The Captain’s Table
The Captain’s Table
‘You know that scene from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, where Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell are on a cruise ship and they walk into the dining room?’
A few hours later, Maggie and Flick were all dressed up and in the elevator on the way down to have dinner with the captain.
The invitation had said formal attire but they hadn’t exactly packed for a cruise.
Besides, after nearly two weeks dashing across Europe their suitcases were full of dirty laundry, not cocktail dresses and evening gowns.
Luckily, however, they still had the two now-squashed and crumpled dresses they’d bought in Monte Carlo to attend the casino. Luckier still, they also had an iron.
Yet they were both feeling pretty nervous. Being invited to sit at the captain’s table was a big deal and neither was quite sure what to expect.
‘Is this another one of those old films you’re going to tell me I have to watch?’ asked Flick, fiddling distractedly with her fringe. She’d trimmed it with her nail scissors and done a terrible job.
‘It’s not old, it’s iconic!’ protested Maggie, tugging selfconsciously at her neckline. She hadn’t remembered it being this plunging.
‘In that case so are you,’ teased Flick.
‘Oi!’
Maggie pretended to be offended, but was secretly flattered.
She glanced at her reflection and for a moment she barely recognized herself as the same woman in the caravan Flick had met less than two weeks ago.
She’d put on a bit of make-up and done one of those hair colour kits to cover her greys and was really pleased with the results.
She admired all those women who embraced going grey, but she wasn’t ready to be a silver vixen just yet. If ever.
Plus, if she was going to come face to face on the cruise ship with the man who broke her heart and left her for dead, she was going to do it with really good hair.
But this was about more than a bit of a make-up, a good hair day and a sequinned dress.
Gone was the grey pallor and dark shadows under her eyes, the worry etched on her face and the weight of the world on her slumped shoulders.
Instead, her eyes were bright and sparkling, her skin glowed with a light golden tan, and her head was held high.
The broken woman overwhelmed by weariness and defeat was now filled with vibrancy, confidence and determination.
Maggie didn’t look like the same woman, because she wasn’t the same woman.
The elevator stopped to let more people in and for a moment Maggie and Flick held their breath.
They’d done this on every floor, hearts in their mouths, wondering if it was going to be Him on the other side of the sliding doors .
. . But no, it was just more well-dressed diners on their way to dinner.
Maggie and Flick shuffled to the side to make room.
A couple entered wearing a ballgown and tuxedo.
Later the husband would get a bollocking from his wife for smiling at the knockout in the sequinned dress.
‘So what happens in the film when they walk into the dining room?’ asked Flick a few moments later as they exited the elevator on the correct deck and made their way towards the dining room.
‘Everyone stops and stares. Trust me, they really know how to make an entrance.’
They both paused by the doorway and looked at each other for a moment. Both a little daunted.
Flick in her satin floor-length dress. Maggie in her sequinned plunging one. But while in Monte Carlo it might have been wearing her, now she was definitely wearing it.
‘Well, in that case, seeing as you’re a blonde you can be Marilyn Monroe,’ said Flick.
‘And you can be Jane Russell,’ finished Maggie.
Then they both grinned.
‘OK, let’s go.’
They were greeted by a hostess and led down a two-tier winding staircase to the captain’s table, along with the other invited guests.
Think Titanic, only without Rose and Jack or the iceberg.
Everyone was wearing their finest, with the women in cocktail dresses and evening gowns and the men in tuxedos with satin cummerbunds.
Immediately Maggie stopped worrying about her outfit – she’d never seen so many sequins and feathers outside of Vegas.
As they walked through the busy restaurant, all eyes were upon them as they made their way towards the designated table in the centre of the vast dining room.
Being invited as a guest to dine with the captain at his table was quite the honour and there were more than a few envious stares.
Flick thought this is what it must be like to be famous.
Everyone staring and gawping. She decided she wouldn’t like it.
Why did everyone want to be famous when anonymity was so much better?
The hostess quickly seated them. It was an interesting mix of guests, including the ship’s officers; and, as was the usual practice, couples were split up.
Flick found herself sitting next to a sweet old man called Valentine who proudly informed her this was his first cruise and he’d come away to celebrate his eightieth birthday with his family, while Maggie was next to his daughter-in-law, Liv, who showed her pictures of her recent honeymoon in Mexico and her cute stepson, Stanley, who was asleep in their cabin with her husband Ben.
‘The only one missing is Harry,’ she laughed, before explaining their beloved family pet was at home with dogsitters.
Finally, and only once everyone was seated, the captain came down in his formal navy uniform and they all had to rise.
‘Good evening, lovely to meet you all, welcome to the Galaxy Goddess.’
As the Captain greeted everyone, with smiles and handshakes, there began a flurry of introductions around the table, and waiters, who appeared like magic, began pouring champagne and handing out the special menu created for the captain’s preference.
‘So, I hear we have an esteemed journalist in our midst.’
The captain beamed at Flick across the table as she was handed a flute of amber bubbles. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d had more champagne than in an entire lifetime.
‘Um, well, I wouldn’t exactly—’ She caught Maggie’s eye and did a swift U-turn. She needed to play the part. ‘Yes, thank you for inviting me tonight; it’s wonderful to be here.’
‘We’re honoured to have you on board.’
‘The honour is all mine,’ she smiled, crossing her fingers under the table that she wouldn’t be called upon to recount her latest leading story and its headline.
WARNING TO HIKERS – EWE BE CAREFUL! ‘I’m sure our readers will be fascinated to read about life on the ocean waves and what really goes on on a cruise ship. ’
‘Well, we’ve certainly got some stories.’
There were a few titters around the table.
‘But nothing we’d want to see in print,’ quipped one of the officers.
‘What happens at sea, stays at sea,’ chimed in another guest and there was a round of laughter around the table.
‘How many passengers do you have on board?’ asked Maggie.
‘Four thousand guests and one thousand, six hundred and fifty-seven crew.’
‘So that’s almost six thousand people,’ said Flick, quickly doing the arithmetic.
Flick and Maggie glanced at each other across the table. They’d both been assuming finding their man was a done deal now they were on board, but unexpectedly doubt flickered.
‘Oh, yes, you can be on board and not see the same people twice,’ nodded a woman with blonde hair swirled on top of her head, like soft-serve vanilla ice cream. ‘I’m forever losing my husband.’
‘Are you sure that’s not on purpose?’ joked the husband.
There was more laughter.
‘We have the app so we can track each other,’ said Liv brightly. ‘It’s really useful if we’re doing different activities.’
‘That’s how I got caught gambling away their inheritance in the casino,’ chuckled Valentine.
‘You have a casino?’ Flick’s interest was suddenly caught.
‘Oh, yes, we have everything here,’ nodded one of the officers. ‘A casino, spa, gymnasium, cinema, a dozen restaurants and bars . . .’
‘. . . a chapel, a morgue,’ finished another.
‘You have a morgue!’ exclaimed the woman with the soft-serve hair, clasping her hands to her chest.
‘Over my dead body,’ quipped her husband. He was quite the comedian.
There was a brief pause in conversation as the waiters served the starter, a delicious take on the traditional prawn cocktail, with plump ripe prawns drizzled in a delicate sauce.
Not that either Flick or Maggie had much of an appetite – they were too busy trying to scan the other tables in the restaurant, both thinking the same thing. He was on the ship, but where?
‘We also have a jail on board,’ said the captain between mouthfuls. ‘It’s what we call the brig.’
‘A prison?’ Maggie shot a look at Flick.
‘Of sorts, yes. It’s more of a holding cell until we get into a port.’
‘It’s a shortened version of the nautical term “brigantine”,’ explained the first officer, jovially. ‘Which is a two-masted sailing vessel that was often later used to imprison criminals.’
But for once Flick wasn’t interested in etymology.
‘So you’ve arrested people?’
‘Well, I haven’t personally,’ said the captain, looking amused by the line of questioning. ‘I have a whole security team to do that. Many of which are trained ex-service men.’
‘Better not break the law then,’ chortled Mr Comedian.
‘What if someone was wanted by the police in the UK for a previous crime?’ asked Maggie.
‘Like a murderer on the run?’ gasped Liv.
‘Crikey, it’s like being in an episode of Midsomer Murders, but at sea,’ said Valentine, buttering a roll.
‘Please, can we change the subject, all this talk is making me quite nervous!’ Mrs Soft-Serve began fanning herself.
‘Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands on the Galaxy Goddess,’ assured the captain. ‘I run a tight ship. Anyone breaking the law would be swiftly dealt with.’
He shot a look at her husband, which made it clear he didn’t find him as funny as the husband found himself, before turning to Flick.
‘Rest assured, the only headlines we’ll be making will be for being the best cruise ship in the world.’
And it was right at that moment that Maggie heard a distinctive laugh from across the other side of the restaurant and felt the hairs go up on the back of her neck.
She’d know that laugh anywhere.
Glancing over, she caught a glimpse of Birdy. He must be at the same table, but her view was blocked by the back of a large passenger in a velvet tuxedo . . . and then suddenly the broad shoulders moved and she saw him.
The Man Who Stole Her Life.
Flick heard the laughter too. Saw the reaction on Maggie’s face and knew immediately.
Oh My God. It’s him. He’s here.
They both stared at each other across the table.
Their minds racing. Shocked and yet not shocked.
What did they do now? Protocol said they couldn’t leave the table before the captain, but the main course was being served and he’d just launched into an anecdote about the time he steered them into safety during a storm.
‘. . . the wind was picking up to fifty-two knots, so I said batten the hatches, we’re in for a long night . . .’
And a long anecdote, thought Flick, looking desperately at Maggie, who returned an anguished grimace.
For a few minutes they sat tight as the captain droned on.
And on.
And on.
Right through the entire main course and second helpings of vegetables.
‘. . . and I said to my first officer, this is going to make some helluva story!’
Finally, after their plates were cleared away, Flick could take it no more and broke into applause.
‘Bravo! What a story!’
‘Oh, I’m only getting started.’ He gave a flattered laugh. ‘Wait until you hear what happened next—’
But Maggie couldn’t wait. After all this time, after everything they’d both gone through, they’d caught up with him at last. They had to do something.
‘Please excuse me, the powder room calls,’ she interrupted, putting down her glass and pushing back her chair. It was now or never.
‘Me too!’ Flick jumped up.
‘Goodness, was it something I said?’ The captain looked taken aback.
‘I think it might have been the prawn cocktail starter,’ apologized Flick.
‘Oh no, are you allergic to shellfish?’ gasped Mrs Soft-Scoop. ‘So is my friend and she blew up like a balloon.’
But Flick and Maggie were already hurrying away from the table. Only the sweet course was now being served and as they tried to make their way across the restaurant a swarm of desert trolleys appeared.
‘Sorry . . .’
‘Excuse me . . .’
Their way was blocked by a waiter with a huge cart piled high with glazed pastries.
‘Quickly, this way.’ Flick stepped sideways, only to be blocked by another.
‘No, this way.’ Maggie gestured towards the far side and a clear route.
It was like being in the old-fashioned video games Maggie used to play as a child with her brother Charlie. Every direction they took, they were obstructed. If not by a dessert trolley, by a wine steward wheeling in an ice bucket or a member of the waiting staff carrying a tray of plates.
And now suddenly guests were getting up and leaving as the theatre was about to start. And Maggie and Flick found themselves in a swarm of people trying to make sure they didn’t miss the beginning of the musical production of Mamma Mia.
‘I love it in the film when she sings “Honey Honey” . . .’
‘Hurry up!’
‘Ooh, yes, but my favourite scene’s got to be “Lay All Your Love on Me” . . .’
‘We’re going to lose him!’
And when they finally reached the table, ready for their big confrontation scene, they were greeted by nothing but dirty napkins and empty glasses, one of which bore Birdy’s bright fuchsia lipstick.
And the sinking realization that in a floating city of nearly six thousand people, he could be absolutely anywhere.