Doctor On Toast (7 page)

I went down to the first-class saloon. I was almost too worried to eat, and I’d all that seasickness to catch up with, too. Mumbling a few polite words, I sat down and unfolded my table-napkin and fiddled a bit with the menu.

I had my own table not far from Ophelia and Humphrey, with three eating companions. On my right, Miss Miggs, a schoolteacher recovering from her thyroid being removed. On my left, Mr Bridgenorth, who seemed to be some sort of high-powered grocer. Opposite, Mrs van Barn, a pleasant American who looked as though she’d been turned out by a posh beauty parlour, though without making them work too hard for their money.

At least I hadn’t the extra strain of making conversation, because everyone meeting a doctor socially is bursting to pour out their entire clinical history since the mumps. Miss Miggs kicked off with the story of her thyroidectomy, which they’d issued invitations for surgeons all over London to see, like a film premiere. She was followed by Mr Bridgenorth, who’d been packed off on a cruise when the strain of flogging all those packets of cornflakes got too much for his blood pressure. And though Mrs van Barn was healthy enough herself she’d lost a couple of husbands through highly complicated diseases, and it struck me they must have been pretty rich chaps at that, affording to have them at New York rates.

While the three of them swapped symptoms over the roast pork, I simply threw in the sympathetic word and wondered what the devil to do about the coming evening. Somehow I had to keep Basil and Ophelia asunder. As I couldn’t very well stop Basil’s appearance at the party, short of telling the Captain he was suffering from some frightful contagious disease, it was clear I had to go to work pretty smartly on Ophelia.

Immediately after lunch I searched the ship, and discovered her looking enraptured against the funnel.

‘What ho, there!’

I waited till Humphrey was busy fiddling with his camera.

‘Haven’t forgotten the little drink rearranged for this evening, I hope?’ I asked.

‘Oh, darling, it’s a frightful bore, but I can’t possibly make it. I’ve just had a simply lovely invitation to the Captain’s cocktail party, all covered with flags and things.’

‘Not the Captain’s cocktail party!’

I put on a look of horror I doubt even Basil could have bettered.

‘But you’re not really going?’ I demanded.

‘Why ever not? They say it’s the absolute social pinnacle of the voyage. Ascot and Cowes all rolled into one.’

‘Oh, Lord, no! It’s a frightfully dreary affair. Everyone knows that the people at the Captain’s table are always the stuffiest bunch on board. They just stand round talking about stocks and shares and golf and downing all the free gin. You might just as well be at a cocktail party in Bagshot.’

‘I happen to have been to some wonderful parties in Bagshot, darling. When I was engaged to a divine officer at Sandhurst.’

This was a new one on me, but I went on, ‘You’ll be absolutely bored to tears–’

‘It happens I particularly want to go,’ said Ophelia firmly. ‘I can always have a drink with you another day, can’t I? After all,’ she added, after a pause, ‘neither of us is likely to go away for the weekend or anything.’

‘No, of course not. But Ophelia–’

‘A little more of the bosom, please dear,’ said Humphrey, restarting operations.

‘Ophelia–’

‘Sorry, darling. I’m busy.’

I went back to my cabin. I knew that once Ophelia made up her mind about anything she was as difficult to shift as Captain Spratt himself. I paced up and down and finished my tin of duty-free cigarettes. I stared through the porthole, wondering if some typhoon might blow up and cancel the whole affair. I cursed the ruddy ship and the whole ruddy sea. I’d started the voyage as blithe as a newly-hatched seagull, and now I’d the stickiest situation imaginable on my hands. I supposed it was just the same with the Ancient Mariner.

The afternoon passed. I tried to distract myself by having a go at Sir Lancelot’s memoirs. I took evening surgery as usual in the ship’s hospital. At last it was time to put on my little mess jacket and stiff shirt, and as I did up my tie I decided that only desperate measures were left.

Going aloft towards the Captain’s cabin I slipped into a little nook I remembered below his companion-way, between the officers’ oilskin locker and the gyrocompass. As the guests started to arrive I kept peering round the corner for Ophelia, until I began to wonder if I’d had a stroke of luck and she had gone to bed with a nasty headache. But, of course, she was always late for everything, and I could hear everyone chatting away brightly up in the cabin by the time I spotted her coming down the deck.

‘Darling!’ She gave a shriek as I jumped out of the shadows. ‘What on earth’s the matter with you these days? You’re always going about frightening the life out of me. Is it your idea of shock treatment, or something?’

‘A word with you,’ I announced solemnly. ‘Alone.’

She looked alarmed. ‘But why in heaven’s name all the mystery? Is the ship sinking, or something?’

‘It’s a bit difficult to explain out here,’ I mumbled. ‘If you’d care to nip down to my cabin for that drink–’

‘Well, I like that!’ Ophelia stamped her foot. ‘I happen to have been especially looking forward to this party,
and
I’ve put on a new dress. How you have the damned nerve to suggest I utterly waste my evening–’

‘I thought it would be rather nice for us to have a chat,’ I persisted, edging nearer. ‘After all, Ophelia old girl, we haven’t seen much of each other on board, have we? And what with my taking all that trouble to be on the ship with you–’

‘You make me sick! For once in my life I’ve a chance to get away from it all and meet some nice interesting new people, and you have to come panting after me like an over-sexed bloodhound–’

‘Ophelia!’ This was all jolly galling. ‘Ophelia, surely you understand my feelings towards you–’

‘I understand them only too well.’

‘Dash it! I told you once how I absolutely wanted to marry you–’

‘And I can tell you now there’s not the slightest possibility of my ever being idiotic enough to allow you to ruin my entire life. All I ask is for you to stop ruining my entire holiday. I’m going up to that party.’

I grabbed her arm.

‘Take your hands off me this instant, you beast! Or I’ll scream for a sailor.’

‘Ophelia–’ I hissed. ‘Let me tell you exactly why you’re not to go up there tonight.’

‘Please do. No-one would be more delighted to find out than myself.’

‘Basil – Basil Beauchamp – is in the Captain’s cabin.’

She stared at me.

‘Yes. I saw him there. With my own eyes, this very morning.’

‘But – but what on earth is
he
doing on board? And hobnobbing with the Captain, too?’

‘He isn’t hobnobbing. He’s serving the drinks.’

‘Serving the drinks?’

I explained briefly the terms of Basil’s steamship ticket.

‘Of all the stupid idiotic oafs!’ Ophelia stamped the deck again. ‘Why the hell can’t he leave me alone? Why the hell can’t you both leave me alone? Aren’t I allowed to have a scrap of private life and talk sometimes to other men than you pair of–’

‘At least you can’t possibly show your face at the party,’ I interrupted.

‘And why shouldn’t I show my face wherever I damn well like?’

‘I mean, Basil in his little white jacket–’

‘If Basil wants to turn himself into a floating waiter, that’s his concern. I am going up to that party, and you, my fine friend, will escort me. Come on!’

‘Now – now just a minute, Ophelia.’ I started to back away. ‘I mean, if you don’t think me rather rude, it would be better all round if I simply went down to my cabin–’

‘Come on – worm!’

She grabbed my arm. We went up the companion-way, her nails biting into my left biceps.

I don’t know whether Basil expected Ophelia to throw her arms round his neck, burst into tears diluting his tray of Martinis, or to faint. As it happened, she simply swept up, said, ‘Martini, steward,’ and swept off again.

I edged into the background, watching Basil trying to make all this out. Never a quick thinker off the boards, he frowned a bit and seemed to decide that Ophelia simply hadn’t noticed his face. I suppose that was reasonable enough. You don’t usually go to parties peering round the waiters in case one of them happens to be your fiancé. Ophelia meanwhile struck up conversation with Captain Spratt, though talking and laughing rather louder than usual, and what with it being a low cabin and it being Ophelia, this was pretty noisy altogether.

‘Captain, what an absolutely divine party, and how terribly sweet of you to ask me,’ she prattled.

‘But I am sure, Miss O’Brien, you must find it an extremely dull affair.’

The Captain was clearly tickled to the ends of his whiskers at Ophelia making a dart for him, particularly in that low-cut dress.

‘I have no doubt that in London you are greatly in demand to grace far more brilliant assemblies than I can provide,’ he went on.

‘But Captain, I lead the quietest of lives.’ She gazed up at him. ‘I’m quite a home-body, you know. Just cooking and knitting and the television. That’s why it’s so wonderful to be on board your lovely exciting ship.’

Basil came squarely up to her, pushing his way through the other guests and staring hard under his eyebrows, like Boris Karloff in the old film posters.

‘Steward,’ said Ophelia, snapping her fingers. ‘Nuts.’

Basil stood still, breathing heavily.

‘Beauchamp, there are guests with empty glasses in the corner,’ ordered the Captain. ‘Attend to them, if you please.’

‘And just to think, Captain, you’re in charge of all this great big liner,’ Ophelia continued. ‘Doesn’t the strain keep you awake all night?’

Captain Spratt smiled. ‘I am glad to tell you, dear lady, that since first assuming command I have never suffered a moment of insomnia. Though, naturally, the position has its responsibilities–’

‘But Captain, you’re just the type who simply thrives on responsibilities.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘You’d be absolutely surprised at the spineless creatures I have to mix with in London. Some I could mention would make a jellyfish look like the sentries outside Buckingham Palace. But you, Captain–’ She patted his lapel. ‘You’re a man of action, anyone could see that.’

The Captain took a pinch of snuff.

‘Beauchamp – those glasses,’ he repeated.

‘What broad shoulders you have, Captain,’ breathed Ophelia.

‘Madam.’ Basil poked a dish towards her. ‘Your nuts.’

‘Thank you, steward.’

‘Madam–’

‘Yes, steward?’

‘Is – is that all, madam?’

‘Definitely all, steward. Don’t you think it atrocious,’ Ophelia went on to Captain Spratt, ‘how these days some men will pursue a woman right to the very ends of the earth?’

‘I’m afraid I’m hardly qualified to answer that, Miss O’Brien, being a confirmed bachelor. Indeed, I have never pursued a woman in my life, except for an unfortunate lady who became unhinged at Teneriffe some years ago and raced round the deck in her shift.’

‘With great respect, madam,’ intruded Basil, ‘I would venture the opinion that some ladies ought to regard it as a compliment to be followed anywhere at all.’

Ophelia raised her eyebrows. ‘Indeed?’

‘And that’s assuming the lady in question were worthy of the gentleman’s attentions, madam.’

The Captain gave a short laugh. ‘A very philosophical. character, our Beauchamp. Quite like that famous feller in the books – what’s his name? – Jeeves.’

‘Are you suggesting,’ continued Ophelia, fixing Basil with her eye like a winkle on the end of a pin, ‘that a lady might not be good enough for some mean-minded moron who won’t let her out of his sight for more than five minutes?’

‘I would only say–’

‘Thank you, Beauchamp,’ said Captain Spratt briefly. ‘That will be all.’

‘I would only say,’ Basil went on doggedly, ‘that the gentleman would be surprised and pained at the lady not wanting him to accompany her – at considerable trouble and discomfort to himself–’

‘The gentleman’s an idiot,’ snapped Ophelia. ‘Unless, of course, the lady had the firm intention, once out of his sight, of cutting fast and loose–’

‘What a beastly suggestion!’

‘That will do, Beauchamp!’ roared Captain Spratt.

I suddenly realised everyone else in the cabin had stopped talking. I edged even deeper into the background and grabbed another Martini.

‘Furthermore, madam,’ Basil went on, now getting warmed up, ‘if a gentleman wishes to keep his self-respect–’

‘Self-respect? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. How you can imagine anyone would have a scrap of self-respect after rolling about in pink tights and a red nose in disgusting pantomimes–’

‘It was
not
a disgusting pantomime! It was an extremely high-class show. It simply didn’t happen to be appreciated in the district–’

‘It was a fifth-rate road show which anyone with the slightest pretensions of being an actor–’

‘I – the gentleman –
is
an actor, damn it! You just wait, madam!’ Basil shook his finger, spilling all the nuts. ‘You just wait. One day you’ll see him with top billing in the West End and you’ll be so blasted sorry–’

‘Steward!’ Captain Spratt made all the Martini glasses rattle. ‘Go below at once!’

‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Basil, ‘extremely sorry. I apologise to everyone. It’s simply that I have an urgent message from this lady’s fiancé–’

‘Go below, I say! Miss O’Brien, I really must express my regrets for this most painful interruption. If you have had a message by wireless–’

‘It didn’t come by wireless,’ Basil interrupted, ‘it came by telepathy.’

‘Good God, he’s mad,’ muttered the Captain. ‘Where’s the doctor?’

‘Mad as a hatter,’ agreed Ophelia briskly, ‘because I have no fiancé. Now, Captain, what were we discussing before we were so rudely interrupted?’

‘Ophelia – !’

Basil sank on one knee, like an obedient camel. ‘Doctor! Get this man out of here. Hell’s teeth! He’s raving. Absolutely raving. I’m extremely sorry, ladies and gentlemen, extremely sorry. This is a most unhappy interruption to your evening–’