The exchange was repeated again and again until Alice-Miranda had shaken hands with all of the assembled staff, whose grins widened as she moved from one to the other. She proceeded to skip up the gangplank where she was greeted by the admiral, a stocky, grey-bearded septuagenarian named Teddy Harding.
‘Good morning, miss.’ He knelt down to greet Alice-Miranda, who promptly introduced herself in the usual way. Admiral Harding looked up to see Cecelia and Hugh arriving behind her. He motioned to the two crewmen either side to assist him back to his feet.
‘Admiral Harding.’ Cecelia greeted the old man with a kiss on each cheek. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.’
‘You’re looking as lovely as ever, Cecelia, my dear.’ Admiral Harding held Cecelia’s hands and took a step backwards.
‘And you’re the same charming old fox I remember.’ Hugh raised an eyebrow as the two men shook hands vigorously.
‘Well, I see your little daughter is every bit as gorgeous as her mother.’ Admiral Harding winked at Alice-Miranda who winked right back. ‘And who do we have here?’ he asked, spying Jacinta and Millie over Alice-Miranda’s shoulder.
‘May I introduce you to my good friends from school, Jacinta Headlington-Bear and Millicent Jane McLoughlin-McTavish-McNoughton-McGill – but she likes to be called Millie.’ Alice-Miranda motioned for them to come forward.
Admiral Harding shook the girls’ hands and said that he was very pleased to meet them. ‘In fact, didn’t I just meet your parents a little while ago, Miss Millicent?’ he asked, looking perplexed.
From behind the girls, Cecelia raised her finger to her lips and gently shook her head. She had been hoping to keep the arrival of Millie’s and Jacinta’s parents a surprise until the girls boarded.
‘No, I must be mistaken. Probably another couple on board with the very same name. Imagine that,’ Admiral Harding chuckled.
Millie and Jacinta exchanged glances, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
A tall man in a crisp uniform slid into position beside the admiral, who glowered at his late arrival.
‘May I introduce you to our Principal Medical Officer, Dr Nicholas Lush.’ Admiral Harding nodded at the man. ‘Pity he’s yet to find a watch that keeps good time.’
Dr Lush gulped and his bald head turned the colour of ripe raspberries. ‘Hello, I’m so very pleased to meet you,’ he gushed at Cecelia and Hugh.
‘What a delicious name you have, Dr Lush.’ Alice-Miranda stretched forward to shake his hand. He hesitated a moment, then reached out and took her hand in his. ‘It’s very nice to meet you, sir.’
‘Mmm, yes,’ Nicholas mumbled.
‘But I hope we don’t see you again,’ Jacinta said.
Dr Lush looked at Jacinta as though he was inspecting a nasty fungal infection.
‘Jacinta – rude!’ Millie whispered behind her left hand, before promptly elbowing her friend in the ribs with her right arm.
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’re a perfectly nice person, Dr Lush, it’s just that if we see you it means we’re sick and I don’t plan on being sick for one second,’ Jacinta finished. The group looked at her and laughed.
Dr Lush sneered. He rather hoped he didn’t see the little brats again either. He hadn’t counted on there being any children on board. In his experience, particularly with Her Majesty’s own grandchildren, they only created problems and a lot more work.
Admiral Harding signalled to three young stewards standing to his left.
‘Well, these lads will show you to your quarters. We’re departing at 2 pm. I hope you’ll join us on deck for a good old-fashioned send-off.’
Meanwhile, out on the dock, guests were scattering this way and that as the flag-flying motorcade pulled up beside the gangplank. Aunty Gee had delayed their arrival by several minutes as she stopped to talk with the handsome, dark-eyed policeman at the security checkpoint. He rather reminded her of her late husband, Leopold.
In an operation requiring military precision, Queen Georgiana and her household were to be on board the ship and ensconced in their suites within the next twenty minutes. However, the royal standard was not yet flying and protocol demanded that the Queen didn’t board the ship until the flag was in place.
‘Dalton, whatever is the delay?’ Aunty Gee enquired of her personal bodyguard.
Dalton pushed his earpiece harder into his ear. ‘I’m not entirely sure, ma’am, but I think someone has . . . um . . . misplaced the flag,’ he replied sheepishly.
‘Well, tell them to hurry up and find it. I’ve had two glasses of water on the way from the airport and whilst I have an impeccable constitution, it would seem that my aged bladder does not,’ the Queen ordered.
Aunty Gee scanned the quayside and soon her eyes fell upon just what she was looking for.
‘Dalton, Mrs Marmalade, why don’t you hop out and see about this silly hold-up?’ she commanded. With both her bodyguard and lady-in-waiting out of the car, Aunty Gee waited a moment before alighting the vehicle on the far side. Fortunately her entire entourage seemed to be gazing at the empty flagpole, as if by mere power of mutual thought they could zip the flag into place. With some urgency, Aunty Gee fled to the public convenience located opposite the ship and was out again before anyone had time to miss her.
On her return to the vehicle she spotted a fair-haired lad staring up at the Octavia.
‘Are you joining us?’ Aunty Gee asked the boy and motioned towards the case he was hiding behind his left leg.
Neville moved his head ever so slightly and wondered why the woman speaking to him seemed vaguely familiar. He had been up and down the quayside five times now and still hadn’t been able to work out which ship was heading where. His mission was made doubly difficult by several large containers lining the dock obscuring some of the ships’ names.
‘A-a-america?’ he squeaked in an octave befitting a chorister.
‘What was that, dear? A miracle?’ Aunty Gee repeated, staring at the boy and wondering at the cause of his unusually high voice. ‘Yes, it will be a miracle if we ever board this ship today. Well, you’d better get a move on. They’ll want you on there before they’ll let me up. And where are your parents?’
Neville gulped. If he said that he was travelling on his own, surely she’d call security. He was thinking about running when he looked across and saw her. A miracle indeed.
He pointed to the bottom of the gangplank where a woman wearing a huge black hat and oversized sunglasses was teetering towards the ship.
‘Is that your mother?’ Aunty Gee asked.
Neville managed a small nod.
‘Well, hurry up and join her then.’ Aunty Gee turned and called to the woman, ‘Dear! Excuse me, dear, you’ve left your son behind.’
The woman did not turn around at all. ‘Run along there, lad. Obviously your mother has a hearing problem,’ Aunty Gee tutted as she dived back into her own car and waited.
Neville Nordstrom was on his way up the gangplank before he had time to think. He reached the woman with the umbrella-sized hat and stood rigid behind her, like a stalk on a mushroom. No one seemed to notice him at all.
Well aware that Her Majesty was waiting to board, Admiral Harding was keeping his greetings to a bare minimum. A swift shake of the hand or nod of the head was all the time he could afford. When Ambrosia Headlington-Bear reached the head of the queue she pulled the earphones from her ears in anticipation of a lengthy welcome speech. She’d been looking forward to this moment. It wasn’t every day one boarded the Octavia as a guest of the Queen.
At the same moment, First Officer Whitley Prendergast appeared and whispered to a much-relieved Admiral Harding that they had located the missing flag, which was now on its way to the flagpole. He didn’t mention that it had been found hidden in one of the stewards’ lockers. H
ow it got there was a mystery indeed.
Ambrosia tapped her Prada heels, removed her sunglasses and stared at the admiral.
‘Yes, welcome. Mr and Mrs Headlington-Bear, I presume?’ Admiral Harding greeted her. He made a point of researching his passengers well and prided himself on knowing many on sight. ‘I’m sorry to rush you along there, ma’am, but we have to keep moving. Don’t want to be late now.’
‘Yes, but he’s . . .’ Ambrosia began.
‘Yes, it’s lovely to have you on board,’ Admiral Harding steamrolled as the young purser beside him checked off the list of names. ‘Hurry along, please ma’am. We’re running a wee bit late.’
Several guests were now pushing up behind. The admiral checked his watch. It was 1.45 pm. How they would have Queen Georgiana installed in her suite by 2 pm was anyone’s guess, but if the lines of perspiration trailing down the side of his face were any indication, Admiral Harding would do it, or at the very least, die trying.
In one swift move, Neville’s hand flew out from behind Ambrosia, holding aloft his passport and ticket for anyone who cared to see.
But nobody noticed and Neville found himself swept along in the woman’s wake. His heart hammered inside his chest as he reached into his jacket pocket for his inhaler.
As they passed by what looked to be a dining room, Neville felt rather glad he hadn’t bothered to upgrade his ticket. Discount economy passage to the USA looked much better than he had imagined.
'Your room, ma’am.’ A young steward held open the door to Ambrosia’s suite.
‘But it’s below deck,’ she whined. ‘We’ll see about that.’ The steward caught sight of Neville, who was now stranded in the middle of the hallway. ‘Are you right there, son?’
Neville nodded.
‘Where are my bags?’ Ambrosia called from inside her room. ‘I need to get changed. Now!’
The freckle-faced crewman sighed, then disappeared into the suite. He was glad he hadn’t been allocated to look after this woman for the whole voyage and felt very sorry for the steward who had.
Neville dived towards a door opposite, turned the handle and, to his great relief, found it unlocked. He slipped inside, shut the door behind him and exhaled deeply. He had no idea if this was his room, but he imagined someone would tell him soon enough.
He put his kit bag on the floor but kept hold of the case. A small entrance hall led through to a sitting room with a comfy-looking sofa, a walnut writing desk and a long glass-fronted bookcase loaded with leather-bound volumes. A small dining table for two stood at the far end. The suite seemed quite large really. Much like his nan’s front room, he thought, but a bit posher.
There was another door at the end of the room, which Neville supposed would lead to the bedroom. After a minute’s hesitation, his curiosity got the better of him and he crept towards the closed door, listened for a moment, then turned the polished brass handle.
Finding the room empty, Neville took a moment to look around. It had a huge bed in the centre with a built-in mahogany headboard and another comfortable-looking couch in the corner. A row of wardrobes took up one wall, and three portholes, like giant fish eyes, blinked at him from the other. Another door revealed a marble bathroom complete with shower, toilet, vanity and an impressively large bath.
Neville really hoped this room was his. He could be quite comfortable here for the next eight days.
He sat down on the couch beside the bed and finally let go of the case, placing it on the floor in front of him. Neville began to think. But after a minute he realised that was a mistake. Thinking didn’t help at all. His mother would be worried sick and his father, well, it didn’t even bear considering what he would do when he found out.
Instead he decided to focus on the mission ahead. ‘Positive self-talk, Neville, that’s what you need,’ he whispered to himself. When he’d suggested to his internet friend that perhaps he could help Neville with his project, there seemed a longer than usual delay in his response. As his friend was normally a big talker, Neville wondered if there was a problem. He decided to tell his friend that he’d worked out who he was. That was a big mistake – all contact had ceased immediately. Neville wondered if it had something to do with his public image. Maybe there was a reason why his friend didn’t want to tell everyone about his hobby. But Neville didn’t intend to tell anyone else. He just needed some help and this was the one person who could give it to him.
And then the other morning, as Neville was riding the bus to school, he came face to face with the answer to his problem. A billboard showing a ship leaving Barcelona Port, with the Statue of Liberty superimposed in the background. That was it! He would go in person and then surely he couldn’t be ignored. It was something his dad had always said. ‘You’ve got to meet people. Turn up and they can’t give you the brush-off so easily.’
Neville bought his ticket online using the 200 euros his nan had sent him for his birthday and Christmas. Luckily he kept his money in the bank and his parents trusted him to have his own access card. Then he’d shaken his savings from his piggy bank. He told his parents he was staying with a friend, Romeo, and that they were spending a long weekend at football camp.
He’d even printed the permission note himself. It was lucky his mother’s Spanish was even worse than his, as Neville had copied the text straight from an article on the internet about a pet show.
‘When are we going to meet this Romeo?’ Neville’s mother had asked as he grabbed his sports kit and headed out the door. His trumpet case was safely stowed in the back of the shed. He’d pick it up on the way.
‘Soon, Mum,’ Neville mumbled. He didn’t want to disappoint her.
But Neville’s mother was so grateful that her son had found a friend and joined a sporting team, she wasn’t concerned at all. She loved their new life in Spain. For her it was all about the beach and golf and friends at the country club just down the road from their villa. As long as her son was happy, she was happy too. Her husband’s earth-moving business was doing exceedingly well. It seemed as if half of Spain was being developed into villas for cashed-up retirees and bulldozers were in big demand. And ever since they’d met that charming Smedley Sykes their lives had taken a sharp turn for the better.
Neville realised when he booked his passage that he’d be away for more than just the weekend. The ship would take eight days to reach New York and then he would have to find his way south to his ultimate destination. He’d heard that Americans were very friendly so he was hoping to get a lift to save money. Neville wished he could have flown but the cheapest fare was five times what he had saved up. He’d explained everything in a letter to his parents, which he posted on the way to the dock. They’d receive it early the following week and he hoped that at least then they wouldn’t worry too much. Neville could do all the worrying for them – especially about what his father would say to him when he finally arrived home.
And now here he was. Almost on his way. Neville decided to stay put for now. He hadn’t realised just how tired he was until he sat down. His eyelids felt like lead and he was struggling to stay awake. A minute later Neville’s head fell backwards and he was fast asleep.
Alice-Miranda, Millie and Jacinta were sharing a suite next door to Hugh and Cecelia. Three single beds had been installed so the girls could bunk in together.
‘Why don’t you have a look around and get settled and we’ll see you back on deck in ten minutes,’ Cecelia instructed the group. ‘I hope you like the suite – it was always our favourite when Charlotte and I were young.’
‘It’s gorgeous, Mummy,’ Alice-Miranda replied, looking around at the expansive sitting room with its antique bookcase, grandfather clock and enormous fireplace. ‘But I can’t imagine we’ll be spending much time in here. There’ll be far too many other things to do.’
Although the room would have been right at home at
Highton Hall, there were some touches that set it apart, most particularly the overstuffed cushions embroidered with Queen Georgina’s coat of arms. The bedroom was another thing altogether with its candy-pink duvets and cabinet full of china dolls.
‘We’ll see you on the Promenade Deck, darling,’ Cecelia called, then retreated and left the girls to explore.
‘When did your mother unpack our things?’ Millie quizzed.
‘I don’t think she did,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘Unless Mummy has the ability to be in two places at once.’
‘Maybe Mrs Shillingsworth did it?’ suggested Jacinta.
‘No, Mummy and Daddy have given everyone from home strict instructions that they’re not to lift a finger at all. The wedding is a holiday.’
Not only had the children’s clothes been unpacked, the suitcases had been stowed and even Brummel Bear, Alice-Miranda’s well-loved teddy, had found a resting place against the pillow on the middle bed.
A sharp knock on the suite door interrupted the girls’ conversation. Alice-Miranda walked from the bedroom to the hallway off the sitting room, where she was met by a stern-looking gentleman in a starched white uniform who had obviously let himself in.
‘Hello,’ Alice-Miranda smiled. ‘My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones.’ She offered her tiny hand.
‘Good afternoon, miss,’ the man replied. ‘My name is Winterstone and I have been assigned to look after you for the voyage.’ His lips twitched as he spoke.
‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Mr Winterstone,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Was it you who unpacked all of our things?’
‘Yes, miss. I trust everything is in order.’ Winterstone walked past her into the sitting room and over to the couch where he produced from his top pocket a small retractable ruler. He measured upwards and down, then repositioned the cushions, just so.
Alice-Miranda at Sea Page 2
