by Celia Imrie
‘I believe in a few hours we’ll be sailing just above the Titanic,’ she said.
‘This is no time for joking, Mrs Herbert,’ said the officer. ‘Do you have a phone number we could reach you on? Preferably a mobile?’
Amanda gritted her teeth and repeated that if he needed to get hold of her he could use email or phone her, ship-to-shore, on the Blue Mermaid via the company’s London office. In just over forty-eight hours, she informed him, the ship would dock in New York City. Then she hung up and signed for the extortionate call to be added to her room charge.
Once she was back in her cabin, she realised that after all that she had still not discovered on what charges her son was being held, nor what they wanted to talk to her about. In fact, she had just thrown away $120 on absolutely nothing.
She wrote impassioned emails to Patricia, and this girl, Sonia, then a more sensible one to her solicitors, asking if they could please try to make contact both with Mark and the officer at Paddington Green and get back to her, by email, with details, as soon as possible.
She looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was just after 2 a.m. Not long till morning and, hopefully, some information. Then she remembered that they had put the clocks back every night since leaving Southampton, including one hour ago, while she was in the purser’s office. That meant that in London it was only 10 p.m. or 11 p.m. Or was it the other way? Perhaps in London it was now 6 a.m. Was it three or four hours? Back or forward? Did she have to include the hour that the ship was putting back, or was it forward, at this very moment? Her head was reeling from all this horological mathematics. All she could be sure of was that she was unlikely to hear anything from anyone back in London till the offices reopened, whenever that was.
How exasperating!
It wasn’t something she’d usually do, but she went to the minibar, pulled out a small gin and tonic and drank it straight from the can. Then she lay on the bed in her clothes and stared at the ceiling.
Damn everything to hell and back.
Why wasn’t she allowed to have a rest? What had Mark done to get himself in this trouble? She suspected it must be something like drugs. Maybe he was into puffing marijuana and someone had grassed on him. She laughed, realising her pun, then went to the fridge and took out a second gin and tonic. This one she poured into a glass and sipped sedately, standing by the window looking out into the darkness.
Paddington Green? Wasn’t that where they took serious criminals like murderers, swindlers and IRA terrorists, back in the day? Surely, they couldn’t suspect him of anything as grave as that …
Could they?
She took another quaff of gin.
Sod it all.
Sod everything.
She went to the bed, lay back and closed her eyes.
Blast it all.
PART FIVE
The Grand Banks
15
Suzy worked energetically through her class. She even coped with the audition girl, who now, in front of all the others, treated Suzy as her BFF.
When the session was over, Suzy ran the length of the ship, using the outer deck, loving the feel of the damp wind in her hair. The sea had calmed considerably since yesterday and was now like a sparkling grey rumpled sheet.
Back in the cabin she quickly changed, then spent a few moments checking her emails. She replied very quickly to Max, who hoped everything was going well for her. He would hold all income received for her till she got ashore and had a chance to sort out a new bank account. Suzy felt enormously relieved about this.
Just as she was about to disconnect, an email came in from India, with the subject line: LATEST!
Instinctively Suzy opened it, just as she cut off the internet counter.
You’ll never guess what! It’s simply AWFUL!
Suzy read on and caught her breath. As her eyes skimmed along the lines she felt her heart pounding. When she reached the end of the email she shut down the computer, immediately left the cabin and crossed the corridor to Jason’s room.
She found herself hammering on the door, before remembering that it wasn’t only Jason in there. George, the other ghost, might be asleep in the lower bunk.
Almost instantaneously Jason opened.
‘Calm down, old girl. People are sleeping, you know.’
He stepped neatly out of the cabin and quietly clicked the door behind him.
‘And now, off we go, in search of Greasy Stan, the man.’
Suzy caught his arm. She realised she was shaking so hard that when she spoke her voice came out really high and wobbly.
‘Stan’s dead,’ she said.
‘Dead? How the … he didn’t jump overboard when he saw you, did he, Suze?’
‘I’m not joking, Jason. I just got an email from India. She’d had Barbara on the phone.’
‘How would India know? She’s not onboard too, is she?’
‘Stan died back in Zurich, Jason.’
‘In Zurich!’
Someone popped their head out of a nearby cabin and whispered up the hallway: ‘Keep it down could you, mates. Some of us have been on night-watch.’
Jason grabbed Suzy’s elbow and silently steered her along and out of the entertainment and crew quarters. ‘I think we’ll have this conversation on the outer deck, shall we?’
Suzy nodded and in silence they both ran up several flights of steps.
Once out in the open, they found a less windy corner and sat, huddled together on one of the games boxes on the cold, dank top deck.
‘Start at the beginning, Suze. Jesus. I can’t believe this.’ Jason wrapped his jacket tight around him and put his head in his hands while Suzy told him all she knew.
‘Barbara phoned India this afternoon, London time, by which I think I mean less than an hour ago, as the Zurich police had contacted her. They wanted all the information they could get on Stan. Barbara phoned round, starting with India, wanting to know if she knew any more than Barbara did, and warned her that the Swiss police might well be in touch. As company manager, when the police asked, she had felt obliged to give out everyone’s contact details. She’s going to write to me by email, apparently. India just got in first.’
‘I don’t care about all that stuff. What the hell happened to Stan?’
‘His body was found, half decomposed, in some flat by the lake. It was due to be serviced once a fortnight, but the woman was going away early for her Christmas break, so went in a few days early. When she came into the flat she was overpowered by the stench and then found Stan’s body under the bed in the back room. She staggered out and called the police. They found Stan’s credit cards and things in his jacket which was hung up on the back of the bedroom door.’
‘I thought Barbara told you, when we were all at the airport, that Stan flew out first thing in the morning. Did he go to London then back to Zurich? I don’t get it.’ Jason stood up and took deep breaths. ‘What the hell happened to him? How did he die? Did India say?’
Suzy shook her head. They stayed silent for some moments.
The ship was surprisingly steady in her forward passage. They could hear nothing but the steady rhythm of the engine. There were no waves. The sea was flat as a mirror, the horizon swathed in fine white mist.
‘You don’t think Stan died that night, do you, Suze, at that party? Oh God!’
Jason moved closer.
Suzy looked up. Before them a blanket of fog was rolling in. She looked down and saw dew forming on the sleeves of her jacket. She shivered.
‘There’s another burning question bothering me, Jason,’ said Suzy. ‘If Stan is dead, who is in Cabin 8127?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Obviously has to be some other person called Stan Arbuthnot. Nothing to do with us. Our nerves were up. We were just barking up the wrong tree. It really is a case of another Athene Seyler.’
‘No, Jason. I’m sure that it’s more serious than that.’
‘How can it be? It’s just another person with the same name, Suze. And becaus
e we’re here, in this strange cut-off world, we got ourselves into a state about it.’
‘Look – the entertainment people let slip that this Stan Arbuthnot is an actor and, as you know, Equity doesn’t allow more than one person to keep the same name.’
‘So, he’s an amateur who says he’s an actor? There’s enough of those around,’ said Jason, pulling his collar up. ‘Or he’s in American or Australian Equity, or something. As I said – he’s got nothing to do with us.’
‘Jason! That wouldn’t explain why Jun, who is the steward of Cabin 8127, told me that Mr Stan Arbuthnot, actor, who is onboard this ship at this minute, had recognised my photo from the Daily Programme, told Jun he knew me and asked where he might find my cabin number.’
‘Jeez, Suze. That’s horrible.’ Jason stood up. ‘Look at this fog. It’s like a cloud rushing us.’ He put out his hand and offered to help Suzy to her feet. ‘Come on, Suze! Chop-chop!’
‘Come on where?’
‘We’re going to take a look at exactly who is in that cabin.’
*
Amanda woke, still fully clothed in the formal wear she had put on for dinner last evening, just after 9 a.m.
She immediately went to the desk, turned on her laptop and checked her emails. Nothing.
She undressed, took a shower and put on casual clothes more suitable for the day ahead.
What should she do now?
There was nothing she could do, until someone replied to her.
She decided to book herself a massage in the spa, but first went down to take breakfast in the restaurant.
Myriam was there, alone at their table, tucking into a bowl of porridge.
‘I adore Irish oatmeal, don’t you, darling?’ she cried as Amanda sat and unfolded her napkin. Amanda had always thought of porridge as being a Scottish thing, but said nothing.
Myriam put down her spoon and gazed at Amanda. ‘You look all in, deary, if I may say. Are you all right?’
‘I’ve had a bit of upsetting news from home,’ Amanda replied. ‘And there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Thank goodness for that!’ Myriam laid her chubby hand on her chest. ‘Oh, sweetie, no!’ She held up her hands. ‘I don’t mean thank goodness you’ve had terrible news. For one awful moment, I thought you might be avoiding me and that I might have upset the apple tart. I hope nobody passed away?’
‘My son has got himself into some trouble. He’s been arrested. But no one will tell me what he’s supposed to have done.’
Myriam stretched out her arm and patted the back of Amanda’s hand.
‘Oh, my, how terrible for yourself. I’m so sorry. Children can be such a worry.’
‘He’s thirty-four.’
‘It doesn’t matter if they’re fifty-nine, sweetie-pie. To mothers, they’re always their babies.’ Myriam dabbed her mouth with her napkin and leaned in to Amanda. ‘Now, darling, I don’t want things to be awkward between us, so please may we address the pink elephant in the room?’
Amanda had no idea what Myriam was talking about, so smiled wanly and nodded.
‘Karl!’ announced Myriam. ‘I hope you’re not upset that he appears to have thrown his bonnet at me. I know that you were seeing a bit of him.’
Now that the subject had been broached, Amanda realised she couldn’t care a fig if Myriam was being romanced by Karl. To be honest it was the last thing on her mind. If Myriam wanted the man she was welcome to him.
A waiter appeared at Amanda’s shoulder. She wasn’t in the slightest bit hungry but ordered Eggs Florentine and a pot of strong coffee.
‘Long time, no see!’ Chris stood opposite Amanda, pulling out a chair for Jennie, who obediently sat. ‘We were wondering if you might have gone overboard,’ he added, sitting down himself and picking up the menu. ‘Tried swimming home to Blighty.’
‘What have you two been up to?’ asked Myriam. ‘Making the most of the lovely ship?’
‘I’ve splashed out on a morning’s pampering for the lady-wife,’ said Chris. ‘She’s getting the whole works: massage, facial, coiffure, the bloody lot. Nothing’s too good for my little Jennie.’
Amanda waved a mental goodbye to spending her morning in the spa. She recalled the conversation she had overheard yesterday, and wondered whether Chris really hadn’t seen her there lying a few beds away in the relaxation lounge.
‘She’s a strange one, that Froggy female, Lillian, isn’t she? Never seen her down here for breakfast. If you ask me, Europeans are a bloody lazy lot. You had a near escape with the old Brexit, Amanda. Glad to say you Brits gave the foreign bastards the elbow. Good for you.’
Amanda didn’t point out that she was a firm believer in the UK being part of Europe. Instead she gave a wan smile and filled her mouth with dry toast.
After finishing as much of the Eggs Florentine as she could manage, given the tension she was feeling, she excused herself and said she had to go up to the library to change a book. It was a lie, but once she said it she thought the library was as good a place as any to go and sit alone. There she could be sure she would be undisturbed.
She found a window seat and settled down to watch the ever-changing sea. The horizon was shrouded in mist.
When she awoke she realised it was after eleven thirty. She had done that thing which she hated others doing – hogged a seat with a great view and then fallen asleep. Feeling guilty, she vacated the chair and left the library.
She hadn’t got very far when someone came up behind her and took her arm.
It was Karl.
‘I’ve been worried about you, Amanda,’ he said. ‘You were unwell. Come and sit with me in the Port Lounge. No one’s there. We can talk.’
He ushered her up the stairs and through into a small room which Amanda had never noticed before.
‘If someone’s booked it for a meeting or a wedding or something they’ll throw us out, but in the meanwhile …’ He pulled out a chair for Amanda to sit.
‘Myriam tells me you’ve had a little trouble at home. I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I could do to help …’
‘No. Not really. I’m fine.’ Amanda sat.
‘You disappeared last night. I missed you. That woman does go on and on. I get the feeling she’s after me.’ Karl took a seat opposite Amanda. ‘I prefer a little more dignity, myself. Should I order us some tea, perhaps?’
Amanda shook her head.
‘It was lonely yesterday without you,’ said Karl. ‘I spent the day with Myriam, hoping all the time that you would recover, and come looking for us. Now that you are well again, I am your servant.’
Amanda’s tension was greatly assuaged by the thought that she was not alone and could discuss her problems with someone sympathetic.
‘It’s the feeling of helplessness I can’t stand. I have no idea what’s gone on, and I’m stuck on this bloody boat and communications with land are such a horror …’
‘You know that I’m a bit of a computer whizz? I could help you get around these limitations perhaps?’
‘But you must be busy.’
‘I’m on a cruise, Amanda! Remember, I work with computers for a living. I know how to do most things.’
Back in Amanda’s cabin, Karl took charge of the laptop. With a few clicks he had got online.
‘Can I just use this jotter to note down the password they give me?’
‘Of course,’ said Amanda, relieved someone was being so helpful.
He flipped the pad and then scribbled a few notes on the next page and tore it off.
‘Voila!’ He rose from the chair, offering it back to Amanda.
He had set up a way for her to call the solicitors directly using her computer.
‘I don’t suggest you do it for a long time,’ he said. ‘You’ll still incur internet charges, and it will hitch up because the speed is tragically slow, but a quick voice call should make things much clearer than all those back and forth emails and Chinese whispers.’
He bowed slightly.
>
‘I hope I will see you tonight in the ballroom, Amanda.’ He scrunched up the piece of paper and put it in his pocket.
‘You won’t be needing this any more.’ He moved back towards the door. ‘Good luck with everything.’ And he was gone.
Amanda got on to the solicitors straight away.
They told her that they were just writing her a detailed report. Mark was being held for fraud, theft and possessing indecent images of juveniles. These were serious charges and, if found guilty, he could be sent to prison.
‘But that can’t be true. Not Mark.’ Amanda knew that her son was a bit of a womaniser, but fiddling with adolescents …? That was beyond belief.
‘There’s a matter of some dubious photographs and magazines hidden under the bath.’
Amanda shook her head. ‘It can’t be true. It just can’t.’ Mark was a philanderer, that was true. But not this.
And as for the other stuff, the bank fraud, Amanda knew that he simply didn’t have the intelligence for it.
‘They have irrefutable evidence, Mrs Herbert. USB sticks with incriminating bank-account details under various names were found in his possession. It doesn’t look good.’
‘But …’
‘For the time being there is nothing you can do. You would be advised not to speak with the police again and, before doing anything, to wait until we contact you. Whatever you do, please do not try making further contact with your son.’
After the call was over, Amanda was so stunned she almost forgot to log off the internet.
She moved over to the bed and sat, speechless, looking out at the misty horizon.
Fraud, theft and indecent images!
What had her son turned into?
She didn’t know what to do next.
She glanced at her watch. Just coming up to noon.
She recalled that the boy in the travel agent’s had sold her this cruise as ‘a totally relaxing, genuine break from the hustle and bustle of home’!
If only that were true. Home had pursued her like a demented Fury with a personal grudge. And being on a ship was certainly not relaxing during a crisis, particularly because communications were so expensive and nigh impossible.