I had been swimming in perspiration when I awoke. It was by far the worst night I’d had for years, the worst since George had gone over the stair-rail and hurtled down to the concrete.
We left port without a rush, without bustle, as the Syrius must have left a hundred ports a hundred times before. The steady pulsating beat of the engines throbbed up through the steel hull as she drew slowly away from the wharf and drifted sideways into the stream. There was no bunting and no waving crowds; only Nick standing far back on the shore beside his car, hands firmly rammed into his pockets.
For a vessel of fourteen years she was in fairly good condition, to me at least. The brass-work in the accommodation section was bright, but that probably didn’t count for much. And they hadn’t been sparing with the paint. There must have been twenty or thirty coats in some areas. The one thing missing was rust. Most of the old ships I’d had anything to do with had been a mass of dirty flaking metal: rust-buckets. Syrius had been well looked after.
The crew, which included the captain and eight or nine officers, comprised a total complement of about forty persons. But this didn’t include the women, of which there were three – all Chinese. It had the makings of an interesting voyage. It seemed that Singaporean owners are not averse to their officers’ wives sailing with them – as long as the rest of the crew don’t become resentful.
The voyage east through Bass Strait, around past the rocky coastline of Victoria, and then northwards up through the Tasman Sea to Cairns was uneventful, even peaceful. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect and I knew that if the slow lazy roll of the ship was going to continue unchanged for the next few weeks I might even get to enjoy it.
After the weeks of preparation and working my butt off in the warehouse it was a relief to be able to sit back and relax; letting somebody else do the work, not that there seemed to be much work to do. There was no cargo handling; only the routine maintenance through which the crew ambled: unhurried. The deck officers kept to the bridge and the engineers to their great throbbing cavern below decks.
This was no ocean liner with an entertainment officer and bars on every level. There was no shuffle-board court marked out on deck, and no drink waiters dressed in starched white jackets. We didn’t rate a swimming pool and there was no theatre with the latest movies. But we did have a bar; for officers and passengers only.
When I say bar, I don’t mean to say that it had a barman, with shiny glasses, drink dispensers and bags of chips. It was simply like the one you might have at home, in the corner of the rumpus room, with a few bottles and a small fridge. This one was up in the officers lounge, sharing the space with a television set, video recorder, dartboard and a cluster of assorted sofas and lounge chairs; comfortable, but nothing pretentious.
The lounge was usually empty during the day, with the officers either on duty or in their cabins.
Pete and I couldn’t resist making a wager concerning the three wives, betting on who would be the first to get one of them into bed. Two were young and pretty, whilst the third was older and well-rounded. Still, as they say, any port in a storm.
As the days wore on I began to regret having got rid of Sophie so quickly.
Pete, for all his bluff, bluster and bravado, was still unsure of himself. From the long talks that became a regular part of our day, it was soon apparent that he was endeavouring to escape the clutches of mummy and daddy. They were both society types: his father employed as a solicitor in some city law firm; his mother playing bridge with the girls with whom she had gone to school – provided they had married well. They lived in some smart rented apartment; lavishly spending the money that would have bought them a house; spending in order to keep up with the old school chums.
They wanted Pete to settle down and become a dentist, and then marry some girl they considered to be equal to their station in life – or above it if that could be arranged; and live happily ever after in some cute house in the right suburb, with a mortgage that would take him thirty years to repay – or forever if he had any kids.
But Pete wasn’t having any of it. He had seen what it had done to his elder brother. In just three short years his brother had turned from a fun guy into a house-proud buffoon. Instead of talking about parties and fast cars, it was now the rose-garden and their darling little child’s first halting step, and the ever-growing overdraft. It had hit Pete rather hard.
He had gone out and found manual work, much to the family’s horror, and over the years had managed to get a few dollars together. He borrowed a few more from an uncle, his father’s brother – regarded as the black sheep of the family by Pete’s mother. She had struck him off the Christmas card list; apparently because he had sunk so low as to sell used cars for a living; but more likely because he was successful at it.
Pete’s entry into the import-export field was his first venture into the heady world of business, and he was on a high. It was important for him to succeed, not just because of the money, but to show his parents what he could make of himself. And he had every chance of making good. This shipment was the first of several he had negotiated, and all he had to do was to show the customer that he could perform.
I took to Pete and his down-to-earth attitude straight away. He knew who he was and where he was going: forceful, but not full of himself as some of them are. If he didn’t agree with what I said, then he said so, but without being a smart-alec about it.
He was younger than me by about four years – calendar years that is. But by the different lives we had both led, his sheltered and mine fighting for what I could get, I would say I was ahead of him by about ten. If he had known some of the things I had done he wouldn’t have believed them; for although out on his own, he was still naïve and too ready to believe the good in a person. But he would change.
Some might say that he was better looking than me, in that handsome way that mothers prefer for their daughters: blue eyes, blond hair and a winsome smile. I was what the girls themselves fancied – more rugged. Pete was slightly taller than me, but tended to walk with his shoulders hunched over; which made us nearly the same height.
Without Pete along the trip would have been boring. But the captain had been proven correct – we kept each other amused; and without Pete I would have been a nuisance, bothering everybody in sight; either that or I would have been an alcoholic by the end of the voyage. There was nothing to do but sit and talk, or drink.
After the first couple of days we both agreed that trying to score one of the officers’ wives was going to be more difficult than we had at first considered. They weren’t let out of their husbands’ sight, and the only times we did get to see them was in the dining saloon or in the officers lounge after the evening meal.
Even in the lounge it was hard to get a word out of them, and a smile was next to impossible. They were either extremely shy, or held under threat of pain of death if they so much as carried on a conversation with us. I couldn’t see what the husbands were worried about. Two quiet young lads like us!
There was still a lot of ocean to be crossed before Singapore, and I was prepared to wait for the right moment; as long as I beat Pete. With every evening that passed those three young women looked sweeter and sweeter. And the more I thought about those little lotus blossoms tucked up in their bunks at night, the more I thought of Mee Ling.
Singapore seemed such a long way off.
Six and a half days after leaving Adelaide we berthed in Cairns: the northernmost city in eastern Australia. The Syrius had a cargo of bagged sugar to collect, bound for some foreign port that didn’t have bulk-handling facilities. It meant that we would have a night and the rest of the following day in port.
It gave me the chance to call Nick.
I could have made the call from the ship, even whilst at sea, but there was no way I was going to do that; even with a perfectly innocent message. As soon as we were tied up at the berth and the gangplank was thrown across to the wharf, I hurried ashore and called him from a publ
ic telephone.
I left Pete to mooch around the wharf, out of earshot, telling him I was calling a girl back home and wanted some privacy.
Nick had been anticipating the worst. If I hadn’t known him better, I would have thought he sounded disappointed when I told him that everything had gone without a hitch. He was the worst worrier I had come across since Jim Munro, those thousands of years ago on the island.
Maybe that was why he was successful. He would worry every aspect of a deal until it was as perfect and as foolproof as it could possibly be; and then he would worry it some more.
“Is there any news from our Singapore friend?” I asked. Not that I expected anything startling.
“Not really,” he replied in a low conspiratorial voice. “I spoke to him the day you left, and again yesterday, letting him know you were expected in Cairns today. I’ll give him another call tomorrow, after you’ve sailed.” He paused. “Tek said that everything at their end is ready for you. Oh yes,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “The financial arrangements are all in place.”
Thank Christ for that! Maybe now he would stop worrying.
“One further thing, Jeff,” he went on. “I didn’t quite understand what it was about, but I guess you will. I was told to tell you that the orchid you left behind is well, and eagerly awaiting your return.” He paused again. “What was that all about?”
I laughed and told him not to worry. We chatted on, discussing other matters for a couple of minutes. He wished me luck and said that Angeline sent her love.
“And mine to her,” I replied. “Tell her that was a great meal the other night. I really enjoyed it. Oh, and regards to that lovely daughter of yours, that Sophie.”
I was interested to see whether she might have dropped a hint to Nick about our midnight meeting.
“I’ll tell her,” he said, laughing. “But I don’t think it’ll register. She’s just got a new boyfriend and her head is in the clouds. You should see Angeline. She’s having a fit!”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
It was at least six or seven years since I had last been in Cairns, and the place had changed. The motels along Sheridan Street seemed to have doubled in number and height, and the city proper had spread out even further, but the big wide streets were still coping well, and would do so for years to come.
The wharf area had certainly kept pace with the growth in tourism, with a number of new buildings and several more island cruise-boats; and a new naval depot.
I like Cairns, with its greenery and the heavy damp air. It’s not like some of the areas further south: Townsville and Rockhampton, where the landscape is brown for most of the year. Here, in the centre of the city itself and in the gardens of houses and hotels along the beachfront, there are palms and frangipani, hibiscus and ginger plants; all in great abundance. It seemed fresh somehow; the dust washed away by tropical rain; the city backed by mountains clothed in lush rainforest, bound on its front by the blue Pacific Ocean. With a population of seventy or eighty thousand people or thereabouts, it’s not a large city by some standards, but large enough to have every amenity imaginable.
We wandered the streets during the last hour of the day, eyeing the girls and enjoying the freedom from the confines of the ship. It was good to see fresh faces again and to smell the scent of grass, and exhaust fumes.
It was only six days since we had left Adelaide, but it seemed much longer. And if six days was an age, then the next leg of the voyage would take an eternity. Mee Ling was weeks away.
We didn’t think they would miss us on board for dinner. Most of the officers would probably be ashore in any case. So we hurried back to the ship and changed into fresh clothes, and caught a taxi into the city. After cruising around for a while we finally decided on dinner at some place recommended by the taxi driver.
Our hopes of finding a couple of unattached girls met with no success. The taxi driver had extolled not only the food, but also its reputation as being the eating place for the young singles. Either we had picked the wrong night, or he was on a commission. I tended to believe it was the latter.
The night still being only a few hours old, I convinced Pete that we should take in a nightclub. We downed the final cup of coffee, paid the bill, and made for the door.
It was still too early for the few night-spots, so we used up an hour walking the streets, browsing in shop windows and rebutting the offer of a quickie; two for the price of one – the special price quoted by a lady of the night.
The Playpen International – one of the few nightclubs in Cairns. I had been there twice during earlier visits to the north, and come away more than satisfied on both occasions.
But I was low in spirit and annoyed at not finding anyone at the restaurant; and had forgotten how much water had passed under the bridge since my last visit to the Playpen. The place hadn’t changed all that much, but I had. Or was it the crowd? The girls now seemed years younger; some of them kids fresh out of school. I probably looked like a grandfather to many of them; or at least an uncle. Pete thought it was great, young impressionable dollies everywhere, and he the big hot-shot exporter.
My problem was Mee Ling. If Nick hadn’t mentioned her it might have been different. I missed her. It was as simple as that.
“Hey!” Pete called above the blaring music. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Get amongst it, man! There’s some real cute stuff here.” He took another swallow from his glass. “Get a load of the knockers on that one over there!”
And a load was probably what you would get as well, I thought to myself.
“Okay, Pete,” I replied, trying to get into the swing of things. “Just let me rest my weary old bones for a few minutes. We old folk aren’t as sprightly as you young guys.” He threw a four-letter word my way and was off into the crowd.
I sat at the table for a while longer, realizing that I was mooning over a girl like a lovesick teenager. If I was going to act like a teenager, then I might as well start mixing with teenagers.
From then on the night turned into a real ball. Pete had been right; there was some good-looking talent, and they weren’t all straight out of school either. We chatted up a few secretaries, a couple of nurses – and even a female dentist.
Nurses can be good fun; and that’s what I was looking for: good, clean fun, not just a pleasant, conversational hour or two. No sooner had I latched on to a buxom piece, blonde hair and good legs, than Pete got on to her friend – a receptionist at some doctor’s surgery. They were both over twenty-one, but not by much.
Pete fed them some story about me being a ship-owner on my way to Singapore in one of my vessels, hoping to sell it to some wealthy Chinese mandarin. He told them he was my lawyer and would be handling the negotiations and legal details. I don’t know whether they believed him or not; but it was enough to get them back to the ship.
The owner’s cabin impressed them both. We hadn’t bumped into any of the crew on our return, and the night watchman had taken one look at us, turned his back, and walked away. I’ll say this for Pete; he didn’t waste any time. He had the doctor’s receptionist out of my cabin and up to his own before we had been on board five minutes.
I was right about nurses being good fun. Her knockers were real and she was a genuine blonde – unless she used the same brand of hair tint in all the right places. It was rollicking, jolly, bum-slapping sex; what’s known as a roll in the hay: all good fun and no recriminations afterwards. I can’t stand a girl who won’t look you in the face and talk when the puffing has stopped. Some will give you a coy smile; but the ones I really appreciate are those that tell you it was good fun and let’s do it again. As long as they don’t keep on asking. My stamina falls off after the second or third round.
I saw my nurse off in a taxi at about four in the morning. I didn’t know how Pete was getting on and it was none of my business in any case. He could bounce her all the way to Singapore as far as I was concerned. God, but it had been good! I felt marvelous!
/>
The light was streaming through the porthole as I awoke to a gentle scratching on the door. I murmured to whomever it was to turn the handle and come on in. Pete lurched through the doorway, a wide grin splitting his face.
“Didn’t know whether you might still have company,” he said. “How did you get on?”
He took one look at the mess the bunk was in and didn’t bother to ask anything further.
“What time did you get rid of yours?” I asked.
“Oh, my little darling went about three. I took her back to her flat in a cab. It was almost four by the time I got back to the ship. Shit, but I’m tired.” He sat on the end of the bunk, making himself at home, and yawned. “Well, my old mate. What are we going to do today; our last day in good old Oz?”
I scratched myself and rolled out of bed. “Let’s take a hire-car and go up to Port Douglas for the day. We could have a few beers and take in the scenery: Mossman, the Daintree, the beaches. There’s some pretty spots further north from here. I feel the need to see a bit more greenery before we get back to sea. What do you reckon?”
He got up – staggered would be more to the point – moved to the porthole, blinked a few times and finally said: “I’ll tell you after my second cup of coffee. See you at breakfast.”
We set out shortly after ten. It took that long for Pete to get himself organized. At first he suggested that we might look the girls up, and take them out for lunch or a drink, or maybe invite them back to the ship again.
“Those bitches!” I cursed. He spun round, surprised at my sudden outburst. “Well, shit!” I snapped again. “I don’t know about yours, but that so-called nurse of mine certainly was.” He still looked puzzled as I asked: “Did you lose anything?”
I had returned after taking a shower and noticed that some of my shirts had been moved to the back of the drawer. Then I realised that my two suitcases had been opened and everything turned upside down, but done neatly. It didn’t look as though anything had been taken. There were a few dollars in loose change lying around, but none of it had been touched.
THURSDAY'S ORCHID Page 12
