Chapter Thirty
A dinner at sea, turns a meal into a memory …
The Arctic sun hung low in the sky, casting long dark shadows over the art nouveau buildings when Henry made his way back to the ship.
His afternoon walk had been interesting, both peaceful and rewarding, especially his climb to the Fjellstua Viewpoint where he spent time taking in the sweeping panorama that included terrific views of the Emerald Dream, sitting stately in the harbour.
The snowy peaks and glittering water were paradise for a photographer, and Henry knew that Audrey would be fascinated by the images.
He hoped that in some small way she’d feel as though she’d been here too.
Making his way back to the ship, Henry breathed in the lingering scent of roasted almonds from a nearby stand as seagulls soared above, their cries an echo in the icy air. He was greeted in the embarkation area by a smiling steward handing out hot chocolate, which soon warmed Henry’s chilled body.
Making his way, Henry stopped briefly at guest services to ask an assistant to deliver a message. As he approached his cabin, he noticed Jennifer emerging, a feather duster in one hand, and her housekeeping trolley neatly arranged.
‘Hello, Mr Henry,’ she said, flashing a beaming smile. ‘You had good day?’
‘Yes, thank you, Jennifer, ?lesund is a lovely town.’ He paused, hesitating before meeting her eyes. ‘But I wanted to tell you that you were magical on the stage last night. I have never witnessed such a beautiful song, sung so poignantly and with such feeling. It was very moving.’
‘Poig …?’ Jennifer’s brow furrowed. ‘What is this?’
‘Poignant,’ he clarified, ‘I mean to say that you were marvellous.’
A moment passed, then her eyes widened in delight. ‘Oh, Mr Henry, you like me!’
Henry froze.
‘I knew it,’ she held her hands to her chest. ‘I felt your eyes when I sang.’
‘Oh … oh no,’ Henry stammered and felt his face flush. ‘I mean, yes, you are very talented …’
‘You gentleman.’ Coquettishly, Jennifer dipped her head and lowered her eyes.
Henry suddenly stepped back and banged into the wall, his eyes darting to his door. ‘Yes, well, I must press on and let you finish your rounds,’ he muttered with a strained smile, and fumbled for his keycard, thrusting it forward.
Side-stepping around the trolley, Henry sighed with relief as he almost fell into the room. But as the door began to close, he paused. Jennifer, the wheels of her trolley echoing as she pushed it away, was happily humming the song that she’d sung the night before.
‘Oh, Lord, what a mess you made of that!’ Henry told himself as he ripped off his Barbour and threw it on the bed.
But as he placed his camera case down, he noticed an envelope propped up on the desk.
Mr Henry Halliday. Pulling on the seal, Henry’s fingers revealed a message on a guest services card.
It was from Joy. Asking if he’d like to join her for dinner and if so, perhaps he’d book a table in the French restaurant for eight o’clock?
Henry blinked at the message. Then blinked again.
He punched the air, then clutched the note to his chest. Doing a full spin and almost knocking over a reading lamp, Henry launched himself on Jennifer’s perfectly made bed, scattering a heart-shaped towel that Jennifer had placed on his pillows.
‘Wait,’ Henry sat up. ‘Focus and book the dinner reservation.’
As he flipped through his information booklet to find the number for the restaurant, Henry imagined white tablecloths and flickering candles. The phone clicked as the call connected.
‘Bonjour,’ he said, hoping to sound confident.
And in moments, Henry Halliday, retired history teacher from Skipton, proceeded to make the most important dinner reservation of his later life.
Joy sat in her cabin, smiling to herself as she read the message delivered by guest services. Henry had invited her to dinner, and their messages must have crossed. She held the card to her chest and imagined him finding her note and booking the table at that moment.
For the first time in years, Joy felt a fluttering nervousness.
Not the tight anxiety of fear or dread, with the shadow of Tom lurking, ready to step in and burst her bubble, but a light feeling of happy anticipation.
Something good might be happening! The only fly in the ointment was Audrey, but Leticia had made a fair point.
If Henry and Audrey were in a serious relationship, surely, she would be on the ship with him, even with infirmities.
Jim managed to travel with his wheelchair, despite the discomfort of his condition.
When something mattered enough, one made it work.
Joy’s attention was diverted when her mobile rang. It was Susan.
‘Hello, dear,’ Joy said, ‘I thought you’d be enjoying your party.’
There was a pause, and when Susan spoke, her voice sounded slurred. ‘Mother,’ she groaned, ‘it’s a disaster, a social apocalypse …’
‘Good heavens.’ Joy straightened in her seat. ‘What on earth has happened?’
‘The lawyers are fighting.’
‘Fighting?’
‘Yes, over a bloody cheeseboard.’
‘How did the cheeseboard get blood on it?’
‘Nooo …’ Susan sighed, and Joy imagined her daughter rolling her brilliant blue eyes.
‘Over some nonsense about there being lashings of port in the stilton,’ Susan ranted.
‘I didn’t know Hugh had been feeding it for weeks, and Carl from corporate law, who’s been on the wagon for forty-two days and missed his AA meeting over Christmas, is accusing Hugh of deliberately getting him pissed. ’
‘Surely Hugh wouldn’t do that.’ Joy wondered how much impregnated Stilton Carl had consumed if he was plastered on port.
‘God knows,’ Susan snivelled. ‘Sandra, Carl’s wife, is sobbing in the downstairs loo and Millicent from number twelve is trying to coax her out.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the ensuite,’ Susan miserably replied.
‘Perhaps you should stay there until it’s all calmed down,’ Joy advised.
‘But the house is such a mess! There’s Caerphilly all over the carpet and the Stinking Bishop has ruined my Christmas cloth.’ Susan gave a half-hiccupped sob.
‘I didn’t know you’d invited a bishop?’
‘Mother!’ Susan yelled.
Joy stifled a laugh. Susan’s call was merely to remind her mother that no one was cleaning up the cheesy mess. Thank God I’m more than a thousand miles away! Joy thought.
‘And by the way, what the hell were you wearing on Christmas Day?’ Susan’s tone was sharp. ‘Do you really think it is suitable for someone your age to look like they’ve fallen off the top of the tree?’
‘You didn’t like the gold dress?’
‘Like? It was terrible, and goodness knows what Daddy would have said. You looked ridiculous, like mutton dressed as lamb.’
Joy felt her blood pressure rising.
‘Well, “Daddy” isn’t here to criticise my wardrobe, nor is he here to tell me not to have too much to drink and join a conga line around the ship.’
‘What did you say? My m … mother in a conga line?’
Joy paused, letting the words settle before wondering whether to fire her final arrow. But having loosened her bow, the words poured out.
‘Neither can he stop me having dinner with a very charming man named Henry, and if I have too much to drink again, I shall probably have mad, passionate, unrestrained sex with him all night too.’
‘MOTHER!’
Joy heard a thud, as though Susan had collapsed on the floor.
‘I must dash, dear, there’s a peek-a-boo set of lingerie in the ship’s boutique that I want to snap up before I get dressed for the evening.’
‘M … MOTHER!’
‘You’d best go and sort out Carl and the Stinking Bishop. Good luck, dear.’
Joy disconnected the call.
With a quiet giggle, Joy made her way to the bathroom.
She knew she shouldn’t have taunted Susan, but really, after years of bending to Susan’s every whim, standing up for herself suddenly felt empowering.
Of course, she had no intention of sleeping with Henry, nor of purchasing a peek-a-boo bra, and as she removed her watch, she noted the time.
Two lovely, luxurious hours to herself. Now to get ready, Joy thought, reaching for a bottle of perfume and releasing the light floral fragrance all over her skin.
Dinner at eight with Henry … and Joy simply couldn’t wait!
In her Dream Suite, Barbara was also preparing for dinner.
Another lavish meal awaited in honour of Boxing Day but instead of dining at the captain’s table, she and Kenneth would be back on table twenty-eight.
Leaning into the magnifying mirror in the bathroom, Barbara examined her face with professional scrutiny.
The age-defying facial had worked wonders.
The seaweed-based products recommended by the spa-beautician had clearly done their job and her skin appeared firmer and positively radiant.
‘I look at least five years younger,’ she murmured, tilting her chin for effect.
Barbara was pleased that she’d indulged, and acting on the beautician’s enthusiastic advice, had treated herself to a luxury beauty bag brimming with seaweed infused creams and serums that had cost an arm and a leg.
‘No need for Kenny to know,’ Barbara murmured as she began to apply makeup and thought about her outfit for the evening.
Wandering into their bedroom, Barbara halted in dismay at the sight of Kenneth sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, naked but for his baggy pants. With an exasperated sigh, she marched over and shook his foot.
‘Wake up!’ she barked. ‘You need to get dressed for dinner and I’m absolutely gasping for a decent drink.’
A short while later, Barbara was ready. Dressed in a floor-length evening dress, strategically supported by her Spandex support shorts to keep her tummy in check, Barbara’s diamonds caught the light with every movement and her freshly styled hair shone.