Admiral Harding’s inspection of the doctor’s records took considerably more time than Nicholas Lush had hoped. Fortunately his methodical attention to detail had paid off and the admiral had nothing but praise for his work. At the same time, First Officer Whitley Prendergast and he began their stocktake and ended up spending over two hours checking off a long list of medical supplies, noting how many of this and that were available, down to the last bandaid. Admiral Harding had long gone, telling the pair that there was a severe storm warning and the passengers might expect to be confined to their cabins for the evening if it turned out as badly as the forecast predicted.

Prendergast, with his constant jolly banter, had soon gotten on Nicholas’s nerves. A never-ending list of questions spewed from his mouth. ‘So, what do you use this medication for?’ ‘How long does it take to knock someone out with anaesthetic?’ ‘How many operations have you performed?’ The fellow had drivelled on and on until finally Nicholas could take it no longer and asked him to keep quiet.

Prendergast’s demeanour seemed to change instantly. He shut up all right but he was broody and sulky and very deliberate when putting the stock back in its place.

Nicholas hadn’t seen this side of the young man before. Frankly, until now he’d rather reminded him of that ridiculous child he’d just removed the splinter from – always smiling and cheerful with nothing too much of a bother. Perhaps he was seeing the real Whitley.

When finally the pair had finished the task, Whitley Prendergast shoved the inventory list under the doctor’s nose and demanded that he sign it so he could get it back upstairs to the admiral.

Lush did as he was asked, but laughed when Prendergast snatched it away.

‘What’s got into you?’ he asked.

And then as if someone flicked a switch, Prendergast was back to his usual chirpy self again.

‘Nothing, doctor, nothing at all. Thank you for your assistance. I know it wasn’t what you’d have liked to be doing this afternoon. Have a good evening, Dr Lush,’ Prendergast gushed and then he was gone.

Nicholas was left wondering if he shouldn’t consult one of his psychology manuals about what he’d just witnessed. It seemed very peculiar indeed.

There had been several things on Nicholas’s mind during the stocktake. He’d been thinking about dinner and hoping that the gorgeous Ambrosia Headlington-Bear was sitting at his table as he had requested with the purser that morning. He was trying not to think about the earlier phone call but was feeling quite sick about it. ‘If anything were to happen to her,’ Nicholas murmured.

And there was the curious mystery of the young lad occupying Neville Headlington-Bear’s suite which deserved some attention right away.

Dr Lush locked the infirmary and made his way downstairs to the Gallery Deck. He reached the Albert Suite and knocked gently at the door.

‘I’ve come to check on Master Neville,’ he called. He was expecting the steward to open up as he had been instructed to sit with the lad but there was no reply. Nicholas fumbled in his pocket for the master key but realised with some irritation that he’d left it sitting on his desk.

Neville Nordstrom had heard the voice outside and crept into the entrance hall to listen. He was about to open the door when Dr Lush shouted, ‘I don’t know who you are, lad, but I know that you’re certainly not Mr Neville Headlington-Bear and you are most certainly not meant to be occupying this suite. I’ll be back soon with the admiral. I hope you have a good explanation for impersonating a very well-respected business man.’

With that, Nicholas turned on his heel and headed back to his office to retrieve the missing key.

Neville froze. Henderson had gone to make some arrangements for some woman he’d been babbling on about. He had mentioned Neville’s mother more than once too, which was very odd. His mother was not on board, but what if Henderson and Lush both thought he was somebody else? He also had a niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right about the ship. There were an awful lot of royal crests on everything, including the soap. A hot, sick feeling began to rise up his throat. What if he was on the wrong ship? Neville felt faint. The fact that the ship was rolling about in the waves was not helping.

He gathered his wits about him and decided then and there that he needed to go, before the doctor returned with the admiral. If he was in the wrong room and they thought he was impersonating someone else, he might even go to prison. Beads of perspiration formed a wet moustache on Neville’s upper lip.

He raced into the bedroom and grabbed his kit bag from the wardrobe. It was a jolly good thing he hadn’t allowed Henderson to unpack it. As he snatched it from the floor, Neville noticed a piece of white string poking out from a shelf above. He reached up and felt around to see if it was attached to anything. Neville’s hand landed on what he thought must be a laundry bag. That was odd. He hadn’t even thought about sending out any washing. He gave the string a sharp pull and the bag and its contents hit the floor with a dull thud. Whatever was inside didn’t sound like dirty underpants.

Neville wasn’t a nosey boy – not usually. But he was curious to see what the bag contained. He undid the string and prised open the bag.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ the nervous boy gasped. ‘That’s not mine.’

Fumbling about, all fingers and thumbs, Neville retied the string and placed the bag back on the shelf. Except that he couldn’t remember if it had been on the very top or the second from the top. His cut was throbbing and he felt like he might throw up. The doctor would be back any minute. Neville grabbed the laundry bag and threw it to the top shelf. ‘No, that’s not where it was.’ He reached into his pocket for his inhaler, took two short puffs and then climbed onto the bottom shelf to try to find the laundry bag. But it was too far in and he couldn’t reach it.

Neville’s head was spinning. He leapt to the carpet, slammed the wardrobe door and then snatched up his kit bag in one hand and his trumpet case in the other and headed for the door. He pressed his ear against the timber and listened, then checked the peephole; as far as he could tell there wasn’t anyone close by. Trembling, he opened the door slowly and poked his head around. Then he ran as quickly as his legs could carry him to the end of the corridor where another staircase led up and down. Neville decided down was a better option and fled as quickly as he could down two flights, all the while wondering where he would end up. His mind raced. He already knew he’d be in huge trouble with his parents, but that might be the least of his worries.