by Celia Imrie
And if Stan was onboard, it was too much of a coincidence. Perhaps, as Emily had feared, Jason and Stan were conspiring. Jason must have told Stan about the Blue Mermaid and then Stan had rushed down to Southampton to join him.
But Stan had left Zurich on the first plane. And she had been with Jason all that day and then they came aboard together that evening. He hadn’t been out of her sight. How could Stan have known where Jason was?
She laid down her spoon.
Of course, he could know! The phones still had plenty of signal when they were near the coast of Europe. Jason could have phoned or emailed Stan many times between Genoa and Southampton.
Stan must have done all the bank transfers, then, flush with all their money, come aboard at Southampton to join his partner in crime.
On top of it all, Jason had admitted that Stan was there with him, at the producer’s party in Zurich, where, in response to some unwanted sexual advances, Jason had done something so bad that, next morning, the show had been cancelled.
Taking everything into account, Suzy believed one thing was sure – Stan was working together with Jason.
She felt truly stupid. Why had she not thought things through before leaving the note in Jason’s cabin? Now she had let Jason know that she knew, and, instead of being vulnerable to one person, she was in danger from two of them.
She slowly buttered her roll, and dipped it into her soup.
She wondered how she could have been so idiotic.
‘Cutting it fine, darling!’
She looked up.
Jason stood before her, bearing a tray which he laid down on the table beside hers then sat beside her.
‘So, sweetheart! Shove up and tell me all about Greasy Stan. But you’d better get a move on.’
‘What do you mean, “move on”?’
Jason looked at his watch. ‘You’re on in forty minutes.’
‘On?’
‘Your lecture in the theatre … Oscar Wilde. Don’t you check your Programme every day, my sweet?’
The lecture! ‘Oh help!’ Suzy took a huge bite of apple pie and wiped her mouth as she stood. ‘I’ve got to get dressed up, and prepare myself.’
Jason grabbed his own roll and pieces of cheese from his tray and crammed them into his pockets. He followed, calling after her: ‘Not without me, you don’t.’
They both hurtled through the café and down the stairs next to the lifts.
‘You were kidding me about Stan, I expect?’ said Jason. ‘Weren’t you? Suzy? Trying to find a way for us to get together so that we could talk again?’
Suzy couldn’t think straight. Her mind was now focusing on the imminent lecture, grabbing her notes and getting changed into something smart.
‘No. No, I wasn’t.’ She clutched the handrail and spun round to go down the next flight. ‘I didn’t make it up.’
‘What’s his cabin number?’
Suzy realised she had no idea. Nothing but the name.
‘It may not be him,’ she said, hurtling down the next set of stairs. ‘It may be another Stan Arbuthnot.’
Jason laughed aloud. ‘Like that old John Gielgud gaffe to Athene Seyler, you mean? “Not you, Athene, I meant another Athene Seyler”?’
They had reached Suzy’s cabin.
‘Jason, I really have to go in and get ready,’ she said, blocking the door.
‘You’re kidding me! You give me news like this and then leave me high and dry.’
‘Later.’
Jason threw up his hands. ‘By the time you’ve finished your lecture, I’ll be doing my dance duty at afternoon tea. It’s a tea dance today.’
‘I’ve told you everything I know.’ Suzy put her keycard into the lock and slipped into the cabin. ‘Someone called Stan Arbuthnot came aboard this ship at Southampton. And I presumed you already knew about that, and that for some dreadful reason you’ve not told me.’
‘How would I know anything about Stan?’ Jason slammed his foot into the door gap before Suzy could shut it. ‘Look, Suzy. When you say “someone called Stan Arbuthnot”, do you mean any old bod of that name, or our own actor Stan, the actual Stan-the-greasy-Chasuble?’
‘I have no idea. But he is an actor. An actor called Stan Arbuthnot.’
Suzy managed to slam the door shut, hastily pulled her smart suit from the wardrobe and, while climbing into it, fumbled about in the desk drawer for her lecture script.
‘Suze!’ Jason called through the door. ‘If you like I could do that handbag scene with you, like we did coming out of Genoa.’
Jason’s voice was so reasonable, Suzy felt dragged in by it, as though he was using the tempting tones of the snake in the Garden of Eden.
She stayed resolute. ‘No thanks.’
While applying her mascara, Suzy glanced down at the script and realised that the first half was based on the handbag scene and from there into the play and then Wilde’s life, and that, one way or another, she would have to do the scene, either with Jason or without. Doing it with him would certainly make much more sense to an audience.
Reluctantly she realised she would be mad not to accept his offer. After all, Jason would only be onstage with her for those few moments then he would have to hurtle, pell-mell, for the ballroom and the afternoon tea dance.
‘All right, Jason,’ she called through the door, while unscrewing her lipstick. ‘We’ll do the scene, as before.’
When she was ready, Suzy opened up. Jason, who had been sitting on the floor, scrambled to his feet.
‘OK, gal. Spill. How did you find out that Stan was here with us?’
Suzy led the way, striding along the corridor, tossing comments over her shoulder.
‘Someone on the crew simply mentioned his name and said he was an actor.’
‘How can we find out where he is?’ Jason scampered along at her side as they hurried down the stairs to the door leading backstage. ‘Can we get our hands on a list of cabin numbers? How come we’ve not seen him anywhere?’
‘It’s a huge ship. There are thousands of people onboard. Look, Jason, let’s talk later – I’ll come down and dance with you at tea or something. But now, for goodness’ sake, let’s go over the lines for this performance.’
‘Blah-blah-blah …’ said Jason, in his Earnest voice. ‘ “Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.” ’
‘ “I feel bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men,” ’ Suzy replied as they turned into the stage door and walked along the passageway leading to the wings.
‘What’s all this?’ said Jason as they both had to squeeze past great painted wooden blocks and frames.
‘Hi!’ said Andy, the tech guy, stepping forward from the stage darkness. He held out Madonna-style radio mics. ‘Be careful coming past all that stuff. It’s the magician’s equipment for the show tonight. We’re teching it straight after your lecture ends.’
While Andy fastened their radio-transmitter boxes and slipped the wires down the backs of their jackets, Suzy and Jason stood behind the theatre curtain and continued muttering the words of the scene.
‘You have quite a full house out there,’ said Andy, when they had done. ‘Good luck. I’ll give you a light.’ He romped off, squeezing through the gap at the side of the curtains.
‘Look at all this amazing paraphernalia!’ Jason took a step towards the magician’s ornate structure, painted in garish circus-show colours: red, yellow, green, pink and gold.
Suzy cast her eye over the props. ‘I can’t believe that crazy little man can operate it all.’
‘Do you think he saws women in half?’ said Jason, turning back to face the reverse of the curtain, ready to go on. ‘How can we find out where he is?’
‘Arturo?’
‘Stan, of course.’ Jason spoke in a low intense voice. ‘I have some unfinished business with that bastard.’
The warning light went red. Suzy walked forward and fumbled about in the curtains, searching with her fingers for the cent
ral gap. ‘I don’t know anything about him, Jason. Concentrate!’
‘We’ve got to get a list of cabin numbers.’
Suzy was about to answer and remembered that they were miked up.
She pointed at her headset and put a finger to her lips.
‘Later,’ she said, as the light went from red to green.
She stepped through the curtains on to the floodlit stage and a wave of enthusiastic applause.
12
When Amanda joined the queue for tea, outside the ballroom, she was fifteen minutes late. However, she managed to find a table for two quite near the dance floor.
She felt utterly puffed and befuddled, having spent the whole afternoon writing out then typing her letter which was then printed in the office. She signed the authority with one of the ship’s senior officers as a witness, and they had scanned it and emailed it to her son.
In London now it was after five, so Mark may or may not have managed to get the keys to her flat. She had no idea. But she had done everything she could.
The waiters hovered, proffering silver trays laden with sandwiches, and pots of tea. Amanda smiled and indicated that she was waiting for someone.
A small dance band was onstage, playing the usual standard strict-tempo tunes. Amanda recognised the ship’s male escorts with whom she had previously danced. When they approached, she shook her head. How wonderful that she could do this. Today she was waiting for a real-life gentleman to whisk her off her feet.
She waited for a while, trying not to look desperate while leaning out to make sure he didn’t miss her when he came through the door.
She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes late. And back in England, Mark, she hoped, would have the keys by now, and be on the way to Aardvark with a lorry to salvage her furniture from another extortionate day of storage.
After a while, the sandwich trays thinned out and more platters appeared, bearing scones and cakes. But no sight of the man whose name she had still not yet managed to discover.
Amanda had a sudden fear. What if there was another room where tea was served? She scrabbled around in her handbag and pulled out her Daily Programme. She pored over the small print looking for the words ‘Afternoon Tea’. She felt cross when she realised that she had not only forgotten to attend the class this morning, given by that actress Suzy Marshall, but had also missed the talk this afternoon on Oscar Wilde.
Amanda put the Programme away, and suddenly saw her date. He was sitting at another table, on the other side of the dance floor, next to a group of teenage boys who were laughing loudly.
She waved. He noticed her and threw up his arms in a gesture which said: ‘Oh dear!’
He then signalled that he would come to her and Amanda nodded in the direction of a pair of hovering waiters, one bearing a tray with a scant selection of sandwiches, the other scones with jam and cream pots.
As her date pulled out his seat, apologising, he indicated to one of the waiters to give him a scone, and cream.
‘I knew this would happen,’ he said. It was the first time Amanda had noticed that he had a slightly strange accent. Nothing you could pin a locality upon, but his English was almost too perfect and untouched, rather as though he had learned the language, rather than picking it up as a native child.
‘I’m so sorry. I realise that I never caught your name?’
The man laughed and wiped his mouth with his linen napkin. ‘My friends call me Karl.’
‘And I’m Amanda.’
‘I know. So your son is not joining us today?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I thought perhaps your son would be here and I could give him some advice. Weren’t you telling me this morning that he …’
Amanda couldn’t see how his wires had got so crossed.
‘No. No. My son is in London. It’s all very complicated because there was all this mix-up with my flat, and it’s now empty and available, and, well, I’m stuck here in the middle of the ocean, and … it’s all very boring. My son has suddenly found himself homeless, so I’ve been trying to arrange for him to get the keys from the solicitor and move all my stuff in so that he can stay there.’
‘I see.’ Karl cut into a scone and meticulously spread it with clotted cream. ‘My mistake. What’s his name?’
‘Mark Bailey.’
‘But you are Amanda Herbert?’
‘I dropped my husband’s name when we divorced.’
‘Do you have many children?’
‘Only the two,’ she replied. ‘My daughter Patricia is a head teacher.’
It occurred to Amanda that Karl was quizzing her about potential liabilities. No man wants to get lumbered with another’s family. ‘Do you have children yourself?’
Karl shook his head.
‘I have never had the opportunity,’ he said, picking up the milk jug and pouring some into the cups before topping up their tea. ‘Which is a pity.’
‘Do you live in London too?’ asked Amanda.
‘I used to.’
‘But you’re not from England?’
‘No. I’ve lived everywhere, from Brazil to Brunei.’
‘You’re on your way to New York?’
‘And onwards,’ he said. ‘To Seattle, on business.’
The band struck up a foxtrot.
‘I have two left feet,’ said Karl. ‘But might you like to dance?’
Amanda nodded.
Karl took her elbow. As he steered her on to the dance floor Amanda noticed Liliane, who was taking tea with Myriam, only a few tables away from them.
‘I feel a little nervous.’ Amanda put her arm around Karl’s back. ‘Last time I tried to dance, there was a little incident.’
‘I witnessed that, remember,’ said Karl. ‘The Italian entertainer is rather hysterical, no?’
‘I think just rather superstitious. His pockets are crammed with lucky charms, I’ve been told. I only saw two of them.’
‘Did he tell you what was upsetting him?’
‘No. He suddenly went off into a state of high doh, rather like someone who’d been hypnotised in one of those 1960s brainwashing movies. It was silly really.’ Amanda laughed and felt embarrassed that Karl had seen how she had reacted. ‘I handled it very badly.’
‘Not at all,’ said Karl as he steered her masterfully around the floor. ‘It would be shocking to be confronted by someone who went over the edge, especially when dancing cheek to cheek. But, luckily for us, he is not here now.’
For some minutes they danced without speaking. When the music ended and Karl led Amanda to their table he asked, ‘Is your son keeping busy?’
‘He will be today – he’s moving into my new flat until I get home.’
Karl laughed.
‘What about the young boy who’s travelling with you on the Blue Mermaid?’
‘Travelling with me?’ Amanda had no idea what he was talking about.
‘The boy who sits at your table, who goes to the cafeteria with you, who made your hat, etcetera.’
‘Oh! You’re talking about Tyger!’ Amanda laughed. ‘Oh no! He’s not my … He’s onboard with his aunt, Myriam, one of the ladies at our table. I have only the one son, who I told you about, who’s moving into my new flat today, and a daughter. Both in London at the moment.’
Karl leaned forward.
‘Would you say no to some more champagne to finish off the tea?’
*
When Suzy came offstage, after the lecture was done, she was shocked to find Jason still there, crouched behind the curtains, waiting in the dark.
‘Shouldn’t you be at the tea dance?’ Suzy stepped towards the light spilling from the dressing-room door, and, turning off her mic, reached over her shoulder for the connecting wires.
‘Let me …’ Jason stepped behind her and pulled the microphone wire up through the back of her jacket, as he unhooked her mic pack. ‘I came off after our scene and decided to stay here and wait for you.’ Jason wound the wires around the box and
rested the kit on the stage manager’s desk. ‘You see, I need to talk to you about Stan.’
Suzy tried to sound casual. Did this mean he was about to make a confession? ‘But your job at the tea dance? You’ll be in trouble …’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll come up with some excuse.’ Jason held the stage door open for Suzy. ‘One of my migraines! Now, tell me, Suzy … Stan …’
‘Yes? What about him?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? How are we going to find the bastard?’
They went through the stage door into the ship’s main port gangway. People were sitting at tables playing cards, reading and knitting while gazing out at the waves.
‘Let’s not speak here.’ Suzy put her fingers to her lips and they both remained silent as they walked the length of the corridor.
Suzy felt nervous of Jason, but could not at this minute see how she could avoid him.
They reached her cabin door before speaking again.
‘You really should go down to the ballroom, Jason, and do your job.’
Jason followed Suzy into her cabin.
‘Please, Jason. You must see that I have nothing to say to you.’ Suzy proffered Jason the desk chair. ‘Unless perhaps you’d like to explain yourself, the bank scam and your relationship with Stan.’
‘Why are you being like this, Suzy?’ Jason declined to sit. ‘You know my relationship with Stan. It’s much the same as yours. I despise the man. Only I hate him much, much more than you do, because I know so much more about him than you do. And please, don’t look in my direction when you’re throwing your accusations around. I was not responsible for stopping the run of The Importance, nor for taking anybody’s money, and if you want to point fingers at anyone, the bastard at whom to direct your digit is Stan.’
‘That’s an easy out for you, isn’t it, blaming him?’ Suzy decided to test Jason. ‘What does Stan think about it all?’