morning.”
“I also heard that a bomb exploded in your cabin,” said Priscilla, undaunted.
“You are most welcome to visit our cabin at any time so you can correct the ill-informed rumormonger who suggested that.”
“And someone else told me,” said Priscilla, plowing on, “that a group of Irish terrorists boarded the ship at around midnight—”
“Only to find we were fully booked, and as there wasn’t a cabin available, they were made to walk the plank and swim all the way back to Belfast?”
“And did you hear the one about some Martians flying in from outer space and landing inside one of the funnels?” said Harry, as the waiter reappeared with a rare steak.
Priscilla gave it no more than a glance, before she rose from her place. “You’re all hiding something,” she said, dropping her napkin on the table, “and I intend to find out what it is before we reach Avonmouth.”
The three of them watched as she glided serenely across the floor and out of the dining room.
“I apologize,” said Bob. “That turned out even worse than I feared.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry. “My wife snores.”
“I do not,” said Emma, as the two men burst out laughing.
“I’d give half my fortune to have the relationship you two enjoy.”
“I’ll take it,” said Harry. This time it was Emma’s turn to kick her husband under the table.
“Well, I’m grateful for one thing, Bob,” said Emma, reverting to her chairman’s voice. “Your wife clearly has no idea what really happened on our first night at sea. But if she ever found out…”
* * *
“I’d like to open this meeting by welcoming my son Sebastian Clifton onto the board.”
Hear, hears echoed around the ballroom.
“While being inordinately proud of his achievement at such a young age, I feel I should warn Mr. Clifton that the rest of the board will be observing his contributions with considerable interest.”
“Thank you, chairman,” said Sebastian, “for both your warm welcome and your helpful advice.” Seb’s words caused several members of the board to smile. His mother’s confidence, with his father’s charm.
“Moving on,” said the chairman, “allow me to bring you up to date on what has become known as the Home Fleet incident. Although we cannot yet afford to relax, it would appear that our worst fears have not been realized. Nothing of any real significance found its way into the press on either side of the Atlantic, not least, I’m told, because of a little assistance from Number Ten. The three Irishmen who were arrested in the early hours of our first night at sea are no longer on board. Once we’d docked and all the passengers had disembarked, they were discreetly transferred to a Royal Navy frigate, which is now on its way to Belfast.
“The damaged propeller, although not back to its full capacity, still has a rev count of around sixty percent, and will be replaced once we arrive back in Avonmouth. Our maintenance team worked day and night on the damaged hull while we were docked in New York and have done a first-class job. Only a seasoned mariner would be able to spot any sign of repair. Further work on the hull will also be carried out while we’re in Avonmouth. I anticipate that by the time the Buckingham sets out on its second voyage to New York in eight days’ time, no one would know we ever had a problem. However, I think it would be unwise for any of us to discuss the incident outside the boardroom, and should you be questioned on the subject, just stick to the official Home Fleet line.”
“Will we be making a claim on our insurance policy?” asked Knowles.
“No,” said Emma firmly, “because if we did, it would undoubtedly throw up a lot of questions I don’t want to answer.”
“Understood, chairman,” said Dobbs. “But how much has the Home Fleet incident cost us?”
“I don’t yet have an accurate figure to present to the board, but I’m told it could be as
“I also heard that a bomb exploded in your cabin,” said Priscilla, undaunted.
“You are most welcome to visit our cabin at any time so you can correct the ill-informed rumormonger who suggested that.”
“And someone else told me,” said Priscilla, plowing on, “that a group of Irish terrorists boarded the ship at around midnight—”
“Only to find we were fully booked, and as there wasn’t a cabin available, they were made to walk the plank and swim all the way back to Belfast?”
“And did you hear the one about some Martians flying in from outer space and landing inside one of the funnels?” said Harry, as the waiter reappeared with a rare steak.
Priscilla gave it no more than a glance, before she rose from her place. “You’re all hiding something,” she said, dropping her napkin on the table, “and I intend to find out what it is before we reach Avonmouth.”
The three of them watched as she glided serenely across the floor and out of the dining room.
“I apologize,” said Bob. “That turned out even worse than I feared.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry. “My wife snores.”
“I do not,” said Emma, as the two men burst out laughing.
“I’d give half my fortune to have the relationship you two enjoy.”
“I’ll take it,” said Harry. This time it was Emma’s turn to kick her husband under the table.
“Well, I’m grateful for one thing, Bob,” said Emma, reverting to her chairman’s voice. “Your wife clearly has no idea what really happened on our first night at sea. But if she ever found out…”
* * *
“I’d like to open this meeting by welcoming my son Sebastian Clifton onto the board.”
Hear, hears echoed around the ballroom.
“While being inordinately proud of his achievement at such a young age, I feel I should warn Mr. Clifton that the rest of the board will be observing his contributions with considerable interest.”
“Thank you, chairman,” said Sebastian, “for both your warm welcome and your helpful advice.” Seb’s words caused several members of the board to smile. His mother’s confidence, with his father’s charm.
“Moving on,” said the chairman, “allow me to bring you up to date on what has become known as the Home Fleet incident. Although we cannot yet afford to relax, it would appear that our worst fears have not been realized. Nothing of any real significance found its way into the press on either side of the Atlantic, not least, I’m told, because of a little assistance from Number Ten. The three Irishmen who were arrested in the early hours of our first night at sea are no longer on board. Once we’d docked and all the passengers had disembarked, they were discreetly transferred to a Royal Navy frigate, which is now on its way to Belfast.
“The damaged propeller, although not back to its full capacity, still has a rev count of around sixty percent, and will be replaced once we arrive back in Avonmouth. Our maintenance team worked day and night on the damaged hull while we were docked in New York and have done a first-class job. Only a seasoned mariner would be able to spot any sign of repair. Further work on the hull will also be carried out while we’re in Avonmouth. I anticipate that by the time the Buckingham sets out on its second voyage to New York in eight days’ time, no one would know we ever had a problem. However, I think it would be unwise for any of us to discuss the incident outside the boardroom, and should you be questioned on the subject, just stick to the official Home Fleet line.”
“Will we be making a claim on our insurance policy?” asked Knowles.
“No,” said Emma firmly, “because if we did, it would undoubtedly throw up a lot of questions I don’t want to answer.”
“Understood, chairman,” said Dobbs. “But how much has the Home Fleet incident cost us?”
“I don’t yet have an accurate figure to present to the board, but I’m told it could be as
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