“Ben.”
He opened his eyes. He heard the whisper again.
“Ben.”
Ben’s eyes were attracted to the dark corner, where he had heard his name being called. He squinted as he sought confirmation of the image bestowed upon him. Penelope now stood in front of the cabin door. Her long, dark hair covered her naked shoulders and her long finger beckoned him.
He looked across at Natasha. It would take a major explosion to rouse her from her slumber. Ben sat at the edge of the bed and pondered, his marriage in consideration. Yes, he loved his wife dearly, but this distraction would test the loyalty of a saint. Penelope, naked and beautiful enticed him. His will power was tested to its ultimate. Is this what it had come to? The passion outweighed his remorse, and he paced slowly towards the beckoning beauty. She placed her finger to her lips and he reached for her.
They kissed, gently at first and then with more conviction. He felt for her breast and caressed it, as she moaned gently and melted into his loving embrace. She reached down, removed his shorts and fondled his member. She guided him into her and her head fell back, rocking back and forth. They were now pressed against the door; their bodies merged into one. Penelope moaned, this time loudly. Ben rhythmically thrust at her, and she squealed loudly.
“Ben! What are you doing?”
Ben was alone. He stood against the door, his erection plain for Natasha to see. Penelope had vanished. He was in shock. This time there could be no explanation. Either he had made love to a ghost, or he was losing his mind.
“Come over here,” demanded Natasha.
He put on his shorts to cover his embarrassment and sat on the bed. With his head in his hands, he began to whimper. Natasha sat up and hugged him. His shoulders moved in time with his sobs.
“What is it, Ben? What were you doing at the door?”
“I think I’m going insane, Nat. I think I’m cracking up.”
Natasha added to his embarrassment. “It looked to me as though you were making love to the bloody door. Were you sleep walking?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. Am I asleep or am I awake? Is this whole charade just a dream?”
“Come back to bed, Ben. We’ll laugh about this in the morning. It’s not every day that a wife discovers her husband cheating on her with a door.” Natasha could not help but to giggle. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mates.”
They fell onto the bed and comforted each other. Ben was now afraid to sleep. Either Penelope was a ghost or he was insane. The thought troubled him deeply.
******
The air was unusually still. Not so much as a breeze was evident on the upper deck. Ben and Natasha had decided to take a short walk before breakfast. Natasha, like so many of the women present on the deck fanned herself. They sailed close to the coast of Cyprus and the heat was unbearable, even though it was still early morning. Other couples passed them and bid them good morning. The passengers wore various boaters and Panama hats, and the women twirled their colourful parasols. Some adventurous couples played badminton and tennis.
“Good morning, and how are you this fine morning?” asked First Officer Ingle.
It was Natasha who responded. “We are fine thank you. It’s rather hot this morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes, now that you come to mention it, it is hot. Have you heard about the colonel?”
Natasha fanned herself rapidly. “No. Is he going to be okay?”
“I’m afraid not, Mrs Duncan. He passed away during the night. He never recovered from whatever ailed him.”
“Oh, that’s awful. When you say he passed away, you mean as the character, right? I mean, he didn’t really die, did he?”
The officer seemed bewildered. “He certainly did die, Mrs Duncan. What character are you referring to?”
Ben rolled his eyes and intervened. “Forget it, Nat. These guys must have taken the official secrets act before they were employed… What about Mrs Bradshaw? How’s she doing?”
“She’s not too good I’m afraid. She’s suffering with severe abdominal pains and has been vomiting. She also has a severe bout of diarrhoea. Dr Waverley is not too optimistic about her chances.”
Natasha played along. “Have you any idea where they contacted the sickness?”
“Dr Waverley seems to think that it could be food poisoning, or even something more sinister.”
“More sinister? What is he implying?” asked Ben.
First Officer Ingle continued. “The doctor asserts that he’s seen symptoms like these once before… in arsenic poisoning.”
“Arsenic. Is he serious?”
“I’m afraid he is, Mr Duncan. I must beseech you to keep this to yourselves. We do not wish to start a panic now, do we? Besides, the doctor only suspects arsenic. Food poisoning seems the more probable solution, don’t you think?”
Ben held his wife’s hand. “Well, good morning to you, Mr Ingle. We’ll no doubt see you at breakfast.”
******
Rumours about the colonel’s supposed death had spread throughout the ship. There was a strange lull at the breakfast table that morning. Davenport had introduced a couple to the captain’s table that morning, Lord and Lady Braithwaite. Apparently, they had only just ventured out of their cabin that morning. Lady Braithwaite had been ailing with a touch of flu, but had now completely recovered. They were about forty years of age. He was dark and sported a thick, well-groomed moustache. Lady Braithwaite was an attractive woman, short blonde hair with green eyes. She was decorated with the most exotic and expensive jewellery.
Ben tried not to make eye contact with Daniel Wells. He had decided to stay clear of him, even if this was only a sham. There was something sinister about that man. Harry Bradshaw was still absent, probably tending to his sick wife. Ben searched the room for Penelope. She was not present.
Grainger patted Ben on his back. “Congratulations on your win last night, Mr Duncan. By nature I am not a bad loser. I fall on my sword graciously, slain by a worthy opponent... Tell me, I’m most curious. How did you know I was bluffing?”
Ben smiled. “You, like every other card player, Mr Grainger have a tell.”
“A what?” interrupted Wendy Quinn, who eagerly awaited her breakfast.
“A tell,” said Grainger. “It’s a sort of trait. A nervous reaction you might say when you play cards. One man might stroke his chin for instance when he has a good hand. Perhaps he might drum his fingers when holding a bad hand. ..Tell me, Mr Duncan, what is my tell?”
“Well, that would be telling now, wouldn’t it?” The entire audience, apart from Wells, laughed.
“What is my tell, Duncan,” demanded Wells.
“As far as I could see, you don’t have one.”
Wells was unsatisfied. “But you said that everyone has a tell.”
“True, they have, but it may not be visible.”
“For instance?”
“You might get a hard on,” joked Danny Cooper.”
Some of the women, including Lady Braithwaite gasped. Wells remained impassive at first. Then he scowled and brought his finger across his throat. The smile vanished from Danny’s face.
“Ah, here’s breakfast,” said Davenport, in an attempt to defuse the situation.
The waiters carried the silver salvers to the table. As usual, the captain was served first, followed by Davenport. All eyes were on the captain as he chewed on a mouthful of bacon. There was not a man or woman on that table who did not feel a little uneasy about devouring their morning repast. Captain Perkins sensed the eyes on him when he savoured his eggs. He clutched his throat and made a choking sound. He drew gasps from his captivated audience, before he laughed loudly, a booming laugh. “Come on, eat up. The food is delicious.”
The light-hearted gag broke the monotony and everyone tucked in. Ben’s head turned towards the door to see Penelope and her lover make their entrance. Again, she ignored Ben and refused to make eye contact. Pollock pulled her chair
out for her and invited her to sit. They were promptly served breakfast.
“We apologise for being a little late. We overslept,” offered Pollock, a contented smirk on his face.
Penelope ate only toast and drank juice. Ben observed her. She even appeared to eat her meal seductively.
“So how much did you win last night?” asked Joe.
Ben resented the intrusion. “Two hundred and fifty quid, give or take.”
Natasha scowled at him. “You won two hundred and fifty pounds and you never said anything to me about it?”
“I meant to tell you, Nat, but I forgot.”
“You forgot two hundred and fifty pounds?”
Ben nodded towards Ross. “That was small change to what Ross won.”
Cheryl looked to Ross. “Is that so? We must have a little talk after breakfast.”
“Thanks mate,” moaned Ross.
The banter was interrupted by a scream coming from the far side of the dining room. The diners rose to see what the commotion was. Davenport and the captain hurried towards the furore. Not only one, but several diners appeared to be in some discomfort. One unfortunate man rolled around on the ground and clutched his throat. Dr Waverley tended to the injured parties. There were at least five people in agony that Ben could see. He joined the turmoil and offered his assistance. Several seamen helped carry the ailing diners to the sick bay. Ben’s estimate was imprecise. Seven people had suffered, including three women.
There was much chaos amongst the remaining diners. Questions were being asked and panic set in. Even the Quinns’ had ceased to devour their breakfast. It was not the scene of a cruise ship that morning, but more like a battlefield, riddled with casualties.
Davenport, Captain Perkins, and First Officer Ingle attempted to retain some order to the proceedings and reassured the diners, without success that all was under control.
Davenport made his way to the galley and confronted Simon Holt. Ben heard a loud argument as he tried to eavesdrop.
Davenport’s anger was directed towards the chef. “What the hell is going on, Simon? There can be no mistake this time. The food or drink definitely came from this galley.”
Simon Holt resented the accusation. “I’ve checked and double-checked the food. It is perfectly edible.”
“Then how do you explain those poor wretches out there? They’ve quite clearly been poisoned, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I cannot explain their condition, Mr Davenport, but I had nothing to do with their misfortune.”
“Who helped you to prepare the breakfast? How many chefs were on duty this morning?”
The chef narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you think this was deliberate? That is absurd.”
“I make no such claim. I’m only stating the facts as I see them, Holt. Something or someone is poisoning my guests. This is not good for my reputation. If this gets out, I’ll be disgraced.”
Holt was furious. “You’ll be disgraced? Is that all you’re worried about? What about those poor people on the way to the sick bay? And what about bloody me? There’s not only you who has a reputation to uphold, Mr Davenport.”
“Of course I’m worried for their well being. What sort of a man do you think that I am, Holt?”
Captain Perkins joined them. “We must dock at Limassol, James. These people need immediate medical treatment.”
Davenport nodded. “Yes, of course. Dr Waverley will have his hands full. Make for Cyprus, Bill… When can we expect to reach Limassol?”
“We should dock in approximately one hour.”
“Good. The authorities will need to take the food and drink away. It must be tested. We’ll replenish fresh supplies in Limassol. We’ll contact them by radio and tell them to expect the patients.”
Captain Perkins continued. “We may be in Cyprus for some time. If the food is indeed poisoned, there’ll no doubt be an inquiry, and a lot of people will have to be questioned.”
“Whatever it takes, Bill. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Davenport, who fixed his eyes on the skulking cook.
Davenport made his way to the sick bay and was greeted by a crescendo of moans and groans. The ailing passengers held their stomachs, and the painkillers they had been given, seemingly did not appear to have any effect on them. Davenport beckoned Dr Waverley to one side, out of earshot of the patients. “Well, Sam. How does it look?”
“There’s no doubt about it, Mr Davenport, it’s arsenic poisoning. You have a maniac on your ship.”
“My good God! How can you be certain, Sam? I mean, are you sure?”
“I read up on the symptoms last night. It’s as I feared. Mrs Bradshaw is showing all the symptoms. She’s not going to make it I’m afraid.”
“What symptoms, Sam?”
“Her throat is scorched and she’s suffering with excruciating abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea. Also, she is jaundiced and her hair is falling out. There can be no mistake, Mr Davenport.”
Davenport considered the situation. “Can we save the others? There must be an antidote.”
“Arsenic is by no means a certain killer. It depends on the dosage administered. There have been cases where victims have overcome the poisoning.”
“How could the arsenic have been added to the food, Sam?”
“Any number of ways. One hundred grains mixed with boiling water, tea or cocoa cannot be detected, by either taste, smell, or appearance. In many cases, the arsenic has been administered to red wine and foodstuffs. Arsenic restricts the flow of blood to the heart. In my opinion, these victims were given a large dosage and will die within hours, or days at most.”
Davenport face was drained of blood. His lips trembled as he took in the horror of the situation. “Who would do such a thing? Why? He must be a madman.”
The doctor spoke up. “How well do you know your galley staff, Mr Davenport?”
“I know them all well. They’ve sailed with me many times, and have even cooked for me at my home in Plymouth… All that is apart from one.”
“And who may that be?”
“Simon Holt. He was recommended by friends. He’s worked in the finest restaurants. But no, what would be his motive?”
“Anyone could have gotten into the galley, Mr Davenport. I suggest you ensure no more food or drink is taken whilst aboard the Empress Medina.”
“It will be done; also, I want a thorough search of the galley staff cabin. The arsenic must be found and the culprit apprehended.”
Captain Perkins joined them.
“Bill, I require some of your men to conduct a search of the galley staff cabins. Also, I want all food and drink to be placed under lock and key. Nobody, and I stress, nobody must take food or drink from the galley.”
“I’ll see to it immediately, Mr Davenport.”
The immaculate Bates joined them and whispered into Davenport’s ear. The ship owner turned to the medics, who frantically tried to comfort their patients. “Gentlemen, your services are required downstairs. I’m afraid six more passengers have been poisoned.”
Captain Perkins scratched his white beard. “So it’s not just confined to the upper deck. The sooner we get to Limassol the better.”
First Officer Ingle joined them, a look of horror etched on his face. “There’s more bad news, Captain. F-fog,” he stuttered.
“What!”
“Fog, sir. The coast is surrounded by it.”
“Damn it,” cursed the captain. He dashed to the starboard railing and peered into the gloom. “What bad luck. This ship is cursed.”
“What do you want us to do, Captain?” asked First Officer Ingle.
“We cannot approach the coast in this. It’s far too dangerous. We have no choice but to wait for the fog to lift.”
The swirling fog enveloped Davenport when he looked towards the sea. He muttered. “Maybe the ship was cursed.”
******
Two hours had passed and there was no change regarding the fog. Davenport had consulte
d with Dr Waverley and Captain Perkins, and a decision had been reached to launch one of the lifeboats with the fourteen sick passengers. There was no way they could consider an attempt to dock the Empress Medina at Limassol. There was too much risk involved. Contact by radio had not been established, and the engineers were working on it.
Dr Waverley had emphasised the necessity for immediate treatment and to hospitalise the sick. It was their only chance. If they did not take abrupt action, they would surely die.
Second Officer Bagley was to man the lifeboat, along with eight able seamen. Their orders were to contact the local police after they had offloaded the sick. When the fog eventually lifted, the Empress Medina would sail into the harbour, before they would replenish their food and water supplies.
There was much activity going on. The lifeboat was lowered into the clear blue water and the sedated patients were placed on board, carried by the sailors. All eyes on deck watched with sadness, as the lifeboat disappeared into the thick, swirling mist.
“I suppose this is not part of your charade, Mr Davenport?” asked Ben.
“This is as real as it gets, Mr Duncan. We have a serious incident to deal with.”
Ben was still unsure if the incident was real or not. “It’s as if this fog is following us around. First Naples, then Crete, and now Cyprus.”
Davenport turned to his guest. “Do you believe in fate, Mr Duncan?”
“I suppose I do.”
“Maybe this was meant to be. Perhaps this mysterious fog was encountered by my grandfather all those years ago.”
Ben hesitated before he asked his next question. “Mr Davenport. What can you tell me about Penelope Craven?”
“Penelope? What can I possibly tell you that you don’t already know? My advice to you is to stay clear of her. She has broken many hearts in her quest for the perfect man. Besides, you have a beautiful wife yourself. You should be grateful for that.”
The Cruise Page 7