Episode Forty of the Sensational Shrimpleton Saga: The Korean Connection…

We now return to Cumberside Island and Shrimpleton Town AFC’s home ground, The Black Pool.

Here, the Summer Gala which had ended so disastrously just seven days earlier was in full swing.

Perhaps the only `Summer’ Gala to be held anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere in January had so far been a conspicuous success.

Although James Churchill Proudfoot – the `Chief Operating Officer’ of the club – would claim all the credit for this, we all know who was really responsible for it: Soldier Jay and the threats he had made to local farmers as he had terrorised them earlier in the week.

But there was no sign of Jim Proudfoot at the Black Pool.

So where was he?

He was not too far away on Ranjit Singh Chopra’s huge and extraordinarily luxurious – not to say mind-bogglingly expensive – ship.

James Churchill Proudfoot was absolutely in his element. Thanks to Simran’s make-up crew and wardrobe department, he had cribbed a free haircut and shave and a really decent set of togs into the bargain.

He actually looked quite presentable for once in his life and had been behaving himself too, so far at least.

Despite the fact that the champagne had been flowing freely, Jim had also managed to keep his hands to himself – despite many temptations – as he mingled with the boisterous and largely youthful crowd on Chopper’s enormous luxury yacht.

People aboard were already celebrating some achievement concerning the football club to be found just across the water on the edge of Shrimpleton Bay.

From the deck of Chopper’s enormous status symbol, you could actually see the floodlights at The Black Pool and hear snatches of loud rock music as local band the Psychotronics did their thing on the main stage there.

Chopper was in his element too: the perfect Mine Host as he mingled with the party throng and congratulated himself that the ultimate success of a plan – carefully hatched over the last two and a bit years – concerning Shrimpleton Town Football Club – was finally reaching fruition.

All he needed to do now was make a suitably fawning speech to the assembled multitude at The Black Pool later on and the deal would be as good as sealed. He just needed Simran to do her thing first to get the islanders in the right mood. He looked at his watch – time to collect the star of the show.

Five minutes later – his face like thunder – Ranjit Singh Chopra was back in the main cabin, pushing his way through the throng.

He grabbed Jim Proudfoot by the arm and literally dragged him away.

Outside the main Saloon in an exquisitely-carpeted stairway, Chopper turned on the Chief Operating Officer of Shrimpleton Town football club and shouted:

“If this is any of your doing, I will personally throttle you! Come with me!”

He led the way to Simran’s cabin. To find her so drunk or stoned (and actually both) that neither of them were able to rouse her. Chopper yelled at Jim:

“This child is just sixteen! Any sort of alcohol would inevitably do this to her adolescent and normally tee-total system! If you have been plying her with drink in order to…”

“Not Guilty, Your Honour!” protested Threefeet of the Yard. Which – for once – was true.

“All is not lost!” he added, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket.

“I know someone who will get us out of this mess! Round-up Simran’s Make-Up and Wardrobe crew! They are going to perform a transformation on someone who – with a bit of forward planning – can successfully step into Simran’s shoes!”

Jim then made a very short call.

As he did so, Chopper looked very doubtful. But – against his better judgement – did exactly what Jim then asked him to once the brief phone conversation was over.

Chopper’s huge helicopter took off as a result of this.

It flew from his floating luxury hotel to a field just behind The Black Pool without Simran and with Jim the sole passenger. As it landed, a figure ran from the shadows and leapt aboard. Then the huge aircraft lifted back into the darkness and headed back to the extraordinarily luxurious ship.

An hour later, the Chinook was landing back in the same field adjacent to The Black Pool once more. The engines were cut and the huge rotors slowly stopped turning.

Someone who – at a distance – might just be Simran herself was sitting close to the pilot. Accompanied by James Churchill Proudfoot, Chopper and six of his toughest-looking `bodyguards’.

Jim was anxious to get off the Chinook. He was still reluctant to visit The Black Pool, fearful that some of the assembled multitude – many of who had paid him good money for Bird’s Eye seats – would give him a hard time. Or even cause a scene potentially followed by general mayhem.

So he made his excuses – a toilet stop – and sneaked off into the night, leaving the mysterious stranger plus Chopper and his gang to wait for separate prompts from within the stadium to leap into action.

Jim made a bee-line for the Shrimpleton Arms.

He had guessed – correctly for once – that nobody would be there because they would all be at the football ground. He helped himself to a pint of Seth’s strongest ale, knocked it back in five enormous gulps, pulled himself another and retreated to his room.

He had come up with two scenarios as to what to do next.

Plan A was to lock himself in his room and lay low if – as he feared – the Simran impersonation didn’t go well. Or if the entire vicinity went crazy when they all belatedly realised that the advertised Star of the Show wasn’t going to put in an appearance and they had been duped.

Plan A also applied even if the Simran Tribute Act went well but Chopper’s speech about his plans for the football club didn’t.

You didn’t have to be a rock band from Leeds to predict a riot if that happened.

Plan B would only come into play if everything went without a hitch this evening, in which case he would risk demands for refunds by basking in the reflected glory of the rapturous crowds at The Black Pool – and try to grab as much of this for himself as he could.

Both plans seemed to become a lot more appealing as the second pint of Seth’s Special Brew disappeared down his throat.

Maybe, he thought to himself, he should have just one more…

He sneaked back downstairs and poured himself another beer. Then, spotting a three-pint capacity jug behind the bar, he filled that as well, retreated to his room, locked the door and turned the light off. He lay on his bed, listening to the dying part of the local band’s  Psychotronics’ set, took another slurp of ale and waited to hear what would happen next…

—

Off-shore and maybe a mile and a half away, inquisitive eyes had been avidly watching the comings and goings from Chopper’s huge ship.

Almost as soon as the helicopter had left Chopper’s yacht with the big Sikh clearly aboard it; Jay, Lady Lynne and Nine leapt into action. They were already wearing their smartest clothes – Nine his full dress Vietnamese People’s Army uniform – and Lady Lynne adorned with her finest jewellery to accompany the absolutely stunning outfit she had chosen to wear tonight.

Four had already launched the remaining Lifeboat from Her Lady’s ship – forgive me – and started its engine. He helped the other three into it and then leapt out, releasing the ropes that held the lifeboat against the side of the yacht. Nine then steered it away into the darkness.

The mist which had enveloped Threefeet of the Yard on his earlier escapade had gone and the night was dark, with countless stars sparking above the blackness of the sea, on which there was barely a ripple.

It took them no time at all to make the crossing to the huge floating mansion to be found just off-shore from Cumberside Island and lit-up like a Christmas Tree.

On the island, the new floodlights of The Black Pool were shining brightly and loud music plus the occasional explosion of fireworks above the stadium could be clearly heard.

But music was also on offer aboard Ranjit Singh Chopra’s huge boat: an acoustic jazz band wearing smart suits was playing standards as people visible through the portholes danced or otherwise moved around in each others’ arms.

Jay and Nine secured their boat to the side of the huge ship and leapt aboard. They extended their hands to Lady Lynne and helped her onto the deck of Chopper’s massive floating status symbol.

Following the sound of the live music, the three of them paused outside the doors to the Saloon the jazz band were playing in. They waited until there was a pause between songs before Nine pushed the doors open.

Heads turned towards him automatically. Nine, we must remember, was a tall, handsome and athletic-looking man. The uniform he was wearing made him look even more impressive than usual: Hello magazine would have paid a fortune for a good shot of him at that moment.

Nine raised one hand to ask for silence, which he got immediately. Then, stepping to one side, he announced, in perfect English:

“Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen! Allow me to introduce you to this evening’s celebrity couple: Soldier Jay of the British Armed Forces and Lady Lynne Shrimpleton of the House of Lords in London!”

Jay and Lynne appeared, arm-in-arm and smiled graciously at the assembled multitude, some of whom applauded. There was a slight pause until someone gave the band a nod; they started up another jazz standard and two waiters approached the star couple with trays bearing glasses of champagne. Lynne and Jay helped themselves, bowing slightly to one and all – and started to mingle with the adoring crowd.

Nine bowed politely and refused a proffered drink and then deliberately kept out of the limelight, biding his time.

For his job – as the Beautiful People in the shape of Jay and Lady Lynne enchanted the crowd packed into the beating heart of the boat – was to find the lovely Simran, if she was still there.

If she wasn’t, he needed to find out where she had gone and when she would be back.

He had been tasked to make the first attempt to try and persuade the young woman to abandon the huge ship and come with him.

He didn’t expect this to be easy: his spoken English was still very basic and he knew he would struggle to explain to Simran why this might be a good idea in the first place if she refused.

If – and probably when – she did so, it was Jay’s turn to try and make her change her mind.

Jay was obviously more fluent and confident using the English language.

Jay had sex appeal too – oodles of it. He was not daunted by beautiful women as so many men – Nine included – were either: he had always known how to deal with them thanks to his late, lamented sister.

But if Jay failed as well, finally, Lady Lynne herself was lined-up to step into the gap and try to explain to another achingly gorgeous woman why Simran’s future might be better spent out of the clutches of her manipulative and controlling Great Uncle Ranjit. If anyone could persuade her to turn her back on him, Lynne surely was that person.

Once whichever of the three of them was actually responsible for persuading Simran to join them, the plan was that they would return together to Lynne’s yacht and beat a hasty retreat southwards along the Irish Sea and head for the English Channel.

But that was all in the future.

In the present, Nine asked one of the waiters if Simran was around.

“She should be at the football ground – singing!” he was told. “But she’s been confined to her quarters instead.”

Nine just nodded. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion by asking where exactly those quarters were. But he already had a fairly good idea.

On their way across to Chopper’s yacht, he had noted cabins on the two upper decks of the ship. Most of these were in darkness and he guessed the reason for this was that their normal occupants were all in the Saloon of the ship. Just the occasional light showed and he assumed they were ones that the occupants had neglected to turn-off as they headed downstairs – or they were still in them, for whatever reason.

So when the coast was clear, he took an abandoned tray and found two full glasses of bubbly and balanced them on it. Then he made his way to the deck above the saloon, the tray in his left hand.

Thickly carpeted stairs led to a long corridor with doors to the left and right. There was a light switch at the end of the corridor. He turned it off, casting the entire space into complete darkness only broken by lights coming from beyond the door fourth to the right and another tenth to the left.

Switching the lights back on, he made his way quietly to the nearest door from which light had escaped and stood outside, listening intently for any sounds of movement within. There weren’t any. So he knocked gently. No answer. He knocked harder again and when nobody answered, tried the door handle. The room was locked.

So he moved on to the tenth door on the left and repeated the procedure. This time, it was answered by a middle-aged Indian woman to whom he offered a glass from his tray as `Room Service’.

She took it, smiled and closed the door after bowing to him in thanks.

Which left Nine to go up stairs at the end of the corridor and scan the cabins on that floor as well after turning the lights off there too.

Only one room was lit. Nine approached it and stood outside, listening. He could hear someone within. Could they possibly be weeping? Hopefully not. He knocked gently. The weeping stopped.

“Who is it?” demanded a clearly startled voice from within.

“Room Service!” said Nine and slowly turned the handle.

Inside the cabin, Simran was not looking her best. Her makeup had run; her eyes were red and her clothes were crumpled. She felt terrible: her period was still causing her pain; her head throbbed and she felt sick. She was also angry with herself for failing to play her part in the celebrations which were happening just across the water tonight at that very moment: despite her earlier nerves, she was confident that she could have gone down an absolute storm.

But she was even more furious with her Great Uncle Ranjit and the nasty things he had said to her earlier.

Most of all, though – as her adolescent hormones played hell with her mood – she was upset about the Korean lead singer of Sixteen&AHalf for continuing to ignore her.

She didn’t want any company right now – she just wanted to stay in her cabin and mope.

But the door opened and she saw – first – a silver tray with a glass of champagne on it.

That in itself cheered her up a bit.

But as the figure carrying it emerged into the light, Simran really thought she had died and gone to heaven.

Because here was a man the spitting image of the Korean singer who had broken her heart!

Tall. Handsome. Georgeous!

She closed her eyes, shook her head to clear her thoughts and then looked at her unexpected visitor anew. Nine was still there looking absolutely resplendent in his best dress uniform and grinning at her.

“You’ve come!” she said as if all her prayers had been answered right there and then. “Who would believe it?”

With a squeal of delight, Simran pushed herself off her bed and threw her arms around Nine almost before he could set his tray down. He hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, but he realised in that moment that getting the young woman off this boat was not going to be anything like as difficult as he had anticipated it might be…

It took Simran a while to fix her makeup and smarten herself up.

As she did, Nine returned to the Saloon and asked both Jay and Lynne to be ready to make their excuses and leave the jolly crowd still dancing to the jazz band fairly pronto. He would meet them by the lifeboat in precisely five minutes.

He returned to Simran’s cabin to find her looking absolutely sensational.

“You’ll need a coat!” said Nine.

“A coat?”

“Yes – it is cold out there!”

“Out there?” repeated Simran, not sure whether to be delighted – or worried. “Where are we going?”

“Away from all this” he said. And those words were pure music to the young woman’s ears…

Lady Lynne’s latest quest – to liberate a fellow beauty from perhaps eventually literally naked exploitation – seemed to be going along seamlessly.

But could the same be said of the January `Summer Gala’ taking place on nearby Cumberside Island?

Or could developments in the story local Editor of the Shrimpleton Bugle had recently published put a spanner in the works as far as Ranjit Singh Chopra was concerned?

Join us next time in the next part of The Sensational Shrimpleton Saga to find out…