A tall tousled blonde beauty in slinky white jeans opened the door. She smiled, recognizing me. And I recognized her.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
‘Good heavens, I’ve been looking for you, Amanda,’ I began. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Your mother is worried stiff. She’s in the medical centre, deck F.’
‘Heavens, I thought she’d be fast asleep by now. What’s the matter?’
‘She’s broken her wrist, but she’s being taken care of. All she is worried about is you. She doesn’t know where you are. Could you phone her? Put her mind at rest. I’ll give you the number.’
‘And this is the last place she’d expect to find me,’ said Amanda Banesto, going into the sitting room to the phone. Mrs Foster was on the sofa, wrapped in a towelling robe, her feet in slippers. She looked happier than she had that afternoon.
‘Hello, Mrs Foster,’ I said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh yes, I’m fine now that Amanda is here, keeping me company. She’s my niece, you see. Her mother and I are sisters. Sad thing is, we haven’t spoken for years …’
Twelve - At Sea
I had thought that after working on cruise ships for several years, nothing could surprise me. But this did surprise me. I had to stop my mouth falling open. Sisters travelling separately on the same ship and not speaking? Whatever had happened in the past between them must have been something catastrophic. Surely it couldn’t be a motive for murder?
But I did persuade Amanda to phone her mother in the medical centre and say she was all right for the night. It was not my business where she spent the night or with whom. I’m sure Mrs Foster was appreciating some company during this bad weather.
And I was not supposed to get involved with passengers. Here I was up to my neck in them. I felt like a bundle of knitting that had got into a twist, with a lot of dropped stitches and pattern errors.
We were in the eye of the storm now, a central zone where it’s calmer, but we might have another rough patch before morning. This was the best time to get some sleep. Sleep? When had I last slept, or eaten, or anything? The rosé wine was the last thing I could remember going down my throat. I hoped Dr Mallory had at last got his handsome head down on a couch.
I wondered where Hurricane Dora was sweeping her devastation, lifting tin roofs, felling palm trees, overturning cars and buses. These Caribbean islands might be idyllic but they could be wrecked by one storm. And it took months to put things right for the tourists. Years even. And ruined lives and businesses were harder to repair.
The Countess Georgina rode the mountainous, hissing waves, the wind hurling past with horrendous howls and moans. It’s a wonder anyone slept. I tried to close my eyes and ears to the noise. The cabin rocked. I held on to the sides of my bed, terrified that I would fall out.
The sea was still choppy first thing the next morning, but we’d travelled through the path of the hurricane. The sky was fresh and blue as if it had been tumbled in a launderette with fabric softener. Officers were on deck assessing damage and reporting back to the engineers’ department. The Countess had weathered the storm well. It appeared to be the passengers who had suffered the most.
Only the hardy appeared for breakfast in the Terrace café. I was hungry and piled a bowl with grapefruit, melon, pineapple and grapes. I also helped myself to a warm roll, sliced cheese and marmalade. Very Welsh. Quite a feast for me.
‘So you’re hungry, too,’ said Samuel, sitting down opposite me. His tray was laden with a cooked breakfast, cereal, toast and fruit. I pointed at the Danish pastry.
‘What’s that? All those calories, fat and sugar,’ I said.
‘Fancy some cold pizza instead?’
‘How are your patients?’
‘Remarkably cheerful. Most of them will be returning to their cabins now that it’s calmer, except the head wound. I want to keep an eye on him. And two are being flown home today once the helicopter arrives.’ He had been up most of the night and was wearing a fetching Brad Pitt after-six shadow, and his eyes were red-rimmed with weariness.
‘Such a sad way to end a holiday. I always feel so sorry for them. I discovered something interesting last night. Mrs Banesto, your broken wrist patient, and Mrs Foster, widow of the late Mr Foster, are sisters. But they are not on speaking terms and haven’t been for years.’
‘It happens,’ said Samuel, munching through his cereal. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Well, there might be a connection. It all depends on why they are not on speaking terms. I know of a pair of sisters who quarrelled over a pint of milk and never spoke to each other again for the rest of their lives.’
‘Sad.’
‘It happens,’ I repeated.
‘Perhaps the gorgeous Amanda will spill the beans,’ he said, starting on his eggs and bacon, hash browns and mushrooms. The man was hungry. He took my roll to mop up the egg yolk. ‘Do you know the gorgeous Amanda?’
‘Who doesn’t know Amanda?’
‘Then who is the young blond man she’s always seen around with?’
‘No idea, could be any of a dozen attentive admirers. Such a brilliant description, Casey. Knew who you meant immediately.’ I gave up on that tack. ‘And Mrs Foster’s suite was ransacked yesterday. Very unpleasant. As far as we know nothing was stolen but Mr Foster’s briefcase seems to be missing.’
‘Ah, The Case of the Missing Briefcase by Agatha Christie. Very good book. Have you read it?’
‘You’re making that up. She didn’t write one with that title.’
‘Are you sure?’ His eyes were twinkling. ‘I should check in the library or on Google. You may get the entire mystery cleared up in a flash.’
‘I don’t think you are taking any of this seriously and yet you have two bodies in freezers who shouldn’t be there. They should be enjoying this cruise and having a wonderful holiday.’
Samuel was savouring the crisp rashers of bacon. ‘You’re right, Casey. It’s that damned protective shell. You have to grow one in A & E or you wouldn’t survive the horrors. I won’t even tell you about them nor mention anything. But the sights are not pretty, and the traumas are devastating. That’s why I’m here. I need to recover some peace of mind, some joy of life.’
‘And you like the sea?’ The sea was part of my life. I had seawater in my blood. I could watch the sea for hours, never tiring of the endless blue.
‘I love the sea. My dad had a boat. I’ve been sailing since I was old enough to take a tiller. We went out every weekend, any weather.’
‘So if the Countess goes off course, you’ll be able to navigate?’
‘I know my stars,’ Samuel said, getting up to fetch some fresh coffee. ‘Do you want a cup?’
‘Thank you. Black, please.’
The drinks counter was busy and Samuel had to wait in the queue. It gave me a chance to look at him when he was not aware. He was outstandingly attractive even when dishevelled. Two female passengers immediately latched on to him, talking animatedly. He was as charming as ever to them, bending to listen politely, although I could see the weariness in his shoulders.
‘Dolphins,’ the cry went up from somewhere. ‘Dolphins!’
Everyone rushed to port then over to starboard, not knowing where they were. It was a wonder the ship didn’t tilt like in Pirates of the Caribbean 3. I saw a pair of big silvery fish leaping out of the water, so elegant and so playful. They were putting on a show for the passengers, enjoying themselves and the sport. They kept us company for a few miles and then fell behind. As I watched them, it broke my heart that so many of them died in fishermen’s nets.
Samuel turned and looked at me as if reading my thoughts. He knew and smiled hesitantly. There was nothing we could do individually about saving dolphins. It was out of our control. He came back with two brimming cups of coffee.
‘Did you see them?’
‘So beautiful …’
He nodded. ‘Part of the universe, the great cosmic plan. We are all specks of dus
t. Count it as a special gift that they came and entertained us, a huge white floating container. A tin box. They are so small in comparison yet they chose to swim alongside and say hello. They recognize people as living humans.’
‘It was amazing.’
‘What do they think of us?’
I shook my head. ‘Heaven knows. A sort of harmless monster gliding by, quite unable to leap or dive. Perhaps they feel sorry for us.’
Samuel grinned. ‘That’s it, they felt sorry for us. A big, floating hotel encased in steel.’
Time for me to go before he stole any more of my breakfast. The dolphins were my bonus. They would stay in my mind as I went down to the office behind the Princess Lounge stage and immersed myself in the day’s routine. Work had to go on. I wondered what Estelle had dreamed up for me overnight. She was probably going to complain about the hurricane. Captain Nicolas should have taken a different route?
Call it a nightmare. Estelle must have sat up all night compiling a dossier of complaints. Susan Brook got up as I came into the office. She looked distraught.
‘I’m not staying if she comes in. I’ve had her on the phone three times already, asking where you were.’
‘Watching the dolphins.’
‘Don’t tell her that. She’ll complain to Head Office.’
Susan swallowed but sent me a look of pure hostility. I don’t think she had been on deck for days. Her skin was sallow. Somehow I had to get some air into those lungs. Perhaps Samuel could be the bait. I’d have to talk him into it, twist his arm. Call it admin therapy.
‘Did you hear about the stowaway?’ Susan produced her trump card. She wasn’t called my deputy for nothing.
I stopped mid email. ‘No, really? Where did they find him?’
‘It’s a her, a female. She was in a lifeboat and had been living there for days on scraps she had managed to steal from trays left outside the Terrace café. But the hurricane frightened the life out of her and she was found clinging to some super-structure, crying her eyes out.’
‘And where is she now?’
‘Locked in an empty cabin, I should image, twiddling her thumbs.’
I made a mental note to talk to Richard Norton. A stowaway had to have a reason to stow away. And a woman. That was unusual. It was usually men who needed a ticket to ride or a job.
I started a bullet list. It was my way of sorting out my head:
Mr Foster collapses and dies
Reg Hawkins dies inside his magic box
Sleeping pill in my drink
Mrs Foster’s suite ransacked
Mrs Foster and Mrs Banesto are sisters
Stowaway found in lifeboat
I wondered if anything was connected and began to draw connecting lines. The stowaway might know Reg Hawkins. The person who ransacked Mrs Foster’s suite might have put the sleeping pill in my drink. Mr Foster’s briefcase might be in the lifeboat.
My connecting lines began to look like a spider’s web. The possibilities were endless and confusing. This was no way to run a ship’s entertainments department. I was not paid to solve crimes. I needed more coffee. Pass the honey for my throat.
*
Estelle Grayson needed more than coffee. She needed serious therapy, a pay rise, several new dresses and some magic slimming pills. Apparently the Lothario lounge pianist was impossible. He insisted on playing at the right tempo. The luggage that was still missing held all her stage costumes. Her cabin was noisy and she could hear the disco pounding all night.
‘I don’t expect to be treated like this,’ she said, overflowing on to my visitor’s chair. She was wearing a caftan of rainbow-challenging bright colours. I reached for my sunglasses. ‘I want my cabin changed and my luggage found.’
‘We are still searching for your piece of luggage. I wonder if you could describe it again and tell me what identifying label it had on it,’ I said.
‘It’s a large navy pull-along case. Label? I don’t know what label it had on it. What a ridiculous thing to ask. Am I supposed to remember labels?’
‘It would help. Most passengers label their luggage with ship and cruise number and cabin number if they know it.’ My patience was beginning to run out.
‘I’m not a passenger. I’m a star entertainer.’
‘And a really brilliant singer,’ I soft-soaped. ‘We are lucky to have you aboard. And you are lucky that you were spared entertaining throughout Hurricane Dora. Tonight is your big night, and things had better be sorted. Don’t you have any other outfits to wear?’
‘I always wear my red on my first night. It’s a theatrical superstition, you know, or perhaps you don’t know, never having been on the stage yourself,’ said Estelle, drawing on some more lipstick. ‘I have to feel right. I can’t go on wearing the wrong dress.’
‘I’m sure you are professional enough to be able to do your numbers in some other costume,’ I said. She was exhausting me. ‘I’m sure you will be just as mesmerizing in say midnight blue or white.’
She shuddered. ‘I never wear white. Not with my skin.’
‘Have you got another favourite with you?’
‘I have got a spectacular gold lame …’
‘Gold sounds wonderful,’ I gushed. ‘With your hair and your amazing complexion. Pure porcelain. Like Royal Worcester.’
I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. It was absolute gibberish. Somehow I had to get her out of my office before I threw something at her. Susan was looking at me with something close to admiration. A first from that quarter.
‘Thank you, Casey,’ Estelle said, gathering up her folds. ‘I can see you really appreciate an entertainer’s problems. It’s a gift, of course.’ She shot a disparaging look at Susan. ‘I’ll go and try on the gold, see how it looks, maybe change a few numbers.’
‘Wonderful,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be a brilliant show. I can hardly wait.’ I couldn’t wait to get it over. ‘I’ll be there tonight to make sure everything works smoothly.’
‘If you could talk to that pianist …’
‘I will indeed. Anything to help you, Estelle.’
She graced me with a crimson gilded smile and glided out of the office. It was some moments before I even had the energy to collapse.
Susan did a slow handclap. ‘How did you manage that?’ she asked.
‘Divine guidance,’ I said.
I wondered if Richard Norton would tell me anything about the stowaway. He was a busy man and already had enough to deal with. He wouldn’t welcome interference. Yet he always seemed to have time for me which was generous. Perhaps I reminded him of someone in his past.
I got him on the phone. It seemed better that pestering him in his office, getting in the way.
‘Hi, it’s Casey Jones. Are you all right? Survive the hurricane?’
‘Slept through worse,’ he boasted. ‘Is this a social call or do you want to get information out of me?’
‘It’s a social call,’ I smiled. I could smile down a phone. ‘I thought about an early drink tonight, a little late supper together in a quiet spot, some midnight singing and cosy dancing on the deck.’
‘OK, you can quit all that, Casey. What do you want to know?’ He sounded amused.
‘The missing briefcase. Has it been found? And who is this stowaway? Does she have a name and a history?’
‘Don’t want to know much, do you? And why should I tell you? Are you now part of the security department?’
‘No, but I’m very useful. You know I will pass on to you any information that comes my way. And I keep my eyes and ears open at all times. I am one of most well-informed people on this ship.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Richard. He was a really nice person. He could have shot me down in flames and cut the cords to my parachute. ‘How about a coffee in the Terrace café in ten minutes?’
‘It’s a date,’ I said, putting down the phone.
‘You dating Richard Norton now?’ said Susan. ‘What about the dishy doctor who’s always
hanging around you?’
‘He’s all yours,’ I said warmly. ‘Why don’t you give Dr Mallory a ring, Susan? I know he wanted to talk to you about something, but I’ve forgotten what it was. Why don’t you suggest meeting him for a drink, say Lido Bar? He’d love that. It’s one of his favourites.’
‘Should I really?’ There was a spark of interest in her leaden features. Her voice was without any resonance or vibrancy. ‘Shall I call him?’
‘Why not? He’s a really charming person and he would enjoy your company. Give him a call.’
Samuel Mallory would crucify me. I had to get to him first, prime him, call in a few favours. Beneath that suave exterior and flirtatious manner, he had a compassionate heart. Though whether that kind heart extended to Susan Brook, I was not sure. But his attention might help Susan.
I ran up on deck. I was in my morning tropical gear, cut-off white trousers, Conway Line shirt and scarf. Passengers were emerging, relieved that the hurricane was over, anxious to share experiences. They had so many tales to tell. There was a lot of laughter, now that it was all over.
‘So you survived?’ I said to Maria de Leger.
‘I’ve survived worse,’ she said. ‘The Baltic can be horrendous.’
‘The other ankle is OK?’ I said to Mrs Laurent in her wheelchair.
‘I went to bed with a large glass of brandy and a good book,’ she said. ‘I don’t know which I finished first.’
There was a special curry buffet on deck for lunch. Appetites were recovering and there were already a group of passengers hovering for the ritual opening of the on-deck buffet. Stewards were hurrying forward with steaming cauldrons of different curries, saffron rice and side dishes. It was going to be a banquet.
I spotted Richard Norton in the Terrace café and hurried to join him. I knew I was late. He had two cups of coffee on the table and had kindly kept mine hot with the saucer on top.
‘Waylaid, as usual,’ he said.
‘I have to exchange a few words. People like to talk.’
‘Part of the job. I understand.’
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