Page 17 of The Cruise

‘How long will this take?’ Jane wailed. ‘Can’t we go and find Errol and head back?’ She hated all the attention and dreaded what was coming. There was little chance that this local woman could create anything to enhance Jane’s appearance.

‘Give her a chance.’ Kath spoke firmly. She was fascinated by the seamstress at work.

Time seemed to drag as the machine pedal squeaked beneath Auntie’s slipper-encased feet. Kath wandered over to a clothes rail and, lifting a hanger, unfolded a garment. ‘Can I try this?’ she asked and looked hopefully at Auntie.

‘Sure t’ing, lady.’

Eventually, Auntie triumphantly held up a dress. She marched across the room and, turning the garment to the right side, slipped it over Jane’s shoulders and watched it fall softly into place.

‘G… gosh!’ Jane stammered. Her mouth fell open as she felt the soft, colourful fabric melt over her body.

Auntie produced a full-length mirror that had once been part of a wardrobe. Rusty hinges hung loosely on one side. She laughed as Jane twirled and swung the skirt of the dress. Her silhouette appeared slimmer, and the cut of the dress made Jane appear pounds lighter.

‘Oh, Auntie!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘You’re a miracle worker and I absolutely love it!’

‘If greedy wait, hot will cool.’ Auntie smiled, her expression now soft and warm.

Kath looked bemused. ‘I take it that patience is rewarded,’ she said and nodded her approval.

‘You look fabulous!’ Anne beamed as she watched Jane hold out her arms and hug Errol’s auntie.

Jane’s eyes were bright as Errol strolled into the room. ‘Lookin’ good,’ he said, ‘how many dresses do you want?’

‘Can Auntie make more?’

‘As many as you like, and I’ll deliver to the ship before you sail tonight.’

‘Whatever she can produce in lots of different colours.’ Jane agreed to a price with Errol.

‘I’ll take three of these too,’ Kath said and held out the garment that had fitted her perfectly.

As Kath began to eat her dinner, she glanced at Jane. Her friend spoke to The Captain, who’d arrived late, gripping his walking aid. Jane’s shoulders were relaxed, and the tension she usually wore around strangers appeared to have lifted. The colourful dress suited her. It softened her skin tone, unlike the harsh, ageing blacks and browns she customarily favoured.

With any luck, Kath thought as she tucked into a delicious chunk of salmon fillet, Jane’s new wardrobe would help her to enjoy the days ahead.

ChapterEight

Dicky Delaney sat backstage in the Neptune Lounge and stared at his face in the illuminated mirror. Tinted and tanned, he smiled his approval. ‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ he said.

The room was small and littered with female garments draped over an adjacent chair. Lipsticks, mascara, and eyeshadows covered the dressing table. Reaching out, Dicky grabbed a tube of bronze makeup and smoothed a layer onto his skin. He shared a dressing room with Melissa Montana, the ship’s leading vocalist, who was the untidiest woman he’d ever known. But Dicky saw no reason not to use her cosmetics. Gone were the days when he had a private area. Regardless of gender, artistes now had to bunk up and divvy the facilities.

Eyeing Melissa’s concealer pen, he dabbed the tip onto the shadows under his eyes. Dicky considered brushing translucent powder onto his cheekbones. ‘Best not.’ He grinned and gave his reflection a cheeky wink. ‘I don’t want to leave evidence on anyone’s pillow.’

He thought of the passengers he’d met as he wandered around the ship. As usual, women outnumbered men, and there was a good percentage of singles. Mostly retired, widowed and wealthy, they needed entertainment and Dicky’s stomping ground would prove fruitful during the cruise. His victims never spoke of their illicit relationships. They were too embarrassed to admit being sexually active and deceived out of money, and Dicky had enjoyed scores of deceptions over the years. Only once had he narrowly missed being pursued by an angry husband. But the ship had docked, enabling Dicky to disembark and speed away.

Dicky removed the towel he’d placed in the collar of his crisp white shirt to protect the fabric from makeup. Pushing his chair back, he stood and fastened his cuffs, then, taking a deep breath, rolled his shoulders and slowly circled his head.

A knock on the door alerted Dicky, and a voice announced, ‘Ten minutes to showtime, Mr Delaney.’

‘On my way,’ Dicky replied and reached out to remove his jacket from a wooden hanger. The jacket had sparkling lapels, which matched a similar strip on the side seam of his trousers. As he tied the laces on his shoes, Dicky saw his face in gleaming black patent. He picked up a bottle of spicy lemon aftershave and, closing his eyes, sprayed generously.

‘Five minutes, Mr Delaney!’

Dicky straightened up. He took one last look in the mirror and then patted his pockets for his notes. Not that he’d need any prompts, he’d performed this routine a hundred times to similar audiences and knew that they would be eating out of his hands.

Opening the door, Dicky stepped out.

At the side of the stage in the Neptune Lounge, he peeped out of the curtains. It was a first-night full house. The audience erupted as Melissa Montana hit the high note of her closing song to cheers and whistles.

---