Page 205 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

This was obviously significant trouble. In wondering what to do, I thought of
calling Leigh, but then thought of Isabel, down-to-earth professional help (she
could be called a bit of a dour Scot) whom I knew to be friendly with Patricia.
Firstly, of course, I had to deal with a comatose naked lady and decided to put her
into bed (it surprised me how difficult it is to pick up and deposit a completely
relaxed body, especially when I wished to ensure that I did nothing untoward)
and in a few moments, I had put her under her sheet. I phoned Isabel (Izzy, as
we called her) and she was up with me in but a few minutes. Her inspection
indicated that Patricia was in no distress, but that Izzy ‘had expected this’ (I wish
that somebody had told me!) and to leave the situation with her. I was happy to
do so and finished off getting into uniform and sped up to the bridge.
Captain Riddelsdell was unconcerned, but the staff captain gave me a hard
time about being late. I could do little but be contrite; what was to come of this I
did not know.

Next morning, I found that Patricia had essentially been granted sick leave,
and in talking to Peter Love, the mate, found that the whole incident was over,
as far as I was concerned, and that no opprobrium was attached to me; small
comfort, actually, as I felt that I had walked into a situation of which others could
easily have warned me. However, being a willing participant, I put the matter
down to inexperience and the lust of youth, and in the final analysis recognised
that I had avoided a bullet; this I could treat as a lesson. I did not feel that Patricia
was herself culpable, she being a rather strange being, almost ‘trapped’ in her
looks and her psychology. I later heard that such a relationship had occurred on
her previous ship, but inasmuch as it is easy to be wise after the event, I gave no
particular credence to that tale.

There was to be a final denouement, laughable if it had not had an element of
tawdry drama. A few days later Pocock approached me and asked if I would mind
if he ‘had a go’ with Patricia; in replying that I had no possessory rights and it was
certainly not my role to give ‘permission’, I left him to it. I soon heard, I think
from Leigh, that Patricia’s response had been nicely direct derision. Given his
Don Giovanni personality, I doubt that that even bothered him (he was reputed
to have the strange habit, before he got ‘down to it’, of requiring a shower with his
intended target; I suspect this story to have been apocryphal – but only ‘suspect’).
This incident somewhat curtailed my social activities for the next section of
the voyage, as I thought it quite probable that there were all sorts of rumours
going around and that it was best just to let that sleeping dog lie. The Vancouver-
San Francisco-Los Angeles-Honolulu leg was in any event fairly busy with
promotional activities (all sorts of travel consultants/agents coming aboard,
fashion events staged on deck, local dignitaries aboard for photo-shoots …
that sort of thing) so I kept my watch and did little else. The routine, however,

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