The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (3 page)

‘Drink up, Albert,’ said Jason as he flung an empty bottle across the room, narrowly missing the Co-op cat and striking a pile of biscuit tins.

‘Hold on, lad,’ said Albert. ‘You can’t damage the place.’

‘Oh yes, I can,’ said the increasingly inebriated trolley man.
‘I’ve telephoned the office and told them what to do with their rotten job. I’ll pay for the party today and for any accidental damage that might be caused. Have a pie Albert.’

By now Albert was ravenous, having missed his lunch, so he accepted a Melton Mowbray special and bit into it gratefully. What on earth was he to do? The shop looked as though a tornado had hit it and the staff would have done credit to pre-Lent festivities in Munich.

Albert was still trying to work out in his mind how this appalling mix-up was going to be resolved when there was a loud ringing on the shop’s telephone. As he was the only sober person present, he picked it up and answered it. Immediately he recognised the soft lilting tones of Heather Smith.

‘Hello, is that the Grimsby Co-op?’ she asked.

‘It is,’ said Albert, just as there was a mighty crash and a display of baked beans went cascading across the floor.

‘Goodness, what’s that?’ asked Heather. ‘And to whom am I speaking? I need to speak to Jason, please.’

‘It’s me - Albert. The cat’s just knocked some tins over, nothing to worry about. I’ll get Jason for you.’

Jason lurched out of the back room, champagne bottle in one hand and pork pie in the other.

‘It’s Heather’ said Albert in a stage whisper. ‘For God’s sake, sober up!’

Jason dropped the pie and grabbed the receiver.

‘Heather chuck. My dream girl. My angel. You are wonderful. Well done my sweetie. Well done.’

He dropped the phone with another crash, picked it up and resumed his monologue. He was quickly cut short by Heather.

‘Jason, are you all right? Whatever is the matter? And what’s all that noise? You don’t sound at all well, my dear. What is it? I hope you
are
well, as I am ringing to ask you to collect me from the station at six this evening.’

‘No problem, my honeybun. No problem whatsoever. I’ll have a car meet you. Do you prefer a Rolls or a Bentley?’

‘What
are
you talking about, Jason?’ asked Heather, now becoming seriously alarmed at her husband’s telephone manner.

‘The lottery, my pet. Why didn’t you tell me earlier we had won? You are a real little tease, of that there is no doubt.’

‘Lottery?’ queried Heather. ‘Won? Jason, I haven’t done the lottery for the past two weeks, as it’s not at all easy to get tickets up here in the wilds of Scotland.’

Jason froze and for once that afternoon was speechless. He gently put the champagne bottle down and looked directly into Albert’s eyes.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Admiral Sir Benbow Harrington was in a jovial mood as he tucked into his breakfast kipper. ‘Delicious, my dear,’ he remarked to his wife as she poured him another cup of coffee. ‘Do you realise, Felicity, that there is only one genuine smoke-house left in the Isle of Man? I once stayed with Jumbo
Chessington
the Governor, and he was seriously alarmed at the state of affairs on the Island. Oak chips are what are needed. Oak chips.’

Felicity, whose knowledge of smoking fish was limited, simply nodded her head in agreement.

‘Well,’ continued the Admiral, helping himself to a liberal spoonful of thick-cut marmalade, ‘today is the big day. If it’s fine I will meet the team in the garden where we should be able to have an uninterrupted briefing before the launch. Harry assures me that the sea trials have gone better than expected. He took the ship along the route he knows so well in Southern Italy, and apart from some difficulty in strong currents with the rudder, all seemed to be well.’

‘I hope he’s right, dear,’ Lady Harrington replied with a
somewhat worried look. ‘A World Cruise is an ambitious venture, Benbow, and you can’t afford to have too many problems.’

‘All will be well, dear, don’t concern yourself. With my long experience in the Navy and Harry’s extensive knowledge of choppy waters, plus a seasoned Captain in Sparda, we don’t have a worry in the world.’

Lady Harrington reflected silently on how frequently she had heard these self-same sentiments uttered by her husband across the years, and she shuddered slightly.

The Admiral folded his napkin, picked up his daily copy of The Times and made for his study. He had only been gone a few moments when Lady Harrington heard her husband cry out.

‘Felicity, dear! Felicity, come here this instant. Make haste.’

She rushed along the hallway to the study where the Admiral was seated with the Travel Section of
The Times
open before him.

‘Just look at this,’ he chortled in delight.

Harry Parkhurst had certainly not wasted any time following the trials, for there was a half-page advertisement announcing the Inaugural World Cruise of the SS
Golden Handshake.

The Admiral picked up the receiver of the candlestick telephone and dialled Harry’s number.

‘Splendid work,’ he congratulated him. Today’s
The Times
is excellent. Well done.’

Harry was duly modest in his reply.

‘My old friend at Carnard was helpful in drafting the text and we have been able to get a mention in all the local papers around the country. Just watch the applications roll in. We will certainly be oversubscribed.’

The Admiral replaced the receiver and resumed staring at the newspaper. He remained at his desk throughout the morning-a happy and contented man.

Back in Grimsby things were less tranquil. Albert hauled Jason
up from the floor and poured a glass of cold water over his head. News of the disaster had yet to reach the party-goers in the staffroom, and unfortunately Albert was the one who had to bring it.

He gingerly opened the door to a scene of complete chaos. Mary Ellsworth, late of the stockroom, was performing what she considered to be a Spanish dance on the table. Crystal Weathergate, previously in charge of the drinks department, was surrounded by bottles from that said department, the majority of which were empty.

‘Albert, old pal’ cried Andy Pink, one of the van drivers. ‘Where have you been all my life. Come in, old friend. Take a pew. In fact take anything you like.’

‘Shut up, Andy,’ said Albert sternly. ‘Shut up, the lot of you.’

A silence descended on the room as they all stared at him in amazement.

‘Come on, mate,’ said someone. ‘It’s not often we have a party.’

‘No,’ said Albert, ‘and unless you sober up and clear up pretty quickly, this will be the last party you will have for many a year. And your last job!’

He began to explain how it seemed as though there had been a ghastly mistake, and it appeared that Jason’s wife had
not
won the lottery, after all. Looks of amazement crossed the flushed faces of the once-jovial revellers, to be quickly replaced by expressions of panic and despair.

‘Hell’s Bells,’ said Andy. ‘Who’s going to pay for all this lot if Jason can’t?’

Albert did not answer directly.

‘If I were you,’ he said, ‘I would clear this mess up and get the shop opened pretty quickly. You can worry about payment later. Come on, the lot of you. I’ll help.’

Jason, who was too far gone to take part in any activity other than sleep, was left in the staffroom while the remainder of the staff set about clearing away the debris and piling up the cans of beans. An hour later, the shop was reopened for a final hour of trading and Albert departed for home sober, starving and not a little relieved that his fortune now seemed to be secure.

Rear Admiral Benbow Harrington glanced at the brass ship’s clock in his study. It had been salvaged from the first ship he had commanded - the very vessel which unfortunately had sunk during a naval exercise off Southend-on-Sea. The fact that the maiden cruise of the SS
Golden Handshake
was due to take place in several days’ time from Southend Pier had caused the Admiral to pause and wonder if he might be tempting fate. However, he dismissed such thoughts from his mind and turned his attention to the meeting shortly due to take place with several of his senior staff members.

Harry, the invaluable Harry, would be there, of course, for he had been responsible for the recruiting of most of the ship’s company. The Admiral was looking forward to making the acquaintance of Captain Peché Sparda, recently retired from long and distinguished service as Master of the Messina ferry and soon to be Captain of the flagship of the Golden Oceans Line. He was due to arrive at three that afternoon, along with his friend Enzo Bigatoni, the newly appointed Cruise Director. The irritation that the Admiral felt when these two senior officers
failed to master their Satellite Navigation system on the M25 had long since passed, for like many senior Naval Officers the Admiral was a religious man with a forgiving nature.

A new person on the scene was also expected that afternoon - a certain Mr Radley Duvet (pronounced like the bedding) who also had been recruited by Harry and who would occupy the all-important role of Hotel Manager. For many years Mr Duvet had assisted his wife in the running of a Bed and Breakfast establishment in Scarborough and on occasions had taken a summer job running the canteen on the Dover-Calais ferry. Harry was convinced that he would have all the necessary skills to ensure that the ship was adequately provisioned and the passengers made to feel at home.

At exactly ten minutes to three o’clock the Admiral heard a motor vehicle crunching its way along the gravel driveway in front of the house. He peered through the window of his study and observed a large black car which, for all the world, looked like the sort of transport that followed the hearse in a funeral procession. The doorbell issued its nautical chime and within a few moments, Lady Harrington was ushering a party of four into the study.

‘I’m sure you would like some tea,’ she said when the introductions were over and the party was seated. Without waiting for an answer she left the room and the Admiral took command.

‘Now gentlemen,’ he began, ‘today is an historic day. A day
that will go down in the annals of the Golden Oceans Line. You gentlemen compose the heart and soul of the
Golden Handshake
and we are meeting for the first time to agree our plan of action. For this unique and historic voyage I intend to sail with you, but I shall not interfere. You have responsibility for your own area of work and for the overall welfare of the ship and her company. Captain Sparda!’

The Captain, who had been attempting to decipher a large nautical map hanging on the wall, visible jumped.

‘I have not had the pleasure of your company previously. Perhaps you will report on the recent sea trials.’

The Captain, a diminutive man of no more than five feet four inches, rose to his feet.

‘Sit down, Captain,’ ordered the Admiral. ‘This is all very informal today, although once on board we shall have a little more discipline and order than that which is usually found on cruise ships. Today we can relax.’

‘Thank you Admiral, sir’, Sparda began. ‘The engine was a little rusty and made quite a lot of noise but, once we had insulated it with thick cardboard, it seemed well - although the insulation must be changed every other day. The balconies, six in all, were riveted outside the six top-grade suites. Alas, there was not the time to fit balcony doors, but the portholes are reasonably large and most passengers should have no difficulty in squeezing through. The former stables have been converted
into very handsome, pre-fabricated suites, and the old cattle trough has been kept for sentimental reasons but also to provide a pool where passengers can sit with their feet in the water. It will remind them of seaside holidays.’

‘Capital, Captain,’ boomed the Admiral. ‘Quite excellent. We want our clients to have a new experience and yet to feel secure in memories from the past, evoked by the ship’s artefacts. What about the rudder?’

Here a cloud seemed to pass across the face of the good Captain, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

‘A few problems at first,’ he said. ‘Initially it had the unfortunate habit of sticking in one position so that for several hours we went round and round in circles. I think the ship is seaworthy now.’

‘Well,’ said the Admiral, always quick to turn a misadventure into an opportunity, ‘if that happens on the voyage, it will give our passengers a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the territory they are exploring. Thank you, Captain. Most satisfactory.’

The Admiral made several notes in his
Missions to Seamen
diary and turned towards Mr Bigatoni.

‘Now sir, what are your plans?’

For the past several weeks Enzo had been perusing the London Telephone Directory in a vain attempt to remember lists of names. Faces? No problem, but where he had seen the face and
to whom it belonged defeated him. He produced a simple paper-covered book from his pocket.

‘This, sir,’ he said, ‘will provide us with the highlight of the cruise.’ He handed the Admiral a volume entitled
A Visitor’s Guide to the French Language.

‘I have similar volumes in Italian, German, Spanish and Albanian. Each morning at the prime time of eleven I intend to conduct a language class, when I shall read a word to the passengers and they will repeat it back to me. We want there to be an educational element to the cruise, Admiral, and I am sure that my classes will provide just what is needed.

‘We have also been fortunate to secure the services of two world-renowned lecturers. Sir Horace Beanstalk will talk at six o’clock each evening in the space available before dinner at seven. He will address the passengers on the flora and fauna of the Isle of Man. The attendance may not be too great at this hour, but I have asked Sir Horace to have cyclostyled copies of his text available, and that, together with a set of Magic Lantern slides, will be available in the library. The other lecturer, Dr Ludwig Bernstein, will speak at ten thirty each evening on the music of Stockhausen.’

‘This gets better and better,’ said the Admiral, beaming brightly. ‘I can’t wait to listen to these two esteemed gentlemen. What about a quiz, Mr Bigatoni? Passengers love that sort of thing.’

‘Ah.’ said Enzo, with obvious delight. ‘I have already thought of that.’ He produced a very large box labelled
Piddling Pursuits.
‘This box, Admiral, contains five thousand questions, together with answers - and I alone have the key to it! Each day at a prime time in the afternoon I intend to have a team quiz with prizes for those who complete the course.’

The Admiral nodded in satisfaction at the innovative skills of his new team. Harry had certainly chosen well.

‘Now, Mr Duvet, your turn. What have you to report?’

If the truth were known, Mr Duvet’s purchasing experience was rather limited. He had in the past made a bi-weekly journey to the local supermarket in Scarborough to purchase breakfast cereals and the ingredients for a Full English Breakfast, and on the Cross-Channel ferry all he had to do was to pop a cheese or ham sandwich under the grill. But he had spoken with a friend who at one time served in the Army Catering Corps and was now in charge of catering at Durham Jail, and had received invaluable advice.

‘Think big’ was the gist of it. Mr Duvet did just that and ordered massive tins of baked beans and sacks of powdered milk. He was able to buy at a reduced price some out-of-date provisions from a charity food store and dozens of cases of powdered egg. For the cabins he obtained a huge quantity of Army-surplus blankets.

‘The kitchen is equipped,’ Mr Duvet said, ‘and the larder is
virtually ready. As for the cabins, as I speak an army of volunteers are assembling some excellent flat-pack furniture from a well-known store that recently went into liquidation. All I need now is a quick visit to France to collect some duty-free wine - and I shall buy a lot as I know our passengers love a drink - and of course there will be a vast mark-up for the company.’

‘Gentlemen,’ declared the Admiral, ‘I am proud of you all. You have certainly got the situation well under control and there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that we will enjoy a cruise that will be an unforgettable experience for all who take part.’

He stretched out his hand and grasped hold of a small rope, hanging beneath a polished brass bell. He tugged it, sending a deafening noise throughout the study.

‘Onward ever!’ he cried. ‘And now for some tea.’