Heads You Win

Sasha had never seen a tablecloth before, and watched as Fergal skillfully cast one over each of the three tables. He then returned to the sideboard, took out matching cutlery, and began to set each place.

“Don’t just stand there gawping. You’re my assistant, not one of the passengers.”

Sasha grabbed some knives, forks, and spoons and began to copy his mentor, who double-checked each setting, making sure everything was lined up and in its correct place.

“Now, the most important job you’ll be responsible for,” Fergal said once he’d added two glasses to each place setting, and a salt and pepper pot in the center of the table, “will be to organize the dumbwaiter.”

“What’s a dumbwaiter?”

“You. But we luckily have a more useful example over here.” Fergal walked across to the far side of the room and opened a small hatch in the wall to reveal a square box with two shelves and a thick rope on one side. “This goes down to the kitchen,” he said as he pulled the rope, and the box disappeared. “When chef is good and ready, it will be sent back up with the first course, which you’ll place on the sideboard before I serve it. You don’t speak to anyone unless they speak to you, and then only if they ask you a question. At all times, address the guests as sir or madam.” Sasha kept nodding. “Now, the next thing we have to do is find you a white jacket and a pair of trousers that fit. We can’t have you looking like some sea urchin that’s been washed up on the beach, can we?”

“Can I ask a question?” said Sasha.

“If you must.”

“Where do you come from?”

“The Emerald Isle, to be sure,” said Fergal. But Sasha was none the wiser.

* * *

The cook glanced across at Elena, who was making a sauce from some leftovers. “You’ve done that before,” he said. “When you’ve finished, would you prepare the vegetables, while I concentrate on the main course?” He looked up at a menu pinned to the wall. “Lamb chops.”

“Of course, sir,” said Elena.

“Call me Eddie,” he added, before making his way across to the fridge and removing a rack of lamb.

Once Elena had prepared the vegetables and arranged them in separate dishes, Eddie inspected them. “Good thing you’re leaving us when we dock in Southampton,” he said, “otherwise I might be looking for a job.”

I will be looking for a job, Elena wanted to tell him, but satisfied herself with, “What would you like me to do next?”

“Take the smoked salmon out of the fridge and prepare eighteen portions. Once you’ve done that, put them in the dumbwaiter, ring the bell, and send them up to Fergal.”

“The dumbwaiter?” said Elena, looking puzzled.

“Ah, at last something you don’t know about.” He smiled as he headed toward a large square hole in the wall.

* * *

A buzzer sounded.

“First course on its way up,” said Fergal, and a few moments later, six plates of smoked salmon appeared. Sasha placed them on the sideboard before sending the dumbwaiter back down. He was unloading the last three plates of salmon when the door opened and two smartly dressed officers walked in.

“Mr. Reynolds, the chief engineer,” whispered Fergal, “and the purser, Mr. Hallett.”

“And who’s this?” Mr. Reynolds asked.

“Sasha, my new assistant,” said Fergal.

“Good evening, Sasha. I believe we have you to thank for half a dozen cases of vodka, which I can assure you the ratings will appreciate.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sasha.

The door opened again, and the passengers began to trickle in one by one and take their places.

Sasha never stopped pulling the rope up and down, before placing the contents of the box on the sideboard. Fergal served the fifteen men and three women with a relaxed charm that the chef assured Elena came from regularly kissing the Blarney Stone. Something else he had to explain to his new assistant.

An hour later, after the last diner had departed, Sasha collapsed into the nearest chair and said, “I’m exhausted.”