The Voyage of the Golden Handshake

by Terry Waite

  Radley forced his way through the shouting throng to the stage.

  ‘Stop!’, he commanded in the most authoritarian voice he could muster. ‘Stop immediately.’

  On hearing the order, the two combatants slowed down enough to enable Batty to drag them to their feet and position them, one on his left and the other on his right. Poor Enzo looked a sorry sight. One sleeve of his once-immaculate white jacket had been torn off and he had completely lost his bow-tie. As for the diminutive Toby Troy, a secret that he had guarded for many a year was revealed when he emerged from the floor without his toupee. Fred Batty was the only one of the three to appear intact. He continued to hold on to his charges as a referee might separate wrestlers at a fairground contest.

  Radley Duvet, conscious of the fact that he was surrounded by curious passengers, turned to address them.

  ‘It would be a help if you could leave now, please. It is almost lunchtime and there will be no more lectures this morning. Perhaps, gentlemen,’ he said, addressing the trio, ‘you might join me in the office for a moment.’

  With that he turned and walked out of the room.

  News of the morning’s entertainment flew round the ship like lightning. One story was that Enzo, a master of the martial arts, had challenged one of the lecturers to a demonstration of his skill and had been soundly defeated. Another said that a lecturer had become unhinged and had launched a savage attack on Enzo, as he was singing, and nearly killed him. The lecturer, it was said, was now safely locked away in one of the cabins. It was even suggested that a stowaway, driven crazy by lack of water, had gone berserk and was now being hunted across the ship.

  Back in the Hotel Manager’s tiny office, Duvet was attempting to discover what had taken place. Sir Horace Beanstalk, who had remained detached from the stage performance, was able to supply an accurate account. When Radley had digested this, he asked if the three lecturers might now withdraw in order for Enzo and himself to have a quiet conversation.

  ‘Well,’ said Radley, when the party had left. ‘Well?’

  Enzo remained mute, conscious of the fact that one of his eyes was beginning to swell.

  ‘I thought I made it crystal clear that you were not to occupy the morning slot and that it was to be reserved for lectures. I have no objection to entertainment, but that is not for eleven in the morning. Understand? NOT FOR ELEVEN.’

  Enzo quailed at the force with which the sentence was uttered.

  ‘But there is more,’ Duvet continued. ‘Angela tells me that you have been awarding prizes at your precious quiz sessions. Big prizes. Prizes of excursions worth five hundred pounds. Is that correct?’

  Enzo nodded.

  ‘It is?’ responded Duvet. ‘It is? Have you gone completely and utterly mad? Have you lost every brain cell that you ever possessed, and I guess that was not many from the start. You are an idiot. A total blithering idiot.’

  Enzo tried to reply but failed. He stuttered several incomprehensible phrases and fiddled nervously with the torn sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘Mr Bigatoni,’ said the Manager. ‘You have come very near to disaster today. Last night, you were very good indeed. I give you that. Today, you flatly went against my wishes - and as for the five hundred, well, I am speechless. You have one last chance. You will find the five hundred pounds from your own pocket. You will arrange lectures for eleven each sea day. You will do some sensible programming for a change. If you wish to sing, you can sing your heart out late at night or early in the morning. Understand?’

  Enzo nodded sheepishly.

  ‘As for that aggressive little fellow Trot, or Troy, or whatever he calls himself, he will be leaving this ship pretty pronto. Batty will stay, of course, and Jack Beanstalk seems innocent enough, so he will remain. That’s all. Good day to you.’

  And with that, the whole unfortunate episode was consigned to history.

  During the afternoon of the Suez day, the sun shone brightly and many passengers took the opportunity to sit out on deck as the ship sailed through seemingly endless banks of sand. Enzo wisely disappeared for the day. Sir Horace suggested that Batty, Troy and himself ought to meet for a discussion. This they duly did. Sir Horace said that in all the years he had spent lecturing at sea, he had never witnessed anything remotely like the debacle of that morning.

  ‘Mr Troy,’ he said, ‘I am afraid that I have to say that you were too impulsive.’

  Troy dismissed the comment with a snort. ‘Impulsive my foot,’ he replied. ‘That fellow deserved all he got and more besides.’

  ‘We can’t always get what we like in this world,’ replied Sir Horace. ‘Sometimes we have to be patient and wait for the Good Lord to intervene.’

  ‘Who?’ said Troy in mock surprise. ‘Is he the owner of this Line?’

  ‘I don’t think there is any cause to be blasphemous,’ said Sir Horace, somewhat taken aback.

  Troy was unrepentant. ‘I suppose you’re a religious loony, are you?’ he said, looking directly at Sir Horace.

  ‘As you ask,’ replied the botanist stiffly, ‘I am a sidesman at our local church and have been for many a year.’

  Troy was not impressed and responded with a feeble joke.

  ‘Does that mean you have the keys to the vicar’s sideboard?’ he said. ‘Keeper of the clerical booze, eh? There’s not much you can tell me about the church, believe me.’

  ‘I think we had better move on,’ said Fred Batty, who had been silent up to this point. ‘May I suggest that, as it has now been confirmed that we take it in turns to lecture at eleven in the morning, we address ourselves to working out a rota and then we can conclude our meeting.’

  He produced a pencil and paper.

  ‘All we need is to work out the order in which we shall speak, and afterwards we can find out when there are sea days and when there are not.’

  After a lengthy discussion it emerged that Toby Troy would open, followed by Fred, and Sir Horace would bring up the rear. With that they disbanded, not knowing that they would never meet as such a group again.

  29

  To any individual keeping a diary of events on board the Golden Handshake, it would seem that they followed a circular process. At one moment the very heights of the good life were experienced before the ship, or at least some of its inhabitants, were plunged into the depths of despair. Alarm and despondency spread around the vessel, after the outbreak of fisticuffs, but they vanished as quickly as they appeared as the ship departed from the Canal and made for the port of Eilat. At first sight, a port full of containers failed to impress, but those who ventured ashore soon found beaches, restaurants and many other delights which so appealed to those who spent their lives in northern climes.

  News of the disturbance between the lecturers and the Cruise Director quickly reached the Admiral and the Captain. Radley explained to them both and his actions were approved.

  ‘When does that little squirt Troy get off?’ asked Sparda, who had taken an instant dislike to the lecturer for no other reason than he did not like the look of him.

  ‘India, I think,’ said Radley.

  ‘Well, God help the Indians!’ exclaimed Sparda. ‘The sooner he leaves my ship, the happier we will all be. It’s a pity Enzo didn’t lay him out once and for all!’

  During the meeting, the Admiral kept somewhat quiet as he did not relish intervening in the disputes which sometimes occurred. It was best if his officers attended to these matters, although he liked to know what was going on.

  ‘I think that is all for now,’ he said.

  ‘One further matter,’ put in Radley. ‘The passenger computer room has been opened at a most inconvenient hour for guests. I think we ought to revert to the original planned time of ten in the morning to midday.’

  Everyone nodded and the meeting disbanded.

  In his little cabin, somewhere in the crew’s quarters, Enzo nursed his injuries. Although his eye hurt, it was his pride that had suffered the most. Because of the intervention of that terri
ble man, Troy, he never got the opportunity to sing to a packed house and what is more, was humiliated in front of the whole ship. He looked forlornly at his once immaculate jacket, now torn and ruined. His elegant bow-tie had disappeared altogether, perhaps collected by a member of the audience as a souvenir. As his eye was now quite swollen, he decided to make his way down to visit the doctor to see what relief might be offered. He entered the Medical Centre to find the doctor sitting behind his desk staring at a pile of papers.

  ‘Too much paperwork these days,’ he said without looking up. ‘These people want to know everything. What I had for breakfast. What the name of my cat is. How many pork pies did I eat last year. Complete rubbish. No such thing as privacy these days.’

  He looked up.

  ‘Hello, old man,’ he said in his usual cheerful manner. ‘I say, nice one you’ve got there. Black the other one and you’re halfway to getting a part in The Black and White Minstrel Show.’

  Enzo didn’t find that comment funny. In fact, he thought it bordered on being a racist remark but he refrained from responding.

  ‘It’s amazing on this ship,’ continued the doctor, ‘how many objects there are positioned exactly at eye-level. One can’t avoid them. Sit down and let me look.’

  Enzo sat down and the doctor got up and shone a small torch-beam into his eye.

  ‘Mmmm,’ he muttered. ‘Seems quite empty inside to me.’

  Enzo failed to understand the joke and expressed concern.

  ‘I hope it’s not serious, Doctor,’ he said.

  ‘Lie down on the trolley,’ replied the doctor. ‘We’ll soon fix it and you’ll be able to see the White Cliffs of Dover again.’

  Enzo lay down.

  ‘Wait here a moment, I just need to talk to Mike Tucker.’

  Enzo lay still as the doctor disappeared into a side room. Within a few moments he returned, saying, ‘Won’t be a moment, old chap. The cure is on its way right now.’

  Right on cue there was a tap on the door and a steward entered. ‘For you, Doctor, sir, from the Chef.’

  The doctor took a platter from the steward and told Enzo to close his eyes. Suddenly, Enzo felt something cold and damp slap across his bruised eye.

  ‘What’s that?’ he cried in alarm.

  ‘A steak,’ the medic replied. Not horse-meat, let me assure you, but a real, old-fashioned, full of goodness steak. Stay there for half an hour and I’ll be back.’

  Enzo did as he was told and within half an hour the physician returned.

  ‘Is it cooked yet?’ he asked, as he removed the meat and dabbed the area with a clean tissue. ‘OK, that’s it. Now wear this for a week.’ He handed Enzo a large black eye-patch, saying, ‘Wear this and all the passengers will think you’re rehearsing for your operatic part.’

  Enzo slipped the patch over his eye and thanked the doctor for his attention.

  ‘Now, back to paperwork,’ the man sighed. ‘Cheerio to you. See you on the Pinafore.’

  Harry Chub, Security Officer, was now facing one of the more critical parts of the cruise. The journey from Egypt, through the Suez Canal to Israel and onwards to Yemen, was full of potential dangers. They were entering a part of the world where conflicts were rife and a passenger ship might well become a target for mischief-makers who wanted to cause alarm and distress and advance their cause.

  Golden Oceans was too small a company to have its own, full-blown security department. Harry was the only man who was really experienced in dealing with security issues, having served in the military. On the other three ships of the line operating on the Thames, Frinton and Poole Harbour, security was the responsibility of one or two ex-traffic wardens whom Harry had personally trained. Pirates were infrequently encountered off Frinton, which was more than could be said for the Yemeni coast. Before beginning the cruise the Admiral had engaged the services of a private security firm called ‘Zap’, who would board the Golden Handshake at Eilat and disembark in India. In order not to cause undue alarm, only the senior staff on board had been informed of this move. Entertainers, lecturers, Uncle Giovanni and Pedro, were not briefed and of course the passengers knew nothing.

  The visit to Eilat had been a great success and, as darkness fell, contented passengers returned to the ship tired after a day of sun and sand. After dinner, when most of the passengers had retired for the night and the ship was preparing to leave, a party of four men were quickly led up the gangway by Harry and taken into the bowels of the ship. Each man carried a largish holdall and wore a small backpack. Harry was under the impression that they had boarded unobserved, but he was mistaken, for taking a night stroll around the deck was none other than Toby Troy.

  It has to be said here that Mr Troy was, quite frankly, a troublemaker. He had linked with Assad Wikiwatts as he claimed that he was passionate about truth and the right of the public to know the truth about everything. Wikiwatts was delighted to accept him as a partner.

  Troy was just about to leave the deck when he observed several shadowy figures approach the gangway and quickly ascend it. They seemed to be in the company of an officer of the ship, whom he had not previously seen. Quickly he ran down the steps leading to the gangway entrance but, apart from the crew member on duty, there was no sign of another living soul. It was a puzzled Toby Troy who retired to his bed that night wondering if there were happenings on this ship about which he knew nothing. He was determined to find out.

  Originally it had been proposed that the Golden Handshake would visit Yemen and call at the port of Al Hudaydah, where transport could be arranged for those who wished to visit the ancient city of Sanaa. Fred Batty had done some extensive research on this part of the world and had assembled a considerable collection of coloured slides. Sanaa itself looked like a setting for a huge production of The Pirates of Penzance, for every male shown in Fred’s collection seemed to have a massive dagger thrust into his belt and carried some sort of firearm also, just in case. Fred mischievously thought that the one-eyed Enzo would be the ideal man to escort such an expedition. Alas, trouble was reported in the country and the Admiral decided that to visit Sanaa at this time would be unwise and so they sailed on towards India.

  As there was an extra sea day, Enzo, who was now beginning to function as Cruise Director once again, decided that the lectures ought to recommence in earnest. With not a little sorrow in his heart, he advised Mr Toby Troy that he must be prepared to lecture for forty-five minutes at eleven o’clock the following morning. Troy was delighted. He informed the Cruise Director that he would not, in his first lecture, tell of the amazing resistance of Hezbollah to the Scriptures. Rather, he had more up-to-date information to impart. Enzo shrugged. He could lecture on whatever he liked for all he cared.

  At a quarter to the hour, Toby Troy returned to the platform from which he had attempted to lecture previously. The eagle lectern had flown, to be replaced by a flimsy-looking music-stand upon which he placed his notes. He had taken the precaution of numbering each page, as he did not want a repeat of the fiasco of last time. At one minute to eleven Enzo made his appearance and stood at the front of the room. It gave him no pleasure at all to introduce Troy but, he reasoned, it was his job and so he would get on with it.

  ‘Draughty keyholes they have on this ship,’ uttered the resident comedian, glancing at Enzo’s eye-patch. ‘Watch out, mate, or Long John Silver will have your job.’

  Although the remarks were issued in a stage whisper, Enzo heard them and was not amused. He did not feel in the slightest bit amused today, as so many of his carefully thought out plans had had to be cancelled. He looked around enviously at the auditorium. His language classes had attracted four people at the most. Today the room was very comfortably full.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. This morning, Mr Toby Troy will be lecturing to you. Mr Troy has had a varied career. As a muscular Christian,’ here he glanced at the diminutive Toby and gave him a thin smile, ‘Mr Troy bravely attempted to get Hezbollah to leave their evil ways and f
ollow the light. For his exceptional bravery he was awarded the British Empire Medal. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Toby Troy!’

  A beaming Toby Troy appeared on stage and stood behind the music-stand, his numbered notes before him.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he squeaked. ‘Today I have taken the liberty of departing from my script. I shall not begin by telling you of my sincere efforts to evangelise Hezbollah. I realise now, alas late in the day, the error of my ways. Many years ago, I left that work and joined forces with one of the greatest men of our day - Mr Assad Wikiwatts. Both “Wiki”, as he is known to his close friends, and myself, are passionate about truth. We believe that the public - you, your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren, your aunts, your uncles, your friends, your fellow workers - in fact, everybody, has a right to know the truth about everything. Everything. Too many people are being kept in the dark, and that is a national disgrace. I have to tell you today, in all seriousness, that you, the very people sitting in this room, are being kept in the dark.’

  Alas, as luck would have it, at that very moment, Enzo, who was creeping out of the room in an attempt to leave unobserved, tripped over a wire and fell to the ground with a tremendous crash. Having been injured in the room before, it was proving to be a dangerous place for him. The wire which brought him down was connected to the lighting, which was immediately extinguished. Several of the passengers thought that this special effect had been pre-arranged by Mr Troy and applauded gently. Enzo picked himself up, reconnected the plug and the lighting was resumed immediately. He crept slowly out and Troy resumed.

  ‘As we have just observed,’ Troy continued, finding for once that he might interject some humour into the proceedings, ‘you will not be in the dark for long.’

  He paused for laughter and applause, but none was forthcoming.