Alice-Miranda at Sea (8 page)

After the main course, Dr Lush appeared, dressed in his officer's uniform. He proceeded to make his way around the deck, swanning from one table to the next, apparently attempting to charm every woman on board. He introduced himself to Ambrosia Headlington-Bear, who seemed delighted by the attention. He had been rather glad to remove himself from an obnoxious old biddy called Albertine, who had been making overtures about his having tea tomorrow with her granddaughter, Daisy. She was a pretty young thing, for sure, but when the old woman told him they were in domestic service he had quickly withdrawn his charm. He had no desire to take up with the hired help – no matter how attractive they might be. And with heiresses from the bow to the stern, Nicholas couldn't help thinking he had landed in a sea of opportunity.

Alice-Miranda had watched as he moved from table to table, laughing and smiling. With his dark eyes and prominent nose, she couldn't help thinking that he rather reminded her of someone else she'd met recently. She just couldn't work out who it was.

O
ver at Aunty Gee's table, conversations had ranged from Mrs Oliver's latest organic vegetable project to Lawrence's upcoming film and Alice-Miranda's school play. Between hoots of laughter and hushed whispers, there was barely a second's silence.

‘Nasty business, those jewel heists,' Hugh Kennington-Jones commented to Aunty Gee over his perfectly marinated lamb fillet. ‘It sounds like they're ticking off a very long list if you ask me.'

‘Mmm.' Aunty Gee nodded her head and swallowed. ‘I was chatting with Inspector Gerard just last week and he assured me they're only after Russian gems. It's fortunate we haven't acquired any in our collection.'

A spate of jewel thefts around the world over the past eighteen months had been a source of chronic irritation for Chief Inspector Sexton Gerard, the Head of Interpol. The common thread seemed to be the jewel's original owners, the long-departed Russian royal family. To date, all manner of trinkets had been stolen from private individuals on the Continent, museums in the United States and, most daringly, from the vault of the Kremlin in Moscow itself. Whoever was behind the raids was terribly well connected and exceedingly clever. So far, Gerard had no leads whatsoever.

‘What's that, Aunty Gee?' Cecelia joined the conversation. ‘Has there been a robbery?'

‘I was just saying, dear, that I don't think we have to worry at all about those nasty thieves who seem to be amassing a trove of Russian antiquities.'

Having finished her meal, Alice-Miranda, with Millie in tow, hurried over to ask her parents if the children might be excused to play a game of hide and seek. She poked her head around next to her father and waited for him to finish speaking.

‘I've heard they have the Great Imperial Crown and the Sceptre with the Orlov Diamond,' Hugh said thoughtfully. ‘She's a real beauty that one – one of the largest in the world.'

‘Good heavens!' exclaimed Aunty Gee. ‘I would have thought the security at The Treasures of the Diamond Fund would have been better than that.'

‘What are you talking about?' Millie asked as she and Alice-Miranda squeezed in between Hugh and Cecelia's chairs.

‘Oh, hello girls. We were just talking about some robberies of Russian jewels this past year or so,' Hugh informed them.

‘Why did you say
she's
a real beauty?' Alice-Miranda asked. ‘Is the diamond a girl?'

‘I suppose I always think of jewels as being female,' her father replied.

Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘May we be excused so we can play hide and seek?' She could see Jacinta and the boys at their table beckoning her and Millie to return.

‘Of course, darling. Run along – but just stay above deck. Don't want anyone getting lost in the dark, do we?' Hugh directed.

Alice-Miranda pecked her father's cheek and then turned to give her mother the same treatment.

Millie waved. ‘Bye, everyone. Enjoy your dinner.'

The group bid the girls farewell and went back to their conversations.

Deep in thought, Charlotte glanced up from her pork loin. ‘What about the Fabergé eggs?'

Queen Georgiana placed her knife and fork gently beside each other and drew her napkin to her lips. With furrowed brows, she folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate.

‘Oh my dear, I hadn't even given them a thought. Well, of course, they're more Russian than borsch, aren't they? I'll talk with Admiral Harding and Dalton. I know the security codes for the cabinets are a very well guarded secret and I don't suppose it's especially common knowledge that they're on board.'

‘Gee, I think you're wrong there, dear,' Granny Valentina piped up. ‘Don't you remember there was a feature on the
Octavia
in a recent edition of
Monarch Monthly
? I recall a lovely photograph of the drawing room with the cabinet in the background and at least a paragraph devoted to the eggs and how you happened to have them.'

Aunty Gee's lips formed a perfect ‘O'. She signalled for Dalton to step forward from where he was standing behind her left shoulder.

A short conversation in hushed tones, seemed to lighten her mood considerably.

‘It's all right, dears.' Aunty Gee giggled like a schoolgirl. She leaned in and motioned for the group to join her. ‘No need to worry at all,' she whispered. ‘They're fakes.'

‘What do you mean, fakes?' Lawrence murmured, raising his eyebrows.

‘Well, Dalton assures me that years ago my dear father had replicas made for the ship. He thought the
Octavia
was far too vulnerable. So the real eggs are in the vault at the palace. I can't imagine why no one has ever bothered to tell me, but perhaps that's because I never bothered to ask.'

‘Well, that's good news. Very good news indeed,' Hugh nodded.

‘Anyway, there's no need to worry. Dalton has the security well in-hand.' Aunty Gee smiled broadly.

A
s the evening wore on, Neville Nordstrom felt decidedly bored. With no computer to distract him, time passed very slowly. There wasn't even a television in his room. He'd checked everywhere, thinking that perhaps it was well concealed in an antique piece of furniture or a recess in the floor or something, but no amount of searching had revealed any form of technology.

Henderson had appeared with a delicious plate of lamb loin chops, fillet steak, jacket potatoes and an array of salads, exactly as he said he would. Neville's response to his questions consisted of nods or shakes of the head.

Neville currently didn't have any friends on dry land – well none that he hadn't imagined – so he couldn't imagine he'd have any more luck making them at sea.

But the longer Neville spent with his own thoughts, the more diabolical they became. He pictured his father and mother arguing over whose fault it was that their one and only offspring was such an oddball. His father, a football-mad owner of a large earthmoving company, would never understand Neville's fascination for the natural world. Especially seeing as he made a living out of bulldozing it. His mother just wanted him to fit in. She was forever asking about his friends and who he sat with at school and who he talked to on the bus. He knew it made her anxious when he told her the truth, so he'd learned to make things up. It was easier that way. It hadn't always been like this. Back at home he had friends. It's just that being shy and not speaking the language made it twice as hard to meet people and Neville found the whole process exhausting.

Just before 9 pm Neville made the decision to leave the relative safety of his cabin and seek some air on the decks above. With his trumpet case in-hand, he walked the twenty or so steps along the corridor to the stairway. Ascending two flights of stairs he found himself at the end of a long deck. There was quite a commotion coming from above and he was keen to steer clear of the crowd. Neville gazed out to sea while edging his way slowly along the starboard side of the ship. The ocean was calm, like a sheet of glass, and there couldn't have been any swell. In fact, if he hadn't known they were steaming for New York, Neville might have been fooled into thinking that the ship was not moving at all.

He walked as far as he could without having to ascend to the busy deck above. There was music playing – the type his father liked to listen to on a Saturday afternoon following a particularly successful game of football. Neville glanced up and saw that there were people dancing. There were women in colourful frocks and men in smart suits calling out and laughing as if they had all known each other for twenty years. Neville was too anxious to socialise with anyone during the journey. He just wanted to fulfil his mission – and work out how he would get his parents to forgive him.

He had to stick to his plan. Once he'd completed his trek from New York and explained himself, surely his friend would understand. More than that, with Neville there in person, he'd have to help. The two of them would be hailed as heroes (he wasn't looking forward to that part) and written up in
Scientific Scientist
magazine (that would be okay as long as he didn't have to talk to anyone too much).

Neville was lost in his thoughts when suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spotted the girl from the hallway crouched down behind a lifeboat. She was staring straight towards him.

‘Shh.' She raised her finger to her lips. ‘I'm hiding. Please don't tell them I'm here.'

Neville really hadn't wanted to talk to her when he met her earlier and he especially didn't want to talk to her now.

‘Come here.' She waved her right hand. ‘If you hide too, then you won't give me away.'

Neville sniffed. He would rather have fled back to his cabin. There was a shuffling sound on the deck above and a boy's voice.

‘I saw something – over there – come on, Sep,' the boy shouted. 'I think Alice-Miranda's up near the pool.'

The two lads raced away and Neville, who had held his breath, let out a shallow sigh.

‘Come on,' Alice-Miranda whispered again. ‘They'll be back soon.'

Neville clutched his case to his chest and made a dash across the open deck. He ducked in beside the girl.

‘Hello Neville,' Alice-Miranda smiled at him. ‘I thought it was you. I recognised your case.'

Neville gripped it tighter.

‘You must be very dedicated to your instrument,' Alice-Miranda commented.

Neville didn't know what to say.

‘Isn't this the most delicious party ever?' she asked. ‘Would you like to join our game? We're playing hide and seek and I think I might make a run for it back to “bar” in a minute. You can come too, if you want.'

Neville shook his head.

Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling about young Neville and his case. There was something that just didn't feel right but now was not the time to investigate.

‘Oh, all right then, perhaps I'll see you later.' And with that Alice-Miranda stood up and sped along the open deck, up the nearest flight of steps and towards the stanchion the children had decided would be ‘home'.

A sound like gunfire punctured the still night air and a starburst of silver rained from the sky, then another and another. Neville jumped like a startled cat. He promptly decided that he'd had enough fresh air and scurried back down to his cabin, where he changed into his pyjamas, dived into his freshly turned-down bed and fell asleep reading the latest edition of
Scientific Scientist.

A
lice-Miranda and her friends had fallen into bed late that night after the delicious barbecue dinner followed by their energetic game of hide and seek. Poppy and Annie were feeling a little better and they, and almost all of Alice-Miranda's distant cousins, had joined the group. They had even coaxed Shilly and Max to play too, until the game was interrupted by the spectacular fireworks display.

In their suite the next morning, the girls were just beginning to stir.

‘Wasn't last night wonderful?' Alice-Miranda yawned and stretched her arms out behind her before sitting up in her bed.

‘Good morning.' Millie rubbed her eyes and rolled over to face her friend. ‘Are you awake, Jacinta?' Millie asked.

But Jacinta's bed was empty.

‘I wonder where she's gone?' Alice-Miranda asked. ‘I hope she's all right.'

There was a sharp rap at the bedroom door. It opened and Winterstone appeared. ‘Good morning, young ladies.'

‘Hello Mr Winterstone,' said Alice-Miranda. ‘How are you today?'

Unaccustomed to being asked about his welfare, Winterstone was momentarily lost for words. In his job, it was usually he who did all the asking.

‘I am as well as can be expected for a man of my age and station,' he replied thoughtfully.

‘Well, that's good to hear,' said Alice-Miranda.

Winterstone drew back the heavy curtains to reveal sunlight dancing on a pond-like ocean, scattering diamonds on the azure water.

‘Oh, what a glorious day!' Alice-Miranda leapt from her bed to take a closer look. Their cabin on the port side of the ship offered an excellent vista.

‘Have you seen Jacinta?' Millie asked Winterstone.

‘Yes, miss, she passed me in the hallway and mentioned something about going for a run around the deck. Strangely, she didn't feel the need to comment on my hair this morning,' he said, raising his left eyebrow at Millie.

‘Oh, that's good.' Millie pushed back the covers and walked over to join Alice-Miranda by the window.

‘Do you know where we are, Mr Winterstone?' Alice-Miranda asked.

‘Yes, I believe we are anchored off Nice. That's the city over there beyond the beach.'

‘It's so pretty!' Alice-Miranda stared at the view. A long stretch of white sand joined the ocean to the shoreline with the buildings rising up behind.

While the girls admired the scene outside, Winterstone opened the wardrobe and selected three outfits, laying them carefully on each girl's bed. ‘Would you like to have breakfast in your suite or would you prefer to join your parents upstairs in the Breakfast Room?'

‘I think we should go and see everyone upstairs.' Alice-Miranda spun around. ‘Oh, Mr Winterstone, you don't have to get our clothes ready for us.' Alice-Miranda picked up her pants and top and held them against herself. ‘But you do have a lovely eye for putting things together. I've never thought of wearing this green top with these pants but they look good, don't they, Millie?'

Millie glanced over at her. ‘Yes they do, actually,' she replied. ‘I'm going to have a shower.'

Winterstone retreated to the sitting room where he set about pouring three large tumblers of orange juice from a jug on the sideboard.

Alice-Miranda followed him into the room.

‘I took the liberty of arranging some fresh juice for you, miss. I thought you might be thirsty.' At which point he flicked the retractable ruler from his jacket pocket and measured three spots on the coffee table before carefully placing each glass just so.

‘Gosh, you are precise, Mr Winterstone,' Alice-Miranda complimented him. ‘When we have banquets at home, Mrs Shillingsworth gets her tape measure out and makes sure that every setting is exactly the same, but that's only when we have loads of guests. Usually it's much more haphazard. Especially when I'm given the job of setting the table.'

‘It's my training, miss.' He covered the leftover juice in the carafe with a dainty net cloth.

‘Do you have a family, Mr Winterstone?' Alice-Miranda asked.

Again, unaccustomed to being asked anything much, Winterstone hesitated. What was it about this tiny child with her huge brown eyes, Winterstone wondered to himself.

Alice-Miranda noticed his discomfort. ‘I'm sorry. I know I ask too many questions. Anyway, I think Millie is out of the shower so I'll run along and get ready. Thank you for the juice,' she smiled.