Alice-Miranda at Sea

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Yes,’ Prendergast agreed.

  ‘It must be so much fun to travel the world instead of being locked away –’

  Prendergast glared. ‘What do you mean, “locked away”?’

  ‘In an office,’ Alice-Miranda explained. ‘Working in the same place every day.’

  ‘Oh, indeed.’ Prendergast roared laughing.

  ‘Do you get to steer the ship?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘But who’s doing that now?’ Alice-Miranda walked around the empty seat in front of the middle of the control panel. ‘I thought you would have loads of help up here – it’s amazing to have a huge vessel like the Octavia and only one person in control. You must be very good at your job.’

  ‘Autopilot. But I’m sure you didn’t come just to admire the view and talk about my work,’ he prompted.

  ‘Oh no, of course not. I wondered if you could help me locate some of our guests. My friend Jacinta Headlington-Bear’s parents are on board but she hasn’t seen them yet and I just want to make sure that they’re all right.’

  Whitley Prendergast walked to the other side of the room and thumbed through a thick folder.

  ‘Here they are.’ He tapped his finger on the page.

  ‘Headlington-Bear – Victoria and Albert on the Gallery Deck,’ Prendergast informed her.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Prendergast,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘I’m sure I’ll find them.’

  She turned to leave.

  The child glanced back at Prendergast and waved. ‘Enjoy your evening.’

  But the First Officer did not reply. He was humming loudly and seemed rather focused on cutting up some paper.

  People who work on ships are very busy, Alice-Miranda thought to herself.

  She made her way down five flights of stairs to the Gallery Deck, so named for the millions of dollars’ worth of artworks that lined the long corridors; Picassos and Rembrandts hung alongside works by Matisse and Monet. It was a truly splendid hallway, despite being ‘below deck’. She walked along the corridor, checking the polished brass nameplates that were located in the centre of each door.

  ‘Ah, here it is, Victoria Suite,’ Alice-Miranda said out loud. ‘That’s funny – I thought it was Victoria and Albert.’ Alice-Miranda wondered if she was in the right place. It was definitely the Gallery Deck – it said so at the end of the hall. She tapped on the door lightly. There was no reply so she waited a moment then tapped again more firmly.

  Ambrosia Headlington-Bear, having made no decision about her outfit for the ship’s departure, had retreated to the bath where she lay under a froth of bubbles. With some soothing jazz in her ears, she wondered how on earth she was going to choose what to wear for dinner.

  ‘Well,’ said Alice-Miranda with a shrug, ‘perhaps they’ve gone upstairs.’

  Inside the Albert suite opposite, Neville Nordstrom’s stomach grumbled. No one else had come to claim the room, so he’d decided that he might as well stay put for now – except that he really needed something to eat. He’d drifted off to sleep again after being awoken by the blasting of the ship’s horn when the vessel was casting off. And now he’d been here for what seemed a couple of hours. Considering he’d lain awake most of the night before, worrying about the journey ahead, it was no surprise that Neville was tired.

  Neville decided to go in search of some food – surely there had to be a vending machine or cafeteria somewhere close by. He picked up his trumpet case and opened the door. A small girl with cascading chocolate curls was standing outside in the hallway. Neville stepped backwards and closed the door. He hoped she would go away.

  Alice-Miranda spun around to see who was there. But the door had clicked shut. And then she saw the nameplate – Albert Suite.

  ‘Oh, so that’s it! The Headlington-Bears must have two suites,’ Alice-Miranda decided.

  Knowing there was someone inside, she knocked sharply at the door and waited.

  Neville stood on the other side wondering what he should do.

  ‘Hello,’ Alice-Miranda called. ‘Is anyone there?’

  Neville felt his chest tighten. She must have seen him.

  Alice-Miranda waited a moment and then rapped sharply again. ‘Hello. Are you there?’

  Neville opened the door.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Alice-Miranda smiled. ‘My name’s Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you.’ She thrust a dainty hand towards him.

  Neville’s eyes were downcast towards the floor.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  Neville nodded but didn’t look up. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t like girls. They made him nervous.

  ‘Mmm,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I’m looking for my friend Jacinta Headlington- Bear’s parents and I thought they were in the Victoria and Albert Suite but I think I must have made a mistake and perhaps they have two suites, the Victoria and the Albert but you’re here so I think First Officer Prendergast must have misread the passenger list. Oh! Do you play the trumpet?’ Alice-Miranda asked, glancing towards his case.

  Neville moved his head ever so slightly.

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Do you know that there’s an old-fashioned big band on board? Their leader is Mr Morrison and he’s the most amazing trumpet player ever. I saw all their instruments before when my friends and I were exploring the ship. I can’t wait to hear them play. Maybe they’ll let you practise with them, or perhaps if you’re really good, which you must be to have brought your instrument on board with you, you might even be able to play with them.’

  Neville had no idea what to say. So he said nothing.

  ‘Do you have a name?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  Neville gulped. His mouth felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of sand.

  ‘Neville,’ he whispered.

  ‘Well, it’s lovely to have met you, Neville. Would you like to come and meet my friends? We’re going swimming,’ Alice-Miranda enthused. ‘The pool’s heated.’

  He glanced at his case and then flicked his gaze back to her momentarily.

  ‘Oh, are you off to do some practice? Well, that’s lovely. I do hope I might see you at dinner tonight. I’m sure my friends would love to meet you too.’

  Neville chewed at the quick at the base of his thumbnail, and gripped the handle of his battered case. He wished she would disappear.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to get back upstairs. I hope I see you later.’ Alice-Miranda skipped down the passage.

  Neville rather hoped he never saw her again. He stepped backwards into the room, closed the door and took a deep breath. He was cross with himself. If only he hadn’t been so jolly tongue-tied he could have asked her where he could find something to eat. She seemed to know everything. There was another sharp knock at the door and a young man in a white uniform entered.

  ‘Oh, good afternoon, sir.’ The man almost walked straight into him. ‘I see you’re awake. Would you like me to bring you anything? I looked in earlier and you were sound asleep.’

  Neville was frozen to the spot. He did not reply.

  ‘Might I enquire where you are heading off to, sir?’ The man looked at Neville’s case. ‘I must say I’ve never seen anyone quite so devoted to their luggage.’

  Neville didn’t return his smile. ‘I-i-is . . . is this my room?’ he mumbled.

  ‘I should think so, sir. You are Master Neville?’

  Neville nodded ever so slightly.

  ‘Would you like some help to unpack, sir?’ the young man went to take the case from Neville’s hand.

  ‘No.’ Neville spun around. ‘I-i-it’s okay. I-I-’ve got it.’

  ‘Well then, at least allow me to bring you something to eat. Is there anything particular you’d like?’

/>   Neville shuffled back through the open doorway into the entrance hall and then across into the sitting room. He walked over and sat on the couch, dragging his case onto his lap.

  ‘Ham s-s-sandwich,’ he whispered.

  ‘Very good, sir. Would you like mustard and French fries with that?

  Neville’s stomach grumbled.

  ‘I should think so,’ the steward said. ‘My name is Henderson, sir, and I will be looking after you for the week. My apologies that I wasn’t here to meet you when you arrived. I had some unexpected business to attend to but I’m here now and I’m sure everything will be smooth sailing from here on in.’

  Neville stared at the floor.

  ‘Very good, Master Neville.’ The steward exited the room.

  Neville heaved a deep sigh. At least he could settle in properly, knowing he was in the right place.

  Neville was yet to discover, wedged between the writing desk and the bookshelf, his welcome letter addressed to Mr Neville Headlington-Bear.

  'Oh, there you are, darling.’ Cecelia Highton-Smith had glanced up from where she was sitting by the pool, talking to their gardener Harold Greening and his wife Maggie, to see her daughter skipping towards them. ‘Where have you been? The others have been in for ages. You’ve only got a few minutes and then we have to get ready for dinner.’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy, I wanted to check that Mr and Mrs Headlington-Bear were all right and then I had to get my bathers on,’ Alice-Miranda called.

  ‘Did you see them, darling?’ Cecelia asked.

  ‘No, I think they must have already come up for drinks,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  Cecelia Highton-Smith glanced around the open deck. ‘I haven’t spied them yet, but they might be inside. I’ll go and have a look.’

  Most of the guests had retreated to their suites to change for dinner. The sun blinked its last warm rays before slipping down behind the mountains. Alice-Miranda pulled her dress over her head. She closed her eyes, jumped into the pool and was embraced by the warm water.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Millie shouted. Alice-Miranda swam over to join her friends.

  ‘I just had to check on something,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  The children played a quick round of Marco Polo before Cecelia reappeared and said it was time to have showers and get ready for dinner.

  ‘Do we have to dress up tonight, Mummy?’ Alice-Miranda asked as she towelled herself off.

  ‘No, darling. We’re having a barbecue on the Royal Deck – you can keep the formal wear in the wardrobe until later in the week.’

  ‘So that’s what smells so delicious,’ Lucas said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

  ‘You know, I think being on a ship is the perfect holiday for kids,’ Millie observed. ‘The grown-ups don’t have to worry about us at all – we can’t get lost, or kidnapped, or anything.’

  ‘True,’ said Jacinta. ‘But bad luck if there’s someone on board you don’t want to see. You’re bound to meet up with them at some stage.’

  Alice-Miranda and Millie exchanged knowing looks. They both wondered how Jacinta’s parents could be on the ship and still not have bothered to seek out their daughter. It simply wasn’t right.

  ‘Well, off you go. You’ll need to be back up on deck in half an hour for dinner,’ Cecelia commanded.

  ‘Will you be joining the other guests on deck for dinner this evening, sir?’ Henderson asked as he cleared the empty tray. Neville had devoured his ham sandwich and French fries and left nothing behind at all – quite a feat for a young boy. ‘It’s a barbecue and I’ve heard the new chef’s a real star. I hope there’ll be leftovers for the crew.’

  Neville didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t in his nature to talk to strangers. It wasn’t in his nature to talk to anyone very much.

  He vaguely shook his head.

  ‘Very well, sir. Would you like me to bring you a plate in an hour or so?’

  He nodded and wished Henderson would stop yapping.

  ‘I think there’s going to be fireworks later tonight, too.’

  Henderson wondered about Neville. Painfully shy wouldn’t go halfway to describing the poor lad. Certainly he was the polar opposite of his gossipy mother across the hallway. She never stopped talking and asking Henderson’s opinion on which dress looked best and how she should do her hair. You’d have thought the woman had never got dressed on her own before.

  ‘Do you play?’ Henderson looked at the trumpet case tucked in beside Neville on the couch. Its brown leather trim had seen more than a few bumps and knocks and there was a rather large smiley face sticker in the middle of the lid.

  Neville nodded. He found it was the best way to answer most questions.

  ‘May I have a look, Master Neville?’ Henderson asked.

  Neville shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing special,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, well perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of hearing you practise,’ Henderson suggested.

  ‘I . . . I . . . only play for me. It’s private.’

  ‘Oh, okay, sir,’ Henderson frowned. Having played trombone for years in his own school band, Henderson thought that was very odd indeed. Play- ing a brass or woodwind instrument without others was a bit like being the defence, attack and goalie on the football team. You didn’t stand a hope, really, and in his experience it wasn’t much fun at all.

  The Royal Deck had been completely transformed for dinner. Fairy lights twinkled along the railings and large Chinese lanterns swayed above, suspended from slender cables. The section of deck set for dinner was enclosed and heated, keeping the chill breath of the ocean at bay. Thirty round tables, resplendent with white cloths, sparkling candelabra and silverware so highly polished you could clean your teeth in its reflection, adorned the rear of the ship. A row of gleaming barbecues groaned under the weight of their sizzling feasts.

  Alice-Miranda, Millie and Jacinta were escorted to their table by a handsome steward. The girls were sitting with Lucas and Sep and wondered who else might join them. Cecelia and Hugh were dining with Granny Valentina, Aunty Gee, Lawrence, Charlotte, Mrs Oliver, Millie’s grandfather and Shilly. Over by the dance floor, a small musical ensemble struck up a tune, adding to the festive mood.

  ‘Hold on a tick, I’d better say hello to Mum and Dad.’ Millie excused herself and walked over to see her parents, who were seated at the admiral’s table with Daisy and Granny Bert, Mr and Mrs Greening and some other guests she didn’t recognise.

  Jacinta glanced around the deck.

  ‘Still haven’t spotted them?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘No,’ said Jacinta. ‘But it’s typical. Mummy’s probably caught up on the telephone.’ She shrugged. ‘And Daddy will be busy doing some billion-dollar deal.’

  ‘I’m sure that they’ll be here soon,’ Alice-Miranda reassured her.

  A tinkling of silver on crystal signified the formal start of the meal. Admiral Harding stood up and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ahem. Good evening, Your Majesty, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, what a pleasure it is to have you here on board the Octavia for what will be a most wonderful voyage. Our gracious hostess, Queen Georgiana, has requested that royal protocol be kept to a minimum as we are here to celebrate the impending marriage of Miss Charlotte Highton-Smith to the most charming and soon to be not-so-eligible bachelor, star of stage and screen, Mr Lawrence Ridley.’

  ‘Hear, hear.’ Ambrose McLoughlin-McTavish raised his glass.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Aunty Gee held her champagne flute aloft.

  ‘Before we partake of this most tantalising meal, I’d like to let you know a little about the route we’ll be taking this week. The Octavia has this afternoon been sailing along the French Riviera. We will be continu- ing onto the Italian Riviera and the Amalfi Coast before travelling up t
he Adriatic Sea to our point of disembarkation in the magical city of Venice. Although there are some glorious ports along the way, I’m sure you can appreciate that it is Charlotte and Lawrence’s wish that we remain on board until the end of the cruise and so, while we will admire from afar, we won’t be stopping in. Buzzing helicopters and long lenses are not something any of us want to attract to this celebration.’

  A titter of laughter rang around the deck.

  ‘So, may I propose a toast? Will you please be upstanding? To our happy couple, Charlotte and Lawrence.’

  The chorus reverberated around the deck. ‘Charlotte and Lawrence.’

  ‘I hope you all enjoy your meal and I look forward to meeting many of you on the dance floor a little later in the evening.’

  The tempting smell of barbecued meat and salty air wafted across the deck as a conga line of wait staff began depositing plates of food in front of the eager diners.

  ‘Look, there’s Chef Vladimir.’ Alice-Miranda spied a giant in a tall white hat presiding over the chefs. Standing beside him was a raven-haired beauty. Her bejewelled kaftan caught the lantern glow from above, sending shards of soft light across her pretty face. Millie nudged Alice-Miranda.

  Jacinta swivelled her head to see what Millie and Alice-Miranda were looking at. Just as quickly, she spun back around and gave her fullest concentration to the fillet of beef on the plate in front of her.

  ‘Jacinta, isn’t that your mother?’ Millie pointed at the woman. Although Millie had never met her in person she’d seen enough photographs of Ambrosia Headlington-Bear to know that it had to be her.

  ‘Yes, I suspect it is.’ Jacinta ploughed into her potato.

  In a second, Alice-Miranda was out of her seat and charging towards the woman.

  ‘Good evening, Chef Vladimir,’ Alice-Miranda smiled at the head chef. ‘It’s lovely to see you again and this barbecue smells delicious.’

  ‘Of courze it doez,’ he sneered.

  ‘Excuse me, but are you Mrs Headlington-Bear?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, of course I’m Ambrosia Headlington-Bear,’ the woman replied.