Chapter 2
Hannah frowned as something shuffled its way beneath the cabin door. The corner of an envelope, by the looks of it. A final shove had it her side of the door.
‘Oh, leave me alone,’ she muttered, flopping back against the pillow and staring at the ceiling.
It wasn’t the most adult of responses to what she supposed could be something important, but it was all she had to offer.
With no intention of leaving her cabin, possibly ever, Hannah eventually had to admit to a creeping sense of curiosity.
She slid from the bed and padded across to the door to retrieve the envelope.
Peeling back the flap, she tugged out a piece of embossed card, the cruise line’s crest in gold at the top, a printed message beneath which read:
A very warm welcome aboard BLC the Ballygowan. The captain would be delighted to extend to you a personal invitation to tour the bridge at your convenience.
All best – hope you have a wonderful Christmas Caribbean cruise.
Louis King (Capt)
The sign-off had been added in loopy blue ink, and Hannah wondered fleetingly why the captain had felt the need to add his status in brackets – there was no mistaking who the card had come from. What was a mystery was why it had been sent to her.
Perhaps the porter had slipped the card under the wrong door.
After all, there was no reason Hannah could think of for an invitation of this kind to have been extended to her.
Who was she? Just an ordinary passenger like everyone else – surely an invitation to visit the bridge was something aimed at the important guests, not a nobody like her.
She checked the envelope – there was no mistaking it was her cabin number written on it.
Then she flicked the card over, noticing a request in a more modest font for her to contact a member of the crew to arrange a suitable time.
With a sigh, Hannah set the card down on an occasional table.
The last thing she wanted to do was contact anyone, about anything. Maybe if she just ignored the card…
Or was that unacceptable, in maritime terms? Was it an unspoken rule that if you were invited to the bridge, you had to go, or face the consequences? If she ignored the invitation, would she be hauled from her suite and made to walk the plank?
The ridiculous thought had Hannah grinning, an image of a pirate, complete with patch over an eye, long dreadlocked hair cascading from beneath a tricorn hat sprang into her mind. He looked uncannily like Captain Jack Sparrow, dreadlocks embellished with seashells and beads.
‘Ahaaarrrr, I be Cap’n Louis King and for your treachery aboard this ?ere ship, you be destined to feed the fishes… Now get walking… Aaarrrrr.’
Alongside a terrible pirate accent, the apparition became complete when he drew a cutlass and waved it in Hannah’s direction as she edged her way along the imaginary plank, slippery with seaweed and bucking in the rough seas.
It was the first time Hannah had smiled in what felt like forever.
She stared through the window, at seas that were far calmer than those in her imagined pirate scenario.
Perhaps she should go. What harm could it do to spend ten minutes being shown the control centre of the ship?
It might be interesting – it was definitely something Ian would have given his eye teeth to be able to do – and perhaps it was petty of her, but anything she could do to kick dust in Ian’s face, even if he would never know, even if it was just for her own satisfaction, was an idea she was keen to explore.
And as far as the people on the ship were concerned, she didn’t have to do more than the minimum. No need to explain herself. No need to do anything except be polite and show an interest in the ship’s inner workings.
Hannah turned to the card again, was about to reach for the internal phone when a wave of insecurity washed over her afresh.
What was she thinking? She was in no fit state to make polite conversation with the captain of this ship.
In fact, she was in no fit state to make polite conversation with anyone.
She set the card down as the images she’d seen on Ian’s mobile crowded inside her eyelids, as clear and explicit as the first time she saw them.
That evening when he’d been pouring her a glass of wine, and she’d been relaxing on his sofa as his mobile glowed from the coffee table with an incoming message.
Without thinking, she’d picked it up and swiped it into life.
Ian used the same security number as her because they had no secrets, or at least so she thought.
She’d clicked on the message from an unassuming ‘J Goldberg’, seeing something she would never be able to unsee.
Her demands for him to explain had his expression turning from genial alcohol-bearer, through confusion and defiance, to an explanation about it being nothing more than a joke that had backfired. A bit of office banter leading to a challenge that got out of control.
He genuinely believed she would swallow his explanation, even though it had more holes in it than a sieve.
And when he finally acquiesced, he’d made it sound as though he had been the one who had been taken advantage of, that he hadn’t wanted it to happen and how he’d told the woman he wasn’t interested in her; it had all been a massive mistake.
That admission, even coated in terms of repentance and sorrow, had destroyed Hannah, had ripped apart everything she thought she’d understood about her life with Ian.
In that moment, all she’d wanted to do was to get away from him.
The practicalities of dealing with their imminent wedding and honeymoon plans settled like a heavy blanket.
The wheels were turning, regardless of Hannah’s state of mind, forcing her to make a snap decision to cancel the wedding and run away onto the Ballygowan in a feeble attempt to escape from the entire situation.
To say her head was scrambled was an understatement, but one thing was starkly clear. It was time she began getting used to doing things alone…
Hannah picked up the phone and dialled.
The first days of this trip were designated sea days – termed as ‘cruising’ in the glossy Blue Line Cruising brochures – but basically required to get the Ballygowan smoothly from the south of the UK all the way across to the Caribbean.
Not making all the passengers seasick was quite a large prerequisite for this gig, and although the ship was large enough to quash normal wave conditions, it was still possible to get it wrong and ruin the passengers’ experience. The Atlantic could be a beast.
Louis was satisfied with the journey so far – they’d only been underway for a couple of hours, so it would be a bit of a disaster to have messed it up already – and the first rotation bridge team had everything under control.
He should phone his father, arrange to meet up.
The idea had Louis squashing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes momentarily.
Perhaps the invitation to visit the bridge should have gone to his estranged father, rather than a random stranger. He’d only found out his father had booked a cabin on the Ballygowan because his aunt told him – which said it all, really. Why he wanted to be on the ship remained a mystery to Louis.
And there was plenty of time to extend his father an invitation of that kind, if he could face it. Once he had a bit more of the trip under his belt – perhaps he’d feel more confident about it all then.
Martin appeared back on the bridge, almost at Louis’ shoulder before he noticed his approach.
About to tell him he didn’t need any more refreshments, Martin beat him to it, not with an offer of more ‘Arctic Americano’, but with news that the lady in 70-69 would like to visit the bridge and was already on her way.
‘Oh, OK – right. Are we…’ Louis cast around to check the area was ready for visitors.
‘Are we shipshape?’ Martin offered. ‘And Bristol fashion…’
It was enough to make Louis relax a fraction and smile. ‘Took the words out of my mouth.’
‘No, I didn’t – nobody says that any more, but I couldn’t resist. And everything looks good to me, sir.’
Sir. It was difficult enough to get used to people calling him captain – but sir was a step too far. The earnest smile on Martin’s face stopped Louis from saying something, instead he drew in a breath.
‘Right then – let’s do this,’ he said.
Minutes later, and with what Louis hoped looked like a genuine smile pasted on his face, he was greeting the woman Martin ushered forwards, stretching out his hand for her to shake.
‘Welcome to the bridge. I’m Captain King, but please feel free to call me Louis.’
‘I’m Hannah Maynard,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘I’m so grateful to have the opportunity to see the bridge. This is amazing.’
A firm grip, but that wasn’t what caught Louis’ attention.
After he’d gone on to introduce other members of the bridge crew, it became impossible for him to ignore.
Under a curtain of glossy mahogany hair cut in a sharp bob and an intense frown, which she seemed unwilling to relinquish, shone the fiercest pair of almond brown eyes.
She didn’t meet his gaze much, seemed to prefer to look anywhere else – or perhaps she was more interested in the bridge than him – but every time she glanced his way, it felt as though she could see right through him, like she knew he was faking his confidence as he showed her around.
His mouth went dry again, just as he was trying to explain the ECDIS navigation system.
‘So, we don’t need any paper maps these days,’ he said, stumbling over the words. ‘Instead, we can use satellite navigation to follow a course we lay in to the computer.’
‘A kind of autopilot?’ she asked, her gaze on the ECDIS screen.
‘Exactly. Although, even when a heading is set, there’s always crew here to monitor everything, because other factors can influence the ship’s movements – strong winds, for example. And we always have people watching for unexpected obstacles in the water.’
‘Like pirate ships,’ she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.
He frowned. ‘Um, I suppose. To be honest, piracy is still a problem in certain parts of the world, but not on our designated route for this cruise. So, you don’t need to concern yourself with that.’
At last, she fixed him with her gaze for longer than a couple of seconds, the frown giving way to concern, her delicate eyebrows jinking towards one another above the bridge of her nose. ‘I was joking. Do you mean it? Are there still pirates?’
‘Some. But they’re mostly on the trade routes that use the Suez Canal. The Somali coast, that area. They tend to target cargo vessels.’
The frown was back, more deeply embedded than ever. ‘I didn’t realise. I had this image of a tall ship in my head – you know, loads of masts and sails and cannons sticking through holes all down the side. Skull and crossbones. The works. And relegated very firmly to the past. Or in the movies.’
‘They mostly use small boats with outboard motors nowadays – just to ruin your imaginings. Sorry.’ He grimaced.
‘Makes more sense, I suppose.’
‘Anyway, what are you looking forward to the most on your cruise?’
‘I don’t know. I am hoping to go snorkelling with tropical fish at some point, if that’s possible,’ she said, the frown loosening its grip again.
Louis smiled. ‘That sounds perfectly possible.’
‘So long as there aren’t any sharks in the vicinity,’ she added.
‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem.’
‘More likely to see a pirate? Is that what you’re saying?’
His smile dipped a little. ‘Not sure I’d go that far, to be honest, but you will be completely safe.’
The frown reasserted itself, Hannah’s attention diverted by something to her right, out of his line of sight. She pointed.
‘Why is there a cat in here?’ she said.