THE MINUTEST DETAIL………..

I was beginning to relax. We’d had lunch on the terrace of my favourite restaurant in

the village of Villeneuve Loubet, just behind Antibes in the South of France. A

delightful place in Spring and Autumn, but this was July and hot and busy so the

bottle of deep chilled Montrachet ’87 was, even more than usual, consumed with

appreciation.

I was there to brief Captain Bill Williams on the forthcoming

charter but it was clear he knew his job. A Master Mariner with fifteen years sea

going and charter experience, he combined an easy going management style with

an ability to instill concentrated anxiety amongst those with whom he was

displeased. For the last two years, he had skippered this Dutch built, 165ft heavy

displacement steel motor yacht. He was assisted by twelve crew including a Chief

Engineer who managed an engine room so clean, it could serve as

an operating theatre! Driven by twin 1000hp Caterpilar 12 cylinder turbo assisted

diesel engines which, if called upon, would achieve 14 knots and not need to stop

for fuel before coming home to the Mediterranran after a Caribbean cruise.

Twin100kw diesel generators, housed separately in their own ‘plant room’ provided

power so quietly that no guest would ever know they were running. The yacht

accommodated her twelve guests in very considerable comfort and traditional

‘country house’ style.

The master stateroom situated on the upper deck enjoyed a private sun terrace, his
 The Minutest Detail/2

and hers bathrooms and access to a fully equipped gymnasium. The other guest

cabins all had private bathrooms and the VIP suite, situated right forward on the

main deck had an adjacent study. The library, just off the main saloon, was the

responsibility of the Chief Steward. He may or may not have had literary ambition

but it was his ability to get to the book shops at the airport to buy the latest

best sellers before welcoming guests and organising their luggage that marked him

as the ideal man for the library job.

We discussed in the minutest detail our charter clients every wish, whim and

preference. At a charter rate of US$30,000 per day, a charterer has the right to be

as demanding as he likes.

On this occasion, we had arranged the yacht for a well-known European aristocrat,

sometime Ambassador and now part time industrialist and a very experienced

charterer, so due protocol and attention to detail would be the order of the day! I

knew him well having managed his annual family holiday for several years. He had

strong preferences: he would eat only fresh Scottish lobster and preferably from

Mallaig where he thought they produced lobster like no other in the world. He would

drink only Krug Le Mesnil ’81 champagne with which he was so familiar he would

identify it on hearing the “pop” of the cork! His wife, English and very “county” chose

a more modest Pol Roger, Winston Churchill’s favourite tipple. Her family and the

Marlborough’s had been friends for several generations.

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So, the check list was thoroughly, even exhaustively, gone through with Captain

Bill:-

Yes, all bed linen and towels in all cabins would be changed twice a day.

Yes, crew would be in fresh white uniforms every day…. Or invisible!

Yes, speed boats and toys would be instantaneously launched without the need for

guests to ask.

Yes, fresh Scottish lobster would be delivered on the morning of embarkation and

replenished in Porto Cervo, Sardinia.

Yes, the jet bikes were new and the very latest models.

Yes, the parascending gear had been checked.

Yes, one of the stewardesses was a Norland Nanny and would assist with the

children.

And so on, but I was pleased that all appeared under control, so I consciously

allowed the effects of the wine to contribute to a more optimistic view of the

prospects for a successful charter in particular and the world in general.

Embarkation was the following week in San Remo, a small, busy Italian port just

over the French border. As is my practice, I was in attendance to introduce the

charter party to the Captain and his crew.

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The lower aft deck, its golden teak planking manicured to perfection and glowing in

the late morning sun, had been prepared for the “welcome aboard” party. An ice

sculpture, bedecked by gloriously scented fresh flowers was the centre piece of the

table surrounded by sparkling Atlantis crystal, silver ice buckets, large bowls of

colourful fresh fruit, and crisp, freshly starched white table linen. Space had been

left for the lobster (poached and served cold with fresh mayonnaise) and the Krug

’81 would be taken from the chiller and “popped” the second H.E. set foot on board.

The charter party were coming from Nice by helicopter and were due in thirty

minutes. Everything appeared under control but there was that desirable tension

before, as it were, “curtain up”. I was, however, aware of an unusually animated

Captain Bill in conversation at the foot of the gangway. The conversation ended

more abruptly that the exchange of polite goodbyes would normally allow. Captain

Bill briefed me: the lobsters had been flown into Genoa from Fort William, claws

tethered but still snapping, that morning as planned but the crate in which

they were travelling had been damaged and the “vet” had been summoned by

Italian customs. The “vet” had declared, amid much mirth no doubt, that the lobsters

were unfit for further travel and had confiscated them!

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The Chef was summoned and two of his galley staff were dispatched with sackfulls

of Euros to scour San Remo for fresh lobster – any nationality – while he
disappeared

into the yachts cavernous freezer room to extract supplies kept for such an

emergency. H.E. , family and friends were travelling from several points in Northern

Europe so we could only hope for palates dulled by airline food!

The party arrived early, just allowing sufficient time for Captain Bill to recover his

relaxed style. I did the introductions and was pleased to hear the “pop” of the

champagne. As my flute was filled, I read the label on the bottle and I wondered

whether H.E. could also identify the vintage from the sound of the “pop”. I could only

hope not because the French wine shipper from Nice, selected because he was so

reliable, had swapped H.E’s specially requested Krug ’81 for a much less lauded

Krug ’87.

Not a great deal I could do, Krug or lobsterwise, so I decided it was time to hand

over “the minutest detail” to Captain Bill, bid bon voyage to H.E. and disappear

quickly!

AREM TEE 22.10.93