'ORIANA'

PROLOGUE

Dearest ‘G’

The holiday is nearly at an end, what a thrilling episode in our lives, what a ride! Not even tainted by the unfortunate event at our cabin a few nights ago, and made all the more special
by meeting you.

‘ You have been so sweet to me.’

I only wish it didn’t have to end, but I fear it will and we will never see each other again. I apologize for my husband’s behaviour. He is such a loutish bore, but it’s the drink speaking. He is a man of low self-esteem, always felt he wasn’t good enough and therefore sought solace in the demon spirit. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what I saw in him all those years ago. Just a physical thing, I think.

It has been a pleasure to meet your delightful family especially the ‘girls.’ I feel Ben certainly has a soft spot for one of them. I think you know which one it is. If her name is not ‘ up in lights’ when she is older I will be surprised!

I will miss our special moments together – all too brief, all too delicious! I guess it will remain our secret for neither of us can afford to sacrifice what we already have, can we?

Bon Voyage my loving, caring ‘G’
Your play full pussycat ‘J’

PS I sense your wife is already suspicious, so tread carefully on your return. Visit me in your dreams.

CHAPTER 1

Mid Atlantic 1974

A lone gull glides effortlessly on the breeze generated by a warm trade wind. Far below, her looks controversial to some, the unmistakable knuckled, bulbous bow, terraced back superstructure, oddly placed funnels and piled up stern decks of a regal cruise ship. Named after Queen Elizabeth the 1st the SS Oriana is the pride of the P&O fleet.

In the bowels of the ship a child slips un-noticed from his cabin. His stomach churns. He feels guilty about abusing his parents trust, but this will be their last night to-gether. And if they are caught? It will be her fault, she made him do it. Barefoot, dressed only in shorts and a T shirt, he follows a familiar, well trodden route, along the plush, double E monogrammed carpets, of the ship’s interior. He hurries past cabin after cabin. Some doors are ajar, light spilling into the corridor. As he passes he catches snippets of ‘ after- dinner’ laughter and conversation. He turns a corner and hears adult voices approaching, he double backs to find another route, his thin brown legs hurrying him along.

Driven by twin Pametrada geared turbines, the 42,000 tonne liner motors at a cruising speed in excess of 30 knots. In the dwindling half-light, her large bow crest and corn coloured hull are instantly recognisable to all vessels. As dusk approaches, dark menacing, cumulonimbus storm clouds billow up. A crisp, salty, sea spray covers the unprotected decks in a sheen of fine gossamer.

The sea is eerily quite as the ship cuts through the Atlantic swell on the return leg of her three week voyage. Inside the 1,677 passengers are finishing dinner. Some retire to their cabins while others congregate in the majestic Princess lounge for late night entertainment. From afar, as she continues homeward via Vigo, a deep water Spanish port, the twinkling lights of her upper decks look like miniature stars on a sapphire canvass. After almost three weeks at sea, her ultimate destination is the south coast estuary port of Southampton.

The journey from his cabin on E deck up to the promenade deck takes less than five minutes. He hopes he won’t be missed. In cabin E702 his younger sister is already asleep. Foolishly he has ignored his parents explicit instructions to stay in the cabin, and watch over her. Meanwhile many decks above, in the Princess lounge his mother and father are enjoying the Tuesday night cabaret. His father will probably return drunk to the cramped four berth cabin and snore loudly, keeping them all awake. Over the last two and half weeks he has already proved himself to be a formidable drinking companion, ingratiating himself with the boisterous, Essex crowd. His Herculean achievements include his winning performance in the limbo competition where he was hilariously dressed in a hula-hula skirt and garlands. With his tight blonde curly hair he looked like a native of some far off desert island. For the boy and his sister it was just more ritual embarrassment.

The young boy’s journey is nearly at an end. He continues along a rubber -matted, external walkway, then through a heavy safety door. Back in the cosseted warmth of the ship he slips, in the dark, between tables and chairs. Eventually he reaches the forward of the ship. Internally this is as far as fare- paying passengers can go. ‘No admittance crew only,’ the sign over the next door says. Peering through the window, he can see the bow rising and falling, the spray cascading against the glass. In the distance the flag carrying the P&O insignia flutters in the gusting wind. He remembers how sick he felt in those early days, before they all got their sea legs. How strange it was that it didn’t seem to affect the grown- ups, only the children. Or perhaps the adults were more skilled in creating the illusion of a settled stomach.
‘Don’t look out of the window, concentrate on a fixed object inside,’ the supervisor of the kids club advised the children under her jurisdiction. Of course it didn’t work. He threw up continually for the first two days.

No one comes here at night. The bridge and crib tables are deserted. Along the thick, bulkhead walls, orange and green neon lighting, pulses intermittently. Crouching down he feels for the hatch and pushes through into their secret place. He blinks his eyes. It takes a while to adjust to the gloom. He hopes she’s remembered.

‘ Are you here?’ The boy whispers.

Silence.

He asks again, a little louder. ‘ Is anyone here?’

‘Ben over here.’ Comes a girls recognizable voice.

His chest heaves an almost audible sigh of relief. He crawls over sun bed cushions to the far corner, their secret place. A pin prick of light from his small pen torch picking out her ghostly white face.

‘Have you got it?’ The girl enquires.

‘Yes.’ The boy reaches into the back pocket of his shorts and withdraws a small object wrapped in a handkerchief.

‘Here, unwrap it.’ He feels for her soft warm hand, placing the package in her palm.

‘Is it the one I saw by the pool.?’ She enquires.

‘Yes.’ Her fingers run over the object she had so admired a few days earlier.

‘Can I keep it?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘For ever?’

‘Yes, for ever. But you must never tell anyone I gave it to you. Promise me. Cross your heart and hope to die.’

The girl crosses her arms over her chest. ‘I promise for as long as I live, never to tell anyone where I got it. ’

He leans closer and her hand finds his and in the dark their lips touch and they kiss properly; mimicking the famous film stars they watch together, night after night in the ship’s cinema. As they hold each other he realizes their holiday of a lifetime will soon be at an end. They will return to their own families, their own towns, their own separate lives. Insurmountable hurdles to overcome. He wonders if he will ever see her again? Although, at this moment, he thinks this is the happiest day of his life.

She has a burning need to tell him she also has found something, something dreadful, but she bites her lip. She doesn’t want to spoil this special moment. So many secrets.
‘Ben’
‘Yes’
‘Nothing.’
It can wait.

The lone gull swoops down to rest on the stern, the Union Jack flag, flying proudly. The drone of the engines reverberate through the wooden hand rail and behind the ship, her massive twin screws churn a phosphorescent wake as she heads into the night.