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Ten Word Game

Page 21

by Jonathan Gash


  “The previous world record was only 251.” The sketch finished, I rolled it up and stuck the edge down. It made me start to think. There was something horribly wrong about my table companions, the planned robbery, even Margaret’s arrival.

  “Come back, Lovejoy.”

  “Help me, Margaret.” Once pathetic, always. She looked stricken. I’m never this frank. “They’re going to top me.”

  She pulled my head to her as I sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I’ve never seen you like this, Lovejoy. Tell me everything you know. How long before we reach St Petersburg?”

  “The day after tomorrow. Maybe they’ll let me off here today. Will you get me home, please?”

  With Moses dead, I might be able to make the airport, if Gdynia had one. Or a train. Or just some cheap bed-and-breakfast where I could hide until the ship sailed, then make a run for it.

  The day began with a casual summons from Amy the dancer, and her comic pal Les Renown.

  * * *

  They were doing a racing game in one of the lounges, dice and cardboard horses on squares. It was quite hot weather on the Promenade Deck. People had come into the cool, settling about bars and lounges to be entertained.

  Shows of all kinds began about ten o’clock, with demonstrations, talks, films in the cinema, dance lessons, fitness club, chats over coffee with the ship’s officers, lectures about the next port of call from experts eager to tell you where to shop. You could tour the ship’s engines, or listen to chefs talking about favourite recipes, or visit the galleys. The contract bridge club thronged, dancing lessons began, it was all happening on the Melissa.

  Lady Vee collared me. She told me Amy and Les Renown were looking for me. I pushed her to the nearest casino, and found them in the Horizon lounge talking to passengers. I waited and they drifted my way.

  “Morning, Lovejoy.”

  “Morning.”

  They looked so smart, pleasant. I could see why people admired the golden couple. Amy looked about. Nobody within earshot, so she leant closer.

  “You’re badly indebted, Lovejoy. A warning.”

  “Eh?” I fumbled for my plastic card. Les put out a hand and stopped me.

  Amy grimaced. “You’ve spent a fortune in the casinos. It’s totting up, Lovejoy. As long as you can pay it off.”

  I was stricken. “I thought it was all free.”

  “Everything on board is, Lovejoy.” They greeted somebody coming in with an officer and returned their attention to me. “Except shops and gambling.”

  “I don’t gamble. And I’ve bought nothing.”

  “The casino manageress says otherwise.” Amy’s expression would madden a saint. I stayed cool. Good Queen Bess once said anger makes you witty but keeps you poor. She was always right about everything, except who she slept with in Islington. I gulped and nodded.

  “I’ll watch it, then. Ta for telling me.”

  They looked at each other, hesitating as if they expected more of a panic, then went on circulating, Amy being charming and Les cracking jokes. I sat watching Gdynia though the panorama windows.

  They wanted me to protest, run scared at their threatening news, and I hadn’t done anything of the kind. I heard Les start his patter, people near the bar already chuckling. “There’s this actor, see…” I didn’t look round. I knew Amy would be staring at me, wondering why I hadn’t gone berserk at their falsehood.

  You can’t be overdrawn on a cruise ship. Your Cruise Club plastic is for boozing, for trips ashore, garments you might buy, gambling you might get up to. All else is free – meals, the shows, cinemas, lectures, snacks. So I was being needled, provoked into fright. I was being made to jump, take off, use every desperate means to escape. And I didn’t know why.

  Except…

  No Yanks or Dutch slaving over the hot stoves in the galleys, so my coffee was undrinkable.

  In antiques, you learn to think except. Like, you might see a Victorian card table, say 1842. It looks fine – walnut, very ornate carving, sturdy, lovely job, make any dealer’s mouth water. And the vendor says, with tears in his eyes, “I’m short of cash, something urgent’s come up.” And offers it to you, this lovely rarity. Before you reach for your cheque book, say, “Great, sure, yes – except…” Then inwardly ask yourself “Except for what?” And it’s only then that something odd hits you. That lovely walnut surface looks just a fraction smaller than it should be, a little out of proportion. You realise the dealer had bought it with straight edges, a plain rectangular top. It’s still a genuine antique, but he couldn’t resist getting a carpenter to make the table’s edges wavy. Presto! He’s converted it into a serpentine-topped card table – worth four times the value of the plainer straight-edged sort. And you’re the mug he wants to pay four times more than he deserves? No, ta.

  So from habit I thought except for…?

  And it dawned on me. I must be thick as a brick not to have seen it before.

  Since we sailed, I had had maybe a score of chances to escape – Oslo and Amsterdam especially. And on board I’d tried phones, facsimiles, e-mail, everything except a message in a bottle lobbed into the briny. I’d seduced as best I could, trying to gain allies. I had done a deal with poor Mr Moses Duploy, chiseller and crook. I’d contacted dealers ashore. In fact done everything I could. Used them all up, played every card in my hand.

  In fact, it had been so easy I had crowed with delight at my cleverness. Stupid. And still I was trapped, no nearer escape. I’d been had. It came to me in a wash of relief. They – never mind for the minute who – had let me go ashore, then hauled me back aboard like anglers reeling in a silly gudgeon.

  They knew I’d become increasingly desperate, and that by the time the Melissa berthed in St Petersburg I would have used up all my feeble escape notions. No wonder they were confident. And now they were putting on the screws, telling me I was in some fearsome debt. It was one more jab of their goad.

  Suddenly, though, they were unsure why I was docile and obedient. It was Margaret’s presence on board. I knew that, but they didn’t. It wasn’t much, but I felt one up. They were rattling my cage.

  I asked a stewardess for today’s entertainments list. Thirty-seven events, with WELCOME TO GDYNIA across the top. I smiled a good morning to some passengers I didn’t know and went to find Lady Vee. As soon as the ship left Poland, I’d take her gambling again, and hope she lost a lot more. She was still in bed, her stewardess Marie told me when I knocked on Suite 1133.

  Making a last-minute booking, I happened to meet Delia Oakley and Fern at the Deck Four gangway, and had the luck to spot Millicent and Ivy joining a coach party touring the city centre. I went too. The Ghurkas on the gangways didn’t turn a hair, checked me through unquestioned. Ivy was silent as ever, Millicent talking enough for us all.

  Gdynia was really pleasant, completely restored after terrible historical events. The Poles are a fine lot, affable to a fault, full of music and colour. We all enjoyed it. I even began to think, roll on St Petersburg. I spent a few zlotniks on a silver pencil I knew I’d lose the minute I put it down because I always do. We heard street musicians, and I argued with the women about varieties of lace. We watched locals making bobbin lace.

  Lots of people moved about among tangled alleys where a felon could escape, if he had been so inclined. I made a couple of sallies, but turned up among the main gaggle of passengers within moments, just to nark whoever was watching. It made me happier. Our courier was an entertainments girl from the ship. I recognised her. A dazzlingly blonde Polish girl carried a small flag on a stick, our guide. We had to follow it so as not to get ourselves lost. It had almost happened in Oslo to two old duffers who’d forgotten the time.

  Impeccably obedient, I kept reminding people of the time and making sure we all knew the way back to the coach. Didn’t want anybody to go missing, you see. I wouldn’t want that, would I? I was a right poisonous ray of sunshine. Margaret was on a different coach. I happened to glimpse her, talking away to passe
ngers who’d spent heavily in some jewellery shops. I saw her speaking to James Mangot, but didn’t worry.

  Start as you mean to go on, I always say. I was one big hello. On the way back to the ship, I dozed contentedly. I remembered another of Queen Elizabeth the First’s remarks. She likened some people – courtiers she mistrusted – to “Strawberry wives, that laid two or three large strawberries at the mouth of their pot, and all the rest were little ones.” It made my smile broader still. Shrewd lass, Bess One.

  Back on board, I hurried to find Lady Vee and wheeled her down to nosh. I chatted of the lovely city, explained how everybody else got Polish lace designs wrong except me. She could hardly get a word in edgeways. I insisted on shoving her to the casino, and complained when I found the casinos closed.

  “They only open when the ship sails, Lovejoy,” Lady Vee said. “I keep telling you.”

  “Just when I’m enjoying myself,” I groused.

  “Are you all right?” she asked me several times. “You’re different.”

  “Got my sea legs. Where next?”

  “What on earth’s got into you?”

  We went to watch Latin-American dancing. I even had a dance, with Ivy, who kept going quiet. The floor was admittedly a bit crowded. I was beginning to see how folk liked cruising. If you were going to survive, that is. I pushed Lady Vee to her tea and didn’t bring the wrong cakes or sandwiches. She too was quieter than usual, and kept eyeing me. I was obnoxiously talkative, recounting anecdotes from the jaunt ashore. Most of my stories about Gdynia were invented, but one or two brought a feeble smile to her face. I told her to cheer up, this cruise couldn’t last for ever. She asked me if I’d had a word with Amy and Les Renown. I said yes, just a little moan about money, and said what a nice couple they were.

  “Think they’ll get married?” I asked innocently. “They’re well-suited, don’t you think?”

  I was repellently cheery, and determined to keep it up.

  * * *

  The last hour before we sailed, I went down to the wharf where the folksy Polish market had been set up. Few antiques, but attractive silver, new porcelain, old amber. I particularly like the gedanite amber, even though it had only been named in 1878. Odd how the Baltic states still love the whitish amber. The Chinese like their native red, red symbolising money. English dealers, as I, love the gold colour. Sad, though, to see only newly carved pieces. Strange how my mind kept telling me the same things about amber. This was the Amber Sea, right?

  “Beg pardon?” Ivy said. She was standing nearby.

  “Sorry. Talking to myself.” I’d have to stop that, the plight I was in.

  There were only a few passengers about now the daylight was dying and the stall holders starting to pack up. Ghurkas were putting out the sign saying Melissa was to sail in thirty minutes. They had a black-board clock.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular, Lovejoy? A present?”

  “I’d like to see a set of amber candlesticks, inset with ivory, carved in 1695,” I said. “They did these in Danzig. And facetted amber bead necklaces for Russian courtesans. And North German amber carvings, minutely detailed, of the Crucifixion or the Judgement of Paris. You’ll never see more skilled carvings, except maybe those limewood tableaux, centuries old. Brilliant.”

  I drifted along the line of stalls. I thought I was quite content, but Ivy smiled a proper smile and said I sounded wistful.

  “Once you’ve seen the genuine things, all else is sham. Including people.”

  She seemed so sad I asked what was up. “You’re the only one who isn’t,” she astonished me by saying.

  “Eh?” I’d never been called genuine before. “Sorry, love. Back home I’m the typical phoney.”

  “Not at our table.”

  To brighten her mood I showed her what to look for in amber, the faint flecks of gold leaf some fakers put in to make the copal fakes look priceless.

  “Amber’s a beautiful material.”

  Ivy bent over a stall to peer at a small brooch in silver, grapes against vine leaves. Two Polish girls were busy wrapping their trays up and stowing them into their dad’s van.

  And she whispered quietly, “Lovejoy, can I see you?”

  “Eh?”

  “Somewhere. Anywhere. Billy will be gambling tonight. I’ll slip out of the casino.”

  “Eh?” I’m slow most of the time, and I’d no idea what she wanted to see me for. I mean, we were here talking now, yet she was peering over trays of brooches and rings. She intended secrecy.

  “Please,” she said.

  I was so confused I bought her the stupid grape brooch – actually it wasn’t all that bad – not even haggling about the price. She accepted it with that non-smile, and went towards the gangway. I drifted on, taking my last look at Poland before returning to the ship alone.

  Passengers emerged onto the decks as we cast off, waving at the market people. Down at the quayside I noticed a woman in a fawn overcoat limp to a smart limousine waiting by the harbourmaster’s building. Limp? She looked familiar. I almost called out her name, and stifled the impulse. She smiled, said something to the driver inside. I couldn’t see him for windscreen reflection.

  The door opened and she got in. A ship steward loaded three leather suitcases into the boot. The car pulled away. She didn’t even give the ship a last glance. I’d been so grateful to her. Like a fool, I’d assumed she’d come to help rescue me. As they say on TV, reasons apparent but unforgivable.

  If I’d had half the sense I was born with, I’d have stowed away in one of the market vans and gone into orbit. When I got back to my cabin Margaret’s sketch was gone. I’d rolled it up and hidden it behind the top drawer. In its place was a piece of ship’s notepaper.

  “Dear Lovejoy,

  Mr Mangot has told me all about your real reasons for being on this cruise, and the three women with whom you are in partnership. You are despicable. Please do not contact me again.

  M. Dainty (Mrs).”

  She’d listened to the gaolers, not the prisoner. I was now seriously alone, and leaving Gdynia bound for St Petersburg.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  That evening, now even more determined to be obnoxious, I radiated good humour, cheerily greeting everybody until Lady Vee snapped at me to stop it for God’s sake. Beaming fondly, I told passengers she hadn’t been herself all day but what can you do? Some said I was a saint, which is true but isn’t often detected by others. I was heartbroken over Margaret’s defection.

  Lauren called for me to do the endless antiques quiz round the dinner tables. The antique was a French bisque doll, for once genuine. Only 1878, but so highly sought nowadays that one will buy you a little flat in Harlem. I don’t like them (dolls, not Harlem flats). Bisque is sort of raw unglazed porcelain. Usually, the expensive dolls have closed red lips, fixed blue eyes and a cork scalp onto which a little wig is stuck, usually blonde mohair. The clothes are often sumptuous, on a kid leather body. They make me feel queasy, even though you can admire the tiny stitching of the separate fingers. It’s real craftsmanship. Lauren was relieved and pleased when I told a lady yes, the doll’s stockings were real silk and the dress hand-embroidered. Gaultier wasn’t the first of these French makers, though the best. He started trading about 1866, I mentally told the absent Margaret Dainty in silent defiance. See? I could remember useful details, M. Dainty (Mrs), so there.

  Lauren closed on me and whispered, “Smile, Lovejoy. You’ve started frowning.” Obedient, I grinned like an ape. We had a quick nosh and did the second sitting. God, it seemed interminable.

  “How come you fetched a genuine one?” I had the sense to ask Lauren.

  “What do you mean?” she snapped.

  “You never have before.”

  Head bowed, she finished sorting the stack of answers and picked out the one coming nearest the price I’d decided.

  “Because it’s mine, Lovejoy.”

  “Your antique doll? Then you’re rich, love.” She looked str
icken so I tried made a joke of it. “Lend us a fiver, eh?”

  “You don’t understand. I fetched her with me on the voyage, for company. My grandma’s christening present. It’s the only antique I didn’t take from Henry’s stock.”

  That sobered me. We said so-long to the restaurant folk and told the purser girls in Reception who’d won. It was some lady in a private suite. To them that hath, and all that. The winner’s cabin number would be flashed on the ship’s TV.

  “You were testing me? What a nerve.”

  “Not really.” We sat in the Atrium. The bars were thronged, as ever when the ship sailed, and dancers were trotting the light whatever. “I was just sick of the deception.”

  “Me too,” I said glumly. “Sorry about Henry, incidentally. I won’t grumble any more.”

  “Thank you.” She hesitated. “Lovejoy? Are you and… and anybody, well, together?”

  What now? “Me? No. I just came on the cruise to help Lady Vee.” Lie, when all else fails.

  “Then…” She couldn’t finish, just dithered, sitting there with her beautiful spooky doll in its basket. “Perhaps, may I invite you for a drink, perhaps, one evening? If you’re not too busy, perhaps.”

  So many perhaps. “Ta.” I waited for her to explain what she wanted to see me for, then gave up. “I’d better find Lady Vee.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “See you, Lauren. Ta for, er, perhaps…?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow?” she said.

  We separated, me thinking folk are definitely odd and Lauren probably thinking the same. People never say what they mean. I think they should be open and honest, like me.

  In a lifetime of close scrutiny, I’ve only learned one thing about women: don’t ever buy them anything clockwork, electrical, or a pet, because within 48 hours it will fail and be the cause of endless requests to fix it, take it back, or rid it of worms or the dhobie itch. Like a duckegg, I shelved Lauren’s offer.

  Lady Vee and June Milestone were talking in the Raffles Bar. I put a stop to all that, gave June a beam of utmost sincerity and whisked Lady Vee off to the Monte Carlo Club, the biggest and most dedicated of the ship’s casinos.

 

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