Er, I’m a ship builder, working at the Davenport shipyard.”

  “Very good, Mr Cooper. Once on board you’ll hear some real music, not the unbearable trash they play nowadays… Mrs Harper, what is the occupation of your husband?”

  “He tends bar in the Smugglers Inn in Plymouth.”

  “Excellent. And who is on the throne?”

  “I er… I don’t know.”

  Davenport thumped the table, his face red with anger. “Haven’t you read the notes I gave you with your identities? It is important that you study them. I suggest you do that in the short time we have left before we sail. A good day to you.”

  Ross consoled his wife, who was visibly upset.

  “What was that all about?” asked Joe.

  “He’s taking this a bit serious don’t you think?”

  “You can say that again, Ben.”

  Luigi approached Joe and whispered something in his ear. The Londoner, without explanation headed towards the exit.

  Sarah was curious. “Where’re you going, Joe?”

  “To the hairdressers. Davenport insists I have a haircut and groom my beard.”

  Sarah giggled. “I’ve been trying for years to get you to trim that beard and finally I get my wish.”

  “Piss off, Sarah.”

  “Language, language, remember.”

  ******

  Ben and Natasha arrived at the reception early. They looked around for their companions, headed into the lounge and attracted quizzical glances from the opulent guests. Ben was dressed in a brown tweed jacket, oxford bags and brown leather shoes. Natasha excelled herself with her green flapper dress and matching feathered hat. Ben, especially felt embarrassed, until he witnessed the congregation gathered around the bar.

  Joe Cummings looked dapper in his blue blazer and white slacks. His well-groomed beard and slicked back hair suited him. Sarah had opted for a red-feathered headband and red flapper dress. Ross Harper and Danny Cooper had plumped for double-breasted suits; their wives, Cheryl and Cindy wore jackets and full skirts with a belt around their waist. Ben’s embarrassment abated when his eyes fixed on Norman Quinn. He sported a blazer, slacks and a white Panama hat. His red face suggested a comical character. He resembled the late, great Fatty Arbuckle. His wife opted for an orange cloche and matching flapper dress.

  The lounge had more guests than usual today; most of them having a giggle at the expense of the strangers. Ben ordered wine for Natasha and a beer for himself.

  “Joe, I just had a thought,” he whispered. “When we dock at these foreign ports, what are we expected to wear? Davenport requested us to leave our clobber here.”

  “You’ve got a point there, Ben. I don’t fancy walking around Turkey in this get-up.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I feel such a prat?”

  Cummings nodded in agreement. “I know how you feel, but once we’re on board I assume everyone will be in the same boat and wearing similar clothes if you’ll excuse the pun.”

  Ben considered. “I think old Davenport gets off on seeing people dressed in twenties gear. I can’t figure him out. Granted, he’s a tad eccentric, but he’s gone to a lot of trouble and expense to put this jaunt together.”

  Joe lit a cigarette for Sarah. “What I don’t understand is, why us? I don’t buy this selection committee lark. They must have been blind. Who in the right mind would have picked us? Look at fatty Quinn and his wife. Not the ideal-travelling companions, are they? Then we have a West Indian bus driver and his wife. They seem okay, but a luxury cruise liner. Come on.”

  Ben interrupted. “Don’t forget the two young nymphs. They don’t strike me as perfect travelling companions for Davenport.”

  “There’s something about Davenport. I just can’t put my finger on it,” said Joe, who puffed on his cigarette.

  Luigi approached the group. “If you would be so kind, the limousines have arrived. Could you please follow me?”

  Many curious eyes followed the strange group as they made their way to the limousines.

  ******

  Ben and Natasha took in the marvellous sights of Naples when they approached the port. They had polished off another bottle of champagne and now felt a little tipsy. Dense fog enveloped the port and the driver of the limousine slowed down.

  “Where did this come from?” asked Natasha.

  The fog had become more intense and caused the driver to decelerate.

  Natasha sighed. “I so wanted to see the port.”

  Ben pressed his face against the window. “I’ve never seen fog as thick as this before. There’s no way we’ll be able to set sail in this.”

  The limousine came to a halt and the driver opened the door. The sudden, intense heat greeted them. Ben and Natasha looked up at the magnificent sight of the Empress Medina and left the porters to carry their luggage onto the ship. The white liner was certainly impressive, standing so tall, and her two red funnels seemingly reached towards the heavens. Never before had they witnessed such a marvellous vessel. The swirling fog obscured their vision and the sea not visible to them.

  Natasha fanned herself. “We’re about to embark on a voyage into the past. Isn’t it exciting, Ben?”

  The nervous man mumbled. “As long as the bloody thing floats.”

  They slowly edged along the gangplank and the fog swirled around their hot faces. A sailor, attired in a uniform from another era greeted them.

  “Good morning. I’m First Officer Ingle. I hope you have an enjoyable cruise. Bates here will show you to your cabin.”

  Bates, a tall, balding man dressed in a butler’s garb, led them to the upper deck. They trundled along a long corridor and their eyes took in the luxurious décor; the red carpets and paintings that would befit a royal palace. Bates halted at room seventeen. The cabin, if that is the word to describe it, was magnificently furnished. The red carpets and curtains on the porthole suggested quality.

  On the carved mahogany table was a bottle of champagne that sat in an ice bucket, along with a bouquet of red roses. The large bed was covered with white satin sheets.

  Natasha hugged her husband, “It’s wonderful, Ben.”

  Bates cleared his throat. “I’ll be back shortly to escort you to the garden lounge, where Mr Davenport will see you.”

  Bates left them alone and Ben peered through the porthole. The fog had not lifted. Natasha examined a photograph on the wall of the Empress Medina. It appeared so small in comparison to the vessel they now inhabited. She opened the champagne and sat on Ben’s lap. Their worries were left behind for now. They intended to savour every minute of this mysterious voyage.

  There was a knock at the door. Danny and Cindy Cooper faced them.

  “Isn’t this cool? I mean these rooms are something else,” boasted Danny.

  Penny spoke up. “We’re next door. We thought we’d be properly introduced. You see, we think we owe you an apology for last night. We had a little too much to drink, and well, we’ve been married for only a couple of months.”

  Natasha smiled. “There’s no need to apologise, Cindy. We know what it’s like. Young love.”

  Ben sampled his champagne. “So you’re a musician, Danny. What band do you play with?”

  “You won’t have heard of them. The Thunder Dogs.”

  “You’re right, I haven’t heard of them.”

  Danny touched his lapel. “What do you think of this get up, Ben?”

  “It sucks, but everyone looks ridiculous, so it’s not too bad.”

  “I love these clothes,” enthused Cindy. “They certainly knew how to dress up in those days.”

  Danny rolled his eyes. “She’s so old fashioned. You wouldn’t believe she’s only twenty-three.”

  “No, I agree,” chipped in Natasha. “I feel so nostalgic.”

  There was a knock at the door. Bates had returned for th
em. They followed him along the upper deck and took in the exquisite surroundings. The garden lounge was just as impressive as the rest of the vessel. The flower-laden room stretched the width of the deck. It provided an airy and open atmosphere within the confines of the ship. Wicker chairs sat amongst the exotic plants and rendered the lounge as a most fitting room to relax.

  James Davenport waited to greet them as they entered. “I trust the cabins are to your liking?”

  “They’re wonderful, Mr Davenport,” smiled Natasha.

  “Good. And may I say how splendid you all look. We’ll set sail as planned at one-fifteen. You’re free to explore the ship at your convenience. There are various detailed maps scattered around the vicinity of the ship, so you shouldn’t get lost. Bates has been appointed to you. Anything you want to know, you can ask him. He is my personal butler… Now the lower deck I’m afraid is off limits to you. That is first class. We are naturally in the luxury class. Everything you possibly want is on board. The main areas on the upper deck are the dining room, three staterooms, the smoking room, and the writing room. There are also several bars, including a replica of an old English inn. For the dance enthusiasts, we have a rather grand ballroom. Breakfast is served from six 'o'clock, lunch at twelve 'o'clock, and dinner is at seven 'o'clock. There are many activities on board, which Bates will fill you in on. And oh, I hope you gentlemen like to play cards. I usually like to play after dinner, but beware, we have some professional gamblers aboard, so be careful.”

  “Mr Davenport. You say that we’re to sail on time. Surely we can’t set sail in this fog.”

  “Mr Harper, we will sail on time. The fog will lift shortly... I must now leave you. Remember the conditions concerning your backgrounds. I’ll see you this evening. Good day.”

  Joe waited until Davenport was out of earshot. “There’s no chance of this fog lifting in the next half-hour.”

  “It sounds as though Mr Davenport is prepared to sail, fog or no fog,” said Cheryl Harper.

  Ross held his hand up. “No, darling, the port authorities won’t allow it. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Well, we’ve missed lunch,” sighed Wendy Quinn.

  Joe joked, “You could do with missing a few more, love.”

  “Don’t you talk to my wife that way. Apologise right now. I demand it!”

  The scene was comical. Norman Quinn, all five feet four of him, complete in his Panama hat confronted Joe.

  “Come on, let’s relax. Remember what Davenport said. We must be on our best behaviour.”

  “You’re right, Ben,” muttered Joe. “I apologise, Quinn. Your wife has a marvellous figure.”

  First Officer Ingle joined them. “Good afternoon. I do hope you settled in okay.”

  “Yes, thank you,” responded Sarah.

  Ingle was a tall man with a pock-face. His jet-black hair jutted from beneath his peak cap. “Good. We set sail in precisely twenty minutes.”

  Ben stepped forward. “Hold on, mate. What about the fog?”

  “The fog? What fog is that, sir?”

  “What fog? The fog that is surrounding Naples. That fog.”

  “I can assure you, sir; there is no fog.”

  The group hurried to the window and looked out onto the bay. The day was clear, with not a cloud in the sky.

  “I don’t bloody believe it. Where’s the fog gone?”

  Ben turned around and First Officer Ingle had departed.

  Chapter Five

  The dining room was furnished with silk shaded lights and large oak tables. Marble columns and long, gold-gilded mirrors adorned this magnificent room, which complimented the soft draperies that hung from the arched windows.

  The waiter led Ben and Natasha to the long captain’s table and they settled next to the Harpers. The diners rose to their feet when the white bearded captain entered the dining room. He shook hands with each of the diners, before he took his place at the head of the table. Davenport sat beside him and the two were now in deep conversation.

  Several waiters, bearing silver salvers approached the table. The feast that was placed before them was fit for a king. Cold salmon, York hams, roast pork, beef, chicken, chilled galantines and various vegetables covered the table. Several bottles of wine, along with champagne followed.

  Ross Harper looked towards Ben and shrugged, unsure of what cutlery to use. Being a London bus driver, he would not have attended many such grand occasions. The diners looked elegant in their tuxedos. Ben, after he abandoned his efforts, asked for the assistance of Bates to fasten his bow tie.

  The meal was delicious. Norman and Wendy Quinn especially enjoyed the lavish fare. They must have sampled every dish available and still made room for the splendid sherry trifle.

  Ben’s eyes took in each diner. Along with his travelling companions, there were at least another ten guests. Captain Perkins rose and proposed a toast to the Empress Medina. Ben studied the face of Davenport. There was something peculiar about him. His craggy features seemed to have vanished. He appeared at least twenty years younger. Ben concluded that he had drunk too much champagne.

  “I say, old chap. Is this your first cruise?”

  Ben looked to his left to view an elderly, red-nosed man in a monocle, who smiled at him.

  “Yes, this is our first cruise.”

  “Harry Bradshaw at your service. And this is my good wife, Pauline.”

  The two men exchanged handshakes. “Ben and Natasha Duncan.”

  Bradshaw wrinkled his nose. “I think the ham was a bit off, what do you think?”

  “I never noticed. I thought it was delicious,” replied Ben.

  Bradshaw seemed disappointed with the response. “Tell me, Ben; how do you know Mr Davenport? You must know him really well. Only his close friends are allowed at the captain’s table.”

  Ben hesitated. Was Bradshaw attempting to catch him out? “I work for Mr Davenport in the shipyard at Plymouth.”

  “Jolly good show. Davenport likes to mix with his workers you know. I think it stems from his background. Not that I don’t appreciate the company of such people as yourself and your lady wife. I find it interesting to see how the other half lives.”

  “Don’t listen to that old goat. He’s such a snob,” butted in his wife, Pauline. “Tell me, Natasha, what do you think of this Valentino fellow? He’s such a heart throb isn’t he?”

  Natasha frowned. “Who?”

  “Rudolph Valentino,” joined in Bradshaw. “Pauline is infatuated him you know.”

  Natasha glanced at Ben. “Oh yes, Rudolph Valentino. I suppose he is sexy in a way.”

  Pauline looked immediately away from Natasha. Her embarrassment was obvious.

  “Have I upset your wife, Mr Bradshaw?”

  “Forget it, girl. She’s so old fashioned.”

  Ben’s eyes were averted to the other side of the table. A beautiful, dark haired girl who wore a blue-feathered headband, took out her cigarette holder. She had such vivid blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones. Ben was immediately attracted to her. A young man with a black moustache lit her cigarette.

  “Tch, smoking at the dining table, a disgusting habit,” moaned Mrs Bradshaw. “Do you know, that girl Penelope Craven is a man-eater? Her husband, a film director died last year, leaving her a rich widow. She now just cruises luxury liners, discarding her many lovers. That poor soul looks to be her next victim.”

  Harry Bradshaw interrupted. “He can take care of himself, dear. That’s Frank Pollock the gambler. A bit of advice for you, Ben. Don’t participate in a card game with that bounder. He’ll clean you out.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Mr Bradshaw,” said Ben, whose eyes were focused on Penelope Craven. She acknowledged his stare and smiled at him. A spoon clinked against a glass and interrupted his pleasure.

  James Davenport rose to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to pay a tribute to a new member of our team. He is undoubtedly as you can now testify, the greatest chef on the planet. I can honestly say that was
the most delicious dinner I’ve ever eaten. Come over here, Simon.”

  A tall, thin man in the garb of a chef limped towards them. He was obviously crippled. He was a sad looking man. With his bushy eyebrows, dark eyes and large bags beneath them, he resembled a cocker spaniel.

  “Ladies and gentleman, a toast to our gourmet, Simon Holt.”

  After the toasts, Holt retreated to his galley.

  After dinner, the men were invited into the smoke room for brandies and cigars. A Colonel Miles took centre stage and bored them with his military yarns. He was a typical officer and sported a handlebar moustache.

  Ben and his companions broke away from the colonel. Ben inhaled on his large cigar. “Have any of you noticed anything different about Davenport?”

  “What do you mean, different?” asked Ross.

  “Look at him. He looks at least twenty years younger.”

  “Now that you mention it, he does look different,” added Joe.

  “Maybe he’s applied make-up,” chipped in Danny, who sipped his large brandy.

  Ben pondered. “That colonel is a bloody good actor, isn’t he? His description of the Somme seemed so real.”

  “Yes, Ben, but we don’t know if what he told us actually happened. He’s probably making it up.”

  “Do you think so, Ross? The old man, Bradshaw and his wife; they deserve Oscars for their performance.”

  Joe intercepted. “Let Davenport have his fun. He’s bloody dying. Let’s indulge in his fantasy; after all, it’s at his expense.”

  Davenport joined them. “If you want to take your wives into the ballroom, feel free to. You are all invited to join our card school at ten 'clock. It’s a select school and you should feel privileged to be invited. If you prefer, there will be other card schools taking place in the casino. My advice to you is to join us. You can change your cash for chips at the table. Remember, we’ll be playing with old currency. Now go and enjoy yourselves. Your wives will be wondering where you are.”