The song finished and the two naval men returned to their table.
“Marvellous movers these native Americans,” the Admiral said.
“As long as it wasn’t a rain dance.”
“Not at all. Chap called Madonna was singing about how he’d like a bit of sturgeon.”
The Captain sniffed. “Hope they hurry up with this buffet, getting a bit peckish.”
“A maid, Annabel? I thought you’d have been dressed up as the queen,” Joe said to his ex-sister in law and
poshest member of staff.
“Don’t be silly, Her Majesty wouldn’t be seen dead in here.”
“Don’t know, she might come in to give me my MBE.”
Annabel’s sneer was legendary. “You? An MBE?”
“Services to the licensed trade. That and charity work.”
“You’re trying to be funny now, charity work indeed.”
Joe put her in place with a cutting line. “I took you in.”
The minute the girls began laying out the buffet the Captain dragged the Admiral up to the table and regarded
it with dismay. He looked around and caught Joe’s eye.
“I say, chappie, where’s the quiche?”
“The what?”
“The quiche, man, the quiche.”
“Sandwiches and sausage rolls, that’s your whack,” Joe said emphatically.
“But that can’t be right. This is the bar where young Tommy Malone has a berth?”
“Wee Tommy, the chef?”
“That’s the chap. Bring on the quiche!”
“Listen, pal, I’ve told you once, there’s no bloody quiche. And no pheasant drumsticks either.”
“That’s ridiculous, I’m a Captain in Her Majesty’s navy and I demand quiche.”
“And I’m Kylie Minogue.”
“No you’re not,” the Admiral interjected. “He’s a much smaller chap than you.”
Norma, noticing the heated discussion, came over. “What’s the problem, Joe?”
“These fellas are demanding quiche.”
Norma was nothing if not wise and immediately recalled her conversation with Tommy. “Oh my God, are you
real sailors?”
“Of course we’re not, we’ve hired these uniforms for a fancy dress party,” the Captain snarled.
“Oh, that’s all right then.”
“Of course we’re real sailors, you impudent baggage. I’m Captain Clarkson and this is Admiral Wainwright.
Heard our young Tommy was working here now and decided to come down for some quiche.”
“What are these idiots on about?” Joe asked.
“It’s Tommy. He used to be in the navy and made quiche for his Captain.”
“Are you the skipper of this bar, my man?” Captain Clarkson asked imperiously.
“I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.”
