by J. M. Hewitt
He nodded and turned on his heel, stalking from the room. The door closed slowly, and she watched as he turned right and moved down the corridor.
Towards Anna’s suite.
* * *
Anna remained in the casino. The small crowd of people playing the tables had gone back to their games after the few moments of excitement. The men looked her up and down. The women glared at her. Anna smiled and kept spinning the wheel.
She wondered when Tommy would come for her. That he would, she had no doubt; he had been furious that Paula had made a show of him. He had chased her back to the Expedition Suite, fire in his eyes, fury evident in the taut way he held himself. He would return to Anna. She would comfort him. She understood him. She would fix his masculinity, which Paula had temporarily broken.
Soon, she tired of the roulette wheel. Slipping off the stool, she moved across to the blackjack table, an onlooker now, whiling the time away until her man came back.
A tug at her sleeve. She looked to her left, into the face of a young steward she didn’t know.
‘Yes?’ she said.
He wore fingerless gloves, and his nails were grubby. She moved out of reach of his touch.
‘Sorry to bother you, madam,’ he said. ‘Can you… step over here for a moment?’
She looked him up and down, this youthful, feminine-looking man. Was he going to issue a warning over the fracas at the roulette wheel earlier? Who was he to do so? And anyway, it had nothing to do with her; she wasn’t the one who had thrown foul words and condoms around.
She moved over to the wall with him and waited for him to speak.
His eyes lowered and he leaned closer to her. ‘Forgive me, madam. I need to talk frankly to you. One of our staff members hasn’t shown up for his shift, and we have reason to believe you may know him.’
Mark.
She arranged her face into a frown. ‘Who on earth are you talking about?’
The man, who was no more than a boy really, flushed scarlet. ‘Mark Taylor,’ he said, and his voice was pitched high when he spoke the dead man’s name. ‘We understand he was… spending some time with you.’
She nodded sagely. ‘I haven’t seen Mark since we stopped in Norway. He had a load of his stuff with him, backpack and all that. I assumed his stint had finished and he was disembarking there.’
‘Oh.’ The young man scratched at his head, clearly perplexed.
Anna smiled and put a hand on his arm. The wool of his jacket was soft under her fingers. ‘Why don’t you call him? I’m sure he’ll be able to explain the mix-up.’
‘Yes,’ he said, and his eyes darted everywhere except at her. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
She watched as he scurried away.
When he had vanished from sight, the smile slipped from her face. Mark had told the crew about her; they all knew, and as far as they were concerned, she was the last link to him.
She rubbed at her face, thought about the newspaper with the photo of her, wanted in connection with William’s death. The net was closing in, and there was still another day until they docked in Iceland. Then, of course, there was the journey home.
When they couldn’t get hold of Mark, would they check the CCTV on board the Ruby Spirit? What areas did the cameras cover? Not inside the suites, she knew. There was no chance of the killing being captured on film. But what about the hallways? What if the last sighting they had of him was at her door?
Her stomach flipped at the thought. Walking fast, she moved towards the casino’s exit and back to her suite.
* * *
After fixing her face, and putting on her own coat, Paula opened the door a crack and peeped out. There was no sign of Tommy. She bit her lip, wondered if he was in Anna’s suite, in her bed; perhaps they were drinking champagne and feeding each other from the complimentary fruit basket.
She pulled the door closed behind her and hurried down the hall towards the lift. Was it too late to make this right? If she apologised for lying about taking the pill, perhaps he in turn would be contrite about his behaviour with that witch in the casino. He was drunk, after all, and they hadn’t actually done anything.
More than anything she wanted to talk to Julie, and she wondered if there was an internet café or a bank of computers on board that she could use to communicate with her friend. She would ask at the information desk, she thought, and she hoped it wouldn’t be the disgraced stylist on duty again.
She thumped impatiently at the button on the elevator, at a loss what to do first. She really needed Julie’s advice before tracking down her husband. Julie would know what to do; she always did.
The lift pinged, and Paula froze as the doors swished open to reveal Anna. There was a terrible moment of nothingness, both women standing stock still. Then the doors began to close, and Anna put an arm out to stop them. At the sudden movement, Paula flinched. Anna stepped out of the lift, and as Paula slipped inside, the other woman turned around and smiled at her. As the doors closed, the last thing Paula saw was Anna’s face, shining and happy and satisfied.
By the time the elevator opened on to the restaurant, Paula had abandoned the idea of locating an internet café and of finding her husband. The encounter with Anna had been chilling, awful – and, if she was honest, frightening. What sort of woman laughed when she came face to face with the wife of the man she was screwing?
Not screwing, not yet, Paula mentally corrected herself. Just flirting, for now anyway.
Semantics; the details were neither here nor there. The intention was the problem, and Tommy’s acceptance.
She stepped out of the elevator, turning towards the heavy door that led to the winding staircase. She pulled at the neck of her coat, feeling as though it was strangling her as the sweat pricked her underarms and beaded her forehead. There had been women before, names mentioned at home a little too frequently, lustful glances at Christmas parties, lingering hands on arms. All easily dealt with when they recurred a little too incessantly. A horror story that she’d heard and passed on to Tommy about a man who had messed around with a colleague and whose standing in both his firm and society had suffered. He’d half listened, but knowing him so well and for so long, she’d been aware that it had sunk in. The message that risking everything for a bit of skirt wasn’t worth it. The texts had stopped, and the meaningful glances, and the names had been casually dropped from conversation before anything happened.
And Paula had accepted this, because wasn’t that just how men worked? All men, but especially those who had a lot to offer in the way of money, status and career. But something else was happening here, something that she had never encountered before. Anna wasn’t a silly, wide-eyed young thing. She was something else.
Something frightening.
When Paula had been afraid before, she had gone to Tommy. He had talked her down, protected her, like that time she had thought someone was watching their house and he’d had all those fancy alarms fitted. He was practical in his fixing of things. Only this time, the problem was him.
Outside, on the deck, the sky was grey. Rolling clouds loomed on the horizon, and snow flurries drifted down to melt on impact with the wooden boards. The wind was back, howling, punctuated by screeches that sounded like a child screaming.
Paula staggered across the empty deck and gripped the handrail. The cold felt like a burn on her palms, and she wished she had brought her gloves with her. The wind buffeted her along the deck and she forced her head up to stare directly into the weather that spat and pummelled at her.
What would she say to Julie, if she had the means to reach out to her? I’m frightened of this woman who wants Tommy. I’m scared because I think he wants her too. I’m anxious about a woman who is thinner than a supermodel, a woman who if she was out here right now would probably be swept overboard by this wind.
She spoke some of the words out loud, spitting them into the wind only for them to be thrown back in her face. A great gust of wind swept across the deck, and she skidded back a c
ouple of steps. Something inside her battled against the elements, an internal reminder that she, Paula, could fight too.
She walked backwards to the door and yanked it open, spilling inside, breathless at the sudden change in environment. Yes, she could fight. But she was so weary of constantly being on her guard to pull Tommy back from an affair they wouldn’t recover from. And surely it wasn’t her place to do that?
But it is, if you want to carry on living the life you’ve become accustomed to, a little voice whispered inside her.
Was that really all that mattered? What sort of woman thought like that?
A realisation hit, sudden and real and devastating. Paula clapped her hands over her mouth and allowed herself to think the words she had buried for so long.
If I met myself right now, I wouldn’t like me at all.
* * *
Inside the Arctic Suite, Anna stripped off her clothes and walked naked to the glass doors. She pulled them open, holding onto the handles as the wind smashed into her. It was invigorating, and she screwed her eyes closed.
As she stood there, she thought back to seeing Paula at the elevator. The woman’s face, her stance, her whole demeanour was like that of a frightened little mouse. And the look on her face when Anna had laughed at her! Paula had folded into herself even more, looking like she wished she could disappear. The last thing Anna had seen was the tears filling the other woman’s eyes as the doors closed.
Reactions were funny things, she thought now as she came back into the room and moved over to the kettle, flicking it on. That moment in the casino was the closest she bet Paula had come to losing her shit in many, many years. It hadn’t been a big thing: a few cusses and looks that could kill aimed at Anna and Tommy. Nothing physical, even though Paula was probably double Anna’s own weight.
Violence didn’t occur to Tommy’s wife, and for Anna, that was important. What was even more important was that she had seen no evidence of any CCTV in the corridor that led from the elevator to the Arctic Suite. That was good news; it meant that Mark couldn’t be tracked to her room. If he could have been, they would have watched the tape until they realised that he had never emerged again.
Of course he had exited, just from a different doorway.
Anna smirked.
But what of the CCTV along the external rails of the cruise ship? Was there such a thing? She grabbed her phone, put some searches into Google and spent the next few minutes watching irrelevant videos that came up. She bit her lip and placed the phone back on the table. She would have to take a walk around the decks of the ship to make sure. And if she did see any cameras on the starboard side where Mark’s body had tumbled off her balcony, well… she would deal with that when the time came.
She put a coffee pod in the machine and picked up the fancy little sugar bowl. She took the lid off and stared greedily inside. Saliva filled her mouth. How long ago was it when she’d last allowed herself sugar? She couldn’t remember.
As the kettle boiled, she made a decision. She scooped up a quarter of a teaspoon of sugar and added it to the mug. A few grains remained on the spoon, and after a moment’s hesitation, she brought it to her mouth and touched her tongue to it.
Her taste buds roared with delight. Light-headed, she dipped the spoon in the sugar bowl again, filling it this time. Before she could change her mind, she thrust it into her mouth. The sweetness rippled through her, fizzing and bubbling all the way down her gullet. As it settled in her stomach, she sank to the floor, eyes closed, caught between pain and ecstasy. Too soon, though, the nausea came, and the pleasure was over almost before it had begun.
Later, she tipped out the now-cold coffee from the mug and poured in still-hot water from the kettle. Wrapped in the thin sheet from the bed, she sipped at the plain water. A lemon from the fruit basket caught her eye and she let her gaze linger on it longingly. But there was no chance now; the loss of control over the stupid sugar had ruined any chance of a tiny treat.
She drank the bland water that tasted of nothing and accepted it for the punishment it was.
Chapter 18
Paula finally found Tommy in the basement bar. It was a place they hadn’t visited except to pass through, simply because it literally was just a basement, with no windows or views out to sea.
She stood in the doorway and looked around. It was gloomy, dimly lit, and could be any underground bar one might find in the city. Depressing, she realised now, and a glance at her husband told her that he was drowning his sorrows.
Hope pierced her. He wasn’t with that woman; wasn’t in her bed making love and drinking champagne from her welcome hamper. And he hadn’t sought solace with his mates; there was no sign of Dermot or Angus or any of the other men who had suddenly become his bosom buddies.
Apart from him, the room was empty, and feeling brave due to the lack of audience, she walked over to the bar. He heard her approach, his head snapping up and round. Was it just her imagination, or did he look disappointed when he realised she wasn’t Anna? She shook her head a little to banish the thought and slipped onto the bar stool next to him.
There was a long silence, and he turned back to nurse his whisky.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, grudgingly it seemed to her, but at least he’d spoken.
‘Yes, please,’ she said softly.
He gestured to the bartender, ordered a vodka and soda without asking her. The bartender slid it over to her, his eyes lingering on the pair of them before he retired to wipe glasses in the shadow at the far end of the counter.
Paula sipped at her drink, biting the straw to stop herself apologising first. Tommy said nothing. Behind the bar, the second hand on an oversized clock ticked around and around.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually.
Stony-eyed, he looked straight ahead.
She put a hand on his wrist. ‘I am sorry,’ she repeated, and as she said the words for the second time, she hated herself a little.
He shrugged and sighed. ‘Okay,’ he muttered.
She withdrew her hand and put it primly in her lap, unsure of what his response meant. Now was the moment when he was supposed to turn to her and tell her that he was sorry as well; that he had been drunk, not that it was an excuse, and he wouldn’t do anything as crass as grind up against another woman again.
‘Did you take any of my money from the bedside drawer?’ he asked.
She blinked and frowned at the sudden change of direction.
‘Um, no,’ she said. ‘Why?’
He shrugged again, and she felt a bleat of fury at the gesture, which was his answer to so many of her questions these days.
‘I’m missing some,’ he said. ‘A couple of hundred euros.’
She was confused. His money had always been her money – their money. When they went away, they didn’t have their own spending cash, it was all in. More to the point, she hadn’t been anywhere to use any money.
A thought struck at her as she stirred her drink with the straw. ‘Anna was in our suite,’ she said. ‘I went to the bathroom, that night when I was locked in, and she was alone in there for a while.’
He hissed out a breath. ‘For God’s sake.’ He drained his drink and turned to face her for the first time.
She shrank back but forced herself to speak anyway. ‘Why are you defending her?’ It came out as a whine, and she clenched her fists in frustration.
He shook his head, held his hands up and stumbled backwards off his stool. ‘I can’t do this again, I can’t go through your craziness again.’
Again. What was that supposed to mean? That she was always behaving crazy? Before she could ask him, he turned and made to walk away. She reached for him, snagging the sleeve of his coat, jerking him backwards, and he stumbled into the bronze handrail on the bar, banging his side.
He clutched at his ribs and glared at her. His eyes were filled with something she’d seen more times on this cruise ship than in all their years together.
She let her han
d fall to her side. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
He simmered for a second before glancing at his watch. ‘It’s nearly time for dinner. Are we going to eat tonight?’
An olive branch, a peace offering. His face was creased with a scowl, but his words were a lifeline that she grabbed onto. She pushed herself off the stool, abandoned her drink and followed him as he left the bar without waiting to see if she was behind him.
* * *
At Tommy’s suggestion they dined in the smaller Japanese restaurant on the other side of the ship. It was the first time they hadn’t eaten in the main restaurant. It was quiet, and even better, nobody they knew was in there.
Paula sank into a chair and picked up the menu, pretending to read it while instead she scrutinised Tommy and tried to figure out what was going on in his head. His face was a blank; the scowl of earlier was gone, but his ready cheery smile had not put in an appearance.
She was on the brink, she thought as she watched him. Or rather, they were. On a precipice that could lead to her plummeting down into a lonely dark cave of singledom. She thought of Julie, how she sat in the house that she’d got free and clear of a mortgage in the divorce from her cheating husband. She had her home, she had a lifestyle allowance that he still paid monthly, and yet Paula knew she would give it all up to have her man back.
She bit her lip. For the first time, she knew how her friend felt. She didn’t want to be sitting in a house that Tommy’s pot of money had given her without him in it. But was it love, she wondered, or just fear? Either way, she couldn’t think of how to make things right again.
‘Not long until we dock in Iceland,’ he said.
He had begun speaking to her again back in the suite while they were getting ready. She had walked around in her nicest lingerie, reaching back to the days when they were young and had made up the old-fashioned way after a fight. Today, as she moved around him in her underwear, deliberately and slowly, he’d kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling with his thumb, waiting patiently for her to get dressed.