The Voyage of the Golden Handshake

by Terry Waite

  ‘Today I intend to inform you of what is really happening on this ship. The truth, ladies and gentlemen. The truth is what I shall speak. The truth.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain of this ship is nothing short of reckless.’

  There was an audible gasp from the floor.

  ‘He is not only reckless, but he is deceiving you.’

  Again he paused for effect. From the platform he saw an unidentified officer quickly leave the place where he had been standing and disappear through the main entrance.

  ‘This Captain, ladies and gentlemen, has brought you deliberately through the most dangerous waters in the world. You should know that. You should know more. This ship is bristling with armed guards. These camouflaged figures are everywhere on the ship. When I walk at night I see them lurking in every corner. Fellow passengers, in the name of Wikiwatts, and in the name of liberty and freedom, I expose the Captain of this ship as deliberately withholding the truth from you. Of exposing you to extreme danger. Of …’

  He got no further. The officer he had seen leaving had gone straight to inform the Captain. Sparda immediately left what he was doing and rushed to the theatre, entering by a side door. With one leap he landed on the stage and with a smart left hook laid Toby Troy flat on the deck.

  Two fights in succession were more than the passengers had bargained for. They had witnessed what seemed to be an all-in wrestling bout involving the Cruise Director and a couple of lecturers. Now the Captain had entered the pugilistic entertainment. They did not know what to make of things. Enzo, on hearing some commotion in the theatre, rushed back, only to trip over the wire once more and again plunge the place into darkness. This time, it proved to be a fortunate accident, as it enabled a couple of crew members to drag Troy off the stage unobserved and for the Captain to retire quickly. As soon as he was outside, he summoned Harry Chub.

  ‘That fool Troy,’ he snapped. ‘Scassacazzo! (A pain in the backside.). He is off this ship right away. I don’t care if you throw him overboard. Get hold of him and lock him up. Get the Zap people to guard him, and when they get off in India, he goes with them.’

  Admiral Benbow Harrington, ex-Royal Navy, was none too pleased when he heard of the Captain’s impulsive action. He, like Sparda, was appalled that Troy should deliberately seek to cause alarm amongst the passengers, especially when it was common practice for all ships these days to be properly protected. For the Captain to display his Italian temperament in the way that he did, well, it caused him some heartache. It was clear that he must now address the whole ship’s company of crew and passengers, and restore the calm that they had all enjoyed so much in the sunny port of Eilat. As that evening there was to be held the ‘Golden Dinner’, he would make a special announcement then. Meanwhile, a note would be sent to every passenger informing them of this and inviting them to the dinner, which would be a gala occasion.

  30

  Albert and Alice had failed to witness the first bout of fighting between the Cruise Director and Mr Toby Troy. They had got confused with the timing of events and as they understood eleven in the morning was for language instruction, they avoided it. They had, however, received what was claimed to be a first-hand account of the excitement from another passenger. They were told that the Cruise Director was in the middle of singing something written by a chap named Tosca when a rival musician, jealous that Enzo had the stage, rushed up and tried to knife him.

  ‘Sounds like another crazed Italian to me,’ said Albert when he heard the story. ‘How the loony managed to get on board beats me. Poor old Enzo.’

  Alice had heard a completely different version. She was informed by someone, who claimed to be present, that little Mr Troy was at the stand, concluding an excellent lecture, when Enzo went to congratulate him. The ship lurched and Enzo fell on the poor little chap, causing him extensive injury. She didn’t contradict Albert’s version but she did remark that there were a lot of different stories going around and it was difficult to know what the truth was.

  Curiosity, however, did take them to Mr Troy’s revelatory lecture and they witnessed for themselves the Captain’s knockout blow. This impressed Albert greatly.

  ‘By gum,’ he said afterwards, ‘that’s a great spirit that chap’s got.’

  ‘Well, he is the Captain,’ replied Alice, ‘and he has to keep order on his own ship.’

  ‘He does that an’ all,’ nodded Albert. ‘High-jackers had better steer clear of Sparda. He’s a cracker.’

  During the day they received a note from the Admiral along with a reminder of the Golden Dinner that evening.

  ‘You’re fortunate, Albert Hardcastle,’ said Alice. ‘You can wear your father’s gold watch. What shall I wear?’

  Albert had not a clue and said as such.

  ‘You’re no help at all,’ she complained. ‘No help at all. I do have my nice yellow floral dress. You know the one, Albert. The one with sunflowers on it.’

  Albert had a vague memory of some rather large blooms on some dress or another but, as it mattered nothing to him what Alice wore, he could be of no further help and he said so.

  ‘But you’ve been no help at all,’ she scolded, ‘never mind further help. I don’t know why I bother to ask you anything, Albert Hardcastle.’

  Eventually the sunflower creation was chosen and Alice remained calm for a while. Then: ‘I wish I knew what other people were wearing tonight,’ she fretted later in the afternoon. ‘That would make it so much easier.’

  ‘Well,’ said Albert logically, ‘if you want me to go and knock on Balcony Suite doors and ask, I could do so. You only have to say, Alice.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Albert. I don’t know why it is that you can never give serious thought to serious matters.’

  The Golden Evening drew nigh. Albert complained about having to wear a suit and Alice struggled into the sunflower creation. That evening, as they were Balcony Suite passengers, they had been assigned a place at the doctor’s table. It was customary on the Golden Handshake for senior members of the ship’s company to host tables from time to time. Most of the officers found this a dreadful chore, but they had to show willing and answer the most banal questions for hour after hour.

  The Hardcastles were the first to arrive at their assigned table, and when the Maitre D’ had seated them he suggested that they might like a drink whilst they waited for the others to arrive. Alice said she would like a small sweet sherry and Albert asked for his customary Brown Ale. They looked around them in awe. Gold was everywhere. Balloons had been sprayed with gold paint. Streamers were coloured gold. On each table there was a gold-coloured charger. Unfortunately there was not enough in the budget to provide gold-coloured cutlery, but anything that could be touched up with gold was so treated.

  Alice was sipping her sherry when she noticed the Maitre D’ steering a couple in their direction.

  ‘Heavens above Albert - just look! It’s Mr and Mrs Potts, who were in the Suite next to us. I can’t believe it! She’s wearing exactly the same dress as myself.’

  Albert looked up. ‘Aye, very nice too,’ he said. ‘And Old Man Potts is wearing a suit just like me. We’ll make a nice table.’

  Alice glared at him and then turned her head and beamed brightly at the Potts.

  ‘How very nice to see you again,’ she lied. ‘We have quite missed you since you moved out of the Balcony Suite.’

  Christine Potts smiled weakly as she gazed in despair at Alice’s dress. ‘Yes, we have missed you both so much. So much, haven’t we dear?’

  Her husband nodded and greeted Albert. ‘Have you finished the renovations in your cabin?’ he enquired. ‘I could manage the noise, but when you broke through and tried to extend to our cabin, that was it for me.’

  ‘Suite, dear,’ said Mrs Potts, who although she had been pretending not to hear, had been listening carefully. ‘Balcony Suite, dear, not cabin.’

  She returned her attention to Alice. ‘When we moved from the Balcony Suite which was so
suitable for us, we moved to a lovely Suite with all the facilities we could want. Isn’t that right, Thomas?’ He nodded.

  ‘You have no balcony, I take it,’ said Alice, anxious to retain her position of superiority.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Mrs Potts replied, ‘but because of the inconvenience we suffered, the Captain invited us to use the private balcony by the bridge. That is very private, you know, and most suitable for relaxing.’

  Alice knew when she was beaten and changed the subject.

  ‘I’m afraid that due to the work in our Balcony Suite, all my dresses had to be sent for cleaning. I had to find something, but all I could find was this old dress I am wearing tonight. It was such a pity that the dry cleaning is not quicker on this ship.’

  Christine Potts was spared from having to think up a riposte for, at that very moment, the doctor arrived.

  ‘Hello, hello, hello, shipmates!’ he cried. ‘Just back from the Chelsea Flower Show, are we?’ He laughed heartily at his own joke and sat down. ‘All hale and hearty, I take it,’ he continued as he gazed at the dour features of Thomas Potts. ‘Cheer up, old chap. Death can’t be far away.’

  Mrs Potts gazed at him in horror but quickly regained her composure and managed a sickly smile.

  ‘Now,’ he said, as he picked up the menu especially embossed in gold. ‘What harm is old Tucker going to do us tonight?’

  He perused the menu. ‘I say, it’s a good night for those who like pig food. I see we are starting with sweetcorn.’ He paused. ‘Porker again,’ he continued as he noticed Golden Glazed Ham. ‘Yum, yum, pig’s bum, as we used to say at school. I guess the Security Officer is taking no chances and making doubly sure no Islamic johnnies slip in for a quick kebab, eh?’

  Alice thought it prudent to try and change the subject but, for the life of her, could not think what to say. She was rescued by Mrs Potts, who attempted to make polite conversation.

  ‘Doctor,’ she began, ‘have you been at sea long?’

  Doctor Hackett took a gulp of the champagne he had arrived with and held up the flute for a refill.

  ‘I’ve been at sea most of my life, Mrs Potts. Totally at sea.’

  He returned his attention to the menu.

  ‘I say, Golden Syrup!’ he exclaimed. ‘Out of the strong came forth sweetness and all that. And Golden Shred marmalade pudding. You can tell old Mike Tucker never went to boarding school. If he had, he would never serve this stuff. Come on, drink up. It’ll soon be time for the corn.’

  He placed his glass on the table and began to sing, ‘Fair waved the golden corn. In Canaan’s pleasant land … Lovely hymn that. Brings tears to my eyes.’

  Both Albert Hardcastle and Thomas Potts remained silent. The speed at which the doctor conducted the conversation was too much for them. Fortunately there was no need for further exchange for, at that moment, a side door opened revealing Mike Tucker and his team all wearing tall golden chefs’ headgear and bearing golden salvers. They marched into the room as Giovanni struck up the theme from Goldfinger on his accordion. A team member made his or her way to a table and planted a salver on it. When Mike shouted across the room, ‘Open sesame!’ the cover was smartly removed, revealing a stack of corn on the cob.

  ‘Come on,’ said the doctor, ‘tuck in. No FHB (Family Hold Back) at this table.’

  The two flowered ladies politely declined the first course, both saying that they were saving themselves for later.

  ‘Quite right,’ said the doctor as he jabbed a corn with a skewer. ‘I bet your husbands can’t wait.’

  The ladies ignored this saucy remark and Albert made a face. He had never eaten sweetcorn before and wasn’t quite sure how to tackle it. He tried cutting it with his knife and fork but the corn kept slithering around his plate and was too tough to cut through. Thomas on the other hand picked it up with his fingers but, as it was so hot, he promptly dropped it and it went sliding under the table. Thomas thought this was how the doctor was eating his but he had failed to notice the two skewers inserted into each end of the other man’s portion. He decided enough was enough and it was left to the doctor to take what he wished.

  ‘Pretty good considering,’ he said as he wiped butter from around his mouth with his napkin. ‘I can now understand why porkers look so contented. Stay around long enough, old boy,’ he turned and addressed Thomas, ‘and the secrets of the universe will be revealed. Mark my words. I knew a fellow once who ate nothing but carrots. Day in, day out, carrots. He turned bright orange. He didn’t feel too good, but at least he looked bright.’

  He laughed loudly at this and his guests had no idea if he was being serious or not. The waiter offered Albert another Brown Ale, which he gratefully accepted. Thomas took the red wine that was on offer and the ladies decided that a light white wine would be just the thing. The doctor continued on champagne and requested that the waiter leave the bottle on the table in case of emergency.

  The doctor glanced at the second course on the menu and noted the vegetarian option of Curried Golden Beets.

  ‘I say,’ he chuckled, ‘Farmer Giles has made a fortune selling his animal food to this ship. We’ve got more root veg here. Beetroot or some such stuff.’

  No one at the table replied as they could not think of what to say. They continued to bury their heads in the menu. Albert surfaced first, saying, ‘Fish and some sort of golden chips for me.’ Thomas went along with that and the ladies decided on the chicken.

  ‘It’s the good old porker for me,’ the doctor said with relish. ‘And I might as well clear the farmyard by having a bit of chicken on the side. Can’t have too many animals eating all those delicious golden beets.’

  By now they were halfway through the meal and the doctor’s guests had contributed virtually nothing to the conversation. All four found it very difficult indeed to know how to respond to the man’s comments, or what subject to introduce for discussion. The indefatigable Christine Potts made a further attempt.

  ‘You must be kept very busy on board, Doctor Hackett,’ she said. ‘Particularly as there are so many elderly passengers.’

  The doctor finished chewing the crispy end of a chicken bone and looked at her.

  ‘Not so busy as a ship I was once on,’ he said as he stabbed at a roast golden potato. ‘The folks on that old tub were well past it and they were dying like flies. Of course, we tried to keep deaths from the passengers but they always knew because they got extra ice cream at dinner!’

  Mrs Potts and the other diners looked blankly at the medic.

  ‘The fridge - you know, we had to make more room in the fridge.’

  Mrs Potts made a dreadful face and uttered a low, ‘Oh.’ Albert grinned. Alice remained silent and Thomas Potts retained the same impassive expression he had worn throughout the evening.

  ‘I think I have had enough to eat now’’ Mrs Potts said. ‘One has to be so careful not to overeat, Doctor, don’t you agree?’

  ‘No problem on this ship, my dear,’ he responded. ‘I’m going for the syrup pudding. I always liked those green tins with the picture of the lion on the front. Brought up on the stuff. My nanny used to sing about Daniel, you know, as she tucked me up at night.’

  For the second time that evening he broke into song, this time about Daniel and the Den of Lions.

  ‘We all need a bit of divine protection, eh, Mr Potts? Helps with the liver and the digestion.’

  Mr Potts actually managed to change his expression for a brief moment and then returned his attention to his fish and chips.

  Meanwhile, at another table, Angela Fairweather the Social Hostess, and the chaplain, were acting as hosts. Their guests, carefully selected by the Hotel Manager, were a couple who had a Grade One Suite (one up from a cabin and one down from a Balcony Suite), namely Edna and Felix de Barkley. Mr de Barkley had gained minor notoriety on board because of his very witty interjection at the lectures. His wife of forty years was always embarrassed by his behaviour, but now simply accepted it as she realised that there
was no changing him. They were complemented at the table by the eighty-year-old twins Petra and Philippa Parkinson. These venerable ladies hailed from the Hawkes Bay area of New Zealand, where they had lived for the past seventy years. They had celebrated their birthday on board, in the company of the Staff Captain and Enzo whom they regarded with great affection and treated as the son neither of them had ever had.

  The chaplain was greatly interested in the stories of New Zealand as related by the twins. They had lived for most of their lives on the banks of a river quaintly named the Tukituki and their father had owned acres of land which was given over to beef cattle and sheep.

  ‘I went to New Zealand once,’ said Mr de Barkley. ‘I was nearly blown off my feet in Wellington. My word, the wind does blow in that city.’

  ‘We don’t go there much,’ replied Philippa. ‘We can get everything we need in Waipukurau.’

  ‘Where?’ queried Felix. ‘That’s a mouthful for a lad born in Cheshire.’

  ‘Waipuk is a lovely little town,’ chipped in Petra. ‘If you ever go there, my brother’s granddaughter will give you a very good haircut, Mr de Barkley.’

  ‘A bit too far to go for a haircut alone,’ he replied. ‘She might have to throw in a shave as well to make it worthwhile.’ All the table laughed and were contented that the evening was going so well.

  As coffee was being served, Enzo stood and rattled a teaspoon against his wine glass. The room fell silent.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, or should I at this stage in the voyage say “Friends”?’

  Mrs de Barkley looked across at her husband and gave him a warning look. He remained silent.

  ‘It is not often that any of us get an opportunity to take a maiden cruise. If we are fortunate enough to do so, then it is something we will remember for many a year.’

  Mr de Barkley could restrain himself no longer and whispered to one of the twins, ‘He’ll remember it for sure with a shiner like that!’