Singing in the Shrouds

‘All jealous of him, I dare say,’ Jemima said idly.

‘You may be right. And a very sound reason for disliking him. It’s the greatest mistake to think that jealousy is necessarily a fault. On the contrary, it may very well sharpen the perception.’

‘It didn’t sharpen Othello’s.’

‘But it did. It was his interpretation of what he saw that was at fault. He saw, with an immensely sharpened perception.’

‘I don’t agree.’

‘Because you don’t want to.’

‘Now, look here – ’ Jemima said, for the first time giving him her full attention.

‘He saw Cassio, doing his sophisticated young Venetian act over Desdemona’s hand. He saw him at it again after he’d blotted his copy-book. He was pathologically aware of every gallantry that Cassio showed his wife.’

‘Well,’ Jemima said, ‘if you’re pathologically aware of every attention Aubyn Dale shows his however-many-they-may-be female fans, I must say I’m sorry for you.’

‘All right, Smartie,’ Tim said amiably, ‘you win.’

‘After all, it’s the interpretation that matters.’

‘There’s great virtue in perception alone. Pure scientific observation that is content to set down observed fact after observed fact – ’

‘Followed by pure scientific interpretation that adds them all up and makes a nonsense.’

‘Why should you say that?’ he asked gently. ‘It’s you that’s making a nonsense.’

‘Well, I must say!’

‘To revert to Aubyn Dale. What about his big thing on TV? – “Pack Up Your Troubles”. In other words “Come to me everybody that’s got a bellyache and I’ll put you before my public and pay you for it.” If I were a religious man I’d call it blasphemy.’

‘I don’t say I like what he does – ’

‘Still, he does make an ass of himself good and proper on occasions. Witness the famous Molton Medbury Midsummer Muck-up.’

‘I never heard exactly what happened.’

‘He was obviously plastered. He went round televising the Molton Medbury flower show with old Lady Agatha Panthing. You could see he was plastered before he spoke and when he did speak he said the first prize in the competition went to Lady Agatha’s umbilicus globular. He meant,’ Timothy explained, ‘Agapanthus Umbellatus globosus. I suppose it shattered him because after that a sort of rot set in and at intervals he broke into a recrudescence of Spoonerisms. It went on for weeks. Only the other day he was going all springlike over a display of hyacinths and said that in arranging them all you really needed was a “turdy stable”.’

‘Oh, no! Poor chap. How too shaming for him!’

‘So he shaved off his fetching little imperial and I expect he’s taking a long sea voyage to forget. He’s in pretty poor shape, I fancy.’

‘Do you? What sort of poor shape?’

‘Oh, neurosis,’ Timothy said shortly, ‘of some sort, I should think.’

The xylophonic gong began its inconsequent chiming in the bridge-house.

‘Good lord, that’s for eating!’ Timothy exclaimed.

‘What will you say to your host?’

‘I’ll say I had an urgent case among the greasers. But I’d better just show up. Sorry to have been such a bore. Goodbye, now,’ said Tim attempting a brogue.

He walked rapidly away.

To her astonishment and slightly to her resentment Jemima found that she was ravenously hungry.

II

The Cape Company is a cargo line. The fact that six of its ships afford accommodation for nine passengers each does not in any way modify the essential function of the company. It merely postulates that in the case of these six ships there shall be certain accommodation. There will also be a Chief Steward without any second string, a bar-and-passengers’ steward and an anomalous offsider who may be discovered by the passengers polishing the taps in their cabins at unexpected moments. The business of housing, feeding and, within appropriate limits, entertaining the nine passengers is determined by Head Office and then becomes part of the Captain’s many concerns.

On the whole, Captain Bannerman preferred to carry no passengers, and always regarded them as potential troublemakers. When, however, somebody of Mrs Dillington-Blick’s calibre appeared in his ship, his reaction corresponded punctually with that of ninety per cent of all other males whom she encountered. He gave orders that she should be placed at his table (which luckily was all right anyway because she carried VIP letters) and, until Alleyn’s arrival, had looked forward to the voyage with the liveliest anticipation of pleasurable interludes. He was, he considered, a young man for his age.

Aubyn Dale he also took at his table because Dale was famous and Captain Bannerman felt that in a way he would be bunching Mrs Dillington-Blick by presenting her with a No. I Personality. Now he decided, obscurely and resentfully, that Alleyn also would be an impressive addition to the table. The rest of the seating he left to his Chief Steward who gave the Cuddys and Mr Donald McAngus to the First Mate, whom he disliked; Jemima Carmichael and Dr Makepiece to the Second Mate and the Wireless Officer of whom he approved, and Miss Abbott, Father Jourdain and Mr Merryman to the Chief Engineer towards whom his attitude was neutral.

This, the first luncheon on board, was also the first occasion at which the senior ship’s officers with the exception of those on duty were present. At a long table in a corner sat a number of young men presenting several aspects of adolescence and all looking a trifle sheepish. These were the electrical and engineering junior officers and the cadets.

Alleyn arrived first at the table and was carefully installed by the Captain’s steward. The Cuddys, already seated hard by, settled down to a good long stare and so, more guardedly, did Mr McAngus. Mrs Cuddy’s burning curiosity manifested itself in a dead-pan glare which was directed intermittently at the objects of her interest. Its mechanics might be said to resemble those of a lighthouse whose different frequencies make its signal recognizable far out at sea.

Mr Cuddy, on the contrary, kept observation under cover of an absent-minded smile while Mr McAngus quietly rolled his eyes in the direction of his objective and was careful not to turn his head.

Miss Abbott, at the Chief Engineer’s table, gave Alleyn one sharp look and no more. Mr Merryman rumpled his hair, opened his eyes very wide and then fastened with the fiercest concentration upon the menu. Father Jourdain glanced in a civilized manner at Alleyn and turned with a pleasant smile to his companions.

At this juncture Mrs Dillington-Blick made her entrance rosy with achievement, buzzing with femininity, and followed by the Captain, Aubyn Dale and Timothy Makepiece.

The Captain introduced Alleyn – ‘Mr Broderick, who joined us today – ’

The men made appropriate wary noises at each other. Mrs Dillington-Blick, who might have been thought to be already in full flower, awarded herself a sort of bonus in effulgence. Everything about her blossomed madly. ‘Fun!’ she seemed to be saying. ‘This is what I’m really good at. We’re all going to like this.’

She bathed Alleyn in her personality. Her eyes shone, her lips were moist, her small hands fluttered at the ends of her Rubenesque arms. ‘But I watched you!’ she cried. ‘I watched you with my heart in my mouth! Coming on board! Nipping up that Frightful Thing! Do tell me. Is it as Terrifying as it looks or am I being silly?’

‘It’s plain murder,’ Alleyn said, ‘and you’re not being silly at all. I was all of a tremble.’

Mrs Dillington-Blick cascaded with laughter. She raised and lowered her eyebrows at Alleyn and flapped her hands at the Captain. ‘There now!’ she cried. ‘Just what I supposed. How you dared! If it was a choice of feeding the little fishes or crawling up that ladder I swear I’d pop thankfully into the shark’s maw. And don’t you look so superior,’ she chided Captain Bannerman.

This was exactly how he had hoped she would talk. A fine woman who enjoyed a bit of chaff. And troubled though he was, he swelled a little in his uniform.

‘We’ll have you shinning down it like an old hand,’ he teased, ‘when you go ashore at Las Palmas.’ Aubyn Dale looked quizzically at Alleyn who gave him the shadow of a wink. Mrs Dillington-Blick was away to a magnificent start. Three men, one a celebrity, two good-looking and all teasing her. Las Palmas? Did they mean …? Would she have to …? Ah no! She didn’t believe them.

A number of rococo images chased each other improperly through Alleyn’s imagination. ‘Don’t give it another thought,’ he advised, ‘you’ll make the grade. I understand that if the sea’s at all choppy they rig a safety net down below. Same as trapeze artistes have when they lose their nerve.’

‘I won’t listen.’

‘It’s the form, though, I promise you,’ Alleyn said. ‘Isn’t it, sir?’

‘Certainly.’