Love a Sailor (4 page)

My guess is correct. The Captain turns on
Tony waving my bra at him. “You let
your girl
, as you call her, cavort
about the deck, half drunk, in this cold. If you weren’t so drunk and you
weren’t already on the floor, I would knock you down, Sir.” And he gives Tony a
contemptuous kick. “Get up!”

“As for you, my girl—” the Captain
begins, jerking me to my feet.

“I’m not your girl any more than I’m
Tony’s, remember!”

“Don’t split hairs with me, Meredith.
Come, I’ll help you back to your cabin.”

As I straighten up, I see the rest of our
group in a frozen block where they’ve spilled round the corner and come up
short at the sight of the Captain. Apart from Pete, they all drop their eyes at
my apparent disgrace. Pete calls out drunkenly, “Now who’s been a naughty girl
then?”

The Captain rounds on him. “Get out of
the cold and go to bed, and don’t mess about on my watch again.”

He shrugs himself out of his jacket and
drapes it round my shoulders. I bark my shin on the foot-high storm sill, as he
hurries me inside and down the corridor to the atrium, almost dragging me off
my feet. No sexy thoughts in the elevator this time as he glowers across at me.

“Out!” he orders when we reach my floor.

He frog-marches me in silence to my door
where he lets go of me only to allow me to find my key. As I search for it in
the pocket of my skintight jeans, he leans towards me and slaps his hands
against the wall on either side of my head, invading my personal space with his
cologne and the vehemence of the words he spits at me.

“Meredith, take care of the company you
keep. What is the point of my denying myself only to have you throwing yourself
away on such worthless drunken lout?”

“Captain, you’re frightening me.”

He pulls away and shakes himself. “I’m
sorry, but you just make me so mad. Have some self-respect. You’re too young to
drink like that every night for eleven weeks. Imagine what you’ll be like at
the end of the voyage.”

“What about Kate. You didn’t say anything
to her?”

“I don’t give a damn about Kate, but I do
care about you. Give it here,” he says, as I fumble with my plastic key in the
door. He snatches it off me, swipes it and pushes me inside. “Now get some
sleep. We’ll be passing Gibraltar at about seven in the morning — if you can be
bothered to get up and see it.”

Kate is coming down the corridor as he
turns and leaves. He strides right past her without appearing to notice her.

“What’s got into him?” she asks, as she
staggers through the door. “Bit over the top all that, wasn’t it?”

I
make it to the deck in time to watch our passage through the straits of
Gibraltar. Although I’m wrapped up warmly against the cold January morning, the
early morning sea mist condenses on my nose making it tingle. The famous rock
rises up out of the mist on our left, and the ship slips past like the
Flying
Dutchman
, smoothly silent on a calm gray sea.

I walk to the prow of the ship and look
up at the bridge, imagining the Captain at the helm, steering this
multi-million-dollar ship through the narrow nine-mile-wide straits, a busy
waterway which sees the passage of over 300 vessels a day. He holds the safety
of 4,000 souls in his hands and yet he troubled about mine. But his concern
annoys me. I’m not sure whether he was being proprietary or paternal last
night. Either was out of place. And anyway, who put him in charge of my
behavior? Yes, we all had too much to drink, but the Captain’s rebukes were out
of proportion. We were only being youthfully foolish and no harm was done,
apart from a large bruise on my shin.

I shake my head at my thoughts and make
my way back to our cabin to help Clara get Sukey ready for breakfast. Once
they’re seated in the dining room, I drink a hasty cup of tea and wrap a couple
of croissants in a napkin to take up on deck. I want to watch the coast of
Spain as we turn northwards to Malaga, where we’re due to dock before lunch.

I don’t see any of my new friends on deck
and guess that, like Kate, they are laid low with hangovers in their cabins.
It’s mid-morning now and a clear wintry sun is burning off the lingering mist
and warming my face as I gaze across to the mainland of Spain. We’re sailing in
ancient shipping lanes which were frequented by the Romans and the Phoenicians,
Spanish Galleons, Napoleon’s fleet and the naval warships of the Second World
War. The Mediterranean is a soup of naval history, the cradle of Western
civilization. I can’t wait to step ashore along the route and visit all the
places I’ve read about.

“Penny for your thoughts,” says a deep
voice in my ear. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I recognize the
Captain’s voice and his breath warms my ear. He has ranged his tall frame
against my back, imprisoning me with his arms, hands on the railing.

Annoyed by his ambush, I turn round
quickly, but that only makes our position more intimate as now I’m facing him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”

He chuckles. For a moment I think he’s
going to put his arms around me, but he steps away and tips up my chin,
bringing his face down close to mine. He blows a stray lock of hair away from
my eyes and stays looking down at me, while the air between us sizzles and my
knees turn to jello.

“Do you forgive me for my highhandedness
last night, or should I say early this morning?”

I nod because I can’t speak. He’s still
holding my chin.

He goes on, “I saw you earlier, but I
couldn’t leave the bridge. I’ve a few minutes before I have to go back and take
control for our docking at Malaga. If I’m forgiven, would you like to come
ashore with me at Malaga?”

I’m nonplussed. I didn’t expect any further
attention from him after his protestation at my youth. “But I’ve already made
arrangements to go with the gang. Clara’s staying on board with Sukey, and she
thinks I’m going with Kate and the others. She wouldn’t approve of my going
with you. Because of your age. And, anyway, she hasn’t even met you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to go with me,
Meredith? I’m a good guide.” He takes my elbow. “Come, walk me back to the
stairway while I try and convince you. I know all the interesting places,
cultural and fun. I’ve asked the Social Secretary to send your aunt an
invitation for you both to dine at my table every night. That way we can get to
know each other. I hope that will do away with your last objection and soothe
any misgivings your aunt may have.”

“Yes … but she hasn’t met you yet, and I
know she wouldn’t approve even if she had.”

We reach the doorway he has to take up to
the bridge. He stops and faces me, rolling his shoulders as he asks me, “How
about you carry on with your plan to go ashore with your friends and I meet you
somewhere? As if by accident?”

I lean back against the wall by the door
and study my foot as I rub it backwards and forwards on the decking, thinking
his proposition over. Of course, I want to accept, but the suggested
deviousness makes me uncomfortable. I’m torn between loyalty to Clara and the
strange excitement that engulfs me whenever I’m with the Captain.

“Meredith, I have to get back to the
bridge,” he prompts, as he rocks in place waiting for my answer. “What’s it to
be?”

I can’t keep him waiting any longer, it’s
disrespectful. “All right, but where shall I meet you?”

He lets out his breath. “Whew! You had me
worried for a bit there. Thought I was losing my touch. I’ll meet you at the
bottom of the
Calle Marqu
é
s
de Larios
, that’s the
end nearest the sea. Most important street in Malaga. Your friends will love
it, shops and caf
é
s galore. Wait for me on the first bench
you come to. Wear flat comfortable shoes and bring a jacket. We will be doing a
lot of walking and it’s going to be cold this evening.”

He gives my hair a quick tug as one would
a pony’s forelock, “Till three then, Merrylegs,” and disappears into the ship.

*

At noon we sail through a magic doorway and
there before us is the city of Malaga, ancient and modern. Our berth is part of
a clean new complex which tucks giant cruise ships in under the wing of the
city.

The four of us have lunch on board to
save our pockets and take the shuttle bus along the mile-long pier to the port
gates, which open out onto the tree-lined
Alameda Principal.
Across the
Alameda
and we’re at the foot of the
Calle Marqu
é
s de Larios
. Ahead of us stretches a wide walkway,
paved with marble and polished stone, and lined by top of the market fashion
stores. Terra cotta planters with miniature yew trees and benches for the tired
shopper to get a second breath, run up on both sides, disappearing into the
distance. Old fashioned wrought iron lamp posts, fringed with hanging baskets,
give height to the wide passage, drawing the eye to the modern shop-fronts.
It’s sparkling clean, the marble shining in the afternoon sun. There aren’t
many people around as it’s still siesta time, and so I find the first bench
unoccupied and sit down, leaving the others to walk on without me. But Kate
notices

“What are you doing?” she asks, turning
back and stopping in front of me, arms akimbo. “We’ve only just got here. You
can’t be tired already.”

“Kate, I have something to tell you,
something important.”

She rolls her eyes. “Meredith, now is not
the time for confidences.” She leans down and tugs my arm. “Come on, I don’t
want to miss a moment of this wonderful shopping opportunity.”

“Kate,” I raise my voice to cut through
her impatience with me.

She tosses her head, “Oh, okay.” She sits
down beside me. “I can see it’s important, tell Auntie Kate.”

The others have stopped and Pete makes a
What-now?
gesture with his hands.

Kate calls out, “You go on; we’ll catch
you up.” She puts her hand on my knee, “What is it, Merry?”

I drop my chin to my chest and fiddle
with my bracelet.

“Well?”

“I’m ashamed to tell you, but I have to
ask you to cover for me today.”

She snatches her hand away and leans back
to peer at my face. “What are you talking about?”

I glance up. She’s waiting with raised
eyebrows for me to speak.

“I’m meeting the Captain — any minute
now. He’s taking me round Malaga.”

Kate blinks. “What the heck? I thought he
gave you the brush-off after your dinner date, and then last night you said he
was insufferably interfering.”

I shrug. “What can I say? It’s confusing.
He made it difficult for me to refuse and I like his company.”

A slow smile edges across Kate’s face. “I
see. Little Meredith is growing up.”

“It’s nothing like that. Just a day out.
Nothing serious or heavy. But I’m worried about what Clara would say. She
wouldn’t understand, so please, sweet Kate, cover for me.”

She jumps up and claps me on the
shoulder, “Is that all? No worries. Anyway, here comes your captain now, I’d
better skedaddle.” She runs off after the others, calling over her shoulder,
“Buen
apetito!”
and I watch the Captain approach.

It’s good to see him out of uniform. He’s
wearing black Chelsea boots and skintight jeans, which run up his long legs to
disappear beneath an old worn pilot’s jacket. A turtleneck the same blue as his
eyes completes the look, which is one of relaxed style, casual yet
sophisticated. He catches sight of me and his eyes light up.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he
says, as he hastens up to me, takes me by the shoulders and kisses me on both
cheeks. He smells delicious, clean and spicy at the same time. Not letting go
of me, he searches my face. “Not having second thoughts?”

“No, but I don’t like being deceitful,
and Tony’s going to be so annoyed when he realizes I’ve got other plans.”

“That’s better. Now, what would you like to
do? Heavy culture like the Picasso museum or the cathedral, retail therapy in
some of the poshest shops in Spain or—”

“Or?”

“My recommendation: a visit to the
Alcazaba—”

“Which is?”

“It’s the ancient Moorish castle, and
there’s a Roman amphitheater nearby. You’ve heard of Granada?”

“Of course, and I noticed some ruins from
the ship but couldn’t see anything clearly — too far away.”

“This castle is on a more modest scale
than Granada, but as we can’t visit Granada in the time available, it will do
very nicely to give you a taste of the culture of the Moors. Do you feel like
walking? It’s not far. We could walk along the
Paseo Parque
before
turning back into the city again.”

“The Alcazaba for me. I love old castles
and the theater would be a bonus. I could do with stretching my legs after
being cooped up on a ship for days.”

The Captain laughs out loud at that. “If
you think Southampton to Malaga is a long voyage, just you wait until we cross
the Indian Ocean from Mombasa to Fremantle. I guess I’ll have to watch out for
signs of shipboard craziness.”

He takes my hand and we leave the
Calle
Marqu
é
s de Larios
, turn left onto the
Alameda
,
keeping the bright blue Mediterranean on our right. A little farther on the
Alameda
runs into the
Paseo Parque
and we stroll along beneath the palm trees.
We stop at a little pavement caf
é
for
un caf
é
solo
for the Captain and
un t
é
con leche
y una magdalena
for me.
Refreshments over, we enter the old streets leading to the ancient Moor castle.

The whole compound is much larger than I
imagined when I saw it from the
Albion
as we docked this morning. We
spend a couple of hours walking round the site. The Arabic style gardens with
their peristyles and fountains are beautiful and tranquil. They must be so
refreshing in the high temperatures of an Andalusian summer. The vaulted
ceilings of the high, cool buildings, each one a masterpiece in its own right,
are magnificent. I would like to stay longer, but we still have to see the
amphitheater, and I have to confess that Roman antiquities intrigue me more. We
have so short a time here in Malaga.

I take hold of the Captain’s arm as we
leave the palace. “I’d love to come back here again and look at everything
properly.”

He puts his hand over mine. “Maybe we
shall — sometime. Who knows what the future will bring? But I agree. Cruises
only give you the chance to find places you would like to visit — just a taste
and you have to move on.”

We leave the palace behind. It’s amazing,
but it’s close in time to our own American history. The Captain tells me it was
Isabella of Castile and her husband, Ferdinand of Aragon, who drove the Moors
out of Spain. It was they who financed Colombus’s voyage of discovery to the
Americas.

The Roman amphitheater on the other hand
is ancient, built in the first century BC. BC? Imagine that. That’s before
Christ and Christianity. We don’t have anything as old as that in the States.
Europeans live with vestiges of ancient western culture. They have it in their
backyards, so to speak. Although I’ve visited Roman ruins in England, I have
never seen an amphitheater before. It is so much more impressive than all the
postcards or Google images.

The Captain and I are standing on the
apron of the theater, gazing up at the tiers and tiers of precision-cut stone —
all made without power tools or computers. It’s vast. I pull my hand out of the
Captain’s and clap it to my heart, my breath catching. I can’t speak.