I fast changed to formal uniform in my cabin, gulped some water and was back in the Princess Lounge for the second cocktail party. It was like knitting fog as I circulated, talking and laughing, exchanging superficial information.
Some passengers came to both cocktail parties. I spotted Nigel Garten. He was hard to miss with that big build and shock of reddish hair. He seemed harmless.
‘Nice to see you again,’ I said, letting him know that I’d spotted him.
‘Sorry,’ he said with a grin, knowing he’d been recognized. ‘It’s those cavier canapés. I can’t resist them. And the lovely ladies, of course. Can you arrange some introductions?’
‘Not my job.’
‘What a pity.’
‘Don’t miss the cathedral at Palma,’ I said. ‘It’s spectacular. And do look at all the living statues in the grounds around it.’
‘Living statues?’
‘Yes, living statues. They are real people, sprayed in gold or silver paint, keeping so still it’s difficult to see them breath. Mostly students, I suspect. Sometimes they move slightly, beckon to a child, who jumps a mile high. It’s electrifying.’
Dr Samuel Mallory was at my elbow. He was drinking orange juice. ‘So you took my advice?’ he said, nodding towards the long dark skirt.
‘Don’t you have an evening surgery?’ I asked.
‘My surgery nurse is taking it. She’ll call me if she needs assistance. I was more interested in sussing out our passengers. I’ve spotted two high blood pressures already, several alcoholics and a severe case of depression.’
‘And I have a passenger who had a panic attack because she saw her fiancé murdered,’ I said. ‘What do you prescribe for that?’
‘An early night and a bottle of vodka.’
It took me a moment to fillet my thoughts and find the right response.
‘I don’t think I have ever met a man so callous and unsympathetic. You’re supposed to be a doctor, a caring member of the medical profession. It’s not just about prescribing antibiotics and pain killers and overcharging for a sprained ankle. This young woman is traumatized.’
‘Why do you think I’m working on a cruise ship?’ he said sardonically. ‘I need rest and recuperation, like every other member of the medical profession. Two years in Manchester’s A & E had me on my knees and groaning for sleep. You should try working twenty-four-hour shifts, dealing non-stop with rowdy drunks, drug overdoses and fatal car accidents scraped off the road. You’d soon learn.’
He turned away and all I got was a glimpse of his straight back, the broad shoulders and a shock of dark hair. For a second I wanted to call him back and apologize, but the moment passed. He had been so rude to me.
I hurried down to the Windsor Dining Room and found my new friend, Graham Ward, the head waiter, waiting around until he had a free moment. He had so many problems to sort out in a very short time. Complaints, queries, requests. It was an endless procession of passenger problems. And I had brought him another.
‘I wonder if you could help me. I’m trying to locate a passenger called Amanda, who’s travelling with her mother. Second sitting, I think.’
He had a camera memory for names. I don’t know how he managed to remember them so quickly.
‘Mrs Banesto and Amanda, table forty-two.’
‘Thank you. You’re a star.’
He grinned. ‘I know. And I twinkle at night.’
Four - Palma
There were a few moments of peace on deck, very late that night. I leaned over the rail, watching the spray on the waves, glad that the days of piracy at sea were long gone. Or were they? Pirates used to capture ships to order, because of their valuable cargoes. I suppose it does still happen today. We were certainly carrying a valuable cargo and they were people.
The ship was a floating prison, a luxurious prison for the passengers, slightly more claustrophobic for crew and staff on the lower decks. But soon we would be able to get off, wander the streets of Palma, delve down little side streets, get lost in its medieval past.
‘So here you are,’ said a voice I was beginning to know. ‘I have come to apologize so don’t push me overboard yet. I can swim but not in this wake.’
‘You don’t need to apologize,’ I said stiffly. ‘You were right. I was in the wrong outfit. Never compete with the passengers.’
‘Casey Jones, you have the biggest chip on your shoulder, I have ever seen. Shall I get it surgically removed for you? No charge, I assure you.’
I relaxed an inch. Dr Mallory could be so charming. Now he was working that charm on me. Well, it wouldn’t work, buster. I was charm proof.
‘It’s been that kind of day. The DJ who’s supposed to do the afternoon bingo didn’t turn up. Heavy party the previous night, I gather. So I did bingo this afternoon. I’d almost forgotten the calls. There were talks to cover, complaints to sort out, two cocktail parties, then I had this girl who had a panic attack because she’s traumatized by seeing her fiancé knifed in a road rage attack. I had her to calm down. I had shows to introduce because my deputy, Susan Brook, had period pains and couldn’t go on. I’ve been rushing about like a demented hamster.’
‘A tired and demented hamster is almost fascinating,’ he said, as if he understood. Writing out a few prescriptions twice a day must be so tiring. But he looked dishevelled, his bow tie undone and hanging loose.
‘And now I’ve found a dead bird on deck, not a seagull, but a land bird.’ I was near sobbing. ‘It flew into the superstructure and got killed.’
‘No sense of direction. Where’s the bird now?’ he asked.
‘I put it on the deck, over there,’ I said, pointing to the stack of secured deckchairs. Every night they were strapped down in case of gales, high seas, the odd roll.
Samuel picked the bird up, a grey feathery thing, quite tenderly. ‘Its neck is broken. A pigeon, I think. Shows we’re near land. So it was quick, Casey. Instant and painless.’
‘But so unnecessary,’ I said.
Samuel Mallory nodded. ‘I agree, but then so many deaths in this world are unnecessary and we can’t weep for all of them. Shall we consign him to the waves or do you want a proper funeral, flag draped over a shoebox, a hymn or two?’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Back to the waves.’
‘Together, then,’ he said.
‘Amen.’
We threw the bird into the waves and watched as the sea sucked him up and he disappeared. I was tired. I needed some sleep. This had been a long day. Dr Mallory walked me back to my cabin. I don’t know how he knew the number or deck. He opened my door for me and put the card into the light slot.
‘Sleep well, Casey,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to see you outside my surgery tomorrow, hung over.’
‘Good night,’ I said, already half asleep.
*
Palma was gorgeous. The vast port was bathed in sunlight. Ships lined at berths in every direction, cargo, cruise, gin-floaters. White hotels rimmed the harbour, their balconies cascading with flowers. And the great soaring Gothic cathedral dominated the skyline. It lifted every heart. Passengers crowded the decks, excited by their first port of call. Some even skipped breakfast to be first off the ship, took the packets of biscuits from their cabin trays.
I had morning chores, mostly paperwork. The passengers were never aware of the paperwork associated with my job. Then I could go ashore. I changed into a navy sundress, factor thirty-five sunscreen, hat and sunglasses. The Countess was berthed at a distance from the old town and there was a shuttle bus waiting on land. The docks seemed to have grown since my last visit. There would be a few hours to wander around Palma. It was a necessary port of call for fuel and water before we began the long sea trip to the Caribbean. And somewhere that the passengers could stretch their legs on land and do some shopping. Days at sea could seem endless, and we didn’t want boredom setting in.
The shuttle bus took us along the coast road, a long way from the new docks, and deposited us on the
front below the cathedral. Passengers gasped as they alighted from the air-conditioned bus. Heat rose from the stone slab pavements. You could fry an egg on them. Everyone hurried towards the shade of the shops and the streets inland. I nearly drank all of my bottle of water. Caution, Casey. Rule one of survival: always save some water. The heat was stifling.
The hatless were rushing to the shops to buy hats.
But then the body accommodated and the bus party began walking towards the cathedral. I was not part of the group, but I kept them in sight. This time was my own. I was off duty, but still around, as you might say.
I loved the cathedral. It was huge, Gothic and cool with enormous stained-glass rose-windows at each end which blazed with colour. Nowadays you had to pay to go in. But once it was free and worshippers could wander at will, stopping to pray at some small chapel or read a medieval tombstone. The mummified remains of King Jaime II were very popular. Commercialism had stepped in since. You had to buy tickets for everything. There was an adjacent museum which was choked with interesting artefacts, at a price.
So I toured the gardens and precincts. The living statues were a wonder to watch. Gold, silver, bronze, brass, they graced the gardens and walkways. Grecian, medieval, Roman gladiators, bronco cowboys, mermaids, monks and fairies. They were a delight. No matter how long you stared, you could not see a movement. It was a wonder that they ever breathed. I suppose they had trained themselves to do shallow, controlled breathing. It must be pretty tiring, standing so still in the heat.
The old town of Palma nestled close to the skirts of the soaring cathedral. The houses were solidly built in narrow winding streets, many with balconies and interior patios. I loved catching an intimate glimpse of how people lived.
By midday the heat was climbing. I was staying out of the sun, sipping trinaranjus, a mixture of orange and lemon juice, at a street café under an umbrella. I was surprised at the number of passengers not wearing hats. Dr Mallory would have a lot of sunstroke and heat exhaustion patients on his hands this evening. Most of them cabin visits. Sunstroke is pretty serious.
I spotted Amanda Banesto strolling with a blonde young man who was in jeans and a T-shirt. At least she was wearing a big shady hat and huge sunglasses, but there was no mistaking the mane of blonde hair and lovely figure. There were long queues for the returning shuttle buses and nowhere to wait out of the sun. People wanted to get back to the coolness and cleanness of the ship. The litter-strewn streets of Palma had been a shock after days aboard the immaculate Countess. Wait till they saw Acapulco.
At last I got aboard a shuttle bus after standing back to let the paying sufferers return to the ship first. They needed to cool down and fast. The best cure for too much sun is a cool shower.
‘Come on, Miss Jones, we’ve seen you waiting. You’ll fry if you stand out there much longer.’ It was Nigel Garten, the enthusiastic cocktail party goer. ‘There’s a spare seat over here.’
‘Thank you, Mr Garten,’ I said. ‘I was beginning to feel like a fried egg.’
‘Pass the tomato sauce,’ he said, grinning. I spotted the loneliness in his eyes although he hid it well.
He was obviously looking forward to the buffet lunch laid out in the Terrace café. It would be salad for me with some cold salmon, maybe a few prawns. Then a fruit salad, maybe a yogurt and back to the office. There was some problem with one of the entertainers whose entire collection of props was lost midships. The box had come on board at Southampton but since then had gone astray. It can’t have gone far, though she was a big ship.
‘I can’t go on without them,’ he had stormed in my office, his face redder than his striped shirt. He was billed as Merlin the Magician, real name Reg Hawkins. But he was good. I’d seen his act on another ship and was amazed at the illusions he managed at such close range to his audience. ‘You know I need all this stuff. And the box. It’s my disappearing box trick.’
‘Don’t worry, Reg. I quite understand your concern,’ I said. ‘No props, no tricks. We’re going to scour the ship, search every nautical inch. Your first show is tomorrow evening, so there’s still time.’
‘But I need a rehearsal in the afternoon,’ he fumed. ‘Lights, music, sound.’
‘Of course, don’t worry. I’ll get out my divining rods. Fingers crossed.’
‘Everything crossed,’ he growled. He was quite a difficult entertainer, somewhat temperamental, although I could understand his frustration in this situation. But he seemed more distraught than usual. Perhaps it was the heat.
The passengers put their empty luggage into store during the cruise. No room for empty cases in cabins. Somehow Merlin’s props box must have got mixed up with them during the general melee of moving everything. The whole mountain of luggage would have to be searched. I had a word with the head steward. Karim was from Goa, had been working cruise ships since a boy. He understood the urgency and promised a thorough systematic search.
‘Yes, Miss Jones. We will find the magic box.’
‘It’s clearly marked Merlin.’
‘Merlin, like the bird.’
‘Well, not quite, but it doesn’t matter.’ It did cross my mind that Merlin, aka Reg, might have forgotten to bring his props. He was known for being absent-minded, and seemed particularly distracted on this cruise. Why wait till now to report the loss of his box? I wouldn’t put it past him to blame us for the loss of essential illusions. It was up to me to protect the company, keep our entertainers happy and our passengers entertained. All at the same time.
Passengers were arriving back on ship in droves, falling into the dining room for the set tea, the Terrace café, the bars. All that remained ashore were those touring the island on excursion coaches. I had once been to Deya, near where Chopin had lived with the writer, George Elliot. It was a high-up, magical place on the edge of a sheer drop. A place of lost love and passion.
I was on deck watching the coaches arrive back, dismantling tired people who were only too glad to climb up the gangway, show their cruise cards, have their purchases checked through the x-ray machines. Already the Countess seemed like home to them. I understood that feeling. She was safe, she was clean, and everyone spoke English.
Dr Mallory was hurrying down the gangway, medical bag in hand. A passenger had slipped, getting off the high step of the coach. The woman was crumpled on the quayside, in pain, momentarily engulfed by a crowd of do-gooders. But Dr Mallory dispersed them with a few words. A wheelchair appeared and she was taken aboard, straight to the ship’s hospital, where an x-ray would determine her injury.
‘Nice to see you in action,’ I said, as he came up the gangway.
‘Glad you appreciate my dedication. No swanning ashore for me.’
‘I was merely taking care of passengers who had no hats, no sunscreen, no water and making sure they got back safely.’
‘I’m sure they appreciate your concern. How about I see you in the Galaxy Lounge at six? You deserve a drink after all that dedication.’
‘Don’t count on it. I may be busy.’
I couldn’t count on it. Karim came to me, quite disturbed. He didn’t know what to do. They had found a metal box marked Merlin, stored in the wrong place, no reason why. And they were unhappy about it.
‘We’ll find Merlin and get him to check that it is his box,’ I said. ‘Thank you for finding it. You’ve done well. There’s no need for you to worry. I’ll see to it from here on.’
‘Thank you, Miss Jones. My stewards are worried that they will get into trouble. It is not where they put it. Someone had moved it.’
‘Tell them not to worry. I’ll sort it out.’
But Reg Hawkins was nowhere to be found. The announcement went over the tannoy several times although I know that it’s difficult to hear, and near impossible in some parts of the ship. He was probably catching up on some sleep in his cabin. I phoned his cabin but there was no answer. The last passengers came aboard and were checked. No strays.
The ship was making ready to leave.
A few well-wishers were waving from the quay as the heavy lines were tossed into the sea. How agreeable to have friends who lived in Palma. The Countess inched her way from the island of Majorca with hardly any movement, gliding on the water, the control of the engines so light and sure. I loved watching a receding shoreline, everything getting smaller and smaller, no larger than a dot, then disappearing into a haze. But not today. I had to find Reg Hawkins and give him the good news about his box. There was time to change into working gear, straight navy skirt and white shirt, Conway Blue Line scarf. I was on duty again.
Reg was still not answering the phone in his cabin. He was not in any of the bars and no one had seen him talking to passengers or other entertainers. It was a big ship and it was easy to miss people as they walked about, so many corridors and staircases and decks.
There was a last minute dancing rehearsal on stage in the Princess Lounge. One of the dancers was unwell and a routine had to be altered. The original choreographer was back in London, so the company were having to work it out for themselves. Most of the dancers and the shows were cast and rehearsed in London, and came on board as a package. The guest entertainers and star performers did the cruise circuits, changing ships like changing trains.
‘Has anyone seen Merlin the Magician?’ I asked around. No one had.
I was beginning to worry. He was due to perform in tomorrow’s show and still needed rehearsal time, though that was mainly to arrange lighting effects and music and check the sound. If we still couldn’t find him, there’d be a gap in the programme that needed filling. I wondered which of my artistes could be persuaded to do an extra turn. They were usually helpful and obliging. Occasionally I had a prima donna. There was one due to join us at Barbados. Heaven help me when Estelle Grayson arrived plus two dozen stage costumes.
Merlin’s box of tricks had been delivered backstage and I made a mental note to thank the stewards involved. It was a large black metal box which contained the props for his illusions and doubled on stage for the disappearing act. Usually the smallest of the girl dancers was happy to ‘volunteer’ for this trick.
Second Sitting Page 4