******
The ballroom was pleasing to the eye. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and large paintings graced the walls. Long tables were set out, which contained an abundance of punch bowls. Numerous couples occupied the dance-floor. The group seemed perplexed. It was as if they had stepped back in time. The men in their tuxedos, and the women who looked splendid in their Flapper dresses, cloches and feathered hats were certainly dressed for such a grand occasion. A band occupied the stage and played lively jazz music. On the dance floor, energetic passengers danced the Charleston.
Natasha relished the atmosphere. “Isn’t this marvellous, Ben? Come on, let’s have a dance.”
“You can’t be serious, Nat; I can’t do that bloody dance.”
“Oh, come on, you spoilsports,” moaned Sarah as she grabbed hold of Joe. “You’re on holiday. Enjoy yourselves.”
The quartet made their way to the dance floor and the girls proceeded to dance. Ben and Joe eyed each other and shrugged. They tried to mimic the other dancers, and the intake of alcohol aided their uncomfortable dilemma. Their giggling wives led Ross, Danny and Norman to the dance floor.
Ben noticed Penelope Craven, the alleged man-eater, drinking punch with Frank Pollock the gambler. She looked towards Ben and smiled provocatively, or was it a laugh? Ben blushed. He felt such an idiot as he thrust his arms and legs out like a chicken. The music ceased and Ben left the dance floor with Natasha in tow.
“I need a drink, Nat.”
“You were marvellous, Ben. I knew you could do it.”
Ben poured two glasses of punch from the ladle. He sipped the concoction. “Wow, what’s in this?”
Natasha sampled her punch. “Now, this is what I call a drink.”
Penelope Craven approached the couple. “Hello, I could not help noticing you and your friends on the dance floor. I’ve never seen you before on one of Davenport’s cruises. Is this your first?”
“Yes it is,” answered Natasha.
“You see, you usually see the same crowd on every cruise. It’s awfully nice to meet someone different… Where are you from?”
“Plymouth,” spluttered Ben.
“Funny, you do not sound as if you’re from Plymouth,” she said in an upper class husky voice.
“We’re originally from the North, but we moved to Plymouth recently,” lied Ben, who continued to carry out the charade.
Penelope fluttered her long eyelashes. “Isn’t this punch just spiffing? Just the right amount of rum.”
“Yes, it is rather splendid,” mimicked Natasha, who scowled at her husband.
Frank Pollock joined them and regarded the strangers disdainfully. “Come on, Penelope. Let us dance.”
“Oh, Frank, you are an awful bore sometimes. Oh, come on then. It’s been nice meeting you. I hope we can carry on our conversation later.”
“Not if I can help it,” whispered Natasha, who watched Penelope and her lover made their way to the dance floor.
“She was okay, Nat. Very polite,” suggested Ben.
“And you were drooling all over her. She’s nothing but a hussy. Remember what Mrs Bradshaw said.”
“You’re jealous. I don’t believe it, you’re bloody jealous.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. There’s plenty of single hunks on board, you know. Come on; let’s have another dance.”
Chapter Six
“The game gentlemen is five-card stud poker. The minimum bet will be one pound and the maximum limit twenty pounds. No credit will be allowed, so please do not ask, or risk being offended. The game will end at two 'o'clock prompt. There will be no compromises.”
Davenport received several packs of cards from the cashier. Ben and Ross Harper had decided to partake in the card school. Ben eyed up the opposition, as Davenport introduced everybody. Davenport was sat at the round, green table, next to the colonel. To the left of the colonel there was Jeremy Grainger, a strange looking character with a red beard. Sat beside him was Frank Pollock. He was to be watched. Daniel Wells, a man who wore thick spectacles sat next to Ross.
Natasha and Cheryl Harper kept each other company in the Old English bar. That their husbands were playing cards did not please them. They resented their spouses gambling away money that they could not afford to lose.
The cashier changed the money to chips. Ben and Harper changed fifty pounds out of the money Davenport had allotted them. Ben tried to calculate what fifty pounds was worth today and realised it must be a small fortune. Davenport had promised to convert any winnings into the equivalent of today's currency at the end of the cruise. Ben felt bold; after all, he started with nothing. Ben had always been a bit of a gambler. He liked a flutter on the horses and had visited the odd casino; without Natasha’s knowledge of course. Tonight it seemed different. The adrenalin was pumping. This was a big game and he had the money to stake.
Two waiters stood in the background, ready to refill the empty glasses. Davenport dealt the cards. Battle had commenced.
After an hour, Davenport was ahead and so was Redbeard, Jeremy Grainger. The man had eyes like a rat and was a miserable looking creature who never smiled, even in victory.
Ben was down about twenty-five pounds when Pollock dealt the cards. He had a pair of Jacks showing with a seven. He checked his blind cards. He had another Jack. The chips were being added rapidly, and then Grainger raised to five pounds. He had three spades showing. Pollock folded, followed by Wells and Ross. Ben threw in his chip and Davenport followed. The colonel stashed and Grainger again went five pounds. Ben looked at his cards again and tossed in another five-pound chip. Davenport, who had a pair of fives showing, called. Grainger added to the ante without hesitation. Ben’s mouth was now dry, and he started to perspire. He looked to Grainger, who apparently showed no reaction.
Ben called to the cashier and changed another fifty pounds. He added his chips to the pot. “I’ll raise you ten pounds.”
Davenport scowled. “I’m out.”
Redbeard smirked at Ben and threw his ten-pound chip into the pot.
Was he bluffing? He must have a flush. Ben again checked his cards. “I’ll see you.”
Grainger turned over his cards and Ben’s heart beat rapidly. “Five spades. A flush.”
“You win some and you lose some,” said Ben, who bit his lip. “If you don’t mind, I need some fresh air.”
“I think we could all do with a break,” said Davenport. “We’ll resume in thirty minutes.”
Ben made his way on deck and the gentle breeze ruffled his hair. It was a clear sky and the stars twinkled like the jewellery on show earlier in the ballroom. He leaned against the railing and looked out to sea.
Davenport joined him. “Do not worry, Mr Duncan. You’re not the first and you’ll certainly not be the last to fall victim to Grainger. He is one of the professional gamblers I warned you of; the other being Frank Pollock.”
“Why would professional gamblers play in such a tin-pot game?”
“A tin-pot game, Mr Duncan? You obviously are not aware of the value of the pound in 1925. Yes, Pollock and Grainger play the big circuits, but these cruises provide them with easy pickings. Grainger is not as good as he thinks he is. He has a tell.”
“He does? Really? And what is that?”
“Watch his eyebrows. When he is bluffing, he raises them continually. That is when you should strike.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mr Davenport, and may I say how well you’re looking.”
“Well, thank you. I believe this cruise is doing me the world of good. If you only realised just how much this means to me.” He lit a cigar, the glowing ember radiant in the darkness. “I think I’ll return indoors now. I need a drink.”
Ben watched the strange, grey haired man as he left.
“Hello, there is something about the sea at night, don’t you think?”
Penelope Craven stood beside Ben. He had not heard her approach. They looked towards the lights on the horizon.
Pen
elope continued. “The sea is so mysterious. My father used to tell me stories about it when I was a child. Strange stories that have been with me ever since.”
“Won’t Pollock be wondering where you are?” asked Ben.
“Oh, Frank. He’s such a bore, darling. He has only one true love and that is his cards... Your wife, she’s very pretty. Do you love her?”
Ben was surprised by the intimacy of the question. “Of course I do. We’ve had our troubles, but we pulled through.”
“Troubles? What kind of troubles? Oh, I do hope I’m not being intrusive. I’m a curious creature by nature.”
“Financial troubles mainly. Ever since I left the army.”
Penelope raised her voice. “You were in the army? Did you see any action?”
“Yes, I saw the awful atrocities in Bosnia. I was there.”
Penelope seemed bemused by the answer. “Bosnia? I do not think I know of a conflict in Bosnia.”
Ben realised his mistake and changed the subject. “You know, Miss Craven, I hate the sea. I don’t exactly hate it, but it frightens me.”
“I’ll be sure not to fall overboard then…Penelope, please call me Penelope; besides, it is Mrs Craven. I’m a widower.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You know? Who told you?”
“I don’t remember now. It was at dinner.”
“Old lady Bradshaw, I bet. She detests me. That lady is poison.”
“I think she just doesn’t like change.”
“Perhaps you’re right… You say you hate the sea. I also have a fear of the sea. I think it stems from those frightening stories my father used to tell me. Also, the Titanic enhanced my fears. Wasn't that awful? So many people?”
Ben watched her attentively. She was playing out her role even now.
Penelope softened. “Do you know, you haven’t even told me your name?”
“Ben.”
“Well, Ben, I think I’ll be seeing a lot more of you on this cruise. What do you think?”
“I certainly hope so, Penelope.”
She moved closer, and her expensive perfume was noticeable. Her alluring, blue eyes were unblinking. “I love rugged down to earth men, not like some of those wimps who usually cruise with Davenport.”
She inched even closer to him and his heartbeat accelerated. The guilt swept through him as his loins stirred. Their faces were inches apart and Ben could almost taste her welcome breath.
They heard the approach of footsteps.
“There you are. Come on, Ben; we’re waiting to start.”
“I’ll be right with you, Ross.”
“You do not have to play cards of course,” whispered the beauty.
“I do. Believe me, I do.” He left her on the cool deck, looking out to sea.
******
Ben entered his cabin and tried not to disturb his sleeping wife. Ben had not had a successful night at the card table. He had lost over eighty pounds in total. He had won the occasional pot, but nothing of significance. Grainger had been the principal victor on the night and had won over three hundred pounds. There was always tomorrow, thought Ben. He would have to lie to Natasha. It would be only a white lie. He would lessen to her the sum of money he had lost; besides, they had more than enough money for this voyage and probably more.
He staggered when he removed his trousers. He was more than a little tipsy after the merriment of the night. So much free alcohol offered to him, how could he resist? He threw his clothes to the ground, clambered into bed and welcomed the warmth and cosiness. He could not eliminate Penelope from his thoughts. How far would he have gone with her had Ross not disturbed them? Would the undoubted pleasure have overridden the guilt? Ben closed his eyes and slumbered.
He lay for what appeared hours, before a hand on his genitals stirred him. It was not like Nat to wake up once her head hit the pillow. She proceeded to rub him and his erection grew. She was now astride him and gently guided herself onto him. Ben pulled her head towards him and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her tongue searched for his as she slowly moved her hips in rhythm.
Ben opened his eyes to see her silhouetted against the porthole. His eyes cleared and his head turned to the right. Natasha was laid on her side, fast asleep. Ben flung his body upright. He looked into the eyes of Penelope. Her rhythm increased as he looked again towards Natasha. Penelope pushed him back and he closed his eyes, attempting to prolong the pleasure. He thrust his hips upwards, and a voice whispered. “What are you doing, Ben? I’m trying to sleep.”
Ben opened his eyes. Penelope had vanished. “I must have been dreaming, Nat.”
“It must have been a bloody nightmare; you’re soaked in sweat.”
She cuddled him and started to feel for him.
“Not tonight, Nat. I think it must be something I ate.”
“Something you bloody drank, you mean.”
“Not tonight, Nat. I’m really shattered.”
He lay there transfixed and drained. It had seemed so real.
Natasha sniffed the air. “What’s that smell? Expensive perfume if I’m not mistaken.”
“I cannot smell anything,” he lied. He turned over and slept peacefully.
Chapter Seven
As he tucked into his breakfast, Ben’s eyes were constantly attracted to the dark haired man-eater who was sat next to Frank Pollock. She flashed him the odd smile, but nothing to suggest that they had been intimate. The dream was as close to reality as he could have imagined. The sensation of having sex seemed so real. Ben conceded that the alcohol might have induced his pleasurable dream.
“Any luck at the card table last night, old chap,” asked Bradshaw, whose mouth chewed furiously at his bacon.
“No, I lost a few pounds,” sighed Ben, who searched for a reaction from Natasha.
“Did I not tell you to watch out for those sharks?”
“Do you read, Natasha?” asked Mrs Bradshaw.
“I like a Jackie Collins novel now and again.”
“Jackie Collins? I do not think I’ve had the pleasure. You must try Scott Fitzgerald’s, The Great Gatsby. It’s only just been published of course, but I’ll loan you a copy if you like.”
“No thank you, Mrs Bradshaw. I’ll stick to Jackie Collins.”
Mrs Bradshaw sipped her tea and immediately clutched her stomach. She grimaced and was obviously in great distress.
“Is everything all right, dear?” asked her worried husband.
“My stomach. It’s burning.”
“Is there a doctor aboard?” enquired Ben.
Dr Waverley, a small wiry man in his fifties opened his bag and examined Mrs Bradshaw. She was shepherded to the sick bay, feeling nauseous and in great agony.
“Poor woman, I do hope she’s okay,” said Natasha.
Davenport overheard her. “She’s probably just had a bad turn. She’ll be back on her feet in no time.”
Sarah Cummings, obviously insensible to Mrs Bradshaw’s discomfort, spoke up. “What time will we arrive in Iraklion, Mr Davenport?”
“About noon. The captain informs me we have made good time.”
“Will you be going ashore, Mr Davenport?” queried Wendy Quinn, who nibbled on a sausage.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve seen Iraklion so many times. Splendid port that it is, I think I’ll remain on board.”
Ben’s eyes still focused on Penelope. She apparently ignored him. The woman probably just played him along last night. Perhaps she was merely teasing the commoner. She was most certainly out of his league. Frank Pollock looked towards him and smirked. He was obviously in on the joke.
“I do hope you’ll join us again tonight, Mr Duncan. I’ll gladly relieve you of some more of your money,” scoffed Grainger.
“Don’t worry, Grainger, I’ll be there.”
“You took a bit of a caning last night didn’t you, Mr Duncan?” suggested the bespectacled Daniel Wells, who spoke with a strong London accent. Wells was sat besides an attractive, young, blonde woman,
who was evidently his wife.
Natasha overheard the remark and punched her husband playfully on the arm. “You told me you only lost a few pounds, Ben. Exactly how much did you lose?”
“Oh dear. I do hope I haven’t dropped you in it, old boy?” grinned Wells.
Ben glared at the irritating Londoner. “Come on, Nat, I need some fresh air. There’s a funny smell in here.”
It was a fine sunny morning and Ben welcomed the sea breeze that freshened his face. Many couples frequented the deck to exercise their legs.
“Well, how much did you lose?” quizzed Natasha.
“Seventy or eighty pounds.”
“You lost seventy or eighty pounds? The way that red headed man was talking, I thought you’d lost a fortune.”
“I have lost a fortune. Do you realise how much eighty pounds was worth in the twenties?”
“How could you be so stupid? I mean, we can hardly…”
“Nat! This is just a game. Can’t you see that? The money meant nothing to me because it didn’t belong to me… It’s just a bloody game.”
Natasha linked her husband and they strolled towards the bow of the ship. “These people; it’s as though we’ve stepped back in time. It’s so real.”
“Tell me about it. I know exactly what you mean. Maybe Davenport does this on a regular basis to get his kicks. They may be used to it.”
Natasha continued. “I mean, poor Mrs Bradshaw. She spoke of Scott Fitzgerald’s, The Great Gatsby, as though she truly believed it had just been published; and I’m convinced she hadn’t heard of Jackie Collins.”
“Jackie who?”
Natasha playfully punched his shoulder before she kissed him. They now ambled along the upper deck and breathed in the invigorating sea air.
“Your dream last night, Ben. What was it?”
“My dream? Oh, I don’t remember.”
Natasha grinned. “You were covered in sweat, and you were thrusting your hips when I woke you. Was it an erotic dream?”
“If it was, I’m sure it’ll have involved you.”
The Cruise Page 4