James followed her gaze and looked at them as he took another sip of his Scotch. ‘Ah, our friends from the café, if you can call it that. I think I recognise him, you know.’ James lowered his voice in case he was caught snooping again. ‘I’ve been thinking about it since lunch. Though he does have that look…’
‘Like a matinee idol?’
James nodded. ‘He does seem awfully… Ah, I know. Spencer McNeal! I saw him perform in London in thirty-eight, though he’s on the wireless mostly now. He has that catchphrase, what was it… oh it will come to me…’
Fen looked on as James cocked his head to one side and closed an eye, as if that was how he accessed his memory banks.
‘Aha!’ James stopped winking into the ceiling and looked at Fen.
‘Success?’ Fen was amused by the whole thing.
‘“What d’ya think you are…”’ James paraphrased in a terrible American accent and was caught by surprise when a real American voice next to him continued the line.
‘Some sort of animal?’
The voice was that of Spencer McNeal himself, who came and sat down next to James. He was holding a tumbler of what looked like whisky, too, and in the other hand he held the longest, fattest cigar Fen had ever seen. He stuck his cigar in his mouth and held out his now free hand to James, who shook it eagerly.
‘What a pleasure,’ James said. ‘Who’d have thought we’d have the real Spencer McNeal here.’
‘The one and only.’ Spencer winked at them.
Fen nodded a hello to him, unsure if he’d recognise her from the quayside, and then smiled as Genie sat herself down at the table. She introduced her to James, who gallantly took her hand and, instead of shaking it vigorously, gently covered it with his other hand, giving her a warm welcome.
‘I feel like I should be here with the big sign that says “Applause”,’ laughed Genie. ‘Not that you need it, Spencer, honey.’ Genie laid a comforting hand on Spencer’s leg. He grinned, biting down on his cigar to keep it in place, then took a drag and removed it from his mouth, blowing rings out as he puffed.
‘No need at all, McNeal.’ James leaned forward, the look of a small boy in the front row of Barnum’s circus about him. ‘I remember the applause at the Palladium. Thunderous! I should imagine most of the chaps on this ship know your catchphrase.’
‘It’s done me well,’ he agreed, with a certain amount of swagger to his tone. ‘Know where they come from? Catchphrases, I mean.’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it, if I’m honest with you,’ Fen replied, and then hoped she hadn’t accidentally caused offence as she saw him chomp down rather aggressively on his cigar. She made him smile again though by looking genuinely interested while concluding, ‘but please do tell, Mr McNeal, I’d love to know.’
‘Please, Miss Churche, Fenella, call me Spencer.’
Fen could feel herself blushing as he said this. She hadn’t immediately liked him when she’d met them both as they were waiting to board, but now she knew he was a celebrity… well, she hated to admit it, but she felt a little star-struck all of a sudden. From the way James was hanging on his every word, she suspected he felt the same.
Spencer continued: ‘It’s from the radio shows, you know the types. Lots of us in cahoots doing comedy sketches. Well, the wireless is a wonderful thing, but you can’t see through it, so you need to know who’s who, who’s talking. That’s why we all have our own catchphrases.’
James sat forward, intrigued. ‘Well, what do you know. That’s… well, of course that makes sense.’
‘My friend Kitty always doubles up with laughter at “Can you hear me, Mother?” Is that Sandy Powell?’ Fen mentioned, delighted to be in the warm embrace of some happy nostalgia.
‘Sandy Powell isn’t as big across the pond,’ Genie piped up. ‘But I do think he’s a gas.’
‘Not as funny as me, though, sweetheart?’ Spencer nudged her.
‘Of course not, Spencer, you’re the real deal.’ Genie looked lovingly at him.
‘And you, Genie, what do you do?’ Fen asked, keen to find out more about this charismatic pair. Genie looked at least as glossy as Spencer, and Fen couldn’t believe she didn’t have some fabulous job too. She wasn’t disappointed when Genie replied.
‘Oh me? I’m a dancer. One of the troupe that accompanied Spencer and the other headliners on their morale-boosting tour. Though I want to swap the high kicks for high-brow and become a real actress – you know, Broadway,’ she sighed, and Fen smiled when Spencer placed his hand over Genie’s and nodded his head.
‘We’ll get you there, sweetheart, that’s a McNeal promise.’
James slapped his hands on his thighs. ‘Well, this is all splendid. Drinks? Miss…?’
‘Oh, just call me Genie, please.’
James smiled. ‘Genie, Spencer, can I offer you another round? Fen, sherry?’
There were nods all round and James went to the bar.
‘You sure move quickly, Fen.’ Genie winked at her. ‘Last thing I remember, you were all on your lonesome on the quayside with us. Nice work though, he’s a dream.’
‘Hey, honey, what are you saying?’ Spencer leaned back, in mock indignation.
‘Oh Spencer, sweetheart, you know you’re the only man for me.’ Genie cosseted him and coyly shrugged her shoulder and blew him a kiss.
Fen felt she should explain. ‘Oh, James, Captain Lancaster, and I are just friends. We’re travelling together. Well, not together together. He’s got one of the smarter cabins upstairs and I’m, well, I’m along the corridor here. Lovely that we can all share these saloons though, even if it’s only for the night.’
‘You’re not staying on until New York, Fen?’ Genie asked, her eyes wide and looking even more so due to the lashings of mascara she used to emphasise them.
‘No, just to Southampton for me. James, too,’ Fen replied, and for the first time since she’d booked her passage she felt a twang of regret
