‘Start clearing up!’ Strelnikov barked, as he sank into the only chair in the room while nursing a half-empty bottle of vodka.
After Mr Ling had returned with the empty soup plates, he immediately began to scour the large pots and the two frying pans. When he heard Strelnikov begin to snore, he grinned at Alex and pointed to a pan of untouched chips. Alex devoured every last one of them, while Elena continued scrubbing the pots. Once she’d finished, she glanced across at Strelnikov. He was fast asleep, so she and Alex slipped out of the galley and made their way back up the spiral staircase and onto the deck.
Elena began to unpack her little suitcase and place each item neatly on the deck, when she heard heavy footsteps behind her. She quickly turned around to see a tall, heavily built man approaching them. Alex put down his dictionary, leapt up and stepped between his mother and the advancing giant. Although he knew it would be an unequal contest, he didn’t intend to give up without a fight. But the man’s next move took them both by surprise. He sat down cross-legged on the deck, and smiled up at them.
‘My name is Dimitri Balanchuk,’ he said, ‘and, like you, I’m a Russian exile.’
Elena looked more carefully at Dimitri, and then remembered he was the man who’d thanked her at supper. She returned his smile, and sat down opposite him. Alex folded his arms and remained standing.
‘We should arrive in New York in about ten days,’ said Dimitri in a soft, gentle voice.
‘Have you been to New York before?’ Elena asked.
‘I live there, but I still consider Leningrad to be my home. I was on deck when I saw you climbing into the crate. I tried to warn you to get into the other one.’
‘Why?’ said Alex. ‘I’ve read a lot about New York, and even though it’s full of gangsters, it sounds exciting.’
‘It’s exciting enough,’ said Dimitri, ‘although there are just as many gangsters in Moscow as there are in New York,’ he added, with a wry smile. ‘But I’m not convinced you’ll ever get off this ship without my help.’
‘Are they going to send us back to Leningrad?’ asked Elena, trembling at the thought.
‘No. The Yanks would welcome you with open arms, especially as you’re refugees fleeing from Communism.’
‘But we don’t know anyone in America,’ said Alex.
‘You do now,’ said Dimitri, ‘because I’d do anything to help a fellow countryman escape from that repressive regime. No, it’s not the Americans who will be your problem, it’s Strelnikov. You’ve cut his workload in half, so he’ll do anything to prevent you getting off the ship.’
‘But how can he stop us?’
‘The same way he does Mr Ling, who joined the crew in the Philippines over six years ago. Whenever we approach a port, Strelnikov locks him in the galley and doesn’t let him out until we’re back at sea. And I suspect that’s exactly what he has planned for you.’
‘Then we must tell one of the officers,’ said Elena.
‘They don’t even know you’re on board,’ said Dimitri. ‘Even if they did, it’s more than their life is worth to cross Strelnikov. But don’t panic, because I have an idea which I hope will see the cook ending up locked in his own galley.’
*
Although she was exhausted, it was some time before Elena fell asleep, as she couldn’t get used to the pitching and swaying of the lifeboat. After she had finally managed an hour, perhaps two, she opened her eyes to find Mr Ling standing by her side. She clambered out of the boat and shook Alex, who was fast asleep on the deck. They accompanied Mr Ling back down to the galley with only the moon to guide them. It was clear that they weren’t going to see the sun for the next ten days.
Breakfast consisted of two fried eggs and beans on toast for the officers, served on the same three plates as their meal the evening before, with cups of black coffee to accompany them, while the crew were handed two slices of bread and dripping, and a mug of tea, with no suggestion of sugar. No sooner had Elena, Alex and Mr Ling cleared up after breakfast than they had to begin preparing for lunch, while Strelnikov took his morning siesta. More sleep than Elena had managed the previous night.
Elena and Alex were given a short break after lunch, but were not allowed to go back on deck, as Strelnikov didn’t want the officers to find out they were on board. They sat alone in the corridor, hunched up against the wall, wondering how different things might have been if they had climbed into the other crate.
6
SASHA
En route to Southampton
By the end of their first week on board, Sasha had mastered the dumb waiter so well that he even found time to help Fergal serve the passengers, although he wasn’t allowed anywhere near the captain’s table. Once they’d laid up for breakfast each night, Sasha would return to his mother’s cabin and regale her with what he’d overheard the passengers talking about, and what he’d said to them.
‘But I thought you weren’t allowed to speak to the passengers.’
‘I’m not, unless they ask a question. So now they all know you’re working in the kitchen and looking for a job in England, and if you haven’t got one by the time we dock at Southampton, we won’t be allowed past immigration, and will have to remain on board. And here’s the bad news. Once they’ve reloaded, and the new passengers have come on board, they’re going straight back to Leningrad.’
‘We certainly can’t risk that. Have any of the passengers shown the slightest interest in our plight?’
‘Not a dicky bird.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s cockney rhyming slang for word.’
‘What’s a cockney?’
‘Someone who’s born within the sound of Bow bells.’
‘Where are these Bow bells?’
‘No idea. But Fergal will know.’
‘Are there any English passengers on board?’ asked Elena.
‘Only four, and they rarely speak to each other, let alone anyone as lowly as a waiter. They’re standoffish.’
‘I’ve never heard that word before.’
‘Fergal uses it a lot, particularly when he’s talking about the English. I looked it up in the dictionary. It means distant and cold in manner, unfriendly.’
‘Perhaps they’re just shy,’ suggested Elena.
*
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?’