Free Alice-Miranda at Sea by Jacqueline Harvey Page A

in his nature to talk to anyone very much.
    He vaguely shook his head.
    â€˜Very well, sir. Would you like me to bring you a plate in an hour or so?’
    He nodded and wished Henderson would stop yapping.
    â€˜I think there’s going to be fireworks later tonight, too.’
    Henderson wondered about Neville. Painfully shy wouldn’t go halfway to describing the poor lad. Certainly he was the polar opposite of his gossipy mother across the hallway. She never stopped talking and asking Henderson’s opinion on which dress looked best and how she should do her hair. You’d have thought the woman had never got dressed on her own before.
    â€˜Do you play?’ Henderson looked at the trumpet case tucked in beside Neville on the couch. Its brown leather trim had seen more than a few bumps and knocks and there was a rather large smiley face sticker in the middle of the lid.
    Neville nodded. He found it was the best way to answer most questions.
    â€˜May I have a look, Master Neville?’ Henderson asked.
    Neville shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing special,’ he whispered.
    â€˜Oh, well perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of hearing you practise,’ Henderson suggested.
    â€˜I . . . I . . . only play for me. It’s private.’
    â€˜Oh, okay, sir,’ Henderson frowned. Having played trombone for years in his own school band, Henderson thought that was very odd indeed. Play- ing a brass or woodwind instrument without others was a bit like being the defence, attack and goalie on the football team. You didn’t stand a hope, really, and in his experience it wasn’t much fun at all.

T he Royal Deck had been completely transformed for dinner. Fairy lights twinkled along the railings and large Chinese lanterns swayed above, suspended from slender cables. The section of deck set for dinner was enclosed and heated, keeping the chill breath of the ocean at bay. Thirty round tables, resplendent with white cloths, sparkling candelabra and silverware so highly polished you could clean your teeth in its reflection, adorned the rear of the ship. A row of gleaming barbecues groaned under the weight of their sizzling feasts.
    Alice-Miranda, Millie and Jacinta were escorted to their table by a handsome steward. The girls were sitting with Lucas and Sep and wondered who else might join them. Cecelia and Hugh were dining with Granny Valentina, Aunty Gee, Lawrence, Charlotte, Mrs Oliver, Millie’s grandfather and Shilly. Over by the dance floor, a small musical ensemble struck up a tune, adding to the festive mood.
    â€˜Hold on a tick, I’d better say hello to Mum and Dad.’ Millie excused herself and walked over to see her parents, who were seated at the admiral’s table with Daisy and Granny Bert, Mr and Mrs Greening and some other guests she didn’t recognise.
    Jacinta glanced around the deck.
    â€˜Still haven’t spotted them?’ Alice-Miranda asked.
    â€˜No,’ said Jacinta. ‘But it’s typical. Mummy’s probably caught up on the telephone.’ She shrugged. ‘And Daddy will be busy doing some billion-dollar deal.’
    â€˜I’m sure that they’ll be here soon,’ Alice-Miranda reassured her.
    A tinkling of silver on crystal signified the formal start of the meal. Admiral Harding stood up and cleared his throat.
    â€˜Ahem. Good evening, Your Majesty, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, what a pleasure it is to have you here on board the Octavia for what will be a most wonderful voyage. Our gracious hostess, Queen Georgiana, has requested that royal protocol be kept to a minimum as we are here to celebrate the impending marriage of Miss Charlotte Highton-Smith to the most charming and soon to be not-so-eligible bachelor, star of stage and screen, Mr Lawrence Ridley.’
    â€˜Hear, hear.’ Ambrose McLoughlin-McTavish raised his glass.
    â€˜I couldn’t agree more.’ Aunty Gee held her