Second day at sea: Exposure
I was woken by a gentle knock on the cabin door just before six. As I rolled over to glance at my watch on the bedside table, I realised Nat must have already slipped out of bed a minute or two earlier and, swathed in one of the luxury cotton robes that had been in our dressing room, was opening the door to Crisanto, our steward, who was wheeling in a trolley laden with silver serving dishes.
“Breakfast, Boots,” laughed Nat, wheeling the trolley over to the bedside as Crisanto slipped away. “I thought we’d have breakfast in bed before going to the gym or swimming. You were sleeping like a log after last night.”
“That smells good, Nat,” I said, leaning over and lifting the lid on one of the dishes to reveal bacon rashers – nice and crispy, just as I like them – sausages and hash browns. Nat was exploring a second dish, finding grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, eggs and beans. There was a rack of toast, a plate of bread and butter, a silver pot of tea and one of coffee, a jug of fresh orange and little bowls of mustard and ketchup.
On the base of the trolley were two small trays with arched, cushioned bases, designed to allow us to sit up in bed and eat directly from them rather than having to get up and go and sit at our table. I could get used to this luxury travel malarky!
Nat quickly dished up two plates of breakfast and glasses of juice for us, then climbed back into bed alongside me. He’d put the pots of tea and coffee on the table – balancing scalding hot drinks on those trays might have been pushing things a tad too far. We’ll have those at the table.
“What did you think of the dinner last night, Craig?” asked Nat between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs.
I think the dinner went pretty well. The Hoffmans, George and Mary, were great hosts and as well as Nat and myself there were several other guests at their table in the Queen’s Grill. There was a couple originally from Paris, Etienne and Apolline Decaux, who were travelling to take up posts at the UN in New York, a lady from Edinburgh, Anna McCulloch, who was in banking, and the cellist Paolo Dubretti who was travelling to Boston to take up a residency with the Boston Pops orchestra. I hadn’t heard of him but Nat seemed to have and they spent quite some time talking together. The Navigating Officer also came and joined our table for one of the courses and he was a real mine of information. I made sure I didn’t hog all his attention but he was definitely worth talking to and when he discovered I liked maps and stuff he suggested that I should visit the Chart Room. The Chart Room is actually a bar, but it’s themed around charts and marine navigation and sounds well worth seeking out.
“It was good, Nat,” I replied, “We should definitely go hunt down that Chart Room Bar later. Did you get a card from the cellist guy?”
“Sure did, bud,” grinned Nat. “He’s also offered to meet again later in the week and give me a few tips. Maybe we’ll have lunch or tea one afternoon. You having that last slice of toast?”
“No, Nat, you’re good for the toast. Oh, and don’t forget that we need to drop an email to Will about the opportunity with the Hoffmans. I know we said we wouldn’t be taking it forward as a priority but we ought to let him know about it anyway.”
That was probably the real reason we were invited to dinner with the Hoffmans. They clearly knew not only who Nat is, but also that we have a company that is now providing dynamic location and mission planning services to McGregor Medical in Harrisburg and the surrounding counties. It seems the Hoffmans also own an ambulance business and are direct competitors with McGregor. Though our software service has only been fully operational with McGregor for just over six months it seems the Hoffmans have already started to feel the pinch where their operational areas overlap and so they were eager to take advantage of our service too.
Nat was really in his element talking to George Hoffman after dinner over a drink in the Grill Lounge. Marketing and business development is what he loves to do, and Will lets him have pretty much total control over it. Even if Nat doesn’t bring in the business directly, just like he didn’t last night. In fact, Nat actually said our services wouldn’t be available to the Hoffmans around Harrisburg. Nat was polite about it, but very firm. BB&W has an exclusivity deal with McGregor Medical: they get sole use of the service for three years, throughout Harrisburg and its contiguous counties. McGregor has expansion plans.
When I talked it over with him afterwards on our way back to our cabin, Nat said it won’t affect our business adversely. He was adamant about a couple of things. First, we have to maintain our integrity. We need all our existing and potential customers to completely trust us and know that we honour our deals. Long term business is more important than a quick win. Secondly, we need to ensure that we control our growth. We need to be certain we can resource any expansion we make and don’t let any existing customers down. “Steady consolidation, not feast and famine, boom and bust,” he called it. I guess that makes sense. I don’t think Will will object. Anyway, the Hoffmans didn’t seem put out by what Nat said. He did offer to keep talking with them, look at how we could offer them a service in other parts of Pennsylvania where they have a presence. Nat’s pretty convinced they’ll continue the discussions. They did say he should join them for tea one afternoon in the Pavillion Lounge and they weren’t just being polite.
“If you’re going to the gym again this morning Boots, I’ll skip the driving range and come with you. And we’re still going running round Deck 7 too, right, instead of swimming first?”
“Sure are, Nat. Deck 7 shouldn’t be too busy at this time of morning. We can probably get in a couple of miles before seven-thirty, then hit the gym right after. You coming to check out the eye candy too?” I grinned.
“Think I better had, bud,” laughed Nat. “Sounds like I might have a rival if you’re right about the blond guy checking you out…”
* * *
The Queen Mary 2 is doing what she’s designed for, surging through the North Atlantic at speed. A true liner, not a cruise ship. Sure, this being early August, the weather is fine and the seas are calm. There’s no huge swell making her ride up and crash down, shipping green water over the bow but it wouldn’t matter if there was: she can handle it. We must be making something in the mid-twenties knots and she has plenty in reserve. Our crossing is scheduled for seven days but she could easily do it in four if they rang “Full ahead and damn the torpedoes”. We aren’t competing with jets for speed and from a commercial viewpoint Cunard need to keep us all captive and spending money in the shops and bars, visiting the art galleries and enjoying the spa treatments. Most at extra cost of course depending upon which class you’re travelling.
It's a beautiful morning. The sun rose before we did and even though it’s not quite seven there’s warmth in the air despite the headwind the ship is making as we circle the deck. At this time of day there aren’t many people out here on the Promenade Deck and most of those that there are, are jogging too. Clockwise, as convention dictates.
We’re jogging counter-clockwise. Widdershins. Going against the flow, what little of it there is. It isn’t causing any problems, and I have reason. The reason is ahead of us, and we’re slowly gaining on it. A guy in his mid-twenties or thereabouts I’d guess. Lean and fit, muscled where he needs to be. Short dark hair. The guy I saw running yesterday. Thought I recognised as our paths crossed briefly.
We’re twenty yards behind him.
“Nat,” I whispered, “Push the pace as we go past this guy. You go to his right, I’ll go left. Get a couple of steps ahead of me just before we reach him, then jack it up another notch as we pass. Keep the speed up, then dart across into the next hatchway and back inside. There’s one due to appear shortly.”
Nat’s not got a Scooby what I’m up to but he’ll do it. Is already doing it. We’re just five yards back now and Nat’s increasing speed, veering a little to the right. We’ve a clear deck with hardly anyone else ahead. Nat runs like an elf. Makes hardly any noise. The guy doesn’t know were about to overtake him. Nat’s speeding up now, ready to sprint the moment he levels with the guy. Go, Nat, go.
The guy’s caught Nat in his peripheral vision. His head’s turning to see him more clearly. Giving me a good look at his profile. I was right. It’s Paul Suitor, one of the two SNOBs who chucked me out of Scotty’s Rover and almost onto my mum’s gardening fork yonks ago. I surged past him on the left, spinning on my heels as I did so, grinning at him, running a few paces backwards at his speed, then twisted round again and raced off after Natty, caught him, overtook him, led the way into the wind-break arcing round to shield the access door back into the ship.
“What was that about?” asked Nat as we tumbled inside and quickly made our way along the corridor, through a vestibule and towards the lifts. We weren’t followed.
“I’ll explain later, Nat. Now we need to get back to the cabin, grab our gym bags and go do some real exercise. The gym should still be pretty empty for an hour more.”
* * *
The gym, or fitness centre as they call it here on the QM2, is right up forrard on Deck 7 with great views over the bow. Nat and I were amongst the first in when the door opened at 08:00 and grabbed ourselves prime places on the rowing machines for a good cardio and upper torso workout. Whoever designed the gym layout has a sense of humour too: the rowing machines are right up against the front windows so as you use them you can sit there and imagine you are propelling the ship forward towards the horizon.
Rowing against a resistance wheel is pretty good all-round exercise, providing a full body workout with little impact on joints. I do it mainly to improve strength and stamina, great for my boxing, but it’s good for Nat too, giving him pretty much the same benefits for his water polo. I might join the water polo team again this year if they have vacancies and it doesn’t clash with boxing.
We quickly settled in to a routine: one minute of high intensity work at thirty strokes per minute, one fifteen second rest interval, one minute of recovery at fifteen strokes per minute, fifteen more seconds rest then back to the high intensity again. Rinse and repeat for thirty minutes as they say.
I grinned across at Nat as we reached the last rest session of our rowing workout. The big windows ahead of us are useful for providing views of more than just the ocean. Get the light right and you can use the reflections to see what’s going on behind you too. See who else is in the gym. “Incoming, Nat. Blondy has just joined the party. He’s over to your right on the running machine.” Nat smiled and, as we both simultaneously leaned forward to relax the cables before pulling back sharply to start our last high intensity minute, he casually glanced over his shoulder.
“Spotted, Boots,” he whispered quietly. “You’re right, he’s quite hot. Not sure he’s stalking you though, just looks like he’s concentrating on his jogging.”
Nat’s pushing the pace on this last minute, going at quite a bit more than the thirty strokes we programmed into the timer. I can match him. He’s not going to beat me. His pacer readout is showing thirty-five strokes a minute.
“Feeling tired, Nat?”
Nat’s looking over at my pace meter. I’m showing thirty-eight strokes. He’s biting. Increasing his speed. Just like I planned. He’s lucky he wasn’t born a fish. I’m increasing the tempo as he does. Matching him, then moving slightly ahead. Forty strokes a minute. Now we’re moving. If these machines really were plumbed into the propshaft the bow wave would be creaming back along the sides of the ship.
I hit forty-three strokes a minute just as Nat hit forty-two and the timer beeped to signal the final rest period. I stopped pulling, let the pacer drop right back to zero as Nat did likewise. Nat picked up his towel, casually wiped his brow. Too casually. I know what’s coming next. As Nat twisted to flick his towel at me my arm shot out, my hand grabbing tight hold of his wrist as I pounced from my machine and landed to crouch at his side, pinning his arm back against him.
“Too slow, Tiger,” I laughed as I wiped his sweaty towel across his face. “Sniff on that…”
Nat was laughing as we both stood up, grinning at each other, his arm falling round my shoulder as we turned to look across the gym to see what other equipment was free, what exercise we could do next. The blond guy was definitely watching us a moment ago. He’s casually turned his head to look over to the windows, now nonchalantly turning it back as though he’s just been attracted to look in our direction by our sudden movement.
Nat’s turning in his direction, smiling in a friendly manner. “Morning, bud. Exercising on your own? Maybe it’s for the best. See what I have to put up with?”
The blond guy blushed, then regained his composure and smiled back. “Good morning. Pretty empty in here today…”
He’s American. I got that from his accent.
“Better out on deck to do your jogging,” continued Nat as we strolled past the guy to reach the water fountain to top up our bottles. “Deck 7 – The Promenade - is almost empty before breakfast, and the scenery’s way better than in here.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” grinned Blondy, then nodded ahead of him towards the windows. Leaving things ambiguous? Is he flirting with us? I glanced at Nat. He’s always so much surer about stuff like this. Nat’s still smiling.
“We’re off aft now to the pool deck, going to relax in the hot tub for a while after that workout. I’m Nathan Bauer, this is Craig Wright. Maybe we’ll see you around…”
Nat casually tapped his hand on the guy’s shoulder as we walked by, heading towards the door into the changing room.
“Luke,” smiled the guy. “Luke Mårtensson.”
* * *
We didn’t get changed at the gym, just showered very quickly, donned our robes over our shorts and grabbed our bags before making our way aft and up to the Grill Terrace on Deck Eleven. The terrace is reserved for Grill passengers, with a nice teak deck, a few steamer chairs, a bar area and a whirlpool offering private, secluded views aft to where the ship’s wake uncurls away to the horizon. The sun is now blazing down. In an hour’s time this area will be busy but for the moment it’s likely most passengers are still at breakfast.
A minute or two after I settled down into the relaxing, warm jets of the whirlpool, Nat joined me bearing a small tray with two glasses of blueberry juice and a couple of Danish pastries. “We earned these, Boots,” Nat grinned as he dropped into the pool beside me. “Got to replace all those calories you forced me to burn off…” For a few minutes we said very little as we sipped on our drinks, devoured the pastries and occasionally glanced down towards the pool on Deck Eight below us.
“So, Nat,” I said at last. “Do you think that guy was there deliberately again today, or just co-incidence?”
Nat smiled. “Oh, I think he was definitely there deliberately, Deefer. Just not sure if he was hoping to see you again, or minding his own business on a workout. He’s definitely hot though. Might see if I can trade you in against him…”
I was just in the process of twisting round to push Nat’s head down under the water for that remark when a pair of legs appeared on the platform beside us and a guy plunged into the pool, cascading water everywhere before surfacing right in front of us. It’s not a big whirlpool.
Flicking back his short blond hair, Luke smiled. “Not disturbing anything am I, or are you two about to fight again? If not, mind if I join you for a while in here?”
Nat was first to recover from the surprise. “No, sure thing. Good to see you again. Done many miles?”
“Oh, just a few, nothing like the intensity of you two…”
Nat’s just kicked me under the water. “Oh, yeah, welcome Luke. The pastries are good. If you don’t get them wet that is. Get way soggy. Then they are no good at all…”
I can’t believe I just said that. I’m just babbling. Shut up, Craig. It’s probably just coincidence Luke’s here too. Or not. We did kind of telegraph it to him back in the gym. Well, ‘the pool’ we said. Most people would think we meant the big public pool down below on Deck Eight. But he’s come to this private whirlpool up here on the Grill Terrace. So, he’s a Grill passenger too. Probably didn’t even contemplate the public pool. Just came straight here. Where else would he go?
“That’s right, isn’t it, Craig?”
What the bloody hell? Nat’s just said something to Luke and I missed it. Now they are both looking at me…
“Er, yes, Nat, I think so.”
Nat’s starting to climb out of the whirlpool. I’m on autopilot, following him.
Luke’s climbing out too, following us. “Enjoy your lecture. I’m done here too. Off to collect gran from breakfast, then escort her down to the Planetarium.”
“Oh, that’s good, we saw it yesterday didn’t we, Nat? Lots of stars and stuff.” I managed to utter.
* * *
Our leather travel holdalls were just where we’d left them on the benches in the small changing room by the end of the Terrace Bar. Nat and I headed straight to the showers, stripped off our shorts and showered. Luke, last in to the changing room, was over at a bench closer to the shower enclosures, took a little more time, opened his sports bag and took out a towel rather than just grabbing one from the rack by the shower. Nat and I had already stepped out of the showers and were drying off back at our bench by the time Luke entered a shower and, with his back turned to us, dropped his towel.
“Peek-a-boo!” grinned Nat, flicking his towel at me as I cast a sly glance towards the shower Luke was in. The glass door was partially steamed up but I could see a little. Luke’s definitely got a pretty taut, toned body. I’m pretty sure he can’t be more than a year or two older than us. I should have been paying more attention to what he was saying to Nat in the pool. I think he said he’s from a place called Springfield, over in Massachusetts. Nat said something about ‘the tool people’ – whatever that means. I’ll ask him later.
“Fuck me! Luke’s not got a tool!”
Nat’s staring at me. I said that out loud. Luke doesn’t seem to have heard. He’s got his back to us again. He only twisted round for a split second, adjusting the water temperature on the dial. I know what I saw. I didn’t imagine it. Didn’t get confused by the steam or anything.
“He’s got a cat down there, Nat. Not a dick…” I gasped.
* * *
