The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (19 page)

The prime-time language class at eleven in the morning faced disaster. Students had become completely disillusioned with simply repeating lists of foreign words, and the chronic inability of the so called ‘language guru’ to translate in a time of crisis failed to win new recruits. Enzo found himself reading
out a list of German words to the oldest passenger on board, a ninety-two-year-old retired General, who had no idea what it was he was attending and frankly didn’t care. Radley Duvet said that shortly he would have to take a look at the scheduling as he had received many complaints about lectures being put on either too early in the day or too late.

As the ship was passing through an area where there had been, and still was, conflict, Toby Troy was invited to take the stage and give the first lecture of his series. He had promised to deliver an anecdotal account of his life, which would include graphic descriptions of his meeting with some of the bad hats of this world. This caused some considerable interest amongst the passengers, and a presentable number gathered for lecture number one.

Had Mr Troy chosen another career, he could well have elected to act as the double for the famous British comedian, Ronnie Corbett. Mr Troy was exactly five feet one inch, wore spectacles and was slightly rotund. This is where the similarity ended. His dogmatic manner, which at first had been propelled by religious persuasion, continued but in a different guise. As an apostle of Professor Dickie Querk, the renowned atheist from the West Country, now he sought every opportunity to attack his former beliefs, which he had held with such apparent conviction. Latterly, as a devotee and partner of Assad Wikiwatts, he was out to expose all and sundry. It came as a great shock to him
when he discovered that there was a chaplain on board who was being fêted by the ship for his negotiating skills. There and then he sent off a missive to the Admiral asking why there was not a wizard and a witch on board also. The Admiral replied that both a wizard and a witch would appear in the pantomime performed at Christmas and he would have to wait until then. This did not amuse Mr Troy in the slightest and he was determined to confront the chaplain as soon as an opportunity arose.

He climbed onto the platform that acted as a temporary stage and stood behind the lectern which had been borrowed for the occasion from the set of religious props held by the ship. It was in the shape of a massive eagle preparing to soar into the heavens and had been obtained from a redundant church by the Admiral’s wife. Mr Troy spread his copious notes on the eagle’s back and began.

‘Good day to you all, ladies and gentlemen,’ he squeaked.

Unfortunately, he did not have a commanding voice and he sounded somewhat like a
castrato
with a cold. Several hands were cupped to ears as he continued.

‘Today, I shall …’

Before he could continue, a technician came running towards him. He jumped onto the platform with the agility of a tiger and adjusted the lapel mike of the diminutive lecturer.

‘That should be good now,’ he whispered and leaped back to his booth.

Mr Troy began again. ‘Today, ladies and gentlemen …’

Now his squeaky falsetto was so amplified that the startled audience recoiled in their seats.

Once more the young tiger pounced and the mike was adjusted yet again. Mr Troy now looked flustered, as when the technician mounted the stage he brushed against the lectern, scattering the notes across the floor. Both lecturer and the sound operative got to their knees and began to collect up the scattered sheets. The young man handed a bundle of assorted papers to Mr Troy and hurried back to a place of safety. Troy looked confused as he had failed to number the sheets and now they were in a total mess.

‘If you would forgive me, ladies and gentlemen,’ he bleated, ‘I need just a few moments to arrange my notes.’

Several members of the audience, when they saw the considerable number of notes Mr Troy was sorting, decided that they did not want to listen to a lengthy oration that would bear a close resemblance to a Chinese Opera, and so they got up to leave. Mr Troy spotted them.

‘Wait!’ he cried. ‘I haven’t begun yet.’

His protests fell on ears which had been deafened by the over-amplification of half a sentence. What a full lecture would do to their hearing did not bear thinking about and so they marched resolutely out.

‘I am afraid that I cannot continue as planned at this precise
moment,’ Mr Troy squeaked. ‘My notes have got out of order, but let me try and speak without them.’

The room fell silent and there was a definite air of expectancy. Mr Troy cleared his throat.

‘I often think it is good to begin with a funny story,’ he started. ‘I had written one down but I am afraid I can’t remember it, nor can I think of one with which to begin.’

Someone gave an audible groan. It was probably the comedian who had made interventions when Lady Veronika won the carats. His identity was confirmed when he shouted out, ‘Did your mother give you lots of shortbread when you were a nipper?’

This caused much laughter in the room and Mr Troy looked increasingly flustered as he failed to understand the joke, which of course referred to his height.

‘She did not,’ he replied seriously, ‘but I fail to see what is funny about that. Can someone enlighten me, please?’

The invitation was too much for the funny man in the audience, who quacked loudly and said that he understood there might be an epidemic of Ducks Disease about to afflict the ship. There was more laughter, which increased when the ship lurched and it appeared that the eagle was about to take off as it plunged off the stage. The Admiral, who had been sitting quietly at the back, immediately ran forward to retrieve his precious artefact. He collected it from the floor, and with the help of a steward,
carried it to the back of the room. Mr Troy’s notes were now scattered everywhere. He stood helplessly, totally lost for words. He did manage to squeak out that he would return later in the week, and with that he stumbled off the platform and scurried down into the safety of his cabin.

So far on this cruise the lectures had not been a total success. Fred Batty had got into difficulties with his slides, Toby Troy with his notes, and it was yet to be seen how Sir Horace would manage. He was not scheduled to speak until later in the voyage, and so he had ample time to learn from the experience of his colleagues. It was arranged that the three lecturers, who provided the intellectual backbone of the ship, should meet together one evening over dinner to discuss how things had gone so far.

Meanwhile Enzo, the Cruise Director, had not had an altogether successful cruise. His precious language classes had started off well enough but had failed to attract the numbers he had hoped for, and now he was threatened with having to move to a less favourable slot. Although Enzo normally commanded and controlled the programme of entertainments on board, the Hotel Manager could intervene - even though he was loath to do so. Enzo was also facing an uncomfortable encounter with his superior, in respect of the five hundred pounds he had given away to Lady Veronika in the form of a totally free excursion with wines and what-have-you. Never did he imagine that the
prize would be won, given that he deliberately chose the most obscure subjects for the special quiz. Someone must have known that the lady had brought on board her own personal supply of yak’s milk as it would have had to be kept in the freezer. That someone must have been the Hotel Manager, reasoned Enzo. It was with a mixture of apprehension and defiance that he entered Duvet’s office.

Duvet was sitting at his desk and swearing under his breath at the computer screen before him. He didn’t look up but spoke nevertheless.

‘This damn system is awful,’ he said as he thumped the keyboard. ‘A flock of trained seagulls would do better than email. As for Head Office - well, I give up. When the Admiral or Harry are not there to keep them in order, they do exactly what they wish. They fail, totally fail, to understand life on board. We have an entertainer booked to get on in a stop or two. It seems as though they are flying him around Australia on some kangaroo airline to get him here. That will save them five quid if they are lucky. Totally mad, I tell you. Totally mad. He will arrive on his uppers, give two shows and depart no doubt via South America to join another ship in China.’

Enzo nodded sympathetically. ‘Very troublesome,’ he said. ‘Very troublesome indeed.’

‘Well,’ Duvet sighed, hitting the keyboard with such force that the screen went blank, ‘what’s all this about your language
classes? Come on Enzo, it’s a bit of a con, isn’t it - and you have been found out. Some of these passengers are not as dim as they look, you know. Who is going to want to attend a lecture before breakfast and again immediately before dinner? It’s bloody daft, man. The lectures are pretty dire, I grant you, but if you put them on right after lunch, you will have one hundred per cent of the group asleep rather than the present fifty per cent. The only way is to share your prime time of eleven, Enzo, and that is what I am going to enforce.’

Enzo paled. His whole life was increasingly caught up with the ship. Over the past weeks he had come to regard himself as a paternal father who would guide and direct his children in the right way. He knew what was best for them.

‘But …’ he began.

‘No buts, Enzo. That is how it will be.’

The Hotel Manager once again turned his attention to the errant computer, but Enzo did not leave.

‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘I have a bone to pick with you.’

‘Pick away,’ Duvet replied as the screen flashed into life and then quickly went black.

‘Why didn’t you inform me that Lady Veronika was bringing her own personal supply of yak’s milk on board?’ Enzo said aggressively.

For the first time since the Cruise Director entered the office the Manager looked up, a look of utter amazement on his face.

‘What?’ he shouted. ‘
What
? Do you really expect me to go round all the staff informing them that Mr Jenkins has brought a pot of Silver Shred marmalade with him and that his wife has brought her own personal toast-rack? What in God’s name does it matter to you what the old bat brings on board! Baboon steaks, for all I care. I think you need a lie-down Bigatoni.’

Enzo was unsure how to proceed after this outburst and his courage failed him.

‘I see,’ he said in the most indignant voice he could muster. ‘Well, as a colleague, I have to say I expect a little more sharing of information on this ship. Thank you.’

He turned and left the office as the Hotel Director stared after him, totally bewildered.

A blind piano-tuner had come on board at Messina and done his best with the concert grand. At one time it had been an elegant instrument, but at a certain point in its history it had been painted white and subsequently had been kicked and scratched so it did not look its best. Fortunately the tuner could not see this but he certainly could tell that it had witnessed better days. He spent a considerable amount of time attempting to get it in working order but, when the time came for the ship to depart and he had to leave, he declared himself dissatisfied. To untuned ears it sounded magnificent, and as the unmusical were in the majority, and this was a democratic ship, they carried the day.
It was approved for service and the piano player, one Rod Saddleworth, was summoned from the kitchen for a rehearsal. The piano did not blend exactly with the piano accordion played with such gusto by Uncle Giovanni, but the clarinet, expertly handled by Marko Contoni, sounded lovely. At least, that is what Angela Fairweather, the Social Hostess, said - and she should know, having been trained in classical ballet and also having had a part in the chorus of her local pantomime in Durham.

It was Angela who suggested that there ought to be a ‘Golden Evening’ when there would be dancing to the ‘Golden Oldies’ and a special ‘Golden Dinner’ served. She had rather taken a shine to the chaplain whom she had barely seen but, as he had achieved hero status on board, she felt even more inclined in his direction. Again it was Angela who suggested that as a surprise, the chaplain could receive his Golden Award at the special Golden Dinner. This suggestion was received with enthusiasm by both the Hotel Director and the Admiral, and it was agreed that the presentation be kept quiet and only disclosed on a ‘need to know’ basis. When outline plans had been made, it was remembered that there was a gentleman host on board in the person of Mr Fennington Barley, and he also ought to be brought into the planning as he would certainly be required to dance that evening.

Much thought was given by Duvet and Mike Tucker to the menu for the dinner. It was decided that there would be a
‘Golden’ theme running through the event, and as a provisional try they devised the following.

Golden Sweetcorn served with Golden Pastures Butter

It was Harry who suggested this first course, mainly because he could think of nothing else. Duvet was not keen, as he regarded sweetcorn as being fit only for pigs but, as he could think of nothing else, corn it was.

Duvet mentioned goldfish but Mike thought they might be inedible, and passengers would not like the thought of eating pets and so they were dismissed. Finally, as a main course they came up with:

Golden Beer-Battered Fish with Fried Golden Yukon Potatoes

Golden Cloved Baked Ham

Golden Chicken

Curried Golden Roast Beets
as a vegetarian option.

This latter item did not seem very appealing to the assembled, but as they were desperate for a Golden option for the ‘veggies’ on board, it was included.

Puddings were much easier and they had a very long list. Finally they decided on:

Golden Syrup Steamed Pudding

Golden Delicious Apple Dessert

Golden Shred Marmalade Pudding

The meal would conclude with:

Gold Blend Coffee
and

Terry’s Old Gold Chocolates

Satisfied with their work, Mike Tucker retired to the kitchen to swot up on one of his recipe books and Harry to his office to plan further for the great day, the date of which had yet to be arranged.

The evening being fine, and the seas calm, the deck was laid out for a barbecue. Small tables were quickly erected and the galley staff spent hours bringing up cooking utensils and crockery from the kitchen and dining room. There were no duplicate sets of tableware and so everything had to be fetched from below and returned again as soon as the meal was over. It was not possible to move the grand piano without a great deal of difficulty, which was fortunate for the galley as Rod Saddleworth, the musical cook, was urgently required for cookhouse duties. It was left to Uncle Giovanni and his accordion, along with Marko and his clarinet, to provide the music for the evening. Mr Fennington Barley was instructed by Harry Duvet to be on duty until the very end of the evening as no doubt many single ladies would require him to dance, and dance he must.

‘That is why you are here,’ Harry said when he delivered his instructions. ‘The Cruise Director will be hosting the evening, of course, but I shall be keeping a close eye on events as we want this evening to be a total success. There have been too many unfortunate happenings of late. Tonight we must see the end of
trouble and the start of a new and exciting phase of the cruise.’

Mr Barley had not been aware of too many problems, although he had not had an opportunity to dance yet and, as he rather liked dancing, he felt he had missed out on something. He promised to do his best and went off to change into his regular uniform of black trousers, dinner jacket and bow-tie.

Radley Duvet tidied his office and took a stroll on the deck. Everything seemed to be progressing nicely. Piles of plates and cutlery were still being hauled up from below and were now being supplemented by huge bowls of salad and other tasty morsels. Enzo had changed into his best purple evening jacket which at one time he could fasten but alas, no more. He was still feeling bruised from his encounter with the Hotel Manager, but he tried to put it to the back of his mind and concentrate on the evening before him. His duties were not arduous. All he had to do was ‘to keep the show on the road’ as Duvet once put it. He would chat to as many people as possible and, if there was an opportunity, perhaps sing. It was not widely known, but in the past Enzo had actually starred as an extra in several musical shows. He had had an ambition to make a career on the stage but he never got further than wearing a silly uniform and singing in the chorus of a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. He had taken these roles so often that almost all the works of these Victorian musicians were committed to his memory. As he tied his floppy bow-tie, he hummed several ditties to himself. This evening, he
thought, he would have an opportunity to shine at last.

At about seven o’clock passengers began to assemble. They were greeted on deck by Angela, who had persuaded the chaplain to make an appearance and get to know one or two people. Angela had a kind heart and felt truly sorry for the poor man, who had found himself on board a ship that he did not really want to be on, and then was stuck for days in a cubbyhole in the sickbay. Now (much to his surprise) that he had achieved celebrity status, everyone wanted to speak to him and he would have to get accustomed to that. Angela thought that the barbecue evening would be a good first venture out for him. He was hesitant at first as he said that all he had was his rather plain clerical suit and collar, but Angela told him that this was totally appropriate for the evening. Later in the cruise, when they stopped in India, he could get a new outfit for a few pounds.

The Admiral felt in a party mood as he put on his mess kit for the evening. Anticipating an occasion on board when fancy dress might be required, he had brought along a cocked hat of the type Nelson used to wear. He placed this on his head and thought it looked remarkably fetching. As he had offered to serve passengers with their complimentary first glass of rum punch, he decided that he would wear the headgear for this job.

On deck, before the punch had arrived, waiters were doing their best to make sure that everything was secure. A sudden
gust of wind had smashed several glasses, and orders were given that only plastic glasses were to be brought up. Waiters were seen chasing a couple of linen tablecloths which, unfortunately, disappeared overboard, along with a whole bowlful of salad greens, which scattered like leaves in autumn. Apart from these minor upsets, preparations were going well. Giovanni and Marko were tuning up. Marko played ‘Stranger on the Shore’ not once, but half a dozen times, and Giovanni played Sicilian melodies that few people had heard but most enjoyed.

The punch arrived, along with the Admiral who stood behind a gleaming silver bowl with a ladle in his hand, ready to serve. The aroma of roasting meat wafted across the deck as passengers took their free drinks to a table and chatted with each other. Enzo emerged from a side door and, to his immense satisfaction, received a small burst of applause from the three or four people who had attended his classes. When his elegant attire was noted, more joined in, and he bowed in acknowledgement before crossing to the microphone. He beamed before welcoming everyone to the barbecue evening. As the weather was calm, he could be heard perfectly as he said that everyone was to have a good time and he hoped that they were enjoying the excellent barbecue. He invited everyone to dance, at which point Giovanni and Marko struck up a lively polka and happy cruisers bounced up and down the deck.

The Admiral, his bar duties fulfilled but still wearing his
cocked hat, joined the Captain’s table where, for the first time, sat Angus MacDonald who had been persuaded to leave the engine room for a while and join in the fun. Being of a somewhat dour disposition, he glowered at everyone from behind his beard and soon made his escape back to the world of nuts and bolts.

An hour into the proceedings, Fennington Barley was both hungry and exhausted. Never in his life had he danced so much and with such vigour. Elderly ladies, who looked as though they could not manage a shopping trolley, once the music started jigged around the floor like two year olds. He was constantly being prodded by the Cruise Director to dance with passengers so he never got an opportunity to even take a small bite of his steak. Finally, in desperation, he filled a plate and rushed out of a side door where he quickly swallowed what he could before returning to further gyrations. When plates had been cleared away and passengers were now blithely signing chits for more drinks, Enzo returned to the mike. He held up his hands and requested silence which remarkably, he got.