The Voyage of the Golden Handshake

by Terry Waite

  ‘Bloody rudder again. Sorry to be late.’

  The Admiral gave him a stern look and rested his hands on the lectern ready to begin. The eagle wobbled as the ship gave a slight lurch but managed to steady.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, fellow officers, members of the ship’s company. Today is a proud day for Golden Oceans. We are well into our maiden cruise and are sailing through tropical waters. Many is the time I have sailed the seas in command of a British warship. I have sailed through storm and tempest and felt the full might of the wind. I have sailed through the heat of the day when the sun has burned with relentless fervour and we on board gasped for cooling waters. Now, on a day when the same sun burns with the same mighty power, we long for cool breezes and refreshing water. On a ship of Her Majesty’s Navy, conditions were sparse. Here, on this modern cruise-liner, we can enjoy the very height of luxury. Today, for the benefit of all our passengers, I am pleased to be able to open our new innovative refreshing pool. May I invite our selected guests to occupy their seats behind the pool.’

  The little party, led by the twins, climbed onto the platform, walked behind the trough and sat in their allotted seats.

  ‘Now, the Cruise Director, the Hotel Manager, the Chief Engineer and myself will invite the platform party to place their feet into the cooling waters.’

  At that very moment, as though right on cue, the ship gave one almighty lurch and veered to port. Before one toe could be dipped into the trough, the Admiral, together with his whole party, were tipped headlong into the ‘cooling waters’. Angus emerged first and with loud curses rushed from the platform in the direction of the engine room. The Admiral retrieved his gold-braided cap and placed the soaked object firmly on his head. Most of the Balcony Suite guests and Grade One-ers, rather than having been thrown forward into the pool, had been thrown backwards so that they landed in a heap on the deck. The chaplain, the only member of the platform party to remain on his feet, dragged a spluttering Enzo from the trough and slapped him soundly on the back. Duvet emerged, looking very sorry for himself, and it was a few moments before Sir Archie clambered out of the trough, to the applause of the onlookers.

  Poor Albert and Alice were very upset as Alice claimed that her best summer outfit was now totally ruined and Albert, who could not swim but had been immersed, vowed never to go near water again. That would prove to be a difficult vow to keep, seeing he was on a world cruise, but at the time he said it he meant it.

  Angus must have been able to effect some major therapy in the engine room for the ship quickly resumed course and once again all was placid. The Admiral soon regained his composure and returned to the eagle, which had fallen but was now back in position.

  ‘This part of the world is subject to earthquakes which often cause a minor tsunami,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘There is no need to panic, for you have seen how quickly our engineers got things back under control.’

  There was applause from the crowd and cries of, ‘Good old Angus!’

  ‘It’s a mercy not one single person was hurt,’ said the chaplain later in the afternoon.

  Albert and Alice were not so happy with the events of the day. Back in their Balcony Suite, Albert removed his cap and shirt and sat on the edge of the bath. He turned to his wife.

  ‘You know, luv,’ he said, ‘it’s a rum little ship. It really is. A rum little ship.’

  39

  The day following the unusual launch of the pool was another sea day - and another sweltering sea day at that. Despite the unfortunate events of the previous morning, passengers had not been deterred from cooling their feet in the waters, and throughout the day all seats were taken. Once the Balcony Suite passengers and the Grade One cabins had had their turn, it was a free-for-all for the remainder of the ship, and there was much pushing and shoving to secure a place in one of the coveted positions. There were a few instances of illegal reservations being made by some cruisers, who flatly disobeyed the written notice and left a towel on a seat. A crew member was ordered to supervise the area and to keep some semblance of order.

  It goes without saying that the Admiral’s dignity had been somewhat dented at the launch, but he was gratified to see that the pool was such a success and so appreciated by all. Captain Sparda was considerably relieved that, for once, he was well clear of trouble. He had been on the bridge at the time of the official opening, and both he, and the Staff Captain, decided that as the project was the Admiral’s baby they would be wise to keep their distance. Indeed they were.

  In order to try and compensate those unfortunate individuals who had been on the platform at the time of the accident, the Admiral decided that he would invite them all to dine with him that evening in the Golden Chopsticks Restaurant. The latter was an exclusive dining location on the ship always open to Balcony Suite and Grade One passengers and, space allowing, to other passengers on payment of a supplement.

  Although the name indicated an oriental cuisine, it did have a varied menu which was personally supervised by Mike Tucker himself. Although Mike took responsibility for all catering on the ship, ‘Choppers’, as he called it, was his special interest and he was delighted when the Admiral made it his choice for dinner.

  That evening, once again poor Albert was subject to the same old boring conversation that he faced each time Alice had to decide what to wear for an occasion. Even though Mrs Potts would not even be at the dinner, Alice could not wear her sunflower dress again as the dinner was too close to the last time she wore it.

  ‘Do you think my Rose Petal outfit will be right?’ she fretted, as she produced a two-piece creation from the wardrobe.

  ‘Very suitable,’ said Albert.

  ‘You didn’t even look,’ snapped Alice, annoyed at the casual attitude of her husband. ‘You don’t seem to realise how important it is for Balcony Suite passengers to set a standard for the ship. If we traipse around in any old clothes, the whole tone is lowered. Do you understand that, Albert Hardcastle?’

  Albert said he understood, but inwardly he felt that the whole business was just silly vanity. However, it was more than his life was worth to say so.

  ‘I saw Mrs Guttenburg today,’ he remarked, keen to change the subject. ‘It’s strange,’ he continued. ‘Although you might be on the same exclusive deck, you never meet some folk. She’s taken the end Suite for the whole of the voyage and has it all to herself.’

  ‘You want to watch out for these rich widows, Albert Hardcastle,’ replied Alice grimly. ‘They are on the look-out, mark my words. I’ve watched her eyeing nice Mr Barley. He has no choice but to dance with her, of course.’

  Albert hadn’t noticed a thing and said so.

  ‘Sometimes, I think you go around with your eyes tightly closed,’ sniffed his wife.

  Further along the corridor, the New Zealand twins were also preparing for the evening in the Golden Chopsticks restaurant.

  ‘I wonder if it’s as good as the Patangata Hotel,’ said Petra to her sister. She was referring to a roadside tavern by the Tukituki River not too far from where the sisters lived. The most popular item on the menu was fish and chips, but there were also burgers of various descriptions.

  ‘I do like an outing there,’ she said. ‘It makes such a change.’

  ‘It would be hard for anywhere to excel anything at home, dear,’ Philippa replied.

  ‘I don’t know why that lovely man Mr Tucker doesn’t come and live in Ypuk. He would do very well.’

  Petra nodded and agreed.

  The sisters turned their thoughts to their evening wear. Eventually they decided that they would dress identically, but this was not exactly an earth-shattering development as they never dressed differently.

  ‘I think I shall wear my black buttoned boots with a flowered skirt and that very nice jacket I bought in Hastings many years ago,’ said Philippa.

  ‘Well, dear’, replied her sister, ‘that is just what I was thinking of wearing tonight.’

  Agreement between them both was neve
r difficult to achieve. ‘What a terrible tsunami yesterday,’ said Philippa. ‘The brave Mr Angus saved us all. I do hope he will be at the dinner tonight.’

  ‘I’m sure he will be,’ said Petra. ‘We shall be able to congratulate him then.’

  In yet another Balcony Suite Sir Archie and his wife were in a bad mood. An expert negotiator could have found full-time employment with this one couple alone. They had not been speaking to each other since returning from the visit to the Elephant Training Camp. Lady Veronika was furious and blamed the whole troublesome visit on her husband, which really was not fair. The episode at the pool had further dampened his spirits in more ways than one. The only redeeming feature was that it did cause Lady Veronika to raise a glimmer of a smile when he was plunged into the trough, but that quickly disappeared when they returned to their Suite and her husband continued to drip water over everything.

  ‘First you get me wrong camp,’ said Lady Veronika yet again. ‘I make one time to Sri Lanka and nothing.’

  It had been rather a disaster, Sir Archie concurred, but it was not his fault - but then so frequently he had to bear the blame for the disasters which were an all too common occurrence in his life.

  ‘My vodka!’ she exclaimed. ‘My good vodka given to zoo-keeper. I spend day looking at elephant. More elephant. Elephant standing. Elephant sitting. I no see my friend Tiger. Just elephant.’

  Sir Archie attempted to turn the subject away from animals to the dinner that evening in the Chopsticks, but to no avail. Lady Veronika had to get the whole experience out of her system, and if that could be done without him being the target of flying objects, then so much the better.

  ‘I give my lovely coat. My vodka. All day I give to silly elephant man. I know you,’ she continued. ‘You arrange to camp because you like elephant.’

  Sir Archie, it will be remembered, met his wife when he was hunting the great Mongolian Elephant in Siberia. His protests fell on frozen ground and the tirade continued. Sir Archie resigned himself and hoped that by the time they entered the restaurant that evening, all would be sanguine.

  In yet another Balcony Suite, Mrs Dora Guttenburg prepared for an evening out at the exclusive Chopsticks restaurant. A guest-list had not been distributed but all she knew was that several senior staff would be present. Would Mr Fennington Barley be there? He was such an interesting and delightful man, with a farming background like herself. Also, he loved dancing. Dora had learned to dance as a very young woman and continued to dance at the ‘hops’ arranged by her late husband and held in their barn. It could hardly be described as classical dancing, as in rural Iowa, barnyard hops were the order of the day, and they were what she grew up with. Mr Barley was so understanding and never criticised her when, on the dance floor, she broke into a traditional square dance. That was because of Mr Giovanni, who played the accordion and reminded her of her Cousin Ned back home, who was an expert on the squeezebox. This memory had triggered the familiar routine in her mind. She rather liked Mr Barley - in fact, she could go further than that. She thought he was wonderful. She so hoped he would be at the dinner this evening.

  The Admiral was in his quarters looking at the dinner-list. Mr and Mrs Albert Hardcastle. He knew little about them except that they seemed to join in many of the ship’s activities, even though they had had an unfortunate incident with the balcony. He imagined that they had saved hard all their lives and were now taking a well-earned retirement cruise.

  Sir Archie and Lady Veronika. He was looking forward to getting to know Sir Archie much better. He wasn’t clear as to what occupation the chap had followed. He had heard someone say that he was interested in animals, but beyond that he was clueless. As for his wife, well she was a complete mystery. As far as he knew, she had yet to speak to anyone on the ship and he imagined that she would not be an easy table companion.

  The Parkinson sisters. A charming couple, he thought. Although they had lived in New Zealand for many years they were deeply infused with English culture and habits. He had heard about them working at GCHQ for a period but that was just a rumour and he had no definite knowledge of that fact. Perhaps they were still living in an England that had long since gone, but they were lovely people and he looked forward to their company that evening.

  Mrs Dora Guttenburg. He had seen her on the dance floor on more than one occasion and remembered her because she had a curious dancing style, as though she was stomping around in a pair of farming boots. She was one of the several single ladies on board and would balance out the table, as he himself was alone. Then he suddenly remembered that he really ought to invite the Social Hostess, Angela, as she knew her way around and could deal with the pre-dinner drinks and other such matters. He would have to find someone to partner her, and quick as a flash he thought of the doctor. Stuart Hackett had proved to be excellent in attending to the many minor upsets that passengers suffered and, although he was not very discreet, he was a good type to have at sea. So, Angela and the doctor were included to complete a table for ten. Ideal, he thought, and went to find his best mess kit.

  It was as he was looking for his cufflinks that he suddenly remembered the chaplain. The poor fellow had been in attendance at the pool event and once again had not got an opportunity to perform. It was too bad. Every time he was due to exercise his ministry to a large group, something intervened which held him back. He must invite the man, but as he had now already invited the doctor to balance Angela, the padre would be the odd one out. Sir Benbow took hold of the list and perused the Balcony guests. He came across someone travelling alone whom he had no recollection of ever having seen and certainly whom he had not heard of: Mrs Janice Golightly from Worthing in Sussex. He had no other information about her but he got Angela on the phone and asked her to make contact and issue an invite. He was pleased when she accepted. The Admiral was almost ready to leave for the exclusive on-board dining experience when an awful thought crossed his mind. He had forgotten to include the Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Angus MacDonald. As the Chief had arrived late at the opening of the pool and left early, the Admiral had totally forgotten that he was a part of the platform party and an important part at that. Quickly he got through to the engine room and asked to speak to Angus.

  ‘Commander, this is the Admiral speaking.’

  There was dreadful interference on the line and one would have thought that the Admiral had been connected to the Arctic wastes rather than a few decks below his quarters.

  ‘Hello, Angus, is that you?’

  More interference and then several sentences in a broad Scottish accent which would have been unintelligible to Gordon Brown, let alone Enzo the ship’s linguist.

  ‘I would like to invite you to come and have dinner with me and some guests in the Golden Chopsticks restaurant. When, you ask? Why, right now, as soon as possible.’

  Again there was growling on the line and between the interference the Admiral was able to make out that Angus had tried the Chinese Chophouse and had no intention of returning. If he wanted to eat with sticks he would have gone to live in the jungle. He was sorry but he was too busy working on steering problems.

  Much relieved that he had not committed a major social gaffe, the Admiral then made his way to the restaurant. He arrived to find that most of his guests were already there and were being served drinks and canapés by one of the deckhands dressed in a white mess-jacket for the occasion. He ordered a pink gin and then began the laborious task of ‘circulating’. He had little love of this type of activity, as he found it totally exhausting. When he was a sidesman, the Archbishop of Canterbury paid a visit to his parish and attended the usual bunfight. The Archbishop had confided to him that there was nothing more exhausting than enforced geniality and he could not have agreed with him more. However, this little gathering was nothing compared with what poor old Sparda had to endure when there was a Captain’s reception. Not only did Sparda have to greet everyone personally but he, and Angela, acting as Social Hostess, had to be photographe
d as well. However, the passengers loved it and it had to be done. In fact, as owner of the line, he insisted that it was done. Thank God Angus was not Captain as, if he were, there would be some very lively receptions indeed.

  ‘Admiral, how well you look in that splendid uniform.’

  It was Philippa Parkinson, nursing what was known as a Maori Headsplitter, a lethal concoction which looked for all the world like muddy water.

  ‘My dear sister and I worked for an Admiral in Cheltenham, you know. But he never dressed as well as you.’

  Petra, who was by her side, as usual, agreed.

  ‘He was a terror,’ she said. ‘He could swear in fifteen languages and often did so. It was truly awful.’

  The Admiral nodded in sympathy and moved on to chat with Albert and Alice. Albert held onto a glass of Brown Ale and Alice sipped at a sweet sherry.

  ‘So pleased you could come this evening,’ said the Admiral genially. ‘Have you dined here previously?’

  ‘Not if we could help it,’ said Albert bluntly. He had been taking a quick look at the menu and could not make head nor tail of it.

  Alice was quick to jump in. ‘He means we haven’t because we have had too many other engagements to dine,’ she said, putting on her most refined accent.

  ‘Well, you will enjoy it I’m sure. Mr Tucker goes out of his way to please.’

  The Admiral smiled politely and strolled away to speak with Sir Archie and his wife. The latter was scowling at a vodka bottle and no doubt thinking of her wasted supplies of the stuff.

  ‘Sir Archibald and Lady Veronika, how good to see you. We have met previously.’ The Admiral addressed Sir Archie directly. ‘I was once invited by Buffy Thompson to dine at the Travellers, and you were at the members’ table. I remember he introduced us.’

  ‘By George!’ exclaimed Sir Archie. ‘I thought I knew you.’

  ‘Poor old Buffy. Got eaten by a crocodile, you know. Terrible experience.’