Page 59 of Old Girls on Deck
‘Calm down,’ I said, ‘this is not embarrassing or foolish. And we are not going to wonder what Casper would have said, ever again. There’s obviously been some simple misunderstanding.’
‘Ah, there you are. I wondered where you had got to. You didn’t get my message!’
We turned to see Dick Dainty scurrying towards us. I don’t think I had ever expected to feel so glad to see him. I almost felt like hugging him, and Dick was not the sort of man I would normally have considered embracing.
‘Message?’ Diana said.
‘Your talk, it’s not here,’ he replied.
‘Well, I think we’ve deduced that,’ I said rather sharply.
He gave us his abject apologies for the mix up and then stretched his arms out towards us like a shepherd herding recalcitrant sheep, encouraging us to follow him without actually touching us. I expect touching the passengers was not something that was encouraged.
Diana fell into step beside him, her heels rattling as she tried to keep up with him. He moved fast for a short man; at one point as we dodged past other people, I wondered if he was on castors.
‘So sorry again,’ he said, ‘I had hoped to catch you before you left your cabin – I do hope you are comfortable in there by the way. The Picasso has always been one of my favourites, even though it’s not mid-ships. Have you noticed any problems with sea sickness? No? that’s good. There is more movement at the front of the ship, but then you’d know all about that. Now then…’
We had reached the lifts, which were, as usual, surrounded by crowds of people wanting to avoid the stairs. Dick jabbed at the buttons and huffed with impatience.
‘I should have taken you the other way – well, no matter. I have an idea. Are you okay with the stairs? I think it would be quicker. We’ll go down first and then up. Bit of a short cut.’
We assured him it was fine, and he dithered about for a bit, before taking us through a featureless door, which led to the crew stairway and down an echoing stairwell, Diana’s kitten heels clattering.
‘I feel so bad about this – my fault – hadn’t anticipated – well, this shouldn’t take long. Here, let me help you.’
He took her laptop bag and slung it over his shoulder like a postman, trotting ahead of us, round corners in the staircase at speed until we almost lost sight of him.
At last, we came out into a dimly lit area, nothing like the bright, attractive public rooms. This was one of those secret pathways through the ship that only crew used. Diana had told me every ship had them. Then we went through a pair of flapping, translucent, plastic doors which led into a corridor that seemed to stretch on forever in front of us. There were dozens of people there in blue boiler suits and hairnets, pushing metal carts about, moving the ship’s massive supplies of food and drinks and linens.
Dick turned briefly to make sure we were still following, and we set off.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t really bring you this way. It runs the length of the ship; the crew call it the I-95. After the road in America that leads from Florida to Maine. Nearly two thousand miles. What a road trip that would be.’
Diana stumbled a bit on her kitten heels as she tottered after him. People stared at us as we passed them, no doubt wondering what a man in a rather loud, checked suit and two women dressed for a business meeting were doing down there at all.
Dick checked his watch. ‘We’re going to be late. I hate being late. It’s really unprofessional. “Punctuality is the politeness of princes.” I said that only yesterday in my staff briefing. I’d tear a strip off anyone else if they were late for an event. Oh dear.’
He broke into a slow trot, the laptop bag banging against his hip. I was suddenly reminded of the March Hare in Alice in Wonderland and almost laughed.
Trying to avoid a worker who was busy wielding a broom, Diana’s foot banged into a crate of pineapples and one of her shoes flew off. They were the sort of footwear that were made for sitting on a bar stool, not running through the bowels of an ocean liner after all. Dick scrambled to retrieve it from certain destruction under the wheels of a metal trolley laden with flattened cardboard and we hobbled on. After a few steps she pulled the other shoe off and ran barefoot, almost catching Dick up as he barged through some more plastic doors shouting, ‘Coming through, emergency. Coming through!’
Diana trod in something squelchy and hopped about on one leg, yelping. Neither of us stopped to investigate. It seemed wiser not to. I took hold of her arm and we limped on. This was hardly the way to get a valued speaker to their appointment on time, was it?
At last, we reached the far end of the I-95 and a set of utilitarian metal lifts where someone had drawn a rude picture on the doors and evidently someone else had tried to scrub it out.
Travelling up, Dick tutted and fidgeted until we got out. Another dim corridor stretched ahead of us, and we followed him, puffing and sweating. This was definitely not how I had expected things would go. Then he barged through another door and up a few steps.
Halfway he stopped and pressed a hand to his chest.
‘Phew, we made it and five minutes to spare. Off we go. I’ll say a few words and introduce you and then I have to dash off and see if the girls have sorted out the feathers for one of their shows. I don’t know whose idea it was to do “Ain’t Nobody Here but Us Chickens” and where that fits into Oklahoma I have no idea.’
He took a deep breath and pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, plastered on his trademark smile and strode through.
‘Go on,’ I said, ‘I’ll be right behind you. I’ll help you set up. You’ll be brilliant.’
Diana followed him, her wet foot sticking unpleasantly to the step, so that she stumbled, tripped over the same stray cable which had nearly felled Dick on the first night, screamed and dropped all of Casper’s notes onto the floor. Then I fell over her and landed like a beetle on its back.
The papers sprayed out in front of her. Her shoe, which she had jammed under one arm, flew out in an elegant parabola and clattered onto the stage, striking Dick a glancing blow on the forehead. He brushed it off with commendable sangfroid.