A Wide Berth Read online

  ‘Mr Fellows? Over there, on that big table for eight. He was travelling on his own. I thought he might enjoy some company.’

  ‘And he didn’t?’

  ‘Quite the reverse. He seemed to be having a whale of a time. He liked the ladies. They are a very jolly table.’

  ‘And he went missing where?’

  ‘It was San Francisco. I think he got mugged ashore. He always carried a packet of money and waved it around, even though this is a money-free ship. He was a big tipper.’

  ‘Some people like the reassurance of handling real money.’

  ‘I had the feeling it was new money.’

  I sensed what he was trying to say. ‘Inheritance? A lottery winner?’

  He nodded. ‘He could have been. All his clothes were brand new. Even his shoes, Rolex, smart cufflinks. He kept admiring his watch. Couldn’t take his eyes off it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we are about to open the dining room. Nice to have met you, Miss Jones.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen him since?’ I was puzzled.

  ‘No, I haven’t seen him.’

  Edmund Morgan said Henry Fellows had been sleeping it off. It didn’t add up.

  I thanked the manager and left him to welcome the diners. It was my opportunity to mingle among the passengers. They wouldn’t know who I was, some bird in a posh dress with funny hair and a big smile.

  I was beginning to feel sorry for the missing Mr Fellows. It’s not easy travelling on one’s own, especially if it’s a first cruise. Regulars, those who cruise a lot, take it all in their stride, find their way around quickly, make friends, settle into a familiar routine. But to a newcomer, all on their own, it was an alien world, almost weird, however luxurious and comfortable.

  The crew would have reported him missing to the San Francisco police, and I wondered if there had been any feedback. Another avenue for me to wander down, by mistake, of course. I could email Head Office and see what they had to say.

  I found my second wind in time to run the quiz evening. This was always enjoyable, especially when you had the answers in front of you. The air of competition between the teams was intense, especially when fuelled by alcohol. But the late-night disco was a different matter. I managed to get a prawn sandwich and a coffee at the Boulevard Café which helped to keep me awake.

  ‘No supper?’ asked one of the waiters, replenishing the trays with fresh snacks. ‘Would you like me to get you some soup?’

  ‘No, thank you. No time to eat.’

  ‘Busy lady.’

  ‘And a tired lady.’

  ‘Just flown in?’

  ‘Yeah. I was in London yesterday.’

  The late-night disco was in a small bar on the sun deck, well away from any sleeping accommodation. When at sea, there was little that could be done about the vibration of the powerful engines, but throbbing pop music could be controlled to an extent.

  It had been a long time since I had worked a turntable, but I eventually got the hang of it again and no one seemed to mind a few less-than-smooth changeovers. The discs had all been chosen for me, and all I had to do was put them on and make a few introductory remarks. I didn’t have a choice. There was no Simply Red or Rick Astley. I was nearly asleep on my feet.

  ‘Is this your favourite music?’ asked a voice from behind. I could hardly hear because of the volume of this particular rock group.

  ‘Sorry? Pardon? What did you say?’

  ‘Is this your favourite rock group?’

  ‘What troop?’

  ‘Rock group.’

  ‘I give up. I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’ I turned. It was a pleasantly deep voice, a bit gravelly, and I wanted to see the face that went with it. For a moment I did a double take. I thought that Dr Samuel Mallory had jumped ship and followed me halfway across the world. If only.

  There was no red flash on the officer’s epaulette, denoting the medical department. It was dark green and gold. The officer was looking at me with some amusement as I quickly searched his uniform for more clues.

  ‘Engineer,’ he said. ‘Chief Engineer. I keep the ship going. Nuts and bolts. Grease monkey.’

  ‘Thank goodness we’ve got proper engineers,’ I said. ‘I thought someone just wound it up.’

  ‘That’s only on Sundays.’

  I liked him immediately. Things were looking up. Perhaps I would survive this cruise after all.

  3. Acapulco

  Chief Engineer Daniel Webster introduced himself over the racket. On second glance, he did not really look like Sam, but there was a fleeting resemblance in the shifting lights of the dim lounge bar. Any tall, dark, crew-cut man in his thirties might look like the doctor. He had the same firm jaw line, same hesitant smile, similar twinkling eyes. Different colour — dark brown, perhaps. I couldn’t see in the gloom.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked, nodding towards the turntable.

  ‘I was told to. Orders.’

  ‘Gary, the resident DJ, is over there. He’s the one in the loud shirt, dancing his feet off.’

  The one in the loud shirt was shaking himself silly in double-quick time to the reggae music. His red hair bounced wildly. He’d have a headache by morning.

  ‘I was told he was under the weather, not well enough to do his job,’ I said. Was this the dirty tricks brigade in action already?

  ‘Maybe under the weather this morning after a late-night, but looking bright and breezy this evening,’ said Daniel Webster. ‘I’ll go and have a word with him. He might agree to take over at half-time and let you get some rest. I guess you need a decent sleep after that long flight.’

  Another knight in shining armour, minus the white horse. I have several knights dotted around the world, wielding swords at dragons and monsters. I collect them. Things were looking up. Maybe I would survive this social experiment.

  ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that,’ I said, deciding to play a Simply Red track before I retired for what was left of the night. I needed a lullaby of my own.

  ‘Will you be able to find your way to your cabin?’

  I couldn’t even remember its number. ‘Sure,’ I said, with a bright confidence I did not feel. I vaguely remembered the deck, the direction and I had my key card. It was a ritual to always check that I had my key card before leaving the cabin.

  ‘Thank you and goodnight, Officer Webster,’ I said, on leaving.

  ‘Daniel, please. Goodnight, Miss. Sleep well.’

  *

  My ears went into shock as I left the disco. They thought I had gone deaf. The quietness, despite the throb of distant engines, was overwhelming. No trouble to find reception. Plenty of signs. Reception was empty of passengers. Only one soul in sight. It was the short-straw staff manning the desk.

  A rather wan-looking young woman was on duty, despite the late hour, propping up the counter. She was doing the ship’s daily crossword.

  ‘I’m really sorry to bother you,’ I began.

  ‘I know,’ she said, finding a smile from somewhere. ‘You’ve forgotten your cabin number. Don’t worry, everyone does it at first. Have you got your key card?’

  I handed it over. She slotted it into the mysterious know-all machine.

  ‘Cabin 333, D deck, Miss Jones,’ she said, giving back the card. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘And you. What time do you get off?’

  ‘Six bells,’ she grimaced. ‘Not long now. Let’s hope it’s a quiet night.’

  ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight. D Deck is one above. Take the lift or the stairs.’

  I could still manage the stairs, but once in my cabin, I cleaned my face like a zombie and hung up my beautiful dress in a trance. My shoes disappeared into a tangle under the single bed. It had been turned down by the steward.

  There was a chocolate on the pillow. ‘Sweet dreams’, said the wrapper.

  My sleep was deep. I fell down my personal precipice into brittle dreams. They say our dreams reflect the anger of the day. I could rarely remember my
dreams when I awoke, but I knew that they had not been pleasant. In fact, they had torn me to shreds.

  *

  When the sun woke me, for a second I thought I was back in Worthing, on leave, and the day would include a walk along the pier, a stroll through the shallows on the beach and maybe a concert at the pier pavilion. But then I realized we were berthed in Acapulco and I had to run errands for Pierre while he went to a posh lunch on the biggest liner in mid-harbour, swinging its mega thousands of tons on huge anchors.

  I went into the entertainment office before breakfast, to show willing. I was ready for any surprises. Pierre was checking his email. He was all geared up in spotless white trousers, white shirt and navy blazer. The Conway tie was missing. Essential, I would have thought, for a prestige luncheon, but I said nothing. Perhaps he was going to add it later.

  ‘I’m sure you’d like a few hours ashore,’ he said, as if doing me a favour. ‘Perhaps you could pick up a few things for me. In the market there is a local jewellers. Can’t remember the name, but it’s quite a big, open-fronted shop. I ordered and paid for a ring to be made for me. Special Aztec design. Montezuma dynasty. They said it would be ready on my return visit.’

  ‘Have you got a receipt?’ I asked.

  ‘Can’t find it,’ he said vaguely. ‘But they’ll remember me.’

  ‘But they won’t remember me. Could you give me a note saying I am authorized to collect the ring for you?’ I did not intend to be caught out.

  ‘What a suspicious person you are,’ he said, reaching for a sheet of Conway-headed stationery. He started to write.

  ‘I wouldn’t give it to me,’ I said with some spirit. ‘No receipt, no ring.’

  ‘And get me some coffee. There’s a local brand. Very good. Better than the brew they call coffee on board.’

  ‘OK.’ He didn’t offer me any money. ‘And when you come back, do a check on Debbie. She’s doing bingo this morning and deck games this afternoon. See how she’s getting on. A bit dodgy.’

  ‘Have I met Debbie?’

  ‘She’s our trainee entertainment officer. Very new to the job, despite training elsewhere. She needs watching all the time. She’s always late. I don’t think she has ever learned to check her watch or keep her mobile charged.’

  ‘What cabin is she in?’

  ‘Don’t know. Somewhere down in the depths. One of the crew cabins. Basic is good enough for her.’ He chuckled as if this was funny.

  I wondered if she would be an ally or an enemy. If she was getting the sharp end of Pierre’s wit, then maybe we would get along fine. I would at least try to establish a friendly partnership. We might even establish mutual support.

  It was a relief to go ashore, to shake off the confines of the big ship. The Countess Aveline was not yet feeling like home. I knew my way round Acapulco and after shaking off the persistent taxi drivers, I went through the teeming back streets towards the marketplace. It was called a market but it was more of a mix of traders catering to the tourists who wanted to shop somewhere with local colour. The local housewives went to another market for their fresh fruit and vegetables and fresh fish and bloodied meat stalls.

  Even if it didn’t yet feel like home, at least I was getting used to the new ship’s size. The Countess Aveline felt like a floating tower block, but she was crisp white and so essentially English. Somehow I could feel the shape of the smaller ship within that she had once been, an integral part of her that one could not deny.

  ‘You come see flea market?’ asked a man wearing the badge of an official guide. He was dark, swarthy, with Aztec cheekbones. ‘Many bargains. Taxi, then?’

  ‘No, thank you. No taxi,’ I said firmly. There was a criminal element in Acapulco that targeted tourists. I had no jewellery on me, no credit card, no camera. I was not going in a taxi to see the famous cliff-divers at La Quebrada, however amazing their skill and daring, leaping down into the pounding surf below the rocks. Leave that to the tours.

  ‘Lana Turner, Errol Flynn, John Wayne, Frank Sinatra. You go see their houses, big houses, very beautiful. Caleta Beach.’

  ‘No, thank you. I have some shopping to do.’

  ‘I take you shopping.’

  He was hard to get rid of. I felt sorry for him. The locals had to make money while the cruise ships were in. But eventually he wandered away, looking for a softer touch.

  There were over 600 shops strung along the beach and in the teeming inland streets. I knew this market was the showplace for souvenirs, shells, straw hats, leather, ceramics, glassware and jewellery. The place was crowded with wandering tourists and noisy with music and multi-lingual conversations. The jeweller’s was an open-fronted shop with glass-topped cases full of silver jewellery, onyx and semi-precious stones, as Pierre had described.

  I explained my errand to the shop assistant. The young man looked bewildered and fetched the manager. I explained again.

  ‘Ah, yes, Monsieur Arbour, officer from the ship. We made a silver ring for him. It is ready.’ He produced a box with a flourish and opened the lid. A ruby spat fire at me. It was big and magnificent. A man’s signet ring. Flashy.

  ‘Very nice,’ I said, hoping I wouldn’t get mugged on the way back to the ship. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You pay now?’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Here is the bill. For making ring, for making ring bigger.’

  ‘Monsieur Arbour has already paid for the ring, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Receipt then, please.’

  I could see his point of view. The jeweller could hardly let a strange woman walk off with an expensive ring that hadn’t been paid for. Pierre’s note saying I was to collect it meant nothing to them. I cursed Pierre for not giving me his receipt. I felt sure he had paid for it. They were not the kind of traders to do any work without seeing money up front.

  He’d have to do his own arguing. There might be enough time when he came back from his free lunch. If he missed our departure time, guess who would have to take charge? I was ready. I was capable.

  ‘OK. I’ll tell him that the ring is ready but that you would not give it to me. I do understand. You need the receipt.’

  I bought the coffee grounds that Pierre wanted and paid for them. Don’t call me mean. The packet smelled gorgeous. I bought a packet for myself. Why should I stint myself? I needed the caffeine.

  I wandered round the market and bought myself a Panama hat. My hat had gone walkabout. I felt sure I had brought it but somehow it was nowhere around. Lost en route. A hat was essential. Many people forgot about hats in intense heat. The wonder of a Panama hat is that it can be folded or rolled up. Money well spent.

  It was time to go back to the ship. I walked, wearing my hat straight on my brow. The local taxi drivers tried again, cruising alongside till they gave up. Energy was returning after sleep. Not enough sleep, but enough to sharpen my wits.

  I still could not get over the size of the ship. I could feel echoes of the older ship, could see original woodwork, brass, signs. Grandfather Jordan Conway would have known every inch.

  I went straight to the entertainment office. It was deserted. Where was everyone? Pierre (or Timber!) had not yet returned from his free lunch. I left a note on his curved desk about the ring, plus the coffee and the shop receipt. There was no guarantee that I would be refunded. I didn’t care. I could afford to give him a packet of coffee grounds, but I’d be warned in the future.

  A young woman lurched into the office. She was dishevelled, face flushed, short fair hair like a haystack. But she was wearing the daytime Conway uniform. She fell onto a chair, legs spread out.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she groaned. ‘I can’t do this any more. I’ve been running around all morning. I can’t be in three places all at the same time. Please, whoever you are, I must have some time off.’

  ‘Are you Debbie?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I’m the trainee. Slave. Dogsbody. Trash.’

  ‘Good heavens, that’s a bit strong. Surely it’s no
t as bad as that?’

  ‘It’s worse. You don’t know it all.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Debbie. I’m here now. I’m Casey Jones, the new temporary deputy, replacing Tracy Coleman. Talk to me about it later. But now, go back to your cabin and get some rest. You look as if you need it. Do you have some other duties today?’

  ‘Yes, afternoon quiz, bingo, chocolate buffet.’

  ‘I’ll do them all. You go and put your feet up, have a decent meal. Let’s meet about five o’clock at the back of the theatre and we’ll have a talk. Don’t worry, Debbie. We’ll work it out.’

  The young woman looked at me in amazement as if she had never heard any kind words before.

  ‘I was going to resign. Fly home. Are you for real?’

  ‘I think so,’ I grinned.

  ‘Thank you,’ she gulped. ‘No one has ever said, go and have a rest. I can hardly believe it. I’ve been working non-stop, ever since I got on at Southampton. It’s been a nightmare.’

  Quiz, bingo, chocolate buffet. I must be mad. But I knew desperation when I saw it. I gave her a smile and gently pushed her out the door. ‘Go, go, girl,’ I said. ‘Before I change my mind. I’m not into bingo.’

  Debbie turned in the doorway, her face pinched. ‘Tracy Coleman didn’t jump ship,’ she said. ‘They got rid of her. She knew too much.’

  4. At Sea

  Pierre Arbour returned from his free lunch in a jovial mood. The American officers had obviously fed and watered their guests well. Americans were a generous and hospitable race.

  ‘So, how is my sleepy little deputy today?’ he asked. Now, I am not little. His eyesight needed testing. Five foot eight in bare feet is not little. In high heels I would tower over him. ‘No problems, I hope, while I’ve been away. What a magnificent ship is that Diamond Line. She’s a floating palace.’

  ‘Everything’s gone smoothly,’ I said. ‘The quiz had low attendance, aimed mainly for the few who stayed on board, but everyone enjoyed it. The bingo was fun. Everyone likes winning money. The chocolate buffet was a gourmet’s delight. Even my clothes reek of chocolate. Here’s your coffee. It smells gorgeous. And about your ring …’