by Mark McCrum
‘I don’t suppose there’s anyone on the ship you could class … as an enemy of hers? Or of yours?’
Don shook his head. ‘No.’
‘What about friends?’
‘Friends? On here? I guess we’ve made a few. Shipboard buddies. You know the kind of thing. You drink every night and then at the end of the cruise you swap emails and vow you’re going to get together some time, somewhere, God knows where. But you never do. Unless you happen to end up on the same ship again. I quite like it, actually. You can say what you like, knowing you’re unlikely to see those people ever again.’
‘I saw you were quite matey with that Indian fashion designer guy.’
‘Sebastian de Souza. He’s good fun. And talented too. You seen his designs?’
‘No.’
‘Something else. Lauren loved them. And him too. She even bought a couple of things of his. After the last cruise we were on together. In Antarctica.’
When they’d finished with Don, Carmen accompanied Francis to his cabin. They ordered coffee, which Hentie brought in on a lacquered tray, complete with a plate of homemade biscuits. They sat opposite each other in the sunshine that streamed in through the porthole. Francis had switched on his laptop and was checking something on Google. He made a few notes in his floppy black Smythson notebook, then looked up and smiled at his companion.
‘Doing some research?’ she asked.
‘Yes, this and that.’
‘Share?’
‘If it ever becomes relevant.’ He had been checking out the ship’s itinerary over the last eight months, but he wasn’t going to tell Carmen that; not yet anyway. There hadn’t been just one cruise to Antarctica last autumn, he’d discovered, but several back to back. Two included the Falkland Islands on the itinerary, the others not; the last had been over Christmas and New Year. ‘I guess we should talk to Gregoire next,’ he said, meeting her eye. ‘Him and then the engineer who saw Lauren fall.’
‘Yes. Though the captain did say—’
‘I know. I really can’t see why we shouldn’t wake him, though. He’s an important part of the jigsaw.’
‘What the captain says goes, I’m afraid. His word is law. But let’s definitely talk to Gregoire, even though I’m guessing he’ll deny that anything happened between them. As Don said, he’d lose his job if anyone could prove something had gone on.’
‘What d’you think?’
‘Actually, unlikely. He’s ambitious, that man. I mean, it’s fun, in the evenings, for him to flirt with the wives and partners, particularly the younger ones. But I don’t think he’d ever get involved. If he wants some recreation, there’s opportunities for him below stairs …’
‘You know about someone?’ Francis asked.
‘No. I don’t take a huge interest in all that kind of thing. But, yes, it happens …’
‘Surely you must have some idea of what’s going on? There’s presumably a crew bar. Gossip.’
‘I’m not really one of the gossipers, mate. Got my work cut out helping Viktor make sure the expeditions run smoothly.’
Carmen made a call on the cabin phone and fifteen minutes later the handsome hotel director was with them. And he was handsome, Francis thought, with his wavy blond hair and classic chiselled features. His eyes were an appropriate sea-blue; his nose just the perfect size for his face; his lips thin enough to give him a slight sexy meanness, without looking sinister; his jaw strong, without being lantern. He was fit and muscly, without looking like some gym freak. His stomach was washboard flat. The corny French accent could only help. For all his alleged flirtation, was he actually gay? He looked almost too perfect to be heterosexual.
He sat before them on the little sunny couch and seemed quite happy to answer Francis’s questions. This was such an extraordinary tragedy, he said. He could ’ardly believe it. Why, only last evening, he had had the honour of a dance with Lauren, after dinner, up in the Panorama Lounge. And she was such a fine dancer, too. With all that Latina passion.
‘Did you ever get the feeling that her partner minded you dancing together?’ Francis asked.
‘Don? But of course ’e didn’t. He loved to sit there with ’is bourbon and see ’er move. With anybody. Not just me. She ’ad a great dance with Sebastian, too, last night.’
‘Why didn’t Don take her out himself?’
‘’E did. Some evenings. But you know, ’e’s older, maybe ’e preferred to watch.’
‘Quite a lot older.’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you think it was a shame that a much younger woman like Lauren was spending her time with someone who could have been her father?’
Gregoire laughed. ‘This is ’ardly an unusual story on the cruise ships. ’Ave you not been on one before?’
‘No,’ said Francis.
‘Carmen will tell you: you get all sorts. And you quickly discover that money creates its own … liaisons.’
‘So you think it really was just money that kept them together?’
‘Life is never that simple, is it? But maybe it brought them together. Maybe it stopped them from parting. But they were fond of each other, too. You could see that, in the way she looked at ’im. But why wouldn’t she like ’im? ’E’s a nice guy. Funny guy. She was fond of ’im. Loved ’im, yes. I would say so.’
‘You know he was jealous of you?’
Gregoire looked taken aback. ‘Of me? Why? Because I ’ad a few dances with her? I don’t think so.’ He looked down at his beautifully polished black shoes, gleaming in the sunshine against the deep blue of the carpet. ‘I was doing my job.’
‘But maybe you were doing your job more assiduously with her than with some of the other wives and partners?’
‘This is unfair. Lauren asked to dance with me. What is the ’otel manager supposed to say to a passenger, a regular passenger, one who ’as sailed with Golden Adventurer before and may very likely come again? “No”? I don’t think my bosses would be very ’appy if that was my reaction. Would they, Carmen?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Of course it was my pleasure to dance with ’er, just as it was my pleasure to dance with Mrs Forbes-Arl-ee, who is in ’er eighties and cannot move so easily across the floor.’
‘And you had one of those pleasurable dances with Lauren last night?’
‘As you know.’
‘And then?’
‘I had a quick drink with them, ’er and Don, and Mr Sebastian and some others, and then I went back to my office.’
‘So you weren’t there when Lauren and Don started rowing?’ asked Francis.
‘No.’
‘Did you become aware, during the course of the rest of the evening, that she and Don had had a noisy – and public – argument in the bar?’
‘No.’
‘About you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes.’ Gregoire turned sideways to look at Carmen. ‘Carmen, I told the captain I am ’appy to help in this matter. But some of these questions are too personal. There was nothing between me and Lauren.’ He shook his head petulantly and looked back at Francis. ‘Really nothing.’
‘Don thought there was,’ said Francis.
Gregoire shrugged. ‘’E can think what he likes. I’m afraid ’e is a jealous old man. As I know to my cost, it’s a type.’
‘You’re not married, are you, Gregoire?’
‘No.’
‘May I ask: d’you have a partner?’
‘Please, this is my private life. What are you trying to suggest?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Francis. ‘I don’t mean to be intrusive, I was just trying to get a picture. Not so much of what you wanted, but of what Lauren’s expectations might have been.’
‘Lauren’s expectations were that she enjoyed my company. Particularly on the dance floor. There was nothing more to it than that.’
‘Thank you,’ said Francis, clasping his hands together and smiling at him
in a final sort of way.
‘Is that all?’ Gregoire said.
Francis looked over at Carmen for confirmation. ‘For the moment, yes. By the way,’ he added, as the hotel director got up to go, ‘I enjoyed your little show the other evening. With the Togoan forest creatures, dancing in the mist. Beautiful.’
‘Ah, well.’ Gregoire shrugged and smiled. ‘It is a bit of fun. The guests love it, as you saw.’
‘Tell me. Do you have to get the dry ice in the port you’re in, Lomé or wherever, or does it keep?’
Gregoire looked puzzled, as if wondering where this question was leading. ‘It doesn’t keep for long, so we just get it sometimes when we can. For shows like that one. Or to reduce the mosquitos. And sometimes the doctor is using it, to keep the snakebite antivenoms cool out on expeditions.’
‘To reduce the mosquitoes? How d’you mean?’
‘It’s a bit of fun, really. Those nasty little insects think that the sublimated carbon dioxide, that mist, is ’uman breath, so they cluster round it. So you can ’ave a champagne bucket full of dry ice to one side of the bar, it is like a ’undred people breathing out at the same time. And so, if we are in port, we can make sure that there are no mosquitos during cocktail hour.’
‘Well, well. I had no idea.’
‘All part of the service, as they say.’ Gregoire grinned. ‘This top-end luxury, it is a serious business.’
‘Interestingly cagey about his private life,’ Francis said, when he’d gone. ‘Perhaps he is gay.’
‘It’s not a vibe I get from him.’
‘So he flirts with you too?’
‘No, it’s just the way he is. Maybe he’s one of those ones who has a woman in every port. And another back home in France as well. But him being cagey, as you put it, is fair enough. He doesn’t know you. You’re not an official detective. He’s not under oath. Why should he talk?’
‘Why indeed?’ Francis agreed. ‘So what did you think? That there had been something between him and Lauren?’
‘I don’t know. Initially I thought not. But when you asked him about the argument, he lost patience, didn’t he? As if maybe something had been going on.’
‘It was quite a strong reaction for someone who has nothing to hide.’
‘Why did you ask about the dry ice?’ Carmen asked.
‘I was just intrigued,’ Francis fibbed. ‘At the lengths they go to to give the guests a good time. But that’s fascinating about the mosquitoes. Did you know that?’
‘It’s not something I get involved in, mate. All that health and hygiene stuff. Leo deals with that side of things. If the doctor doesn’t come out on an expedition, he’s always the one who looks after the antivenoms.’
‘Which get taken out every time?’
‘Of course. Can you imagine? If a guest did get bitten by a snake, way out in the jungle, and there was no antivenom available. Oh my God!’ Carmen shook her head. ‘Some of these snakes can finish you off in a matter of minutes. We take it all pretty seriously, mate, I can tell you.’
‘So what now?’ Francis asked. ‘The engineer?’
‘If we can. I’ll need to check with the captain …’
‘I really think we should talk to him as soon as possible.’
Carmen nodded. She would have to go up to the bridge, she said; she didn’t think she was likely to persuade the captain over the phone. But when she returned, ten minutes later, it was with a thumbs down and a grimace. ‘As I thought,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He’s not going to let us wake him.’
‘Why not, exactly?’
‘The man was up all night. The captain wants him fresh for his next shift. He doesn’t think there’s any urgency about the interview. As he says, he’s not going anywhere.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Francis, though he felt uneasy about the refusal. Surely the captain could see that this eyewitness’s evidence was crucial? ‘You don’t think we can change his mind?’
‘’Fraid not.’
From Carmen’s expression, it was clear Francis wasn’t going to get around her loyalty to her boss either. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I suppose it might be worth talking to the others Don and Lauren were friendly with. The fashion designer and his boyfriend, for starters.’
SEVEN
Sebastian de Souza and his partner Kurt had a stateroom, no less, up on the top deck, with a fine view out over the bow of the ship and a sunny balcony from which to enjoy it. Carmen had called them up, via their butler, so she and Francis were expected. Sebastian was looking particularly fine this morning, in a baggy yellow shirt, crimson jodphurs and a pair of slippers that would have done justice to some prince from the Arabian Nights: maroon velvet with long, upward-curling toes.
‘Come in, come in!’ he said. ‘We’re just having morning coffee on the balcony. Will you join us? Please excuse the mess.’
There were colourful African fabrics draped over every available surface. Carvings too: tall, bare-breasted ebony women; men with spears and drums; couples embracing, lips pressed together; a little boat load, two men paddling forward while two women in hats sat looking back.
‘We love buying these things,’ said Sebastian, looking proudly round. ‘It’s such an opportunity in these remote places. When I get back to Bombay I am going to start on an African-inspired collection.’ He took one of the brighter cloths between finger and thumb and held it up. ‘Look at these colours. Even in India, we would never put these purples and yellows and greens together in quite this way. And yet it works entirely, don’t you think?’
He showed them out on to the balcony, where Kurt was sitting in the sunshine reading the Wall Street Journal; he was more simply dressed than when he’d appeared in the public spaces, in an untucked white shirt and baggy khaki shorts.
‘You have met my partner, Kurt.’
The portly one nodded silently, his thin lips an expressionless line within the neat white beard.
Sebastian sat down next to him and gestured to his guests to follow suit. ‘Now tell me, what is this all about? We took breakfast as usual in our room this morning, and then we skipped the briefing. We really can’t be bothered trotting down every time they change their minds about something.’
‘I’m afraid it was more significant than that,’ said Francis. ‘There was a man overboard last night.’
‘You’re not serious!’ Sebastian’s eyes bulged. ‘You are serious,’ he said, as he registered their expressions. ‘Who? Do we know him?’
‘It was a her,’ said Carmen. ‘And you do know her, yes. Lauren, Don’s partner. Who you were drinking with in the bar earlier.’
‘Lauren! No … How absolutely appalling. What happened?’
‘Nobody quite knows. But she somehow managed to fall off deck seven.’
‘Fall off!’ said Sebastian. ‘How on earth?’
‘She was quite drunk, by all accounts.’
‘But still … you’d have to be pie-eyed to go over those railings.’
‘It was very early in the morning,’ Carmen continued. ‘It was quite by chance that one of the night shift engineers spotted her.’
‘So that explains that strange shuddering,’ Sebastian said, turning towards Kurt. ‘We did think the captain was changing course rather dramatically.’
‘He was. One hundred and eighty degrees. They turned and went back to the exact point she’d gone over.’
‘But they didn’t find her? This is terrible. Have you spoken to Don?’
‘Yes,’ said Carmen. ‘We’ve just been with him.’
‘He must be distraught.’
‘He’s in shock.’
‘We should go and see him, Kurt.’ Sebastian looked over at his partner, whose features remained impassive; then back at Francis and Carmen with a look that was gracious bordering on grand. ‘Thank you for letting us know. Why didn’t they tell us what the briefing was about? We’d have been there. Obviously.’
‘That was kind of the point of it,’ said Carmen. ‘To b
reak the news in a controlled way.’
‘I understand, yes,’ Sebastian said. ‘I had no idea,’ he muttered.
‘Before we leave you,’ Francis asked, ‘may I just ask you how you found them last night?’
‘Found them?’
‘Don and Lauren. How they seemed to you. In the bar. When you were all drinking together …’
‘Oh, I see. You’ve already said it, haven’t you? She was drunk. Drunker last night than I’ve seen her all week. And whereas before she was happy drunk, dancing, laughing, being funny, last night she had tipped over, as she does sometimes. Into something sadder. And darker. They had an argument, you probably knew that. It was pretty public.’
‘Did you understand what it was about?’
‘She has … ongoing … issues with him, shall we put it like that?’
‘She wanted to marry him and he wasn’t interested,’ said Francis. ‘Wasn’t that it in a nutshell?’
‘No,’ said Sebastian. ‘Not that way around. He wanted to marry her.’
Carmen looked as surprised as Francis.
‘That’s not what he told us,’ he said. ‘He said she was after his money and he didn’t want to lose control of his businesses.’
Sebastian laughed. ‘But he has no money! She’s the one with the money. She’s an heiress, didn’t you know that? Her daddy wrote that song, you know, “Chumba Chumba Cha-Cha”. From the seventies.’
‘Chumba chumba cha-cha,’ sang Carmen, ‘I knew it was gonna be you-ou.’
‘That’s the one. Think how many millions of times that piece of nonsense has been played over the years. Every time you hear it on the radio, in a plane, in an orchestral version in a lift, God knows, kerching, it’s another royalty payment for Lauren. She’s an only child. Her papa died when she was a teenager. Flipped out on his success and drugs. She’d already lost her mother. So it’s all hers.’
‘I thought Don had a magazine empire,’ Francis said, realizing as he did so that he hadn’t checked Sadie’s information, not even with the man himself.
‘At some point I think he did,’ Sebastian said. ‘But there’s not much left now. She pretty much supports the couple of rags he’s still got going. There was a disastrous foray into local TV, I do know that.’