The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (35 page)

‘You must all return one day soon,’ said Petra. ‘My sister and I will arrange a tour with dear Mr Lamb and we will have lunch at the Patangata Hotel. You would enjoy that.’

Everyone agreed that it sounded delightful and that they ought to make a special note in their diaries for the following year.

Both Albert and Alice were feeling rather cross with their
old bank manager for revealing the fact that they had won a great deal of money on the Lottery.

‘The man’s a damn fool,’ said Albert when they were back on board. ‘The fact that we have a bit of brass will now be all over the ship.’

Indeed it was. Petra, in all innocence, let it be known that when they were out with Albert and Alice they had met a very wealthy Englishman who was now living in Napier and this man recognised Albert as a fellow millionaire as they had both belonged to the same club.

‘Millionaire?’ queried Mrs Potts, who had moved from the Balcony Suite away from the Hardcastles. ‘Millionaire? I can hardly believe that. They may be living in a Balcony Suite, but many people save up for the cruise of a lifetime, you know.’

Despite what Mrs Potts thought, word soon got out that one of the passengers was a multi-multi millionaire and was about to take over ownership of the Golden Line. Fennington Barley was named as a likely candidate, but eventually the rumour centred around Albert and Alice.

‘I’m going to do what they did in the war,’ said Albert. ‘Keep Mum.’

‘Quite right,’ his wife agreed. Secretly she was not too displeased about the rumour, for now she might well be recognised as a lady of substance.

Albert didn’t know what to believe when he was approached
by Admiral Harrington in person and asked if he might be interested in a little business venture.

‘As you will no doubt know, Mr Hardcastle, my company is growing quickly and we are always on the lookout for private investors. Might you be interested?’

Albert declared that his business days were over when he left the Co-op and he certainly did not have spare money to invest.

‘Well, do at least think about it,’ said the Admiral. ‘The Harrington-Hardcastle Line has a certain distinguished ring about it, don’t you agree?’

Albert agreed that it had and promised to think about it, but was not hopeful.

At midnight precisely several passengers gathered on deck to say farewell to New Zealand. Earlier there had been a party on deck, but some more adventurous souls had stayed on in Napier for the evening and returned to the ship by taxi. It was a warm evening with a gentle breeze. Captain Sparda stood by as the pilot prepared to issue his instructions. The gangway was removed and, very slowly, very gently, the
Golden Handshake
began to edge away from the dockside. A few relatives, and friends of passengers, had gathered, even at this late hour, to wave goodbye. Somewhere on the key-side, Mr Bernard Havergill, Albert’s former bank manager, stood gazing wistfully at the departing ship. He waited until the
Handshake
had totally
disappeared from sight, then, with a sigh, turned and made his solitary way home.

Once the pilot had departed, Captain Sparda left the bridge for a brief siesta in his cabin. The Staff Captain ordered that the
Golden Handshake
be kept on a steady course at a moderate speed and he prayed that the vessel would hold together for the long crossing. By this time he had become rather fond of the old ship and, now that the passengers and crew had really settled in, he hoped that the final half of the World Tour would pass without mishap.

Both Radley and Enzo had been working together for several weeks preparing for one of the highlights of the voyage - The Grand Passenger Talent Show - which was due to take place that very evening. There would be a special meal, when officers of the ship would serve at table. They would not serve all courses, but they would dress in chefs’ outfits and serve at least one dish to each table. Afterwards, all the crew who were not on duty were invited to the show, along with the passengers who were not appearing in it.

Mike Tucker had pulled out all the stops for this evening. Although it was not Burns Night, Mike thought it would be a
good plan to have Angus, an accomplished piper, to pipe in the Haggis. He made sure that by every place there was a miniature bottle of whisky, and that haggis, neeps and tatties were on the menu for those who wished to order them. Angus duly did his stuff with the bagpipes, to tumultuous applause! The whisky disappeared and larger bottles were ordered by some tables where they were determined to make a night of it.

Once the meal was over, Captain Sparda, in full mess kit, stood and invited those assembled to join him and the crew to take part in what was to be a wonderful and entertaining evening. Of that he had no doubt. They all left the dining room in high spirits.

As the audience trooped into the entertainment area, the familiar musical trio were already on stage warming up. Philippa was at the piano, the chaplain sat behind the percussion and Lady Veronika was giving a very creditable performance on the saxophone. The great surprise for the audience was to see the elderly passenger Mr Coles, who had kept a very low profile to date, holding a microphone and doing a very acceptable imitation of Louis Armstrong.

‘I had no idea we had such talent on board,’ said the Admiral as he took his seat at the front of the room.

Captain Sparda agreed that the musical group were excellent, but he had no idea what was to come and would pass comment later.

When everyone was settled, the lights were dimmed, the chaplain gave a roll on the drums and, to considerable applause, Enzo took centre stage.

‘Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the Admiral’s Command Performance.’

Admiral Harrington at first looked surprised, as this was the first he had heard of this command, but he smiled and nodded graciously.

‘Tonight you will be amazed, enchanted and entertained by some of the greatest performers this ship has ever seen,’ continued Enzo.

‘Not difficult, seeing that before it was a cruise ship it was a cattle transporter,’ whispered the doctor to his neighbour Mike Tucker, who grinned.

‘For the first act tonight,’ Enzo continued, ‘I would like you to give a rousing
Handshake
welcome to two of the finest Clog Dancers in the world. Ladies and gentlemen … Mrs Dora Guttenburg and Mr Fennington Barley!’

The musical trio struck up a lively polka and, hand in hand, the clog-dancing couple entered. Mr Barley sported an old pair of Bombay Bloomers and an Austrian hat, from which sprouted a long pheasant’s feather. Mrs Guttenburg wore a long full skirt and a checkered apron. On her head was some form of white cap of the type Puritan ladies used to wear in the sixteenth century. They both wore yellow painted clogs and, for five or six minutes,
tapped their way merrily around the stage. They departed to tremendous applause and shouts of ‘More! More!’ Holding hands, they tapped their way back onto the stage. Fennington bowed and Dora curtsied, and then they tapped their way off the other side.

‘Bravo! Bravo!’ echoed around the room from an appreciative, whisky-fuelled audience.

‘I must admit they are very accomplished,’ said the Admiral, agreeably surprised.

Enzo reappeared and appealed for silence.

‘What a wonderful start to the show,’ he said proudly. ‘I’m sure that Fennington and Dora will have a glittering future in the clog-dancing world. Now, some of you will have heard of our adventures on a certain Island in Indonesia. But nothing happened there to compare with what you will hear in a moment. Ladies and gentlemen … Mr and Mrs Albert Hardcastle!’

Again there was more enthusiastic applause as Albert and Alice appeared. Albert wore a cap with a red spotted handkerchief around his neck, Alice her best salmon-pink two-piece outfit bought especially for the cruise. They each carried a script and stood, side by side, before the microphone. Albert began.

‘We are about to relate to you,’ he said slowly and deliberately, ‘a very terrible story. It may shock you, just as it shocked Alice and me when we first had it told to us. If you are nervous, you may want to leave now.’

No one stirred.

‘Right, Alice, you begin.’

‘There’s a famous seaside place called Blackpool …’. Alice began, broadening her Northern accent and sounding rather like the late Gracie Fields as she read from the script she held in front of her.

‘The Lion and Albert’ by Marriott Edgar, was a hugely popular monologue about a couple called Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom, who take their young son Albert to the zoo for a special treat, only to see him - and his ‘stick with an ‘orse’s’ead’andle’ - devoured by a moth-eaten old lion called Wallace.

The couple took it in turns to read the verses, Albert in an even broader accent, and when the story was over, the enraptured audience broke into thunderous applause.

The Hardcastles made their exit and Enzo reappeared. ‘What a story,’ he said. ‘A bit too near the bone for my liking.’

This remark caused much hilarity as they all remembered the hair-raising visit of the small party to Komodo Island.

‘Many of you will have been enchanted with New Zealand,’ he went on, ‘and many of you will have delighted in the musical talent of the Parkinson sisters from Hawkes Bay. Here they are once again to demonstrate their musical gifts, so give a big hand to … Petra and Philippa Parkinson!’

The two sisters entered dressed in long skirts and white
blouses and sat side by side in front of the piano. For the next several minutes they both played on the same keyboard at breakneck speed. It was a dazzling performance that had half the audience on its feet and applauding wildly.

Backstage, Enzo was perspiring profusely. The evening was going well. Too well, he thought pessimistically, for the luck could run out at any moment. The twins struck their closing chords and Enzo went forward again.

‘Phew! What an act to follow,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘But it can be followed, and will be, by none other than … Sir Archibald Willoughby, accompanied at the piano by his lovely wife, Lady … Veronika.’

Lady Veronika took her place and struck up the first few chords of the famous Boer War melody ‘Where Are the Boys of the Old Brigade’. To much laughter, Sir Archie then entered with his trousers tucked into long socks to make it appear that he was wearing puttees. Over his shoulder he carried a wooden rifle and, of course, he wore his famous battle-scarred pith helmet. He paraded around the stage, and then in centre stage, facing the audience, he began to sing the battle song.

Although Sir Archie presented a comic figure in his pseudo battle-kit, he sang in a fine clear baritone which moved his audience to tears, both of laughter and of sadness. He took a bow and Lady Veronika stood and scowled at the audience, before retreating to collect her saxophone and resume her place with the other musicians.

Enzo came bounding back on to introduce the next act. The Admiral was totally absorbed by the entertainment and even the sceptical Peché had to agree that it was a first-rate evening.

‘Laughter is the best medicine,’ Enzo cried, ‘and who better to administer it than your friend and my friend - the internationally famous … Mr Felix de Barkley!’

Felix came on wearing a tailcoat which was far too long for him and a battered top hat, and immediately began: ‘Hello-hello-hello. A funny thing happened as I was coming here tonight. I passed two fish in a tank. One said to the other “Do you know
how to drive this?’’

There was a loud groan from the audience.

Felix continued: ‘When we were in Australia the other day, I heard that boomerangs were coming back! Ah - I see that’s gone right over your head,’ said Felix, as only a handful of the audience got the joke and laughed.

‘Let’s try another one. What does a clock do when it’s hungry? Come on,’ he said to the audience, ‘keep up!’

No one answered.

‘Let me tell you,’ he said. ‘It goes back
four seconds
.’

There was another good-natured groan.

‘Why are there no skeletons here tonight?’ he asked next.

‘We don’t know,’ replied one of the crew boldly.

‘Because they’ve no body to go with.’ Felix grinned at his own joke. Now warming to his act, he said, ‘I say, I say, I say. I saw a Frenchman the other day. I asked him his name. “Phileepe Flop” he replied.’

The audience were left with no time to groan for Felix continued apace with joke after joke after joke, until Enzo walked across the stage bearing a large placard on which was scrawled in large letters INTERVAL. The musicians struck a loud chord and Enzo dropped the notice and applauded, to be echoed by loud clapping from the audience. Felix, realising by now that his time was up, grinned, took a bow and left the stage.

Before anyone could leave, Enzo addressed the audience,
saying, ‘Please don’t get up, ladies and gentlemen. There
is
no interval. My intervention was simply to persuade Felix to come to a halt, otherwise we would never get to the other items on tonight’s glittering programme.’

To cries of, ‘Shame!’ from one quarter and, ‘Well done!’ from another, Enzo introduced the next act, which was Norma and Graham Trotter the Ludo instructors. Norma entered wearing a one-piece bathing costume which she had liberally sprinkled with golden glitter and Graham was in top hat and tails. The audience cheered when they appeared and Graham, quite forgetting that his top hat was full of coloured handkerchiefs, which he was going to produce mysteriously at the right moment, removed his hat to give a low bow. Yards of coloured material flowed everywhere, much to the consternation of Graham and, as Norma did her best to collect it up, he tried without success to stuff it back into the hat. Realising that he was getting nowhere, he tossed the hat to one side and took another bow. The audience, thinking this was all part of the act, applauded and Norma, thinking quickly, produced a deadly-looking sword from the side of the stage. Graham then successfully did a sword-swallowing act. Observant members of the audience could clearly see that the blade retracted into the handle, but those at the back of the room were very impressed. Graham and Norma performed several more illusions then left the stage to cries of, ‘More!’ and, ‘Stick to the day job!’ from someone at the
back of the room.

‘Well,’ said Enzo when he returned to the stage. ‘Our show is nearly over.’

Several people shouted, ‘Never,’ but Enzo ignored them.

‘Sadly,’ he continued, ‘we now come to the last act. Two of our distinguished lecturers, Mr Fred Batty and Sir Horace Beanstalk, have spent many hours composing a eulogy which they will now recite. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for … Sir Horace and Mr Fred!’

The pair entered together and the room fell silent. They began to recite in unison: