The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (16 page)

Sparda remained silent. He had no idea what mischief his half-cousin might be up to, but he was certain that something was afoot.

‘I shall be leaving in half an hour,’ said the Captain. ‘When I arrive at the ship I expect you will have departed for home so I shall say goodnight now. Goodnight, Cousin.’

With that Captain Peché Sparda left to say farewell to his wife.

Whilst the Captain was occupied with his family, and various other members of the ship’s company were on shore, or fulfilling their duties, on board Harry Parkhurst had not been idle. Gradually he felt the cruise was falling into place. Some of the teething troubles had been attended to, but he was not sanguine
and by no means were they through the proverbial woods yet. However, he was reasonably satisfied. The visit to Messina had caused him some concern, for he knew from what he had learned in Monaco that there would be an interest taken by the Insurers in the
Golden Handshake
and that this interest might result in disaster not only for his dear friend Sparda, but for the Admiral and the whole of the Golden Oceans Empire. As the Insurers tended to spend much time in the South of Italy, and some of them were actually related to Sparda, he was sure they would attempt something or other when the ship was in Messina. What, he knew not. He had had a confidential word with Arthur Chub, the Security Officer, and warned him to be especially vigilant and to keep a close lookout for anyone seeking to gain entry to the ship. When intelligence reached Harry of the impending visit of Sparda’s cousin, his anxiety increased.

‘Mr Chub,’ he said urgently, when he called to see the Security Officer who was on duty at the gangway. ‘As you know, the Captain will not be bringing his family aboard this time. I believe, however, that a cousin of the Captain will come on board this evening just before we sail. He has known the Captain since they were together in the Sea Scouts, and out of loving concern for our Captain he wants to be personally assured that all is well on board. Although he is a relative, Mr Chub, I want you to screen him thoroughly. As we are bound for Libya, we cannot afford to take the slightest risk.’

Mr Chub, who occasionally had to search people before they were allowed into the gasworks, understood perfectly.

‘Please treat him with the greatest courtesy, Mr Chub, and warn him that he must be off the ship before eleven this evening, when we sail.’

Arthur Chub nodded enthusiastically. His job was to keep the ship safe and he would do just that.

The security staff were kept reasonably busy checking in revellers that evening and, as it was mandatory that all crew members must be on board one hour before sailing time, the hour before sailing was relatively quiet. Chub dismissed all but the card inspection team and stationed himself by the gangway. Exactly half an hour before the time to depart he saw a solitary figure approach the gangway, look around to see if he was being observed and then begin to ascend the steps. When he reached the top, Chub stepped out of the shadows.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said politely. ‘Can I be of help to you?’

‘
Io sono il cugino del capitano
,’ muttered the visitor.

Chub, who was more proficient in Italian than the Cruise Director would ever be, understood that this was the Captain’s cousin. Welcoming him profusely, he apologised that regulations insisted that everyone, the Captain included, must be searched before entering the ship. The cousin nodded and Chub gave him a thorough going over. Satisfied that he was bringing nothing on board except a greasy comb, he released him, and after pointing
out directions to the bridge, warned him that he had twenty minutes before he had to be back on shore.

The cousin padded in the direction of the bridge and Chub waited for him to return. As the main purpose of this visit was for the visitor to get an idea of the layout of the ship for future insurance purposes, once he had found the steps leading to the bridge he prowled around the deck and then descended into the lower regions of the vessel. As by now activities for the day had closed down, not all areas of the ship were lighted. The cousin felt his way along a narrow corridor and suddenly, to his horror, felt himself falling. He landed with a tremendous crash, severely twisting an ankle as he landed. When, with some difficulty, he picked himself up, he discovered, as luck would have it, that he had landed directly outside a door marked
Medical Centre.
He hopped to the door and turned the handle, which revealed a brightly lit reception area with several doors leading off it. Tottering into the room he called out - in Italian, of course: ‘Anyone at home? Medical emergency!’

After a moment or so a willowy-looking fellow, wearing a clinical nightshirt, emerged from a side room. As the nightshirt was one of the kind that is slipped on, leaving a gap at the rear, the wearer of this garment kept his back pressed against the wall as though he was edging along a narrow cliff-top pathway.

‘Ah, Doctor,’ said the wounded visitor. ‘I need my foot strapping up quickly as I must leave the ship in ten minutes.’

Little did the cousin know that he was in fact addressing the poor unfortunate chaplain, who had been awakened from his slumbers by the sound of the fall and had been scared out of his wits. As the visitor addressed him in Italian, the chaplain had no idea what he was talking about except that, when he heard the word ‘
Medico
’, he assumed the visitor wanted to see the doctor.

Unfortunately, the doctor had taken the night off and was sharing it with a brandy bottle either on shore or somewhere on the ship. The chaplain, having gained a First Aid Certificate when on the East Cheam Ordination Course, recognised that the foot was the problem and motioned for the visitor to take a seat on a low bench. Edging further along the wall and twisting awkwardly, he managed to fill an electric kettle which he promptly switched on.

The patient shouted at his helper: ‘
Non. Io non voglio una bevanda calda. Non c’è tempo!
’ Although the injured man had said that he did not want a hot drink because there was no time, the chaplain, when he heard the word ‘calda’ - hot - thought that the word meant cold, and assured him that it was not a cold drink he was getting but some hot water to soothe the pain. The kettle boiled and gingerly the chaplain poured the scalding water into a deep bowl which stood nearby. Grasping the bowl with both hands and keeping his back against the wall, he edged further around the room. He was just passing in front of the doorway when it opened with a terrific crash, sending the chaplain flying
and tipping the boiling water over the poor unfortunate cousin. He let out a scream, the chaplain in vain attempted to protect his modesty, and who should enter the room at that moment but none other than Captain Sparda.

It is best to pass over the next few moments, but a short description needs to be given. Sparda had been told that his cousin was on board, and as sailing time was approaching, had gone to find him. Knowing that some members of his family were well versed in pharmaceutical products, the first place he thought of looking was the Medical Centre. Even the Captain was dumbfounded when he discovered a half-naked chaplain lying flat on the floor with his cousin hopping around the room. Aiming a kick at the cleric and missing by a fraction, Sparda grabbed hold of his cousin and, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he hauled him out into the corridor and up the companionway. Here, the wounded man was quickly wrapped in a blanket and dispatched down the gangway into the hands of waiting relatives, who bundled him into a car and set off at a frantic pace, holding white handkerchiefs out of the window and sounding the car horn repeatedly to signify an emergency. Thus the
Golden Handshake
sailed away from Messina and made for the ancient Roman town of Sabrata in Libya, where further adventures awaited them.

Next morning, Arthur Chub took his usual early stroll around the deck. He took the opportunity of these moments alone to contemplate the doings of the past twenty-four hours and to plan what, if anything, needed to be attended to, to ensure peace, tranquillity and safety on board. As he did his third and final circuit he thought he saw the tarpaulin covering one of the lifeboats move slightly. He stopped and fixed his gaze on the boat, wondering if he had seen correctly. Sure enough, it moved once again. Silently approaching the boat, he stopped directly at the spot where he had noted the disturbance. Listening carefully, he was sure that he could hear the sound of heavy breathing, even though the wind and the waves were quite noisy.

At last, he thought to himself. A stowaway. This will be the fellow who attempted to take the safe from out of one of the Balcony Suites.

Looking around, he saw a wooden paddle attached to a post by the boat. He unfastened it and, intending to give the individual inside a nasty surprise, he raised the paddle in the air and brought it down with a whack on the taut tarpaulin cover.

Immediately there was a loud shout from within, followed by several low moans.

‘Got you, you rascal,’ said a triumphant Arthur. ‘Come out now. This moment!’

The corner of the cover was raised slightly, and to Arthur’s horror he recognised the somewhat bleary features of the doctor. He took a step back in surprise.

‘Oh my sainted aunt!’ he exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing there, Doctor? I am so sorry.’

The doctor was too bruised to reply, but simply moaned further as he attempted to struggle out of his resting place.

‘Oh,’ he cried. ‘Oh, my back. What the hell happened? Who are you?’

Arthur thought it prudent not to reveal his identity at this juncture but took the doctor’s shaking hand and guided him onto the deck.

‘Take it gently, sir,’ he instructed. ‘You seem to have had an accident of some kind. I’ll help you back to your quarters right away.’

Almost bent double, the aching medic was guided by Arthur into the lower reaches of the ship where the Medical Centre was situated. With the doctor on his arm, Arthur pushed the door open and they both entered. Without a moment’s warning, no sooner had they taken one step across the room than their feet went from under them and they both went crashing to the
ground. The spilled water from the previous evening had yet to be wiped up.

‘Ye gods, the place is flooded,’ lamented the doctor as he attempted to assist the now injured Arthur to his feet.

As he was doing so, a side door opened to reveal the chaplain, who gazed in amazement at the two unexpected visitors. This time he was fully dressed and wearing his broad clerical collar.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said meekly. ‘Can I be of any assistance?’

The doctor sat down heavily on a bench and Arthur sat opposite him.

‘Make us some hot tea, will you, with plenty of sugar,’ Arthur said breathlessly. ‘We’ve both had a bit of a shock.’

Remembering the events with the hot water the previous evening, the chaplain began to tremble.

‘I’m not too good at making tea,’ he said. ‘And the ship is pitching a little. It might be dangerous.’

‘Well, dammit, change some water into wine then,’ said the irate doctor. He stood up, opened another door leading to his quarters, and limped inside. A few moments later he reappeared with two Bloody Marys.

‘Drink this,’ he ordered Arthur. ‘This is a cure-all, believe you me.’ He swallowed his drink in one gulp and went back for another.

After a couple more drinks, Arthur and the doctor became much calmer. It transpired that, after a convivial evening with the distilled fruit of the grape, the doctor could not find his way home and so took his repose in one of the lifeboats, where Arthur had discovered him. As they drank together, Arthur said that Doctor Hackett had taken a very sensible course of action and he could not think what had given him such a rude awakening. However, no harm was done that could not be put right by another drink, which they took and enjoyed, parting good friends. As they conversed, the poor chaplain retreated into his cell and sat on the edge of his tiny cot.

‘This is a most extraordinary way of life I have entered,’ he said to himself as he turned his thoughts to his forthcoming sermon. ‘Most extraordinary.’

‘It’s a sea day today, dear’ said Alice as she perused the daily events sheet. She studied the sheet avidly each morning and particularly enjoyed reading the potted biographical details of those who were prominent on the ship. Today she had been reading about the Captain’s Cousin Pedro.

‘
He always enjoyed singing
,’ she read. ‘
When he was a little boy in Sicily he charmed his loving parents by singing to them before sleeping each night. He has sung all over the world, normally at open-air concerts and with the world’s leading orchestras and is greatly looking forward to entertaining on
the Golden Handshake’.

The bio omitted to mention that the open-air concerts took place as he was singing in the streets of Messina and in the London Underground. The greatest orchestras accompanied him via a tape-recorder. No matter. Pedro was undoubtedly a treat in store for that evening.

‘As it’s a sea day,’ Alice continued, ‘and as the weather is getting warmer, we ought to rest a little today on our balcony. It would be nice to spend some time enjoying the privacy of our Balcony Suite. Albert, can you please ask our butler to come in and assist us.’

Albert noticed that, as the days went by, Alice was developing a taste for the good things of life and was adapting very quickly to life in the Balcony Suite. He turned the handle on the telephone and got through to Udi.

‘Can you come in, lad, and fix the balcony?’ Albert requested.

Udi said he would be around immediately and good as his word, a few minutes later ‘You Tak the High Road’ played on the doorbell. Udi entered carrying an oversized spanner clearly marked,
Balcony Suites
, together with a small pair of folding steps.

‘Good morning, sir, good morning, madam,’ he said, following his customary lines.

When they had been assured that he was ‘excellent’, he began his instructions.

‘Madam, may I suggest madam that you put bathing costume on
before
going on balcony. Also you, sir.’

‘I’m not putting on trunks for no one,’ said Albert indignantly. ‘The missus can, but not me.’

‘Very good, sir, no problem, sir. You want balcony now, madam?’

Mrs Hardcastle said that she would like to take the morning air on her balcony and so Udi said he would withdraw and return in ten minutes when she had changed. He disappeared and then Alice too disappeared into the confines of the cubbyhole.

After much bumping and banging, which caused the next-door occupants to question if another attempted burglary was taking place, Alice emerged in an outfit that was probably designed when Noah’s wife took swimming lessons. She wore a floral bath-cap as she did not wish to damage her hair with too much sunlight, and had painted all exposed parts of her anatomy with what, at first appearance, looked like lard. The suggestion regarding the High Road pealed out yet again and Udi was admitted. He carefully unfolded the small steps and, carrying the spanner, ascended them and began to try and turn the heavy wing nuts that secured the porthole. After a great deal of effort the nuts were released and the porthole swung open, sending a blast of cool air through the cabin.

‘It might be a bit chilly outside,’ said Alice. ‘I shall need you
to pass me some things, Albert, so don’t go away.’

‘Now,’ said Udi. ‘Madam, if you go up the steps, place foot on this little ledge and I hold you as you put foot first through window.’

Albert was amazed that Alice would consider such a manoeuvre but, knowing that she was determined to get full value from the Suite, his surprise was not total. Alice gingerly put a foot on the first step of the ladder and held onto Udi. Slowly and deliberately she went higher as Albert stood to one side.

‘Now, madam,’ said Udi, ‘you very good. Now put foot through window.’

With considerable effort Alice managed to get one foot and then a leg through the porthole.

‘Very good, madam. Now other foot.’

As Udi held her from behind she lifted the other foot and put it through the space, resting her ample rear end on the ledge of the porthole. She was now half in the suite and half out.

‘Now, madam, move forward and land on balcony.’

Alas, Udi had not taken into account the fact that Alice Hardcastle was somewhat broad around the waist. She pushed, but totally failed to move forward even though she was greased like a Channel swimmer.

‘Push, madam,’ said Udi, betraying some concern in his voice. ‘Push hard, madam.’

Try as she might, she could not move an inch forward, and
to her alarm could now not move backwards either.

‘Please help, sir,’ said Udi to Albert, who was standing scratching his head.

Albert got a chair and stepped on it. With Udi on the steps, and Albert on the chair, they both pushed for all they were worth until there was a cry and a noise like a shot from a gun as Alice disappeared from view.

‘My God,’ said Albert, somewhat alarmed. ‘She’s gone!’

He quickly moved Udi out of the way and ascended the steps. Being of slimmer build to his wife, Albert was able to lean out of the porthole where he could see his wife sitting with a pained expression on her face on the floor of the balcony.

‘Are you OK, luv?’ he cried.

Alice, conscious of her dignity as a Balcony Suite passenger, replied immediately.

‘Of course I’m all right, but there’s no chair.’

‘There’s no chair,’ repeated Albert to Udi.

‘No problem, sir. I have chair.’

He left the suite and returned a few moments later with two folding camping chairs clearly marked
Balcony Suite
. He passed these through the porthole and Alice seized them.

‘Some towels, Albert,’ she demanded.

‘You can’t swim from there, luv,’ he said.

‘Don’t be daft, Albert Hardcastle. Pass me some towels.’

Albert raided the bathroom and handed over the towels.

‘Let me know when you want to come back inside,’ said Albert, ‘and I’ll get Udi and we’ll haul you aboard.’

Udi politely withdrew and Albert settled down for a short nap.

Approximately five minutes elapsed when Albert heard a cry from the balcony. He climbed the small steps and looked out.

‘It’s not as warm out here as I thought,’ Alice told him. ‘I think I had better come back in.’

‘Righto,’ said her husband, disappointed that he was not to get a longer period of peace. ‘I’ll call Udi.’

Udi duly appeared and climbed the steps.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘you now come back other way. Head first.’ Alice tried to pull herself up towards the porthole, but the task was too much for her.

‘Stand on chair, madam,’ advised the ever-helpful butler. Alice did just that and now appeared at the porthole.

‘Now, madam, come through.’

Alice put two arms through the gap and managed to get her shoulders through, but that was all. Despite the fact that both Albert and Udi pulled and pulled, there was no moving her. Finally they all had to admit defeat and Alice sank from view, back onto the balcony. ‘Oh dear,’ said Udi, shaking his head. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

Albert climbed the steps once again and saw that Alice was sitting forlornly on the little camping stool, swathed in towels
and shivering.

‘Don’t worry luv,’ he said in his most soothing voice. ‘We’re going to get the top man on the ship to help you back inside. Would you like an orange?’

Alice exploded. ‘No, I don’t want any damn oranges, Albert Hardcastle. I want to get in where it’s warm.’

Albert retreated and, grabbing a blanket, he stuffed it through the porthole. Unfortunately, the wind caught it and it blew away before Alice could catch it.

‘Try again!’ she shouted.

Albert fetched a duvet and Alice managed to keep hold of it this time.

‘Hold on, luv. Won’t be long,’ said Albert hopefully.

As he was busy supplying Alice with necessities, Udi had rushed to get the Hotel Manager, Radley Duvet, who had the overall responsibility for Suites and allied services. He came running down the corridor and entered the Suite.

‘What seems to be the problem, Mr Hardcastle?’ he asked in the calmest voice he could muster.

Albert explained. Duvet climbed the ladder to make a personal inspection of the problem.

‘Good morning, Mrs Hardcastle,’ he called down to the figure below him wrapped from head to toe in bedding.

She looked up at him.

‘I’m trapped,’ she cried. ‘Trapped.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Hardcastle. We will get you in eventually.’

Radley descended the steps and conferred with Albert. ‘In your bathroom you will find some very good shampoo,’ he said. ‘It has rather a pleasant smell. If you could ask your wife to cover herself with this lotion, especially around the parts that will not go through the porthole, we might be able to slide her back inside.’

Albert got hold of the bottle from the bathroom and Udi went into the corridor to collect several more bottles from the service trolley that was parked there. They wrapped them all in a small towel and passed them through the porthole. Reluctantly, in order to grab hold of the package, Alice Hardcastle divested herself of the duvet, which promptly followed the blanket into the ocean.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she cried. ‘This is terrible.’

One by one she opened the small bottles and applied the lubricant around her ample waist. She stepped onto the camping stool and inserted her head through the porthole. Mr Duvet recoiled at the sight of the flowered bath cap, but he stood his ground and, together with the two others, seized hold of Mrs Hardcastle’s hands and tried to haul her inwards. After ten minutes of serious effort they had to admit defeat.

‘She got out, she must come back,’ said Albert.

‘Um,’ mused Duvet. ‘It has been known for people to put on a couple of pounds in a few minutes. Don’t ask me how it happens,
but it does.’