Second Sitting Read online

  ‘You are an entertainment director now, Miss Casey Jones. And you’d better not screw it up. This is your chance for a new career. Hang up your clothes and get along to your office, fast. There will be a lot of work to be done.’

  *

  The cruise entertainment director’s office and the deputy’s office were behind the stage of the main theatre in the Princess Lounge. It was another maze of corridors and offices, as well as the showgirls’ dressing rooms and storage space for costumes and props. Scenery was stored in every odd space. It was a hectic, manic place and the heart of the entire entertainment business on the Countess.

  ‘So, you are Casey Jones? The fabulous Miss Jones that we have heard so much about. Hi, I’m your deputy, Susan Brook.’ My deputy was sitting behind a desk covered in paper and files, the computer screen blinking.

  ‘Fabulous’? What did she mean by that? Who’d been talking?

  Susan Brook was smiling a pleased-to-meet-you mouth but her veiled eyes were saying something quite different. I knew instantly that she thought she ought to have been promoted to my job. Conway Blue Line always wanted fresh blood. I was fresh blood, new ideas, a different person. But a tired face.

  Susan Brook had a face that was struggling to stay young. She was also battling against serious weight gain. Her uniform shirt buttons were straining. It was that lovely display of food upstairs in the Terrace café on Lido deck. A more or less conveyer-belt buffet, from breakfast to midnight. Few could resist it. She was not one of them.

  No one was allowed to age on cruise ships, only the captain. He was permitted to be grey-bearded and grizzled. It evoked confidence in his ability to dock without bumping other ships and reach destinations on time.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Susan,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘I hope you haven’t been too busy during the handover.’

  She took my hand but her grasp was limp, like a fish. I tried not to drop it. Wet fish is not a favourite.

  The cruise director I was replacing had left the moment the Countess berthed quayside that morning at Southampton. There was some family problem and he was anxious to get home. I was an emergency replacement, although ready for the position. I’d done my apprenticeship on other cruise liners.

  ‘The usual thing. Lost cruise cards, lost luggage, lost props, costumes, music. Perfectly normal day in Southampton.’

  ‘We’ll soon sort it out,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘You can look through these drafts for the ship’s newspaper. I haven’t had time.’ She pushed over the drafts. The newspaper was set up on land but we did the amendments, change of times, schedules, any special announcements on board.

  Now I knew that the production of the ship’s newspaper was the deputy’s responsibility. I’d done it myself when I was a deputy. I didn’t argue with her, but she needn’t think I was going to do it regularly. Today I would be amiable and helpful. Tomorrow I would be a fire-spitting dragon.

  I had my own Ten Commandments for cruise directors. They had gone down well at my interview with Conway Blue Line. A balance of always and never.

  Always listen sympathetically

  Always listen with patience

  Never look bored

  Never discuss politics or religion

  Never mention illness

  Never ask personal questions — even if the passenger offers answers

  Never boast — exude authority and confidence

  Always be tidy

  Always be sober

  Smile

  One of the directors had asked me which was the most important commandment.

  ‘The last one,’ I’d said. ‘Always smile.’ Gina Conway had smiled back. She had a radiant smile. Perhaps that’s why I got the job.

  The next consignment of singers, dancers, cabaret turns, lecturers and craft teachers were beginning to arrive on board. Newcomers were bewildered and nervous. Old hands were unpacked and halfway to the bars already.

  ‘Sure. Is this my desk?’ I said, sitting down at the one opposite Susan.

  ‘No, actually that’s mine.’ She was sitting at my desk. I nodded. I was not territorial. Not today. Tomorrow she had better move — and fast.

  Entertainers had to present themselves to the entertainment director’s office as soon as they boarded. It was essential that we knew they had arrived with all their bits and pieces, check what they needed to do their job and that they were allotted a cabin.

  We had a real assortment on this cruise. An author who would give lectures and workshops on creative writing, an artist teaching drawing and painting, a clever needlewoman taking classes in cross-stitch, beadwork and patchwork; lots of the female passengers brought needlework to do. There was also a lecturer on nautical history, Nelson and sea battles and warships. The passengers wanted a choice of occupations between sunbathing and eating. Deck days watching never-ending sea wake could become tedious.

  Not for me. All I wanted to do was to lean over a rail and watch the waves. The sea is an endless procession of mysteries. It constantly changes colour. How deep is it? Where is it going? Where has it been? I loved the movement, was mesmerized by the waves. Call me wet.

  The procession of people through my office was also never-ending. There was a changeover of entertainers as well. Many were old-timers who signed papers, checked show times, headed for their cabins and a kip before the first show. Others were full of questions, understandably nervous, awed by the size of the ship and the sheer complication of the stage shows planned. Rehearsals? When would they get time to rehearse? Although the musical shows were pre-planned on land by an independent producer, they were anxious to rehearse in a new venue.

  ‘What happens if the stage wobbles?’ asked one new and pin-thin dancer. ‘You know, rough weather.’

  ‘You counter-balance,’ I said. ‘You go with it. Don’t worry, you’ll soon learn how to do it.’

  The safety checks had been completed, clearance granted and the captain made his departure broadcast over the loudspeaker. I could hear the anchor being winched up. It rattled a lot, a horrendous noise if you had a cabin near the anchor. They would soon be throwing off the heavy ropes — lines as they were called — that kept the Countess secured to the quayside.

  There was a moment when I found I could escape to go on deck and catch a last glimpse of Southampton docks as we sailed away. All those tall cranes leaning into the sky like fingers. Cruise ships and cargo ships berthed in other docks. A brass band was playing farewell on shore. No streamers from ship to shore these days, like in films. All that papery debris in the water was deemed an environmental nuisance. But not the champagne. That was circulating.

  The Countess was already twenty yards from the quayside, gliding slowly, powerful engines throbbing. Passengers leaned over the rail, waving farewell to family and friends who crowded the viewing balcony of the terminal.

  The ship was passing through Southampton water and there was the huge Esso Oil terminal at Fawley on the bank. Calshot Spit, Thorn Channel and Brambles Bank … the names tumbled out of my memory. At last we passed between the great forts and into the Solent.

  My last cruise as deputy had been on a different line. This was my first on the Conway Blue Line. I liked them. I thought I would do well with this growing group. And the MV Countess Georgina was the most beautiful ship I had ever seen. I was her slave instantly. I was sure she had a soul, somewhere in the depths.

  The sky was beginning to darken. This was England, dammit, and we had these absurd clock changes. Soon it would be evening, when it needn’t be evening. Why couldn’t we go along with the rest of the world? I couldn’t stay on deck much longer. I wanted to see the Isle of Wight and the ruined Carisbrooke Castle, but I had to go back to the office. Muster drill soon, showing passengers how to put on their lifejackets. I had to be present. Part of the job.

  A man joined me at the deck rail, not standing too near. I didn’t know if he was a passenger or crew, very casual. No uniform. In the
half light I only caught a glimpse of him. What I saw was startling. He was tall, dark and amazingly good-looking. The cruise cliché. He must be a single passenger on the make, looking for a rich widow.

  ‘Strangely beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said. His voice was deep and right for his looks. He was staring ahead, more intent on the view than me.

  ‘Yes, I love it. There’s something about sailing away, seeing the land grow smaller and smaller, leaving everything behind.’

  ‘Where is everyone? They are missing all this.’ This area of the deck was deserted.

  ‘Everyone is eating or drinking or changing clothes. Maybe even reading the muster drill instructions. And that would be a first. They should be up here looking at our last glimpse of English shores for nearly four weeks.’

  ‘You are right but, of course, food and clothes come first on a cruise.’ He sounded cynical. ‘No, maybe drink comes first.’

  ‘Not always. Lots of people are hooked on the sea and seeing new places.’

  ‘But some only want to go home looking like brown leather.’ He sounded tired, too. Perhaps he’d had a long journey, or little sleep last night. I couldn’t see if he had a tan. All I could see was a sharp profile, long straight nose, firm chin and a mass of smooth dark hair. Then I caught a glint of gold. He was wearing rimmed spectacles. I’d know him again.

  I moved away, reluctantly. I liked the proximity of a really gorgeous man, however briefly. It felt good. He smelt good. Like a benevolence from the gods.

  ‘Well, I have to go. Things to do,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a show dancer?’ he asked, turning towards me, seeing me for the first time.

  ‘No, but close, quite close. Five out of ten for trying.’

  ‘I’m not even trying. It’s a brand of calculated small talk. I always suggest to a lone woman that she is a dancer or an actress. Then she is immensely flattered and I get the warmth of her smiles.’

  ‘Well, I’m not in the least flattered. And I’m not smiling.’ No sign of a smile. Rule one overboard already.

  ‘I can see that. You have a singularly cool look, Miss … ? Is the look permanent?’

  ‘Miss Jones. And, yes, it’s permanent.’

  ‘I shall remember to keep my distance.’

  I shivered. It wasn’t the light southerly wind or the darkening sky. It was something more ominous. My first evening aboard the Countess and I had managed to alienate the best looking man on ship. Still, this was nothing unusual with attractive men. I had a reputation for maintaining iceberg coolness even in the Caribbean.

  Global warming didn’t stand a chance.

  Two - At Sea

  It had been a long, leisurely day at sea and the passengers of the MV Countess Georgina had taken full advantage of the glorious sunshine, sunbathing from after breakfast till dressing for dinner. They lay in rows on the loungers, turning to burn, like oiled sprats on a spit. I rarely sunbathe. I never have the time nor the inclination to bare myself, and know that with my pale skin, I’d be first in the queue at tomorrow’s surgery with burns the size of saucers.

  ‘What an absolutely glorious day, Miss Jones,’ said Mrs Fairweather, a regular cruiser, who already knew many of the crew and staff by name. ‘I kept telling everyone that as soon as we got through the Bay of Biscay, we’d hit the sunshine. And wasn’t I right?’

  ‘You were right, as always,’ I said, smiling. She was a nice woman, a widow, spending her late husband’s insurance. And why not? On board ship, she was well looked after, found plenty to do during the day and could make new friends. I knew that some of the passengers made fun of her and called her the Weather Forecast but she was harmless and never caused any trouble. Not like some of them.

  There were a few troublemakers. They seemed determined to pile up enough grumbles to warrant a refund when they got home. They grumbled about everything: lifts breaking down, lights not working, loos not flushing, not being able to sleep because of the noise. Some complaints were genuine, but most of them were fixed immediately.

  I’d had complaints already about passengers reserving theatre seats and deck loungers. The open-air Terrace café on the Lido deck had been quite empty this morning. No problem finding a window seat for my sliced melon and croissant. I wouldn’t even look at a Danish pastry. The Bay of Biscay had been relatively calm, although there were quite a few passengers missing yesterday. Now we were sailing along the coast of Portugal. A beautiful day, light and airy, with fine and clear skies.

  ‘Are you coming to the first showing of this evening’s entertainment?’ I asked Mrs Fairweather. ‘It’s a great show, all the Sinatra songs, a take-off of the Rat Pack.’

  ‘Oh, I shall love that. Frank Sinatra was one of my favourites. That man could really sing. Well, I’d better go and change or I shall miss my favourite seat.’

  There was always a rush for the front row of seats in the Princess Lounge. In fact, they were fought over in a genteel, silver-handbags-at-the-ready sort of way. All the seats in the theatre were comfortable and everyone had a good view, but that front row was magnetic. Everyone wanted to sit right up close to the stage, especially the men. But I suppose they wanted to get a good eyeful of the scantily dressed showgirls. And we did have some gorgeous dancing girls.

  They lived on mineral water and three lettuce leaves a day. I once saw a dancer eating a grape. The job demanded thin bodies. Their costumes were mainly sequins sewn on to a net base and loads of feathers and a single extra ounce would ruin the look. How they stayed upright on their heels when the ship was rolling, I never knew. And their headdresses must weigh a kilo or two. I had enough trouble going on stage every night, and my heels were mostly kitten heels. I’m tall enough already. But I could take my shoes off in the wings and pad about barefooted. Bonus for my feet.

  The shows were professionally produced and choreographed on land, then transferred to cruise ships. Then the dancers had to adapt what they had learned ashore to a tilting stage. They worked hard, afternoon rehearsals for every show.

  One thing Head Office never told you was how many times you would have to change your clothes during the day. There was a different uniform for every function, from best full dress with smart jacket and hat, to casual skirt and shirt, to lifeboat drill shirt and trousers gear, from cocktail wear to full evening dress according to the dress code. I could shower and change in ten minutes and that included making a cup of tea in my cabin. I made it myself while I pranced around in a towel. I do prance when no one is looking at me. On deck, I am brisk and efficient, always elegant and a lady.

  Being elegant and a lady is sometimes a little difficult to remember. As an only daughter with three older brothers, I had to be a tomboy to survive the male dominated jungle. It was not something I told anyone. Would anyone be impressed that I could swing on a rope across a tumbling river or abseil down a cliff in a gale?

  My first task of this evening was to MC the first performance of the Rat Pack stage show. As usual, I would go on stage, introduce the performers, encourage applause and then go on again at the end, to thank the performers and encourage the applause again.

  In between shows, my routine was to rush down to the officer’s mess on deck F and grab something to eat. Tonight I might have time for the starter, Nicoise salad: tuna, egg, French beans, tomatoes, potatoes, anchovies and olives. It came in a portion the size of a pin cushion. It would just about keep me going.

  Then I repeated the performance for the second showing of the stage show, with another run for coffee and maybe some ice cream. They made wonderful ginger ice cream on board but it was hard to get any. By then the dancing would have started in three different venues and I had to circulate and talk and make sure everyone was having a good time. My remit did not include the cinema which was where I would rather be. I am an old-soak film addict and could sit through a special film several times, like reading the same book over and over again because of the pleasure. Don’t ask me how many times I’ve seen Neverland or Braveheart. Did it mat
ter?

  The cinema was the lecture theatre during the day for port lectures and specialist lectures. Our author was here, twice a day, with her enthusiastic group of would-be writers. There was always a lot of laughter coming from the theatre as I went by. Sometimes I slipped in at the back to check on how her lectures were going and how many passengers attended. There was an average of seventy — pretty good for literature. After the author came the lecturer in maritime history, spruce in a navy blazer and flannels. He used slides to illustrate his talks.

  I stepped into a strapless turquoise silk dress, three-quarter length so I had to wear matching turquoise strappy sandals. They hurt. My hair was pulled back into its usual tight chignon and fixed with a silver clasp. Make-up was applied with the speed of light as learned in my dancing days. Then I took the back way to the Princess Lounge, cutting it fine, as usual. Though it was called a lounge, it was the main theatre with a stage and circular dance floor with tiered armchair seating.

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to make it,’ said Trevor, the stage manager. ‘I was just about to go on in your place.’

  ‘In that old T-shirt?’ I said, smoothing my hair. ‘You’d have been a riot.’

  The resident band were playing the introductory music. On the final roll of drums, I stepped on to the stage into the spotlight.

  It always alarmed me, those first few seconds, blinded by the brilliant lights, and the rows and rows of six hundred expectant faces. They wanted the best and they were paying a lot for the best. They got me for a few minutes. They looked me up and down, marked my dress out of ten, tried to price the shoes. I’d bought them in Los Angeles during a brief port of call. They were Patrick Cox, T-bar heels. Rather expensive but worth it.

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ I said. ‘Have you had a wonderful day? Hasn’t it been brilliant? Sunshine at last and that choppy Bay of Biscay behind us. Now, we have a spectacular show for you tonight, one packed with songs that you all know and singers who know how to sing them. Please welcome the Countess Show Company in tonight’s spectacular!’