Caroline Anderson - Raw Deal

‘Oh, hell, how can it hurt to allow her her fun?’ Maggie muttered. ‘And she’s right—I do need a holiday.’

So she rang the doorbell, cheerfully wished a Merry Christmas to the tall stranger who opened the door, kissed her grandmother solicitously on the cheek, pretended not to notice the slightly heightened colour or the litter of sherry glasses, and perched beside Lucinda on the couch, eyeing her thoughtfully.

‘You do look a little peaky, darling—and a bit breathless. Perhaps you’re right—it’s a long flight.’

‘But you will go without me, won’t you?’

Maggie stifled her smile. ‘Yes, I’ll go. I expect there’ll be a lot of boring old fuddy-duddies, but perhaps there’ll be some nice young officer to cheer me up,’ she said naughtily.

She inadvertently intercepted the look her grandmother and the stranger exchanged, and fiddled with the present to cover her sudden need to laugh. That stage wink! So he was in on it, too, was he?

‘Is that for me?’

‘Yes—saucy undies. Happy Christmas, darling.’

‘Oh, Margaret, how sweet—Gerald, pass me that envelope from the mantelpiece, would you?’ She pressed it into Maggie’s hand. ‘Just a little spending money and your ticket—have a lovely time.’

‘I will. Bless you. I’ll take lots of photos. And Grannie,’ she admonished, ‘you haven’t introduced me to your guest.’

‘How rude of me! Darling, this is Gerald Palmer, an old friend from simply years ago …’ She waved her hand to indicate possibly several decades—or even centuries. ‘Gerald, my granddaughter, Margaret——’

‘Maggie,’ Maggie corrected.

‘Enchanted, my dear,’ Mr Palmer murmured as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘So like your grandmother at your age—I would have known you anywhere.’

Well, no wonder she looks a little breathless! Maggie thought as she excused herself and left them to continue their merrymaking. The man overflowed with charm. She instantly forgave him his part in the conspiracy—and her grandmother. They were probably helpless to defend themselves against each other! But she did rather wonder about his part in it all …

Dawn was just breaking over the sea as the Singapore Airlines flight touched down in Changi Airport. It was the thirtieth of December, and England was in the grip of a sudden, biting freeze.

As Maggie stepped from the plane and lifted her face to the sun, she was flooded with warmth and a sudden, unexpected surge of excitement.

The last week had been hectic and exhausting, and she was so tired after the previous eighteen months that she had slept right through the flight. Now it seemed as if she had woken to a dream world.

Once in the terminal building, she retrieved her luggage, and, after clearing Customs, referred to her instructions and proceeded to the allocated rendezvous point.

There her party was warmly welcomed by a young ship’s officer, who checked them all off on a list, ensured that they all had their luggage and then shepherded them to a waiting coach.

Then they were whisked in air-conditioned comfort along the East Coast Parkway past the glorious profusion of vast banks of bougainvillaeas, over the harbour bridges under the lee of the towering skyscrapers to the World Trade Centre harbour, and were very soon ensconced aboard the Island Pearl , their home for the next ten days.

Looking around her, Maggie decided that it was certainly sumptuous without being in the least bit tacky, and small enough for a definitely family feel. Her grandmother would have enjoyed it, Maggie thought with a pang, but then reminded herself that it was entirely her own fault she was missing it.

She was shown to her cabin, a surprisingly spacious twin down on the Java deck—by a freak of fate, she thought, on the same deck as the medical centre. There and then she vowed to tell no one that she was a doctor, or she’d be hounded by the malingerers if she so much as emerged from her cabin and caught them in search of the ship’s MO.

The cabin, she noted, was blissfully cool. Even this early the air outside was hot, and given time would soar into the eighties or nineties.

She peered through the porthole and saw a flotilla of little fishing vessels and small yachts milling about in the harbour. Fascinated, she propped her chin on her hand and watched for several minutes, until the public address system ‘ting-tonged’ into life.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a well-modulated female voice began, ‘welcome aboard the Island Pearl. If you would care to make your way to the Malacca deck in half an hour where a buffet breakfast is awaiting you, the captain and crew will be pleased to meet you and give you details of the entertainments and facilities available for your enjoyment during your cruise with us. A map of the ship is posted by each companionway, and another copy is in each cabin by the door. We look forward to your company.’

Ting-tong.

Maggie realised that she was starving. Investigating the doors in her cabin, she found a little shower-room and a wardrobe. Hot, sticky and travel-weary, she had just stripped and was standing under the shower when there was a tap on the door.

‘Your luggage, madam,’ a voice said, and a suitcase appeared in the cabin.

‘Perfect timing,’ she said with satisfaction, and, towelling herself dry, she opened the case and studied the contents.

Not being spoilt for choice, she pulled out a cotton jersey T-shirt dress in pansy-blue that almost exactly matched her eyes, and slipped her feet into cotton sandals.

Tying back her damp hair into a pony-tail with a big fabric band, she brushed on a lick of lipstick and smiled falsely at herself.

Good grief! she thought. I’m nervous. How ridiculous.

With that she opened her cabin door, locked it behind her and made her way up to the Malacca deck.

She was eyeing the buffet and wishing Lucinda was with her after all when a sprightly woman in her sixties smiled at her.

‘Dazzling choice, isn’t it? I’m Rhoda. How do you do?’

Maggie took the proffered hand. ‘Maggie. I’m pleased to meet you.’ And she was, she realised, relaxing almost visibly. ‘Are you alone too?’

‘Yes—which is understandable. But you should have some gorgeous young thing in tow—how about the first officer? He’s spectacularly handsome if you like the Latin type. Bit short, but then you aren’t tall. Or one of the others—I saw the perfect man a little while ago. I do so love men in uniform, don’t you, dear? So romantic, somehow …’

Maggie laughingly restrained her. ‘Please, Rhoda! I’ve been working very hard and I’m here to rest. The last thing I need is a romance.’

‘Rubbish! Everybody needs romance! It’s the most revitalising thing in the world. Now let me see …’

Maggie eyed her new companion warily. ‘You don’t by any chance know my grandmother, do you? Lucinda Wells.’

‘Lucinda Wells—no, I can’t say I do, darling. Why?’

Maggie shrugged ruefully. ‘Oh, nothing. You just reminded me of her.’

Rhoda threw back her head and let out a rippling tinkle of laughter. ‘Oh, dear, excuse me … Is she trying to marry you off, poppet?’

‘You could say that!’

Rhoda patted her hand. ‘Can’t say I blame her. You’re far too pretty to let loose on the streets alone. I’d want you settled, too.’

But despite the constant roving of Rhoda’s eyes during breakfast in the Frangipani Room and the more formal welcome that followed it in the Penang Lounge, the perfect man remained mercifully invisible.

Shortly after the captain finished his welcoming speech, the ship’s engines thrummed gently to life and she pulled slowly out of harbour and began the lazy cruise down the Java Sea to Bali.