Let’s party like it’s 1999!

By

Pam Keevil

Jimmy Franks turned at the sound of hysterical laughter to see a woman in bright pink sequins flapping a heavily ringed hand as she attempted to control her giggles. He’d found his next target.

‘Please, we’re not all aging party animals on a booze cruise. Take myself for example, I’m interested in the villas and castles and all that wonderful furniture. I hope it’ll give me an idea how to decorate my new place in Connecticut.’ Her voice must have woken the aging string quartet from their torpor as they struck up a lively jig. Loud was not the correct adjective; deafening was preferable.

Jimmy accepted a whisky from a white-gloved waiter and drank it down in one. Had he heard correctly? A rich American woman interested in interior design and here he was with a collection of business cards, a cheap mobile phone and the new identity of Jean Francois, collectibles a speciality. He replaced his glass and refused a second drink. He’d remain sober till he jumped ship at Gibraltar. If all went to plan, there’d be plenty of time to celebrate before he retired to his small bungalow in Bexhill on Sea and a quieter life of dancing, bridge and bowls.

He ran a hand through his grey hair, still worn long which he considered suggested a Bohemian background and adjusted the cuffs of his frilled, white dress shirt with the gold and pearl cufflinks. With a series of bobs, bows and murmurs of “Excuse me,” he squeezed his way through the crowds. The blue velvet curtains had already been drawn to keep out the sight of the grey English Channel and with the floor only slightly moving, it created the perfect impression of a luxury hotel rather than a ship.

Jimmy sidled over. ‘Did I hear you say you lived in Connecticut?’

‘Why yes, do you know it?’  Her smooth face was out of place above a sun wrinkled neck and chest, her accent more South London than Stateside, but she looked every inch the rich widow so it was worth continuing.

‘No madam. I have never had the pleasure but it always makes me think of that wonderful film, in which they sing …’ he stumbled over the words and was rather proud of the French lilt he had adopted.

‘That would be White Christmas in the film Holiday Inn. How clever of you to remember-’ she interrupted. ‘That film is so like the winters at home when I was a little girl.’

Jimmy bowed his head in what he hoped was a suitably Gallic fashion. ‘May I introduce myself? I am Jean Francois.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

She let Jimmy’s lips brush her hand as he noted her rings. An emerald the size of a gull’s egg, a sapphire and diamond cluster and several gold bands would bring in a tidy sum. ‘And who do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Sorry. I’m Patricia Cadwallader. I decided not to revert back to my maiden name once dear Basil had passed away but you must call me Patsy.’ She fumbled in her bag, drew out a white lace handkerchief and dabbed her nose.

‘I would be honoured if you would take my card and if I can be of any service, please do not hesitate to contact me.’ Jimmy pulled a slim, silver case from his pocket and offered her a bevelled-edge card.

‘Jean François, Exporter of art, antiques and collectibles,’ she read aloud and placed a hand on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I would just love your advice on some local style paintings for my new home. I want to create a truly Mediterranean feel.’

‘At your service,’ Jimmy said and bowed again. ‘Perhaps we can talk more at a later date?’

‘Delighted,’ Patsy smiled as Jimmy moved away to turn his attention to a white-haired gentleman who was talking about golf. It wasn’t wise to focus too much on the target so early in the voyage. There would be plenty of opportunities for any number of casual encounters on strolls round the deck, meetings in the lunch buffet and of course attendance at the endless lectures and study groups. He had two days before they docked at Vigo. He smiled to himself. It was his favourite city on the Atlantic coast of Spain where he had entertained many delightful ladies in the past. There would be time enough to ingratiate himself with the lady in question before moving to stage two. For the rest of the evening Jimmy exchanged stories of holidays with a number of fellow guests. More than once he had the uncanny feeling he was being watched and from time to time he noticed Pasty waving at him. He responded with a bow. This heist might be the easiest ever.

The first hint they were approaching stormy weather was the sick bags placed at every corner. The second was the sun loungers taped together and pushed under an awning. The swell grew until most of the guests were confined to their rooms. Jimmy didn’t mind; the rougher the better except it did mean he could be strapped for time. He was strolling along the main shopping area, heading towards the library when a voice called. ‘Monsieur Francois, how are you today?’ A face poked round the side of a red, leather wing chair.

‘I am very well, unlike many of these poor people,’ he indicated a grey faced couple who staggered towards the lift.

‘I love stormy days,’ Patsy said and patted the seat next to her. ‘It can’t be too rough for me. I was about to have coffee and a brandy but I hate drinking alone. Would you care to join me?’

‘I would be delighted,’ he said and sat down. He was the one who usually made the first move, discreetly of course. It must be the storm. People might appear brave but inside they were terrified. A frail human body was no match for the wrath of the oceans. ‘Perhaps you could tell me more about the plans for your new home. Vigo is not a good shopping destination but when we land on some of the islands, there are a number of small galleries and pottery workshops showcasing local crafts. A purchase of one or two items as an aide memoir would be useful.’

Patsy clasped his left hand between hers. ‘That would be wonderful. Tell me more.’ She signalled to a young waiter. ‘Manny, two coffees and brandies.’

Jimmy, of course picked up this tab and the ones for the champagne cocktails before dinner and all the little extras they consumed over the course of the next day as well. On the third day, the wind dropped, the sun broke through the clouds and the ship sailed on serene waters into the small harbour where the town with its white buildings and terracotta roofs nestled against a backdrop of pine covered hills. It was Patsy who suggested they take a stroll together rather than an organised tour. A few Euros for a coffee was within Jimmy’s budget.

He had it all planned. They would become friends and spend time together until the last night. After a prodigious amount of alcohol, he would accompany Pasty to her stateroom and tuck her up in bed. As the fireworks celebrating the millennium died away, Jimmy would open the safe with her own keys and remove a few valuables like credit cards, passports and jewellery. He would return to his cabin, pack a small rucksack and be off, informing the stewards that he had an invitation to a late-night party and would be back before dawn. From the harbour he would take a series of trains and buses to Calais. Jean Francois would leave the ship but Jimmy Franks would arrive back at Dover.  

It was on their third port of call at Malaga when Jimmy directed Patsy down a small alley, past the shops full of neon t shirts, Chinese made glass bowls and plates to a small gallery.

‘I suggest you buy one item here as the colours are perfect and will be a palette for you to work with when you get home.’ Jimmy winked at the owner who always slipped him ten percent. Except Patsy was not buying. She took lots of photographs and said she would be in touch once she was back in the States. The same happened in Sicily, Cannes and Barcelona. Not that Jimmy minded. It would mean there was more available on her credit cards for him to use and rather than focus on getting her to spend so he could enjoy the commission, he could enjoy her company which he was finding more pleasant every day.

Before they arrived in Gibraltar for the millennium celebrations, there was one final port of call. Ibiza was always a good draw for the tourists as there were so many artists and Jimmy hoped to reclaim some cash when Patsy finally bought a memento of her holiday from his contact behind the harbour. As the ship docked Jimmy stood on the top deck. He liked watching the pilot boats and tugs guide the huge ship into its berth. Below him on the promenade deck was a familiar figure. He was about to call when he stopped. Patsy was talking animatedly to Manny, the waiter who prepared their cocktails every evening. One hand rested on the lapels of his jacket while another brushed a stray hair from his eyes.

Jimmy’s hands clenched the rails. The knuckles tuned white and he felt his mouth twisting. His stomach too was churning like the water under the propellers. How dare she pay attention to someone else? He wanted her attention, all of it, all the time. Like a wave cracking over the prow, Jimmy understood what had happened. After thirty years of wining, dining and schmoozing women of all races and types, he had let his heart be won over. He would have to do something about it.

*****

Jimmy slipped the small promise ring he’d bought from a local silversmith in Ibiza into his top pocket. Tonight, he’d declare his love. He was certain Pasty felt the same. She’d talked of them meeting up after the cruise. She’d danced closely when most women kept a discreet distance. She liked to snuggle into the crook of his arm when they walked the decks. Tonight, she had suggested they meet in her room for an early evening drink. He had never been invited into Patsy’s stateroom before. Was this also an indication of her affection? He tapped on the door. Patsy opened it, wearing the pink sequinned dress from the first night. Scattered around the room was evidence of a habit of buying art work from the ship’s gallery. Several small boxes with the latest designer watches and jewellery from the ship’s prestigious collection lay open on the coffee table.

‘I took the liberty of asking Manny to prepare us our favourites.’ Patsy giggled.

Jimmy accepted the glass. He would wait till the fireworks began and as they watched from the balcony, he would get down on one knee and propose.

 ‘Cheers,’ she handed him his usual drink. Entwining his arm round hers, Jimmy took a sip. The flavour of cocoanut was a bit stronger than usual; Manny was losing his touch.

*****

They found Jimmy the following morning as the crew were conducting a safety drill and searching the whole ship. He was face down in a washing basket in the launderette. His head pounded and when he dragged himself back to his room, discovered he had been cleaned out. Even the ring had gone. Patsy Cadwallader, of course, had left the ship as soon as the fireworks began, taking with her several paintings, some jewellery and watches and leaving behind a huge credit card bill and a fake American passport. She was accompanied by a waiter, called Emmanuel Loyola.