‘This ship has passengers?’
‘Only a dozen. We’re a cargo vessel, but if you have more than twelve passengers, you’re registered as a cruise ship. The company does own a couple of ocean liners, but we’re part of their cargo fleet,’ he added as he pushed open a door and entered a room containing three large circular tables, each with six chairs.
‘But there are eighteen places,’ said Sasha. ‘You said—’
‘I can see you’re sharp,’ said Fergal with a grin. ‘As well as the twelve passengers, there are six officers who also eat in the dining room but sit at their own table. Now, our first job,’ he added, pulling open a drawer in a large sideboard and extracting three tablecloths, ‘is to lay up for dinner.’
Sasha had never seen a tablecloth before, and watched as Fergal skilfully cast one over each of the three tables. He then returned to the sideboard, took out matching cutlery and began to set each place.
‘Don’t just stand there gawping. You’re my assistant, not one of the passengers.’
Sasha grabbed some knives, forks and spoons and began to copy his mentor, who double-checked each setting, making sure everything was lined up and in its correct place.
‘Now, the most important job you’ll be responsible for,’ Fergal said once he’d added two glasses to each place setting, and a salt and pepper pot in the centre of the table, ‘will be to organize the dumb waiter.’
‘What’s a dumb waiter?’
‘You. But we luckily have a more useful example over here.’ Fergal walked across to the far side of the room and opened a small hatch in the wall to reveal a square box with two shelves and a thick rope on one side. ‘This goes down to the kitchen,’ he said as he pulled the rope, and the box disappeared. ‘When chef is good and ready, it will be sent back up with the first course, which you’ll place on the sideboard before I serve it. You don’t speak to anyone unless they speak to you, and then only if they ask you a question. At all times, address the guests as Sir or Madam.’ Sasha kept nodding. ‘Now, the next thing we have to do is find you a white jacket and a pair of trousers that fit. We can’t have you looking like some sea urchin that’s been washed up on the beach, can we?’
‘Can I ask a question?’ said Sasha.
‘If you must.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘The Emerald Isle, to be sure,’ said Fergal. But Sasha was none the wiser.
*
The cook glanced across at Elena, who was making a sauce from some leftovers. ‘You’ve done that before,’ he said. ‘When you’ve finished, would you prepare the vegetables, while I concentrate on the main course.’ He looked up at a menu pinned to the wall. ‘Lamb chops.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Elena.
‘Call me Eddie,’ he added, before making his way across to the fridge and removing a rack of lamb.
Once Elena had prepared the vegetables and arranged them in separate dishes, Eddie inspected them. ‘Good thing you’re leaving us when we dock in Southampton,’ he said, ‘otherwise I might be looking for a job.’
I will be looking for a job, Elena wanted to tell him, but satisfied herself with, ‘What would you like me to do next?’
‘Take the smoked salmon out of the fridge and prepare eighteen portions. Once you’ve done that, put them in the dumb waiter, ring the bell, and send them up to Fergal.’
‘The dumb waiter?’ said Elena, looking puzzled.
‘Ah, at last something you don’t know about.’ He smiled as he headed towards a large square hole in the wall.
*
A buzzer sounded.
‘First course on its way up,’ said Fergal, and a few moments later, six plates of smoked salmon appeared. Sasha placed them on the sideboard before sending the dumb waiter back down. He was unloading the last three plates of salmon when the door opened and two smartly dressed officers walked in.
‘Mr Reynolds, the chief engineer,’ whispered Fergal, ‘and the purser, Mr Hallett.’
‘And who’s this?’ Mr Reynolds asked.
‘Sasha, my new assistant,’ said Fergal.
‘Good evening, Sasha. I believe we have you to thank for half a dozen cases of vodka, which I can assure you the ratings will appreciate.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sasha.
The door opened again, and the passengers began to trickle in one by one and take their places.
Sasha never stopped pulling the rope up and down, before placing the contents of the box on the sideboard. Fergal served the fifteen men and three women with a relaxed charm that the chef assured Elena came from regularly kissing the Blarney Stone. Something else he had to explain to his new assistant.
An hour later, after the last diner had departed, Sasha collapsed into the nearest chair and said, ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘Not yet, you aren’t,’ said Fergal, laughing. ‘Now we have to clear up before re-laying the tables for breakfast. You can start by hoovering the carpet.’
‘Hoovering?’
Fergal gave him a short demonstration on the strange machine before returning to lay the tables. Sasha was fascinated by the vacuum cleaner, but didn’t want to admit he’d never seen one before, although it couldn’t have been more obvious as he bumped into chairs and table legs. Fergal let him become familiar with it, while he laid eighteen places for breakfast.
‘That’s it for today,’ said Fergal, ‘so you can shove off now.’
Sasha made his way back to the sleeping quarters and knocked on his mother’s door. He didn’t enter until he heard her say, ‘Come in.’ The first thing he noticed when he walked into her cabin was that she had unpacked both her suitcase and his lunch box. He also thought the room looked far tidier than he remembered.
‘What’s it like being a waiter?’ was her first question.
‘You never stop moving,’ said Sasha, ‘but it’s great fun. Fergal seems to have them all under control, even the captain.’
Elena laughed. ‘Yes, chef told me he’s broken several hearts over the years, and only gets away with it because the passengers are rarely on board for more than a fortnight.’
‘What’s the chef like?’
‘An old pro, and so good at his job that I can’t understand what he’s doing on a small ship like this. I would have thought the Barrington Line could have put him to far better use on one of their cruise liners. There has to be some reason why they haven’t.’
‘If there is,’ said Sasha, ‘Fergal will be sure to know, so I’ll find out long before we reach Southampton.’
5
ALEX
En route to New York
When Alex heard the cargo hold close and the boat ease away from its moorings he began to hammer on the side of the crate with a clenched fist.
‘We’re in here!’ he shouted.
‘They can’t hear you,’ said Elena. ‘Uncle Kolya told me the hold won’t be opened again until we’re well outside Soviet territorial waters.’
‘But—’ Alex began, then simply nodded, although he was beginning to understand what it must be like to be buried alive. His thoughts were interrupted by the unsteady rumbling of an engine somewhere below them, followed by movement. He assumed they must at last be making their way out of the harbour, but he had no idea how long it would be before they were released from their self-imposed prison.