Alice-Miranda at Sea

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘I was wondering if you were really on board the ship at all.’

  The woman stared blankly at Alice-Miranda.

  ‘I am sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m so very pleased to finally meet you.’ Alice-Miranda thrust her tiny hand in Ambrosia’s direction.

  ‘Oh.’ Ambrosia studied the child for a moment before taking her hand into her limp grip. ‘Oh!’ she said again, a tiny flicker of recognition igniting on her face.

  ‘My mummy and daddy invited you. Well, Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence actually insisted that you be invited,’ Alice-Miranda continued. ‘Jacinta is one of my best friends.’

  ‘What’s Jacinta got to do with all this?’ Ambrosia attempted to furrow her brow, but it steadfastly refused to budge.

  ‘Well, Mummy and Daddy thought it would be lovely if I could have Jacinta and Millie along on the cruise and then Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence said that it would be great to meet their parents and that’s how you and Mr Headlington-Bear and Millie’s mother and father came to be asked too.’

  ‘But I was invited because I always get invited to these things,’ Ambrosia said, puzzled.

  ‘Well, I imagine that you do get invited to loads of things, but this time you really do have Jacinta to thank,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘So, my daughter’s here, on the ship?’ Ambrosia pouted.

  ‘Oh, yes. She’s just over there.’ Alice-Miranda pointed towards the children at the table. ‘She’ll be so relieved about the mix-up. I think Jacinta had begun to wonder if you were avoiding her and that would be just plain silly, wouldn’t it?’ Please, come and join us. There’s space at our table and Jacinta would love to see you,’ Alice-Miranda coaxed.

  ‘Well, I’ll come and say hello, but really, I’m sure I’m supposed to be somewhere else.’ Ambrosia fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head ever so slightly towards Chef Vladimir.

  ‘Pff, I’ll see you later, darlink,’ Vladimir purred at Ambrosia.

  ‘Do you know each other?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Yes, of course. Vladimir runs a gorgeous restaurant in Moscow. Michelin stars and that sort of thing. I flew up there last week with some friends and he tells me they’re now booked solid for six months. The rotten paps from Gloss and Goss wouldn’t leave us alone.’ Ambrosia looked smug. ‘But it was all in a good cause.’

  Alice-Miranda frowned. She didn’t like to hear Mrs Headlington-Bear talking about the paparazzi. They were the last thing Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence needed this week. At least everyone on board had signed a confidentiality agreement not to disclose any details before or after the wedding. And all inbound and outbound telephone calls were being monitored, too. Aunty Gee’s security wasn’t taking any risks.

  Ambrosia Headlington-Bear spent another few seconds surveying the party.

  ‘I can’t believe I don’t recognise anyone,’ she said, barely masking her disappointment. ‘Oh, except the Queen, of course – and that dishy Lawrence Ridley. I thought there’d be movie stars by the boatload.’

  ‘Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence were keen to keep it a mostly family affair,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Is Mr Headlington-Bear joining you for dinner?’

  Ambrosia stared vacantly at the crowd, apparently lost in her own thoughts. ‘No,’ she replied absently.

  ‘Well, please, come and sit with us,’ Alice-Miranda urged.

  Ambrosia followed the tiny child, her kaftan swishing and flouncing. She was the sort of woman people couldn’t help noticing.

  Jacinta had been concentrating so hard on her dinner she’d almost hoovered up the entire contents of her plate.

  Ambrosia glided over and stood behind her daughter. ‘Hello Jacinta, this is a surprise. Have you got a kiss for Mummy?’

  Jacinta swallowed her last mouthful. She wiped her hands on her napkin, stood up and turned around to greet her mother.

  ‘I see you’ve still got a good appetite, darling.’ Ambrosia glanced at the empty plate. ‘Mind the grease on Mummy’s new dress.’

  Jacinta gave Ambrosia an awkward hug. Her lips barely grazed her mother’s cheek.

  ‘Your mother hadn’t realised that you were here,’ Alice-Miranda explained.

  ‘Of course not,’ Jacinta frowned. ‘Why would anyone important invite me to anything interesting?’

  The atmosphere around the table heaved under the weight of unspoken words.

  ‘Hello Mrs Headlington-Bear,’ Millie spoke. ‘I’m Millie – it’s good to finally meet you.’

  ‘Oh, hello. And for goodness sake, call me Ambrosia. Mrs Headlington-Bear sounds positively antique.’

  Ambrosia browsed around the table before her eyes came to rest on Lucas. She studied him carefully. ‘And who are you, young man?’

  ‘I’m Lucas Nixon.’ He stood up and offered his hand. Lucas stared at her with his piercing black eyes, and then smiled his million-dollar grin.

  ‘And who do you belong to, Lucas?’ she asked.

  ‘My father is Lawrence Ridley,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, that makes sense. It’s no wonder you’re so gorgeous then, is it? Jacinta – make sure you keep an eye on this fellow.’

  Jacinta wished at that moment for a giant trap- door to open up and swallow her mother whole.

  Millie sniggered. ‘It’s all right, Ambrosia. I think Jacinta’s already got that under control.’

  A spurt of bile rose into the back of Jacinta’s throat. ‘Thanks, Millie,’ she hissed.

  ‘And who are you?’ Ambrosia had turned her attention to Sep.

  ‘Sep Sykes,’ he replied, standing and offering his hand as Lucas had done.

  ‘Well, hello Sep Sykes.’ Ambrosia’s eyes sparkled. ‘Glad to see my daughter has such good taste in young men.’

  ‘Please, sit down, Ambrosia,’ Alice-Miranda invited.

  ‘No, I’m sure I’m supposed to be somewhere else.’ Ambrosia glanced around the deck.

  An awkward silence descended over the table.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ Jacinta asked.

  ‘Oh, you know your father; it’s all work, work, work. Excuse me.’ Ambrosia tapped a waiter on the shoulder. ‘Can you tell me where I’m meant to be sitting?’

  ‘I won’t be a moment, ma’am.’ the man scuttled off towards the maître d’.

  ‘That’s a lovely dress, Ambrosia,’ Alice-Miranda commented.

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? I couldn’t decide what to wear tonight. It took me ages to get ready. I mean, it was a bit stingy of the hosts not letting me bring Henri or Tiffany with me. I usually don’t travel anywhere without them.’ Ambrosia inspected her manicured left hand as she spoke.

  ‘Who are they?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘Henri’s my stylist and he’s a total saint and Tiff does my hair and make-up. I must look a complete mess. It’s the first time I’ve had to manage my own look in years,’ Ambrosia complained.

  ‘Well, I think you look very pretty,’ Alice-Miranda complimented her.

  ‘Yes, lovely,’ Millie added, elbowing Jacinta in the ribs.

  ‘You look fine, Mummy,’ Jacinta muttered.

  ‘Why don’t I take a photograph of you and Jacinta?’ Millie offered. She picked up her camera from the centre of the table.

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Ambrosia’s smile lit up the deck. She leaned in beside her daughter, cheek to cheek.

  Millie snapped three shots.

  ‘Let me see,’ Ambrosia asked as Millie reviewed the pictures.

  ‘Oh, that’s gorgeous,’ Ambrosia remarked. ‘We look like sisters, Jacinta.’

  ‘Of course we do, mother.’ Jacinta stared off into the distance, ignoring Millie and her camera.

 
; The waiter returned. ‘Mrs Headlington-Bear, if you’d like to follow me,’ he offered.

  ‘See you later, children.’ Ambrosia pranced off to be seated with Max and Cyril, the Highton-Smith-Kennington-Joneses’ stablehand and pilot.

  Jacinta wrinkled her nose.

  ‘I can’t believe she didn’t know I was here,’ she finally said. ‘How else did she think she got invited?’

  ‘Don’t be cross, Jacinta.’ Alice-Miranda put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘At least she knows you’re here now, and you can spend some time together tomorrow.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Jacinta snarled.

  Alice-Miranda didn’t reply. She had a niggling feeling in the bottom of her stomach and right now she had no idea what to do about it.

  After the main course, Dr Lush appeared, dressed in his officer’s uniform. He proceeded to make his way around the deck, swanning from one table to the next, apparently attempting to charm every woman on board. He introduced himself to Ambrosia Headlington-Bear, who seemed delighted by the attention. He had been rather glad to remove himself from an obnoxious old biddy called Albertine, who had been making overtures about his having tea tomorrow with her granddaughter, Daisy. She was a pretty young thing, for sure, but when the old woman told him they were in domestic service he had quickly withdrawn his charm. He had no desire to take up with the hired help – no matter how attractive they might be. And with heiresses from the bow to the stern, Nicholas couldn’t help thinking he had landed in a sea of opportunity.

  Alice-Miranda had watched as he moved from table to table, laughing and smiling. With his dark eyes and prominent nose, she couldn’t help thinking that he rather reminded her of someone else she’d met recently. She just couldn’t work out who it was.

  Over at Aunty Gee’s table, conversations had ranged from Mrs Oliver’s latest organic vegetable project to Lawrence’s upcoming film and Alice-Miranda’s school play. Between hoots of laughter and hushed whispers, there was barely a second’s silence.

  ‘Nasty business, those jewel heists,’ Hugh Kennington-Jones commented to Aunty Gee over his perfectly marinated lamb fillet. ‘It sounds like they’re ticking off a very long list if you ask me.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Aunty Gee nodded her head and swallowed. ‘I was chatting with Inspector Gerard just last week and he assured me they’re only after Russian gems. It’s fortunate we haven’t acquired any in our collection.’

  A spate of jewel thefts around the world over the past eighteen months had been a source of chronic irritation for Chief Inspector Sexton Gerard, the Head of Interpol. The common thread seemed to be the jewel’s original owners, the long-departed Russian royal family. To date, all manner of trinkets had been stolen from private individuals on the Continent, museums in the United States and, most daringly, from the vault of the Kremlin in Moscow itself. Whoever was behind the raids was terribly well connected and exceedingly clever. So far, Gerard had no leads whatsoever.

  ‘What’s that, Aunty Gee?’ Cecelia joined the conversation. ‘Has there been a robbery?’

  ‘I was just saying, dear, that I don’t think we have to worry at all about those nasty thieves who seem to be amassing a trove of Russian antiquities.’

  Having finished her meal, Alice-Miranda, with Millie in tow, hurried over to ask her parents if the children might be excused to play a game of hide and seek. She poked her head around next to her father and waited for him to finish speaking.

  ‘I’ve heard they have the Great Imperial Crown and the Sceptre with the Orlov Diamond,’ Hugh said thoughtfully. ‘She’s a real beauty that one – one of the largest in the world.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Aunty Gee. ‘I would have thought the security at The Treasures of the Diamond Fund would have been better than that.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Millie asked as she and Alice-Miranda squeezed in between Hugh and Cecelia’s chairs.

  ‘Oh, hello girls. We were just talking about some robberies of Russian jewels this past year or so,’ Hugh informed them.

  ‘Why did you say she’s a real beauty?’ Alice-Miranda asked. ‘Is the diamond a girl?’

  ‘I suppose I always think of jewels as being female,’ her father replied.

  Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘May we be excused so we can play hide and seek?’ She could see Jacinta and the boys at their table beckoning her and Millie to return.

  ‘Of course, darling. Run along – but just stay above deck. Don’t want anyone getting lost in the dark, do we?’ Hugh directed.

  Alice-Miranda pecked her father’s cheek and then turned to give her mother the same treatment.

  Millie waved. ‘Bye, everyone. Enjoy your dinner.’

  The group bid the girls farewell and went back to their conversations.

  Deep in thought, Charlotte glanced up from her pork loin. ‘What about the Fabergé eggs?’

  Queen Georgiana placed her knife and fork gently beside each other and drew her napkin to her lips. With furrowed brows, she folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate.

  ‘Oh my dear, I hadn’t even given them a thought. Well, of course, they’re more Russian than borsch, aren’t they? I’ll talk with Admiral Harding and Dalton. I know the security codes for the cabinets are a very well guarded secret and I don’t suppose it’s especially common knowledge that they’re on board.’

  ‘Gee, I think you’re wrong there, dear,’ Granny Valentina piped up. ‘Don’t you remember there was a feature on the Octavia in a recent edition of Monarch Monthly? I recall a lovely photograph of the drawing room with the cabinet in the background and at least a paragraph devoted to the eggs and how you happened to have them.’

  Aunty Gee’s lips formed a perfect ‘O’. She signalled for Dalton to step forward from where he was standing behind her left shoulder.

  A short conversation in hushed tones, seemed to lighten her mood considerably.

  ‘It’s all right, dears.’ Aunty Gee giggled like a schoolgirl. She leaned in and motioned for the group to join her. ‘No need to worry at all,’ she whispered. ‘They’re fakes.’

  ‘What do you mean, fakes?’ Lawrence murmured, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, Dalton assures me that years ago my dear father had replicas made for the ship. He thought the Octavia was far too vulnerable. So the real eggs are in the vault at the palace. I can’t imagine why no one has ever bothered to tell me, but perhaps that’s because I never bothered to ask.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news. Very good news indeed,’ Hugh nodded.

  ‘Anyway, there’s no need to worry. Dalton has the security well in-hand.’ Aunty Gee smiled broadly.

  As the evening wore on, Neville Nordstrom felt decidedly bored. With no computer to distract him, time passed very slowly. There wasn’t even a television in his room. He’d checked everywhere, thinking that perhaps it was well concealed in an antique piece of furniture or a recess in the floor or something, but no amount of searching had revealed any form of technology.

  Henderson had appeared with a delicious plate of lamb loin chops, fillet steak, jacket potatoes and an array of salads, exactly as he said he would. Neville’s response to his questions consisted of nods or shakes of the head.

  Neville currently didn’t have any friends on dry land – well none that he hadn’t imagined – so he couldn’t imagine he’d have any more luck making them at sea.

  But the longer Neville spent with his own thoughts, the more diabolical they became. He pictured his father and mother arguing over whose fault it was that their one and only offspring was such an oddball. His father, a football-mad owner of a large earthmoving company, would never understand Neville’s fascination for the natural world. Especially seeing as he made a living out of bulldozing it. His mother just wanted him to fit in. She was forever asking about his friends and who he sat with at school and who h
e talked to on the bus. He knew it made her anxious when he told her the truth, so he’d learned to make things up. It was easier that way. It hadn’t always been like this. Back at home he had friends. It’s just that being shy and not speaking the language made it twice as hard to meet people and Neville found the whole process exhausting.

  Just before 9 pm Neville made the decision to leave the relative safety of his cabin and seek some air on the decks above. With his trumpet case in-hand, he walked the twenty or so steps along the corridor to the stairway. Ascending two flights of stairs he found himself at the end of a long deck. There was quite a commotion coming from above and he was keen to steer clear of the crowd. Neville gazed out to sea while edging his way slowly along the starboard side of the ship. The ocean was calm, like a sheet of glass, and there couldn’t have been any swell. In fact, if he hadn’t known they were steaming for New York, Neville might have been fooled into thinking that the ship was not moving at all.

  He walked as far as he could without having to ascend to the busy deck above. There was music playing – the type his father liked to listen to on a Saturday afternoon following a particularly successful game of football. Neville glanced up and saw that there were people dancing. There were women in colourful frocks and men in smart suits calling out and laughing as if they had all known each other for twenty years. Neville was too anxious to socialise with anyone during the journey. He just wanted to fulfil his mission – and work out how he would get his parents to forgive him.

  He had to stick to his plan. Once he’d completed his trek from New York and explained himself, surely his friend would understand. More than that, with Neville there in person, he’d have to help. The two of them would be hailed as heroes (he wasn’t looking forward to that part) and written up in Scientific Scientist magazine (that would be okay as long as he didn’t have to talk to anyone too much).

  Neville was lost in his thoughts when suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spotted the girl from the hallway crouched down behind a lifeboat. She was staring straight towards him.