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Captain’s Personal Log
It’s gone eleven at night. This is the first chance I’ve had to write in my journal since leaving the port of Fremantle early yesterday evening. It’s been non-stop here on board the Albion. Almost halfway through our round trip, Fremantle is an important port of call, both because we pick up a new influx of passengers and because of the revictualling that’s necessary. As Master of the ship, everything from the smallest black pearl of caviar to our great Rolls Royce engines is my ultimate responsibility. I’ve been busy overseeing the work of my department managers, checking up on inventory and, of course, meeting and greeting the new passengers — two cocktail parties in the ballroom on successive nights.
I haven’t had much time to process what happened to Meredit
