Chapter 7
Diana spent an hour going through the questions Dick had posted under our door, set the alarm for six thirty the following morning, and left the suite just after seven, throwing a rather envious look at me. I was sitting up in bed, still only half awake and looking forward to a more leisurely start to the day, watching the interview with a cup of tea and some of the complimentary shortbread from the gift basket.
I went to have a shower and made my tea, before sitting back in bed and turning the television on. There was a weather channel which promised bad weather and rain, a shopping channel extolling the virtues on the on-board shops, and the BBC news which was just as depressing as ever. Dick’s Diary was on channel 100, so I turned that on and prepared to wait while some music more suited to a shopping mall lift played in the background.
After a while, there was a discreet knock on the cabin door and Alfred came in. Perhaps he had heard the television or perhaps he had extrasensory perception, so he knew I was awake. I expect that sort of thing was drilled into butlers at butlering school.
‘Good morning, madam. Can I get you some breakfast? And some fresh coffee?’
I pretended to stretch and sneakily hid the shortbread wrappers under the duvet.
‘That would be lovely thank you, Alfred.’
‘There are some very fine Danish pastries available this morning. Perhaps I could bring you a selection?’
‘Perfect,’ I said.
Now this was the life. I sat up in bed, surrounded by my pillow menu, drinking freshly brewed coffee and eating Danish pastries which were still warm from the oven. Alfred fussed about a bit with the curtains and then left me to it.
‘I hope the interview goes well,’ he said, pausing by the door. ‘Mr Dainty has a way of drawing people out which is quite remarkable.’
He would have to be, I thought. It was becoming obvious that Diana had been pretty much a closed book to me for quite some time.
At seven thirty the channel went live and there was Dick, looking even broader than he did in real life. It must be true that the camera adds ten pounds, I’d often wondered about that. And beside him, looking like a rabbit in the headlights was Diana.
‘Good morning shipmates, and here we are back again for more fun and frolics with Dick’s Diary. Welcome, Diana, welcome indeed to my little mancave. It’s not much, but it’s home. Now sit there and get comfy.
‘Now then mateys, we have such a treat for you this morning. We have Mrs Diana Wedderburn. Who for nearly forty years was married to one of the Voyage Première line’s most respected and longest serving captains, Casper Wedderburn. Now then, Diana, tell us, where did you and the captain meet?’
Diana hesitated for a moment, she looked as though her mouth was dry and her mind blank.
‘Go on, Diana. You can do this,’ I muttered, willing her to relax.
And then she took a deep breath and trotted out her well-rehearsed answer: in the queue at the supermarket. She had dropped a giant pot of Greek yogurt on the conveyor belt and some of it had splattered over Casper. Luckily, he hadn’t been in uniform, otherwise the dry-cleaning bill would have been significant. They got chatting, he helped her to her car with her shopping and invited her for coffee to get over the excitement. The rest was history.
Except, like the pattern of their relationship, although she didn’t know it at the time, there was then a three-week break before she heard from him again, because Casper was sailing the following day to New York and back on the Atlantica and had neglected to tell her. That said something about him, didn’t it.
‘How marvellous,’ Dick said, his eyes glistening, ‘I was on the Atlantica too. For three years. Such a beautiful ship. The Hollywood stars we saw there, you wouldn’t believe it. And then you got married and settled down?’
‘To be honest we were never very settled, because of course, Casper was often away at sea. But eventually, he persuaded me to accompany him, and we went all over the world together,’ she said, sounding a little more composed.
‘How exciting. And out of all the places you have travelled to, which was your favourite port?’
Despite Dick Dainty being rather a boisterous character, he obviously had the ability to make people relax and draw information out of them, and Diana started telling him all sorts of things about her travels, and even laughed a few times.
He seemed to find everything interesting, chuckled appreciatively in all the right places, and it felt no time at all had passed when I realised someone off screen was obviously encouraging him to wind up the interview. There was also a very cross-looking man in yellow oilskins and a sou’wester fidgeting in the background, with a clipboard in his hand.
‘Oh dear, our time is up, in fact we have gone well over time, which is a shame, because I, for one, could talk to Diana all morning. But I can see Wally the Weatherman is waiting to tell you all about the weather forecast for the next twenty-four hours. He’ll be on in five minutes, so don’t go away. I warn you now, he’s in storm gear, and he has a face like thunder, so it doesn’t look too good. Anyway, happy sailing, bless your hearts, and see you tomorrow for more Dick’s Diary. And remember, Dainty by name and Dainty by nature!’
He unclipped his microphone and helped Diana out of her chair with a very respectful air, while Wally the Weatherman sidled past him, muttering.
‘You’ve overrun again, Dick, and it’s not Wally it’s Walter, how many times do I have to tell you?’
Dick pursed his lips and ignored him. ‘Goodness me, I think that went extremely well, Diana. Thank you so much. You have such a lot of fond memories, I’m sure. And a lot of interesting stories. I wonder if we shouldn’t have you in again?’
At that point the screen changed for some views of the ship and then the on-board shops with the latest offers flashed up in red.
I sat back in bed and gave a huge sigh of relief. It had gone well, she had been funny, informative and hadn’t dried up once. I was proud of her and very impressed. I couldn’t wait for her to get back so I could tell her.
Diana came back to the Picasso suite about ten minutes later to find me still propped up in bed and the television on with the sound turned down. Wally the Weatherman was still mouthing silently at the camera, his sou-wester tipped rakishly over one eye.
Diana pulled a face, gave a groan as though she had just completed an iron man challenge and flopped into a chair.
‘Welcome back, media star! Weren’t you good? I could have listened to you all morning. That story about the theatrical knight of the realm being left behind in Jamaica had me in stitches. Standing on the dock shouting up at the ship, “don’t you know who I am?” Who was it? You were very discreet. Did he really believe the ship would just wait for him? Alfred brought me my breakfast. I’m sure he will bring you some too if you ring the bell. How are you feeling?’
Diana kicked her shoes off.
‘Rather excited, actually. A bit shaky inside. I suppose it’s the adrenaline. It’s the most unexpected thing that’s happened to me for a long time. You really thought I was okay?’
‘You were brilliant,’ I pointed at my tray. ‘You need some coffee and one of these bear’s claws. They are absolutely delicious.’
‘You’d tell me if I made a mess of it, wouldn’t you?’
‘It’s me. Of course I would. And you were excellent, honestly. Now have some breakfast.’
Diana shook her head. ‘I don’t think I could eat a thing. I keep wondering, what would Casper think if he knew what I’ve been doing?’
‘He would be very proud of you. I know I am,’ I said reassuringly.
‘Would he have been proud? I have the awful feeling he wouldn’t.’
‘Why on earth not?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you know. He was always the star of the show. I was always just the support act,’ Diana said.
‘That’s nonsense,’ I said firmly, ‘you spoke well, and you were very entertaining. I bet Dick Dainty couldn’t believe his luck.’
‘Casper would never have let me do that. I might have embarrassed him or said something daft.’
‘But you didn’t. And I bet when he gave his talks you didn’t criticise him afterwards.’
Diana huffed a bit. ‘Do you know, I was the one who did all the preparation for those talks. I used to get the script ready and sort out the pictures for him. All he did was go onto the stage and present them. I mean he was great at public speaking, he did it very well…’
‘I hope he acknowledged your help,’ I said, rather outraged.
Diana laughed. ‘Of course he didn’t. But it’s one of the reasons I spent so much time in the ship’s library, researching things, and checking details.’
I could almost feel my blood pressure rising.
‘That’s outrageous! What a—’ I stopped.
Diana was only now revealing things about the true nature of her marriage, and I didn’t think this was the moment to wade in. But I wanted to.
She looked out at the cloudy sky.
‘Did you see me, Casper? What do you think?’
I bit my tongue rather harder than I intended to and winced.
After a discreet knock, Alfred came in with a fresh pot of coffee and worried a bit when Diana said she didn’t want any breakfast.
‘I enjoyed your talk, madam,’ he said as he turned to leave, ‘and I know who that actor was. I have travelled with him and his famous wife several times, and they were both… very difficult.’
‘Yes, so I have heard,’ she said. ‘I was trying to be diplomatic.’
‘Recalling one particular event with that couple, a tea tray and a fire hose, I would say you deserve a seat at the United Nations,’ Alfred said with a grim smile. ‘Not to mention the dreadful language. I heard things from her I hadn’t heard since my time in the army. And she always seemed such a lady. On screen, anyway.’
‘Perhaps Dick Dainty should interview you too,’ I said.
Alfred frowned. ‘Oh no madam, that wouldn’t do at all. Luckily most passengers are very pleasant. But it does seem the less talented the celebrity, the worse their behaviour. I looked after the man from the John Wick films once, and he couldn’t have been nicer. Absolutely no casualties or gun fire. And someone called The Rock, who was charming and no trouble at all. Despite his size. Anyway, I will leave you to your coffee.’
Alfred went silently away, and we sat watching the muted television for a while, and then scoured the daily newsletter for entertainment. More wine tasting, salsa lessons and napkin folding. Talks on chocolate decorating, Cadiz, the French revolution, and vintage jigsaws. Quite a wide range.
‘I was going to suggest a brisk walk around the deck to work off some of the calories we have been inhaling, but the weather is rubbish,’ Diana said, looking out at the rain which was lashing down on our veranda.
‘Tom did warn you. And so did Wally the Weatherman. Perhaps we could just stay here this morning and order lots of weird things until Alfred admits defeat?’
Diana shook her head and was uncharacteristically decisive.
‘Let’s go to one of the talks. We both like chocolate. Listen: “At 2.30p.m. in the Ocean Spray theatre. A talk by Christopher Savage of Savage Chocolates, the internationally famous luxury brand. Learn how chocolate can be used to decorate, uplift, and inspire.” Well, that sounds good. “How has chocolate changed the world? Would you like to know how to decorate your chocolates at home? There is a masterclass with Pastry chef Feliz at 4.30p.m.”’
I considered it, trying to look thoughtful but secretly delighted that Diana was taking the initiative.
‘Would I be able to amuse and delight my friends?’
‘There are free samples.’
‘We’re going.’
We enjoyed Christopher Savage’s talk immensely. It was very pleasant to be sitting in a comfortable chair in the semi-darkness while he chattered on about his great-great-grandfather, Silvanus Savage, who had founded the company, and the various members of the Savage dynasty who had in turn been philanthropists, innovators, benefactors, opium addicts and ne’er-do-wells. Then we hurried along the corridors to the Demonstration Kitchen where once again everything looked marvellously clean and efficient and there was a delightful smell of chocolate.
We put on the BVP monogrammed aprons which had been provided for us, perched on our kitchen stools and waited for something to happen.
In front of us were some squares of bubble wrap, and of course we did what anyone would do, and started popping it while we were waiting. Ken and Thelma, who were sitting opposite us started arguing about whether their dog was okay in the new kennels.
‘Popsie is very sensitive to change, you know that,’ Thelma said.
Ken huffed about for a bit, sticking his hands behind the bib of his apron and pretending he was Gordon Ramsay.
‘So what’s she going to do? Send us a text about how unsettled she is because she doesn’t get organic chicken?’
‘I’m just saying, you were the one who wanted her to go there.’
‘Yes, because Happy Doggies closed down. And Dog’s Delight banned you. After the episode with the hot water bottle and the bone. Popsie should count herself lucky. I haven’t got a private spa or someone to play with or make a fuss of me at night. Come to think of it, she has a better life than I do.’
Thelma flared her nostrils and looked towards the door, anticipating something was about to happen.
‘I don’t know what’s the delay,’ she muttered in our direction, ‘I mean I bet it wasn’t like this when your husband was in charge.’
Diana made a non-committal noise and popped a bit more of the bubble wrap.
Three crew members suddenly came crashing through the doors and placed some small bowls of melted chocolate on the benches in front of each of us, which caused a lot of excitement. And in retrospect it was probably a mistake because of course the first thing we all did was stick our fingers in and taste it.
‘Yummy,’ I said, ‘I haven’t had any decent chocolate for ages. And this is fab.’
I had another taste and so did Diana.
Thelma looked at us disapprovingly. ‘I’m glad we have a bowl each. You’ll catch diabetes if you’re not careful.’
‘I don’t think diabetes is infectious,’ I said, dipping my finger in again and swirling it round with a defiant air.
Thelma pursed her lips. ‘I think you’ll find it is. My aunt caught it from her neighbour. And she got it from her husband. He was a wonderful baker. They moved away to Eastbourne; I still miss his cakes.’
Ken had started looking in the drawers and had found a giant potato ricer which he opened and closed a few times.
‘I wonder what this is? Put your hand in there, Thelma.’
Thelma froze him with a look, and I had another taste of my chocolate.
Five minutes later, Feliz, the pastry chef came bustling in through the swing doors, followed by two underlings who were carrying metal trays, laden down with more ingredients and several plastic boxes.
‘On the table, there. No, not there. There,’ Feliz said out of the corner of his mouth and the underlings gave him wary, sideways glances.
Feliz turned a smile onto his audience. An expression which I guessed didn’t come too easily to him.
‘Chocolate,’ he boomed. ‘Food of the gods.’
We all nodded and smiled politely, and a couple of the American ladies cooed their approval.
‘And everyone loves bubble wrap, don’t they?’ he added.
We were a bit confused, but again we all nodded and agreed.
‘But put them together and you will amuse and delight your friends,’ Feliz said.
‘Usually takes more than that,’ I murmured.
‘The secret is a light brushing of oil,’ Feliz said wielding a pastry brush. ‘You will see in front of you bowls of truffle mix which my pastry chefs have prepared in the kitchens. We will be using that later, but now we are going to make the decorations.’
‘This truffle mix is delish. Have you tried it?’ Diana said, having investigated the bowl with her fingers.
‘I think we are supposed to save it for later,’ I said.
‘Try it,’ Diana said, ‘it’s just come out of the fridge, and it’s yummy.’
At the front of the room, Feliz and his assistants were fussing about with the plastic boxes which contained chocolate shards, cocoa powder, crystallised rose petals, and sugar balls.
I picked off another lump of truffle mix and dunked it in the melted chocolate. Just to see what it tasted like.
This time the chocolate dripped down the front of my apron and I looked up guiltily to see Diana giggling.
‘I’ll tell him what you’re doing,’ she said. I stuck my tongue out at her.
There was the flash of a camera from somewhere.
‘Oh, blooming heck,’ I said, dabbing at my apron, ‘it’s Rapha?l yet again. We never learn, do we?’
I could see him, standing in the corner, a big grin on his face.
Diana tutted. ‘He never seems to catch us when we are at our most composed and elegant, does he?’
‘That’s probably because we are asleep,’ I said.
‘Trust me we are neither of us elegant nor composed when we are asleep. You are usually snuffling around thumping your pillows…’
‘And you are doing warthog impersonations.’
‘Then put your earplugs in.’
Feliz drew himself up to his full height and turned to face us.
‘Chocolate has been around for thousands of years, but not until the sixteenth century did it come to Europe. We thank Christopher Columbus for that. Now first, we smooth the chocolate thinly over the bubble wrap, like so. Not too thick, this is meant to look delicate and exciting.’
In a few deft strokes he covered the sheet of bubble wrap and slapped the edges on the table.
‘This will eliminate any air pockets. Now we place the wrap in the freezer for two minutes. My assistants will help you.’
A harassed-looking young woman swathed in a white overall came to take our offerings away on a metal tray. She stood patiently watching while we scuffed and rucked up our bubble wrap and spilled more chocolate down ourselves.
‘And now we move on,’ Feliz bellowed over the general mayhem.
‘Wasn’t there something about oiling it first?’
‘Ooops, we forgot about that,’ Diana said.
Thelma watched, pleased as her bubble wrap was borne away in triumph to the freezer at the side of the room and sent us, still wrestling with our task, a pitying look.
‘You should have enough truffle mixture to make at least ten,’ Feliz shouted.
Diana and I looked doubtfully into our bowls.
‘I think not,’ I said, trying hard not to laugh.
‘Perhaps five,’ Diana said, ‘if they aren’t too big.’
‘Take a spoonful and roll between your palms, lightly, delicately so they do not start to melt. And then plunge them into the melted chocolate, or perhaps the cocoa powder, or the shards of chocolate for some unusual effects.’
‘This is an unusual effect, don’t you think?’ I said, holding up my palms which were covered with truffle mix. ‘Perhaps my hands are too hot.’
‘And then place them on the sheet of silicone to set. You may wish to use a bamboo skewer to lift them, so as not to damage the shape.’
Feliz seemed to have non-stick hands; perhaps it was his years of experience? I on the other hand didn’t, and was covered.
‘And there you have it my friends, ten perfect truffles.’
I looked uncertainly at my offerings.
‘Well, one that looks like the cat’s had an accident, and the other two are a bit like slugs.’
‘Ah but wait until the decorations come out. You will be astonished how suddenly they look amusing and delightful,’ Diana said confidently. ‘I’ve got truffle mix in my watch strap. I really should have taken it off first.’
Time passed, Feliz helping the wiser ones who had stood at the front and ignoring the muffled laugher coming from the back of the room where we were.
‘And now my assistants will bring you your chilled decorations and I will show you what to do,’ he said.
Our little helper brought us some mangled sheets of polythene and shyly presented them to us with a sweet smile. What she was thinking was anyone’s guess.
By then Rapha?l wasn’t pretending to be discreet, he was standing in front of us, his camera shutter whirring.
Feliz skilfully peeled a thin layer of perforated chocolate from his bubble wrap, and stuck dainty shards of it into his perfectly spherical truffles.
Diana and I found ourselves hacking lumps of chocolate off, scraping up the remains and trying to prise strands of plastic out of it.
‘Oh, flipping heck, I don’t think I’m much good at this,’ she said.
‘I’ve got a good idea. Let’s not start a small business making truffles.’
‘Agreed,’ she said, holding up a palm to high five me, and then thinking better of it.
‘There,’ I said, stepping back to admire my handiwork, ‘what do you think?’
Instead of ten perfect little treats, I had managed to make three muddy looking lumps. Diana had made five, but they were the size of marbles, not the generous ping-pong ball size of everyone else’s.
Rapha?l had tactfully retreated to the side of the room and was examining the digital pictures he had taken. Occasionally he chuckled and shook his head.
‘But madame, what happened to the rest of it?’ Feliz said as he came to see how we had done.
‘No idea,’ I said, casually wiping my mouth with the corner of my apron, ‘perhaps my batch was faulty?’