Table For Eight

One

Paddington, Sydney, 2018

The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun. A sudden thunderstorm in January wasn’t unusual, and Sydneysiders were used to it. On the corner of Mayfair and Third streets the white facade of number one gleamed in the sunshine, a beacon of brightness among the dull greys and terracotta colours of the old terrace houses stretching away on either side. Shoppers were out again, stepping over the puddles, and two joggers pounded around the corner, nearly colliding with a delivery woman who pushed open the door to number one.

A bell tinkled, and the courier paused to take in the decor. The room’s discreet lighting added to the sunshine coming in through the large plate-glass windows. The walls were lined with racks of chic dresses, tailored jackets and stylish skirts, perhaps a little too crowded to show off their quality. Another circular rack in the middle of the room drooped under the weight of formal wear – long dresses, silk creations, laces and chiffons in colours from the brightest scarlet to the softest blue. The delivery woman strode forward.

The young assistant at the counter looked up expectantly, her ready smile creasing into a frown as she noted the wet footprints being left across the whitewashed wooden floor of the main entrance to Ketty Clift Couture.

Deliveries at the side entrance.

The courier plonked a small box on the counter. I was told this was urgent.

The assistant’s eyes widened when she saw the name of the sender. She signed for the package, scooped it up and, with only a quick thought to retrieving the mop on her way back, she hurried past the heavy linen drapes of the fitting rooms, through the client lounge and out into the brightly lit work area.

Neither the woman bent over the large cutting table nor the other two focused on their sewing machines paid her any attention. The warm tones of jazz could be heard each time the machines paused. Six women worked here and they took turns to select the background music of the day. Today it was Miss Ketty’s choice and she always went for jazz.

In the back corner of the workshop she caught a glimpse of her employer’s now chin-length grey hair. It was swept back from her forehead in a look that might be harsh on some but was softened by the waves of hair that curled back and around to her cheeks. It was a crowning glory above the elegant but simple black shirt and pants the older woman favoured. She was bent over a drafting table with her manager, both engrossed in what they were doing. The assistant hurried in their direction.

Ketty Clift adjusted her reading glasses on her nose with one hand while the pencil in her other swept over the paper, adding lines to the sketch. She was acutely aware of Judith Pettigrew’s sharp gaze following every mark.

Just another tuck here below the bust and slightly more fullness over the hips…and the hem sitting just at the knee.

You don’t think it a little over the top for a woman in her seventies?

Ketty added a few finishing touches. Judith was an excellent dressmaker and more than capable in her role as Ketty’s second in command, but she sometimes lacked that little extra creativity to translate the customer’s design into a sketch that could then be drafted to a pattern. Her eagerness to get the job done sometimes made her seem brusque but beneath her stiff exterior Ketty knew Judith to be kind-hearted. Ketty also knew the woman who had ordered this dress very well. It would be the fifteenth special outfit she’d made for Enid Hanson and she understood what suited the tall but curvy body of her long-time customer.

Our work is to make our client look exquisite but also to feel special. Enid still has great legs. Ketty’s hand swished lower down the paper. The eggplant shantung will complement her complexion and provide a soft rustle as she moves. She could picture Enid in the outfit that, as yet, was still a sketch created from the magazine pictures she had provided at her first appointment.

Ketty looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps across the polished cement floor of the workroom.

Miss Carslake, we do not run in this establishment. Judith’s clipped voice brought a glow to the younger woman’s cheeks and she slowed her approach.

Ketty smiled at the young assistant. Her dark brown hair, straight with a fringe sitting just above her eyebrows, created a frame for her pale face. She wore a dress of sheer black fabric she’d designed herself. It was skilfully cut so that it floated around her small frame without bulk and stopped well above her knees showing off her shapely legs, which disappeared into the black leather of her Doc Marten boots. A heavy silver chain hung around her neck, the cross it supported resting just above her waist and giving her the look of an angelic but slightly underdressed nun.

What is it, Lacey?

This box arrived by courier. I think it’s the buttons you were waiting on for Miss Davidson’s wedding dress. The assistant’s look shifted to the orchid chiffon and lace garment on a nearby dressmaker’s dummy.

Thank you, Lacey. Ketty took the box and hugged it to her. What a relief.

The dress is looking beautiful, Miss Ketty. Lacey turned back. You can rest easy on your cruise now. It will be finished in time. She stayed where she was.

Is there something else?

I also wanted to let you know my IT friend has your new website ready. I’d love to show it to you before you go.

Ketty glanced at her watch. I don’t think I have time, Lacey. The internet was of little interest to Ketty when it came to her business, which had been founded on the belief that it was the personal touch that mattered to her customers, and she couldn’t equate that with the online world. She’d had a young lad create a website several years earlier and had done nothing to it since. Lacey had convinced her to update it. A friend would do it for a small cost. Ketty had been pleased by Lacey’s enthusiasm but it was low on her list of priorities. It’s your baby. I’m happy to trust you with it and I’ll have a look when I return.

Lacey hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

Hurry along, Miss Carslake. Judith drew herself up. She had a similar angular frame to Ketty’s but she was almost a head taller and towered over petite Lacey. I assume the front counter is unattended while you are out here.

On my way back now, Mrs Pettigrew.

I’ll look at it as soon as I return. Ketty smiled. And don’t forget to help yourself to my cherry tomatoes when you water the garden, will you? I can’t bear to think of them going to waste and I know how much you love them.

Thank you, Miss Ketty. Lacey’s look was earnest. And don’t you worry about your garden, or your cat, or the office, or the website. I’ll take good care of it all.

I know you will. The thing was, changes would have to be made to the business. Ketty’s recent trip to the accountant had made that quite clear and a website was the least of her concerns.

Lacey gave a brief nod then strode briskly back across the workshop. Beside Ketty there was a sniff, a soft but censorial sound.

You won’t be too tough on her while I’m gone, will you, Judith?

Judith flung out her hands. She finds any excuse to desert her post. You know if she’s not checking the internet, she’ll be out in the yard every five minutes while you’re gone, on the pretext of looking after your garden.

Ketty met her manager’s glare. I like her spunk.

Judith sniffed again. I like her but I’d prefer she spent more time on her actual duties. Mail, banking, accounts, answering the phone and greeting customers. Judith ticked off her fingers as she spoke. And I still can’t get used to those boots.

Every day is a new surprise when she comes to work. Ketty smiled. It was high cork wedges yesterday. We need someone with some style to be the face of the shop.

There’s style and there’s style.

Like Ketty, Judith wore plain skirts or trousers to work. It was the job of the dressmaker to blend in and not outshine the customer but the front of house should have glamour and Lacey had that in spades.

Ketty looked back at her sketch. She had great faith in all her employees, Judith included. She had come to Ketty twenty-five years ago as a young dressmaker, painfully shy with a terminally ill mother-in-law to care for and a useless husband. She had been desperate to find work but had lost previous jobs because of her poor attendance. Ketty had instantly recognised her excellent tailoring skills. She had employed her and allowed her to work from home when necessary. Her trust in Judith had been rewarded over and over again; with her hard work and clever cutting, she had proven herself one of the best dressmakers Ketty had ever had. Once the poor mother-in-law finally died Judith somehow found the courage to leave her husband and start afresh. It may have been partly due to Ketty’s offer to subsidise the rent in a nearby flat. Nonetheless the confident woman beside her had long since come to stand on her own two feet and had well and truly left behind the downtrodden girl who had first arrived at her door.

You got the real pearl buttons then?

Ketty didn’t have to look at Judith to know her expression was disapproving. I did.

We quoted reproductions.

I know.

Then you’d like me to amend Miss Davidson’s account?

Ketty once more locked eyes with Judith. No. It’s my wedding gift to the bride.

It’s no wonder you’re barely making a profit, Ketty. Judith tutted. Have you heard back from the accountant yet?

Ketty looked down at the package she gripped in her hands. She had confided in the other woman in a weak moment over their regular Friday evening glass of wine a month or so ago. Now Ketty wished she hadn’t. The accountant had made it quite clear she was losing ground and had to make changes. Given her age he’d suggested she sell or simply close her doors but Ketty couldn’t imagine giving up work yet. It was her life, and not only that; her staff depended on their jobs. His next suggestion, that she cut back on staff, had been equally unpalatable, and yet she had to do something. Her cruise had been booked long ago and in the light of the current situation she regretted it but she’d lose her money if she didn’t go. No point in that. And then there was the thought that getting away would give her some breathing space and, she hoped, a clear enough head to see what was best for the future of her staff and her business. She lifted her shoulders and fixed Judith with her most confident smile.

Please don’t worry, Judith. I have it all in hand. She opened the package, dismissing the subject. Just make sure the buttons are sewn on before Miss Davidson arrives for her final fitting this afternoon. The bride-to-be had declared the replica pearl buttons perfect on her first visit to plan the style and the fabric, but at her last fitting she had declared she’d asked for the real thing. She’d lost three more kilos requiring extensive remodelling, and had swapped her extremely high heels for a lower pair. Bridezillas were one of the reasons Ketty avoided bridal gown work as much as possible but lately she’d accepted any business that came their way. When Miss Davidson had made a fuss Ketty hadn’t argued but had agreed to change the buttons. Judith was a stickler for the rules and didn’t understand the importance of small acts of benevolence to customers, which not only made them happy but brought return business and recommendations, something that was more important than ever in this online shopping world.

Very well. I will do it myself. Judith’s stiff face softened into a smile. Now please go and gather your things. The taxi will be here soon.

You’re sure you’re clear about this design?

Very.

And you’ll see to the buttons?

As soon as you leave.

You will remember our job—

Is to make the client feel special. Of course. Judith held out her hands for the package.

Ketty handed it over. With a sharp nod of her head, she turned and made her way through the staff kitchenette and beyond to the stairs leading up to her flat.

The bright and airy rooms above the shop were her haven. The layout was simple: an open plan living, dining, kitchen, with two bedrooms at the front, both with double doors opening onto the balcony which wrapped around the sides of the building with iron lace balustrades. She went to the second bedroom now to close her case and paused to take in the large ball of fluff settled right in the middle of it.

I wish I could take you, Patch, she crooned as she scooped up the black and white cat. But you’ll be much happier here with Lacey fussing over you.

Patch’s look was one of disdain. She blew him a kiss anyway, set him on the floor and shut her case. It took some force to keep the lid down so she could tug the zip closed.

She substituted her plain work clothes for a pair of wide-legged white linen pants and a turquoise three-quarter-sleeved soft knit that finished at her hips. She clinched a wide belt at her waist then sat on the bed to swap her flat black shoes for a pair of blue espadrilles. The woven white handbag with its blue leather trim lay on the bed beside her, already packed with her tickets, passport and wallet.

Her parents had taken her on her first cruise when she was five. The coastal vessel that had travelled between Adelaide and Port Lincoln in faraway South Australia could hardly be called a cruise but she counted it regardless. It had been a rough trip and Ketty hadn’t left the cabin. She could still picture the yellow light bulb swaying above her bunk and feel the lurching roll of the ship beneath her. She had been terribly seasick. It hadn’t deterred her. At twenty-one she had gone on a cruise with three girlfriends. They had all worked together at the John Martins’ costume department in Adelaide and had saved hard to be able to travel together. Once again she had been sick, but that had been more to do with alcohol consumption than rough seas.

Her next cruise hadn’t been until she was twenty-nine, and she’d gone with only one girlfriend that trip. Ketty had been sick on board that time too – but it had had nothing to do with the cruise. She sighed. She no longer probed the wound of that terrible time, when she had come home and her world had turned upside down. It was more a scar now; a notch in life’s interesting journey and the reason for her move to Sydney. It hadn’t happened overnight but Ketty Clift Couture had been catering for special birthdays, weddings and glamour events for nearly thirty years. And when she got the chance, and money allowed, she kept taking cruises.

She glanced at her watch, surprised she’d wasted so much time daydreaming. She did a final check around her flat. Patch had settled on his cushion in a shaft of sunshine from the kitchen window.

Be good, she said. He barely twitched a whisker.

Ketty bent to give him one last pat, gathered her things and made her way downstairs, throwing a scarf around her neck as she went. Each of the women in the workroom stopped what they were doing to hug her farewell.

Safe travels, Miss Ketty. Ning, whose name in Chinese meant tranquillity, gave Ketty a gentle squeeze. Ketty always felt like a giant compared to her long-serving seamstress. Nothing ever fazed Ning. Her family had been babies when she had started with Ketty and now she worked to put them through university.

Tien was next, with a similar small frame to Ning’s but not so calm in manner. Don’t carry anything from strangers. She wagged her finger and Ketty agreed she wouldn’t. Tien’s favourite television show was Border Security and she often regaled them with stories of ill-fated international travellers.

Ketty moved on to Birgit.

And no playing up. She grinned at Ketty. Unless he’s a good-looking lad and then it will be all right.

Ketty chuckled. Birgit was half her age and sounded more Irish than the Irish even though she’d been born in Australia.

Thank you all for keeping on while I’m away. You know I appreciate it and I’m sure Judith will have everything in hand.

Birgit gave an eye roll. She will. Now don’t be worrying about us. You head off and God bless.

For a moment Ketty hesitated but Birgit shooed her towards the door and she was sent on her way to the chorus of their goodbyes. The weight of the decisions she had to make made their farewells all the more poignant. By the time she had trundled her case and overnight bag out to the front room of the shop she felt as if she’d been through the wringer.

Lacey was talking on the phone. Ketty gave her a wave and looked out the window; no sign of the taxi yet. Judith opened the front door for her.

Miss Ketty?

She turned back. Lacey had put down the phone, her brown eyes dark circles in her pale face. That was the customer who came two weeks ago and wanted the six bridesmaids’ dresses and the two flower girls’.

Ketty held her breath.

She’s cancelled.

Why? Judith asked before Ketty could, her tone much sharper than Ketty’s would have been.

She’s seen what she wanted on the internet.

She’ll lose her deposit. Judith shut the door firmly, bringing a harsh rattle from the bell.

We don’t have it.

Why ever not? It’s your job to make sure we’ve received deposits before we order fabric and the fabric has already arrived. I shelved it myself.

It’s not Lacey’s fault. Both employees turned to Ketty. I ordered the fabric. I thought it would create work that could be done while I was gone. Perhaps you can see about returning it, Judith.

The hot pink shantung for the flower girls perhaps, but not the bolts of bridesmaids’ fabric. That was from Delia’s Designs and they don’t take returns.

Ketty sighed. The last of her pre-holiday excitement whooshed away like air from a deflating balloon. She had been secretly appalled by the bride’s choice of fabric for her attendants and she shouldn’t have ordered without the deposit but she’d been so desperate to leave work for her employees in her absence she’d taken the risk. Perhaps we can use it for something else?

Judith’s eyebrows raised. Multicoloured retro stretch jersey – and a paisley design to boot! – hasn’t ever been used here before and I cannot possibly imagine who would want it.

Ketty’s heart sank even further. What would they do with two full bolts of that?

A car horn tooted outside.

That’s the taxi. Judith pulled Ketty into a stiff hug.

Ketty hesitated. I can’t leave you with this mess.

Of course you can. Judith put a guiding hand on Ketty’s back and opened the door again. We’ll sort it.

You have a fab holiday, Miss Ketty, and don’t worry about anything. We will make sure every client feels special in your absence. Lacey gave an emphatic nod of her head then collected Ketty’s overnight bag and followed them outside. Mrs Pettigrew and I will hold the fort.

Ketty smiled as Judith’s eyebrows shot even higher. She turned away quickly, overwhelmed by their generosity.

The bags were loaded and Judith had bundled her into the taxi before she had time to draw breath. She lowered the window. I can keep my phone on if you need to ring or email.

Don’t bother, Judith said. We won’t.

The taxi driver became animated over her destination.

White Bay? You are going on a cruise?

Yes.

As the taxi pulled away she twisted in her seat for one last glimpse of her two employees, one tall, one petite, hands raised in farewell. The ornate facade of Ketty Clift Couture shone brightly against a blue Sydney sky and then it was gone. She would like to be a fly on the wall and watch over them all while she was away. This was the first time she’d left for longer than a day since Lacey had joined them a year ago. Her predecessor had been in awe of Judith Pettigrew. Not so Lacey.

A design student, she had turned up in a long lace dress and knee-high boots, wanting to learn the trade from Ketty. Business had been in decline for a while and Ketty knew now she should never have employed her. Ketty and Judith would have absorbed the duties somehow but something about the young woman had appealed. Lacey’s clothes were a little alternative for a couture dressmaking establishment but she was smart and enthusiastic, qualities Ketty admired. Ketty also loved to know that each time a customer rang they were greeted by ‘Ketty Clift Couture, Lacey speaking’ in the young woman’s melodic tone, a perfect welcome.

Ketty sighed. She’d been careful with her money but she hadn’t imagined her business would be struggling at this stage of her life. She’d had to dip into her savings to help pay wages twice in the last few months. Over her lifetime she had made adjustments, planned for a future that perhaps hadn’t worked out the way she had envisaged in her twenties. She had few regrets but if she had to lay off staff or, worse, close her doors altogether, she would be heartbroken. Now she felt torn by her longing to escape her troubles for a short time and indulge herself in her holiday. Only once in her life had she run away from something and she’d vowed never to do it again and yet now that’s exactly what she was doing, prolonging the inevitable.

You are so lucky to be going on a cruise.

Ketty’s eyes met the smiling look of the driver in the rear-view mirror.

Yes. Ketty knew she was, but everyone’s definition of lucky was different. She snuggled back into the seat. The business was out of her control for the moment. The future would be waiting for her when the cruise was over and she would deal with it then. There would be answers, she just hadn’t found them yet.

There she is. The driver gave a low whistle. Magnificent.

Ketty took in her first glimpse of the Diamond Duchess between the giant diagonal struts of Anzac Bridge as they flashed by. The driver’s enthusiasm was infectious. She felt the weight begin to ease on her shoulders. If she was going to run away she was certainly going to do it in style.

You are lucky to be going on this ship, he said again.

I am.

Have you been on a cruise before?

Yes, I have, many times.

He let out a low whistle. Very lucky.

The ship was lost from her view now as they wound their way off the bridge and down to harbour level. Ketty put away her phone, dug in her bag for her mirror and checked her lipstick; she dragged her hair back from her forehead and patted the waves that bounced around her ears. Her hair had been long enough to roll up into a chignon until her visit to the hairdresser yesterday. She always had something different done to it before she cruised; it was a small gesture, part of her transformation from everyday dressmaker Ketty to the more adventurous, glamorous shipboard Ketty. A gleam in her eyes reflected back from the mirror. She closed the lid with a smile and added mischievous to her list.

The driver manoeuvred seamlessly through the traffic and came to a stop in front of the terminal. She paid him and bid him farewell, then paused to take in the grand outline of the Diamond Duchess. The clouds were disappearing and there was nothing but blue sky beyond the ship berthed on the edge of the harbour. Ketty stared at the white monolith and felt her heart beat faster, just as thrilled to see it as she had been the first time. Like her, the Duchess had aged and this was to be her final voyage. Perhaps mine too if the accountant has his way, Ketty thought.

Her gaze swept the rows of windows above the line of the wharf and then on up to the yawning openings of the promenade deck with life boats suspended in each. Higher again were row after row of balconies like hundreds of open eyes, some with people already leaning on their rails, and then on higher – she craned her neck to see the top – gleaming white and sparkling glass against a brilliant blue sky. It never looked real to her, a giant Gulliver and she part of the Lilliput world it was tethered to. Her home for the next ten days. A fizz of joy bubbled inside her and she recalled the taxi driver’s words. Yes, she was very lucky.

Ketty made her way across the cement apron to the terminal, towing her cases behind.

Kathy?

Ketty tried to turn but she was swept along with the surge of excited people around her. None were paying her particular attention. No one had called her Kathy for years. She was hearing things. There was bound to be someone else by that name in this huge crowd. She hesitated. It had been more about the tone of the voice than the name itself.

She gave a small shake of her head, gripped the handles of her cases tighter and moved on into the cavernous space of the terminal. There she merged with the crowd, already transforming herself as she took her place among the two thousand passengers making their way through the protracted customs, security and myriad of embarkation procedures to enable them to board ship for a cruising holiday in the South Pacific.

Two

Day One – White Bay Cruise Terminal, Sydney

The sun sparkled off the many windows of the gantry that stretched from the terminal building to the ship, a temporary connection allowing passengers entry to cruise paradise. An hour had passed since she’d arrived at the terminal but now the last of the red tape and security checks were done and Ketty was on her way. Excitement escalated with every one of her echoing footsteps, taking her to the top of the gentle incline.

Welcome aboard, Miss Clift. The purser’s smile was wide.

Thank you, she said and moved on and around the photographers capturing passengers’ happy smiles as they embarked. Ketty had so many cruise photos, she didn’t need another.

Only a few steps along a short passage and she reached the atrium. She stopped. There was no movement and yet an imperceptible beat pulsed here. To her it was the heart of the ship, stretching up four floors like a mini shopping mall. It housed boutiques, cafes, bars and restaurants all overflowing with food and items to tempt. Everything gleamed, from the polished wood handrails, to the glass balustrades and marble floor. Potted palms towered up into the open spaces, glass lifts travelled up and down and music mingled with the hum of happy voices. Ketty inhaled the fresh smell she liked to call ocean breeze, a hint of vanilla and something else. She never tired of her first minutes aboard ship, absorbing the atmosphere, remodelling herself. Here no one knew her as Ketty Clift Couture. A delicious ripple of delight swept through her as she indulged herself in the anonymity of being simply Ketty Clift.

Ketty?

She spun at the sound of her name.

Ketty Clift, it is you!

Ketty took in the tall, good-looking woman walking towards her, hand luggage in tow. Her thick blonde hair was beautifully coiffured and her clothes were well cut and stylish. A softly draped scarf picked out the pink in her patterned blouse. Ketty hadn’t seen Josie Keller for two years but it seemed only a short time since they’d cruised together.

Josie, how marvellous to see you.

They drew each other into a hug then stepped apart.

It’s good to see you too, Ketty.

Ketty looked over Josie’s shoulder. Is your friend Pam with you again?

No. Josie leaned closer. I’ve brought my brother with me this time. He was a bit down in the dumps. Work not going well, relationship over, the usual lows. I decided he needed cheering up. I should introduce you. She glanced around. He was here a minute ago.

Well, a cruise is certainly the place to forget all your troubles.

And have some fun. Didn’t we enjoy ourselves last time?

We did.

He and I could both do with someone new in our lives. Josie began to sing ‘Love is in the Air’. She laughed. Remember our theme song?

Ketty chuckled. The tune was played regularly aboard ship. But what happened to the man you met last cruise? You caught up with him while you were in Sydney having your dress fitting, didn’t you?

I did. Josie wrinkled her nose. It fizzled out. I live in Brisbane, he’s in Sydney. He found someone closer to home. I wasn’t heartbroken. It was fun while it lasted.

Ketty admired the way Josie looked at life. If something wasn’t working she didn’t dwell on it but picked up and moved on. They’d met on a cruise to Papua New Guinea, two years prior.

You’re looking splendid as ever.

Thanks to you. Josie’s smile was wide. The makeover you did for me on that cruise was such a turning point. It changed the way I looked for clothes.

Ketty had made a few style suggestions for Josie, who was tall with a rounded but still trim figure, and she’d ended up having a dress made at Ketty’s shop after the cruise.

I only suggested minor variations.

Minor! I had a wardrobe full of crop pants and leggings that I donated to Vinnies. Now it’s only ever seven-eighths length tailored pants for me. And I wear more styles that define my waist rather than try to hide it, as you suggested. Her phone pinged and she glanced at the screen. Excuse me, Ketty. It’s my brother.

Ketty watched the passing passengers, some strolling by as if they’d been here before, and others looking a little overwhelmed.

Sorry about that. He’s gone up to our suite already. Josie dropped her phone back in her bag. You and I will have to meet up for a coffee or a cocktail or two.

I’ll look forward to it.

Josie strode away humming ‘Love is in the Air’ again. Ketty smiled. It was going to be a happy voyage, she was sure of it.

She grasped the handle of her cabin bag and made her way out of the busy hub and on to a flight of carpeted stairs that led all the way to the top of the ship. There was also a bank of lifts but Ketty preferred the stairs; that way she never had to use a gym. She paused for a breath when she reached her deck level.

Are we at the back of the boat or the front? A woman stood nearby, peering at the large ship plan on the wall. Her companion leaned over her shoulder and jabbed his finger at the diagram.

It says we’re here.

Can I help? Ketty couldn’t resist.

We’re trying to find the buffet. The woman gave her a harried look.

Keep going up these stairs. Three more flights and you can’t miss it.

The man groaned. Let’s take the lift.

They’re always busy at boarding time, Ketty said. The stairs are probably quicker.

Thank you. The woman gave a grateful smile. We’ve been busy all day and we’re starving.

They set off and Ketty turned left into the corridor, anticipation speeding her footsteps. She found her cabin number.

Hello ma’am, welcome aboard. The smiling steward paused beside her. I am Peter, your room steward. Please let me know if I can assist you in any way.

Thank you, Peter. I’ll be sure to. Being spoiled was another part of Ketty’s joy. She’d hardly have to lift a finger for the next week and a half.

She inserted her card, the lock light went green and she pushed open the door. It was a balcony room. In the past, she’d travelled with friends but in more recent times she’d more often cruised alone and usually she had an interior room. Rarely could she afford a balcony. This was an indulgence. She wouldn’t have come on this cruise at all but she had elite passenger status with the Diamond line and her trip had been a lucky deal paid for several months ago, a birthday gift to herself. Ketty found it hard to think of herself as turning sixty-five when in her head she still felt forty. Where had the time gone? She’d certainly never imagined when she embarked on her first Diamond Duchess cruise that she’d become a frequent traveller. It felt rather odd to be offered special rates and priority check-in, as well as all the other perks, like access to the Diamond Lounge. And here she was in a balcony room. Ketty felt like a duchess herself.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and looked around the room. Her case was already on the queen bed, a mat below it to protect the bed cover. She opened every cupboard and drawer, inspected the bathroom, ran her hand over the silky soft pillows, sat on the padded lounge chair, then she rolled open the heavy glass door leading to the balcony and sat in one of the two deckchairs using the little table as a foot stool. She was port side and high above the gantry that had led her aboard. She stood and leaned out over the rail. Workers in high-vis vests were busy on the wharf below her and, in the distance, she could see the familiar shape of the Harbour Bridge. Ketty stepped back inside and swept another look around the room. It was all perfect.

Her phone pinged. She removed it from her bag to discover a text from her nephew, Greg, wishing her bon voyage. She smiled. He was such a thoughtful young man. Her brother’s only child, she regarded Greg as her nearest and dearest. Just a shame he lived interstate. She didn’t see him all that often but he stayed with her whenever he came to Sydney. She tapped a quick reply and checked her phone again. No other messages or missed calls. Judith wouldn’t disturb her holiday if her life depended on it. Ketty turned the phone off and tucked it into the side pocket of her handbag. Neither would be needed again until her return to Sydney.

She threw open her case, her bulging overnight bag, the wardrobe doors and all the drawers then began to unpack. She smoothed each garment as she hung it, savouring the different textures of the fabrics, turning down a collar, fluffing a skirt. It was such a thrill to have the opportunity to wear some of the clothes she had delicately restored or remodelled and of course she was always hopeful the extras she brought might suit someone else in need of a wardrobe addition. Running into Josie again had been a delight. Ketty pondered who else was aboard she might know. She hung the special necklace bag bulging with more jewellery than she would need for herself, then plucked up a black lace wrap and draped it around her shoulders. Perhaps, once again, she would find someone in need of its sensual luxury.

Drawing the lace partly over her face she peered at her reflection.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who will be seated at my table in the grand hall? She laughed at her silly rhyme. And what intrigue will shipboard life provide this time?

Bernard Langdon strode purposefully up and back in an empty corner of the deck, a mobile phone pressed to his ear. The pool deck was almost empty. Only a few passengers were wandering among the neatly lined-up deckchairs, peering into the spas or checking out the bars. He assumed most of the early birds already aboard were settling into their rooms or indulging in the buffet dining rather than taking in the sunny delights of the pool deck. Bernard was tall and, he liked to think, still buff for his sixty-nine years. He liked the ladies and they liked him. It was the main reason he’d come on this cruise, but business was getting in the way of him beginning to enjoy himself.

Sell it, Jack, he barked into the phone.

He groaned inwardly as his broker made excuses from his office back in Brisbane. Bernard had been buying and selling property all his life. He’d employed Jack ten years ago when the time looked right to take a back seat and enjoy the fruits of his smart investor’s brain. Jack did the paperwork for him, kept an eye on things. He crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s that Bernard sometimes overlooked. They made a good team and Bernard had grown to trust him, but Jack was conservative. Bernard got that, even found it useful, but sometimes Jack was downright pig-headed.

I don’t want to hold off any longer. Bernard clapped a hand to his free ear as he wandered too close to the giant music speakers blaring out eighties music. I should have sold a week ago. I’m losing ground.

Jack’s voice whined in his ear again.

I don’t care, Jack, I’m not prepared to wait. Sell, damn it! Or do I have to do it myself? I’m supposed to be on holiday. I’m on a cruise ship, for fuck’s sake.

A woman walking past glared at him and ushered her child away.

Sorry. Bernard called. What? He scowled at his phone then pressed it back to his ear. No, I’m not saying sorry to you, Jack. Just sell the damned property, will you? At least we’ll make a bit of money. If we wait till I get back that window will be gone.

He jabbed end call with his finger and shoved the phone into his pocket. He’d had this conversation with Jack only yesterday. The younger man thought this particular block of flats close to the river and the city of Brisbane would make them a fortune. Bernard had let him buy it three years ago. The market for such a block had shown promise then but they’d done nothing, in fact the tenancy rate was way down. People were opting for the sleek modern apartments going up all around them. Bernard had made his money on quick decisions. If you let emotion come in to play when dealing with property it could