"Never mind, the beaches are still there I imagine. 365 of them it's said, one for every day of the year. And I dare say the rum hasn't gone off."
"Indeed, sir," muttered the Third Officer in barely disguised disapproval. The Lord knew what his idea of fun was. W.C. Fields had something when he said, "Never trust a man who doesn't drink." I discretely checked my wallet though I couldn't really see Young Upright doing anything more dishonest than cheating at Happy Families.
"We must get on, sir. This is the last boat. We nearly went without you."
He gave an officious glare that was rather out of place on his pink face. I made my way down the steps and onto the tender.
"Cast off forrard! Cast off aft! Full speed ahead to that big bateau yonder!" I struck a pose in the bow.
The crew ignored me but managed to follow my orders anyway. I suppose they knew what they were doing.
We arrived at the gangplank with what I considered unnecessarily violent application of the brakes. I leapt aboard – twice, because the ship lurched and moved away the first time and a crew member rescued me by the shirt collar from a briny fate – and breezed up the gangplank to the hole in the ship's side that doubled as a portal for returning passengers. I was beginning to feel thirsty.
"Where the hell have you been, fish face?"
"Welcome home the wandering sailor, my love! Let the whole world know you have been pining for my return! Don't hide your relief under a bushel – embrace me!"
"Have you been drinking?"
"What a stupid question! Of course I've been drinking – drinking is what I do. You should know that by now."
Miss Lawrence didn't bother pursuing the issue. She knew well enough. She looked remarkably sober for twilight after a run ashore, so I guessed the question might have had something to do with being miffed at not having shared the nectar.
"Come, my dear, let us toast St Kitts as she disappears into the sunset."
I took my wife by the arm and led her glaring but not resisting in the direction of the Sharp End Bar.
"You wait 'til you hear what I found out today," she said with venomous glee.
"Not as juicy as what I found out, I dare say. Not as juicy at all. Why, Captain…"
"Watch it, buster. Ladies first. Unless you want those shiners touched up?"
My black eyes had reduced to barely discernible bruises by now, and I had no desire to recreate the panda look. I watched it. Ladies first it was.
We collared a couple of steamer chairs and in a trice a waiter with a good memory delivered margaritas. He went straight off to collect a couple more – he had a very good memory.
"The Black Widow got rogered by a couple of beach lotharios. She gave them wodges of money for the pleasure."
"That's hardly news, my love. Happens all the time. A well known industry in the West Indies. Frustrated honky women pay for a good seeing to then dump the poor buggers and go back to their secretary swiveling chairs or whatever. Services rendered, and a few more greenbacks into the local economy. Supply and demand."
I leaned back with the air of a man of the world who has imparted wisdom. The second margarita followed the first.
"That's not it, you fool. I couldn't care less how many beach boys she deflowers!"
I raised my eyebrows but refrained from comment.
"Lily May Scroggins!"
"Lily May who? What are you wittering about?"
"That's the name she had written in her book! In her Jackie Collins shopping and bonking book! In the same handwriting she wrote Gigi Goldfinkel on her checks! Have you got it yet?"
"No." I looked around for the waiter.
"You half wit! Her real name is Lily May Scroggins! Not Goldfinkel at all."
"So what? Elizabeth Windsor likes to be called "Your Majesty," but no one's arrested her yet. Now shut up and listen to some real news."
Jay's lips pressed together in a thin line, but she shut up like a good girl. I guessed she had more revelations to come. They could wait.
"Ahab has two wives and two sets of children!" I leaned back triumphantly.
"So do most Hollywood stars over the age of fourteen. What's the big deal?"
"They didn't know about each other, that's what the big deal is. They didn't know about each other until this afternoon, when they both bumped into him in The Circus. I had a grandstand view – best cat fight I've seen since From Russia with Love."
Stretching the truth, but I knew that would get my Jaykins going.
"So Ahab's a bigamist and you got your rocks off watching two women knocking each other's lights out. Move on, big boy – men are deceivers, in case you hadn't noticed."
I took a breath.
"Listen to a few facts from Detective Chief Superintendent Neptune.
"One – Ahab dropped a piece of paper, an unsigned note telling him to be outside Ballahoo at three o'clock if he knew what was good for him.
"Two – one of his paramours is a waitress at Ballahoo.
"Three – the other paramour made a long bus journey from the far end of the island in response to another unsigned note, which also fell into my hands in the melee."
Jay looked determinedly uninterested, but there was a glint in her eye that told she had made the connection.
"Add one, two and three and you get…"
"…a blackmailer's bluff called!"
"But it wasn't any bluff. Now all we have to do is find out who it was."
"Bravo, Sherlock!"
I puffed on my imaginary pipe. I really must give it up – it looks stupid.
The third margarita disappeared and I was feeling peckish.
"It's a short hop to Antigua. I suggest, my dear, that we partake of dinner in our cabin tonight. I bought myself a rather spiffing new belt today. Heavy, embossed…"
Miss Lawrence looked up at me. Her lips parted and a tip of pink tongue appeared.
"I'll put up a fight…"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RUMBLE IN WADADLI
"And this time, you're not abandoning me with a cart load of Bingo-obsessed senior citizens! I want to see something of your blessed Wadiddly."
"My wadiddly is always at your command, as you very well know, my love."
I gave Harry a disparaging look and he winked, his eye already firmly fixed upon the varied delights of St. Johns, Antigua. We stood in a small square, freshly deposited by yet another kamikaze cab driver, and I swayed slightly, still regaining my land legs. My other half scanned the milling crowds, as if looking for something specific. Finally, his face lit up and he took me by the hand and strode off towards a small wooden cubicle with a brightly hand-painted sign.
Hardy Tours
The Isle in a Day
"I shall treat you to a tour worthy of Her Majesty!"
"Well, oi'll be damned!"
It took me some time to discern that there was, in fact, a person concealed within the shadowy confines of the rather rustic erection. It was a very small and wiry looking man with a thick Irish accent. Predictably, the leprechaun recognized Harry and leaned over the little counter of the hut to shake his hand enthusiastically.
"Oi'll be damned. Harry Neptune. Oi tot ye'd bin run off the oisland for good, ye wicked divil ye! And who, might oi inquire, is the comely young lady?"
The little man was as full of blarney as a Limerick bar at closing time. He was anywhere from fifty to sixty years old, his rather cadaverous looking face deeply creased by the sun. Bright blue eyes squinted from beneath reddish brows and he somewhat reminded me of Peter Pan. Harry turned to me.
"Jay, I'd like you to meet Kismet Hardy, an old friend of mine. Kismet Hardy, this is my new wife, Jay."