Heads You Win

* * *

With only three days to go before the ship was due to dock in Southampton, the chef informed Elena that Mr. Hallett, the purser, wished to see her when she came off duty.

“What have I done wrong?” she asked anxiously.

“Nothing. In fact I suspect the exact opposite.”

Once the cook had released the kitchen staff for the afternoon, Elena went straight to the purser’s office. She knocked on the door, and when she heard a voice say, “Come,” she walked in to find two men seated on either side of a large desk. They both rose, and the purser, dressed in a smart white uniform with two gold stripes on the sleeves, waited for her to be seated before he introduced Mr. Moretti, and explained that he was a passenger who had asked to meet her.

Elena took a closer look at the elderly gentleman dressed in a three-piece suit. He addressed her in English with a slight accent that she couldn’t place. He asked her about her work in Leningrad, and how she had ended up on board the ship. She told him almost everything that had happened during the past month, including how her husband had died, but didn’t mention why her son had nearly killed the local head of the KGB. By the time Mr. Moretti came to the end of his questions, Elena had no idea what sort of impression she’d made, although he did give her a warm smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Karpenko,” said Mr. Hallett, “that will be all for now.” Both men rose again as she left the office.

She returned to her cabin in a daze, to find Sasha waiting for her. Once she had told him about her interview with Mr. Moretti, he said, “That must be the Italian gentleman who owns a restaurant in somewhere called Fulham. I know he’s also asked to see the chef and Fergal, so keep your fingers crossed, Mama.”

“Why Fergal?”

“He wants to know how I’m getting on in the dining room. I think he’s hoping to get two for the price of one. So Fergal’s going to tell him I’m the best assistant steward he’s ever had.”

“You’re the only assistant he’s ever had.”

“A minor detail that Fergal will not be mentioning.”

* * *

The meetings with the chef and Fergal must have gone well, because Mr. Moretti asked to see Elena a second time, and offered her a job at his restaurant in Fulham.

“Ten pounds a week, with accommodation above the premises,” he said.

Elena had no idea where Fulham was, or if it was a good wage, but she happily accepted the only offe

r she was likely to get, if they didn’t want to go straight back to Leningrad.

The purser then proceeded to ask her several more questions about why she was seeking asylum, while he filled out a long official Home Office form. Once he’d double-checked each entry, he and Mr. Moretti signed on the bottom line, having agreed to act as her sponsors.

“Good luck, Mrs. Karpenko,” said the purser as he handed the completed form to Mr. Moretti. “We will all miss you, and if things don’t work out, you can always get a job with the Barrington Line.”

“That’s kind of you,” responded Elena.

“But for your sake, let’s hope not, Mrs. Karpenko. Before you leave, don’t forget to collect your wages.”

“You’re going to pay me as well?” said Elena in disbelief.

“Of course.” The purser handed her two brown envelopes. He then walked to the door of his office, opened it, and said, “Let’s hope we never see you again, Mrs. Karpenko.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hallett,” said Elena, who stood on her toes and kissed him on both cheeks, which left the purser speechless.

She went straight to her cabin, keen to let Sasha know about the offer. When she opened the door, she was both surprised and delighted. Delighted to find her son waiting for her, but surprised to see a large parcel on the bed.

“What’s that?” she asked, taking a closer look at the bulging package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.

“I have no idea,” said Sasha, “but it was there when I came off work.”

Elena undid the string and slowly removed the wrapping paper. She gasped when she saw all the clothes that spilled out onto the bed, along with a card that read, Thank you both, and good luck. It was signed by every member of the crew, including the captain. Elena burst into tears. “How can we ever pay them back?”

“By being model citizens, if I remember the captain’s exact words,” said Sasha.

“But we’re not even citizens yet, and will remain stateless until the immigration authorities are convinced that we’re genuine political refugees, and have real jobs to go to.”