Alice-Miranda at Sea (7 page)

'O
h, there you are, darling.' Cecelia Highton-Smith had glanced up from where she was sitting by the pool, talking to their gardener Harold Greening and his wife Maggie, to see her daughter skipping towards them. ‘Where have you been? The others have been in for ages. You've only got a few minutes and then we have to get ready for dinner.'

‘Sorry, Mummy, I wanted to check that Mr and Mrs Headlington-Bear were all right and then I had to get my bathers on,' Alice-Miranda called.

‘Did you see them, darling?' Cecelia asked.

‘No, I think they must have already come up for drinks,' Alice-Miranda replied.

Cecelia Highton-Smith glanced around the open deck. ‘I haven't spied them yet, but they might be inside. I'll go and have a look.'

Most of the guests had retreated to their suites to change for dinner. The sun blinked its last warm rays before slipping down behind the mountains. Alice-Miranda pulled her dress over her head. She closed her eyes, jumped into the pool and was embraced by the warm water.

‘Where have you been?' Millie shouted. Alice-Miranda swam over to join her friends.

‘I just had to check on something,' Alice-Miranda replied.

The children played a quick round of Marco Polo before Cecelia reappeared and said it was time to have showers and get ready for dinner.

‘Do we have to dress up tonight, Mummy?' Alice-Miranda asked as she towelled herself off.

‘No, darling. We're having a barbecue on the Royal Deck – you can keep the formal wear in the wardrobe until later in the week.'

‘So that's what smells so delicious,' Lucas said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

‘You know, I think being on a ship is the perfect holiday for kids,' Millie observed. ‘The grown-ups don't have to worry about us at all – we can't get lost, or kidnapped, or anything.'

‘True,' said Jacinta. ‘But bad luck if there's someone on board you don't want to see. You're bound to meet up with them at some stage.'

Alice-Miranda and Millie exchanged knowing looks. They both wondered how Jacinta's parents could be on the ship and still not have bothered to seek out their daughter. It simply wasn't right.

‘Well, off you go. You'll need to be back up on deck in half an hour for dinner,' Cecelia commanded.

‘Will you be joining the other guests on deck for dinner this evening, sir?' Henderson asked as he cleared the empty tray. Neville had devoured his ham sandwich and French fries and left nothing behind at all – quite a feat for a young boy. ‘It's a barbecue and I've heard the new chef's a real star. I hope there'll be leftovers for the crew.'

Neville didn't know what to say. It wasn't in his nature to talk to strangers. It wasn't in his nature to talk to anyone very much.

He vaguely shook his head.

‘Very well, sir. Would you like me to bring you a plate in an hour or so?'

He nodded and wished Henderson would stop yapping.

‘I think there's going to be fireworks later tonight, too.'

Henderson wondered about Neville. Painfully shy wouldn't go halfway to describing the poor lad. Certainly he was the polar opposite of his gossipy mother across the hallway. She never stopped talking and asking Henderson's opinion on which dress looked best and how she should do her hair. You'd have thought the woman had never got dressed on her own before.

‘Do you play?' Henderson looked at the trumpet case tucked in beside Neville on the couch. Its brown leather trim had seen more than a few bumps and knocks and there was a rather large smiley face sticker in the middle of the lid.

Neville nodded. He found it was the best way to answer most questions.

‘May I have a look, Master Neville?' Henderson asked.

Neville shook his head. ‘No, it's nothing special,' he whispered.

‘Oh, well perhaps I'll have the pleasure of hearing you practise,' Henderson suggested.

‘I . . . I . . . only play for me. It's private.'

‘Oh, okay, sir,' Henderson frowned. Having played trombone for years in his own school band, Henderson thought that was very odd indeed. Play- ing a brass or woodwind instrument without others was a bit like being the defence, attack and goalie on the football team. You didn't stand a hope, really, and in his experience it wasn't much fun at all.

T
he Royal Deck had been completely transformed for dinner. Fairy lights twinkled along the railings and large Chinese lanterns swayed above, suspended from slender cables. The section of deck set for dinner was enclosed and heated, keeping the chill breath of the ocean at bay. Thirty round tables, resplendent with white cloths, sparkling candelabra and silverware so highly polished you could clean your teeth in its reflection, adorned the rear of the ship. A row of gleaming barbecues groaned under the weight of their sizzling feasts.

Alice-Miranda, Millie and Jacinta were escorted to their table by a handsome steward. The girls were sitting with Lucas and Sep and wondered who else might join them. Cecelia and Hugh were dining with Granny Valentina, Aunty Gee, Lawrence, Charlotte, Mrs Oliver, Millie's grandfather and Shilly. Over by the dance floor, a small musical ensemble struck up a tune, adding to the festive mood.

‘Hold on a tick, I'd better say hello to Mum and Dad.' Millie excused herself and walked over to see her parents, who were seated at the admiral's table with Daisy and Granny Bert, Mr and Mrs Greening and some other guests she didn't recognise.

Jacinta glanced around the deck.

‘Still haven't spotted them?' Alice-Miranda asked.

‘No,' said Jacinta. ‘But it's typical. Mummy's probably caught up on the telephone.' She shrugged. ‘And Daddy will be busy doing some billion-dollar deal.'

‘I'm sure that they'll be here soon,' Alice-Miranda reassured her.

A tinkling of silver on crystal signified the formal start of the meal. Admiral Harding stood up and cleared his throat.

‘Ahem. Good evening, Your Majesty, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, what a pleasure it is to have you here on board the
Octavia
for what will be a most wonderful voyage. Our gracious hostess, Queen Georgiana, has requested that royal protocol be kept to a minimum as we are here to celebrate the impending marriage of Miss Charlotte Highton-Smith to the most charming and soon to be not-so-eligible bachelor, star of stage and screen, Mr Lawrence Ridley.'

‘Hear, hear.' Ambrose McLoughlin-McTavish raised his glass.

‘I couldn't agree more.' Aunty Gee held her champagne flute aloft.

‘Before we partake of this most tantalising meal, I'd like to let you know a little about the route we'll be taking this week. The
Octavia
has this afternoon been sailing along the French Riviera. We will be continu- ing onto the Italian Riviera and the Amalfi Coast before travelling up the Adriatic Sea to our point of disembarkation in the magical city of Venice. Although there are some glorious ports along the way, I'm sure you can appreciate that it is Charlotte and Lawrence's wish that we remain on board until the end of the cruise and so, while we will admire from afar, we won't be stopping in. Buzzing helicopters and long lenses are not something any of us want to attract to this celebration.'

A titter of laughter rang around the deck.

‘So, may I propose a toast? Will you please be upstanding? To our happy couple, Charlotte and Lawrence.'

The chorus reverberated around the deck. ‘Charlotte and Lawrence.'

‘I hope you all enjoy your meal and I look forward to meeting many of you on the dance floor a little later in the evening.'

The tempting smell of barbecued meat and salty air wafted across the deck as a conga line of wait staff began depositing plates of food in front of the eager diners.

‘Look, there's Chef Vladimir.' Alice-Miranda spied a giant in a tall white hat presiding over the chefs. Standing beside him was a raven-haired beauty. Her bejewelled kaftan caught the lantern glow from above, sending shards of soft light across her pretty face. Millie nudged Alice-Miranda.

Jacinta swivelled her head to see what Millie and Alice-Miranda were looking at. Just as quickly, she spun back around and gave her fullest concentration to the fillet of beef on the plate in front of her.

‘Jacinta, isn't that your mother?' Millie pointed at the woman. Although Millie had never met her in person she'd seen enough photographs of Ambrosia Headlington-Bear to know that it had to be her.

‘Yes, I suspect it is.' Jacinta ploughed into her potato.

In a second, Alice-Miranda was out of her seat and charging towards the woman.

‘Good evening, Chef Vladimir,' Alice-Miranda smiled at the head chef. ‘It's lovely to see you again and this barbecue smells delicious.'

‘Of courze it doez,' he sneered.

‘Excuse me, but are you Mrs Headlington-Bear?' she asked.

‘Yes, of course I'm Ambrosia Headlington-Bear,' the woman replied.

‘Oh, thank goodness,' said Alice-Miranda. ‘I was wondering if you were really on board the ship at all.'

The woman stared blankly at Alice-Miranda.

‘I am sorry. I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I'm so very pleased to finally meet you.' Alice-Miranda thrust her tiny hand in Ambrosia's direction.

‘Oh.' Ambrosia studied the child for a moment before taking her hand into her limp grip. ‘Oh!' she said again, a tiny flicker of recognition igniting on her face.

‘My mummy and daddy invited you. Well, Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence actually insisted that you be invited,' Alice-Miranda continued. ‘Jacinta is one of my best friends.'

‘What's Jacinta got to do with all this?' Ambrosia attempted to furrow her brow, but it steadfastly refused to budge.

‘Well, Mummy and Daddy thought it would be lovely if I could have Jacinta and Millie along on the cruise and then Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence said that it would be great to meet their parents and that's how you and Mr Headlington-Bear and Millie's mother and father came to be asked too.'

‘But I was invited because I
always
get invited to these things,' Ambrosia said, puzzled.

‘Well, I imagine that you do get invited to loads of things, but this time you really do have Jacinta to thank,' Alice-Miranda replied.

‘So, my daughter's here, on the ship?' Ambrosia pouted.

‘Oh, yes. She's just over there.' Alice-Miranda pointed towards the children at the table. ‘She'll be so relieved about the mix-up. I think Jacinta had begun to wonder if you were avoiding her and that would be just plain silly, wouldn't it?' Please, come and join us. There's space at our table and Jacinta would love to see you,' Alice-Miranda coaxed.

‘Well, I'll come and say hello, but really, I'm sure I'm supposed to be somewhere else.' Ambrosia fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head ever so slightly towards Chef Vladimir.

‘Pff, I'll see you later, darlink,' Vladimir purred at Ambrosia.

‘Do you know each other?' Alice-Miranda asked.

‘Yes, of course. Vladimir runs a gorgeous restaurant in Moscow. Michelin stars and that sort of thing. I flew up there last week with some friends and he tells me they're now booked solid for six months. The rotten paps from
Gloss and Goss
wouldn't leave us alone.' Ambrosia looked smug. ‘But it was all in a good cause.'

Alice-Miranda frowned. She didn't like to hear Mrs Headlington-Bear talking about the paparazzi. They were the last thing Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence needed this week. At least everyone on board had signed a confidentiality agreement not to disclose any details before or after the wedding. And all inbound and outbound telephone calls were being monitored, too. Aunty Gee's security wasn't taking any risks.

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear spent another few seconds surveying the party.

‘I can't believe I don't recognise anyone,' she said, barely masking her disappointment. ‘Oh, except the Queen, of course – and that dishy Lawrence Ridley. I thought there'd be movie stars by the boatload.'

‘Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence were keen to keep it a mostly family affair,' Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Is Mr Headlington-Bear joining you for dinner?'

Ambrosia stared vacantly at the crowd, apparently lost in her own thoughts. ‘No,' she replied absently.

‘Well, please, come and sit with us,' Alice-Miranda urged.

Ambrosia followed the tiny child, her kaftan swishing and flouncing. She was the sort of woman people couldn't help noticing.

Jacinta had been concentrating so hard on her dinner she'd almost hoovered up the entire contents of her plate.

Ambrosia glided over and stood behind her daughter. ‘Hello Jacinta, this is a surprise. Have you got a kiss for Mummy?'

Jacinta swallowed her last mouthful. She wiped her hands on her napkin, stood up and turned around to greet her mother.

‘I see you've still got a good appetite, darling.' Ambrosia glanced at the empty plate. ‘Mind the grease on Mummy's new dress.'

Jacinta gave Ambrosia an awkward hug. Her lips barely grazed her mother's cheek.

‘Your mother hadn't realised that you were here,' Alice-Miranda explained.

‘Of course not,' Jacinta frowned. ‘Why would anyone important invite me to anything interesting?'

The atmosphere around the table heaved under the weight of unspoken words.

‘Hello Mrs Headlington-Bear,' Millie spoke. ‘I'm Millie – it's good to finally meet you.'

‘Oh, hello. And for goodness sake, call me Ambrosia. Mrs Headlington-Bear sounds positively antique.'

Ambrosia browsed around the table before her eyes came to rest on Lucas. She studied him carefully. ‘And who are you, young man?'

‘I'm Lucas Nixon.' He stood up and offered his hand. Lucas stared at her with his piercing black eyes, and then smiled his million-dollar grin.

‘And who do you belong to, Lucas?' she asked.

‘My father is Lawrence Ridley,' he replied.

‘Well, that makes sense. It's no wonder you're so gorgeous then, is it? Jacinta – make sure you keep an eye on this fellow.'

Jacinta wished at that moment for a giant trap- door to open up and swallow her mother whole.

Millie sniggered. ‘It's all right, Ambrosia. I think Jacinta's already got that under control.'

A spurt of bile rose into the back of Jacinta's throat. ‘Thanks, Millie,' she hissed.

‘And who are you?' Ambrosia had turned her attention to Sep.

‘Sep Sykes,' he replied, standing and offering his hand as Lucas had done.

‘Well, hello Sep Sykes.' Ambrosia's eyes sparkled. ‘Glad to see my daughter has such good taste in young men.'

‘Please, sit down, Ambrosia,' Alice-Miranda invited.

‘No, I'm sure I'm supposed to be somewhere else.' Ambrosia glanced around the deck.

An awkward silence descended over the table.

‘Where's Daddy?' Jacinta asked.

‘Oh, you know your father; it's all work, work, work. Excuse me.' Ambrosia tapped a waiter on the shoulder. ‘Can you tell me where I'm meant to be sitting?'

‘I won't be a moment, ma'am.' the man scuttled off towards the maître d'.

‘That's a lovely dress, Ambrosia,' Alice-Miranda commented.

‘Yes, it is, isn't it? I couldn't decide what to wear tonight. It took me ages to get ready. I mean, it was a bit stingy of the hosts not letting me bring Henri or Tiffany with me. I usually don't travel anywhere without them.' Ambrosia inspected her manicured left hand as she spoke.

‘Who are they?' Lucas asked.

‘Henri's my stylist and he's a total saint and Tiff does my hair and make-up. I must look a complete mess. It's the first time I've had to manage my own look in years,' Ambrosia complained.

‘Well, I think you look very pretty,' Alice-Miranda complimented her.

‘Yes, lovely,' Millie added, elbowing Jacinta in the ribs.

‘You look fine, Mummy,' Jacinta muttered.

‘Why don't I take a photograph of you and Jacinta?' Millie offered. She picked up her camera from the centre of the table.

‘Oh, of course.' Ambrosia's smile lit up the deck. She leaned in beside her daughter, cheek to cheek.

Millie snapped three shots.

‘Let me see,' Ambrosia asked as Millie reviewed the pictures.

‘Oh, that's gorgeous,' Ambrosia remarked. ‘We look like sisters, Jacinta.'

‘Of course we do, mother.' Jacinta stared off into the distance, ignoring Millie and her camera.

The waiter returned. ‘Mrs Headlington-Bear, if you'd like to follow me,' he offered.

‘See you later, children.' Ambrosia pranced off to be seated with Max and Cyril, the Highton-Smith-Kennington-Joneses' stablehand and pilot.

Jacinta wrinkled her nose.

‘I can't believe she didn't know I was here,' she finally said. ‘How else did she think she got invited?'

‘Don't be cross, Jacinta.' Alice-Miranda put her hand on her friend's shoulder. ‘At least she knows you're here now, and you can spend some time together tomorrow.'

‘I doubt it,' Jacinta snarled.

Alice-Miranda didn't reply. She had a niggling feeling in the bottom of her stomach and right now she had no idea what to do about it.