by Dawn Brookes
Before she could think or say anything more, Sarah entered the ward, smiling.
“It’s good to see you two looking well, especially you, Lady Snellthorpe.”
It was a relief to change the subject for a while so that Rachel could compose her thoughts, and Marjorie seemed to welcome the break too as they laughed and shared good-humoured banter.
Finally, Sarah said, “Do you mind if I take Rachel away for a minute, Lady Snellthorpe?”
“Of course not,” replied Marjorie. “You young things go and chat.”
Rachel was reluctant to leave, but something in Sarah’s eyes made her think it was important.
“We have had word from the Portuguese police and coroner’s office.” There was a look of concern on Sarah’s face. “They are not certain about this by any means, but a young boy appears to have witnessed Mrs McDonald being pushed into the road by a man in the crowd.”
“Could the boy identify the man?” asked Rachel.
“No, apparently not. He was standing close to the elderly ladies, but because of his height and the speed at which it all happened, he only saw the push.”
“Is he sure she was pushed?”
“He swears by the story. His parents say he was fascinated by the raindrops rolling down the lady’s waterproof coat when it happened. The police believe him, and the coroner says that there is a mark on her back that could have been caused by a push. Without the boy’s testimony, he would have put it down to injury from the accident.”
“This is terrible,” said Rachel. “So it was deliberate?”
“There doesn’t seem to be a motive, though. The police say she was unknown to anyone on the ship and are wondering if it was a random killing, if it does turn out to be a killing at all. Security on the ship have been informed, but whether the pusher was a passenger or not is unclear.”
“Oh, he is on this ship, of that I am certain. And I don’t believe she was the intended victim, either.”
“What do you mean?”
Rachel explained to Sarah the things that had been nagging her for days: the feeling that she or Marjorie was being watched; the man outside Marjorie’s room in the middle of the night; and finally, what she had learned this morning: that Mrs McDonald had been wearing Marjorie’s hat and coat.
“You see, they were a similar height and build, and from behind, Mrs McDonald would have looked like Marjorie. I believe she is in danger, but the killer may think that he has got away with murder.”
“How so?”
“If he fled the scene, he will believe that Marjorie is dead, and hopefully she will be safe for now.”
The only thing that Rachel didn’t share was her concern that Carlos might be involved in some way, partly because she did not have a shred of evidence that he was, and partly because she didn’t want to think about the possibility.
“We need to let security know. Do you think we should tell Marjorie?”
“It’s hard to say, but I think she’s been through enough. She already has some inkling that someone is after her, but thinking and knowing are two different things.”
“And the reality is, we don’t really know at all. It could all be coincidence and the Portuguese boy may just have an overactive imagination. The police aren’t actively looking for anyone, but they have let all the ship’s captains who were docked that day know that they may have a killer on board. If there is a killer, though, it is much more likely that he is on board this ship rather than any of the others.”
Sarah paused.
“Security has carried out some routine checks and all passengers and crew are back on board, except for poor Mrs McDonald. The problem is, we don’t really have a clue what the person might look like. The boy can’t even confirm that it was a man who did the pushing!” Sarah looked concerned. “I have to go back to work now because I am on call, but I will catch you later. I will let Dr Bentley know your concerns so that he can alert the captain.”
Rachel was left stunned, still finding it difficult to comprehend what might be happening. Now, in addition to her concerns about whether Carlos was involved (something she would investigate herself), she had to work out who might want Marjorie dead, and why.
She went back into the ward area and saw that Marjorie had fallen asleep again. It must be the sedation, she thought. I wonder if I can persuade her to stay another night in the Infirmary?
Meanwhile, she had work to do. But how do you go about investigating a murder on a cruise ship without any real suspects?
Chapter 16
Rachel put the telephone down in her room. Marjorie had insisted on being discharged from the ward and was on her way up in a wheelchair. Sarah had called to say that Brigitte was escorting her to her stateroom.
Rachel got up from her bed where she had fallen asleep, and noticed that the worry lines were returning to her forehead when she looked in the mirror. At least this time, it isn’t anything to do with Robert. She could take some comfort from that.
She heard talking in the corridor and went out to greet Marjorie.
“They can’t keep a good woman down, can they?” Rachel approached Marjorie and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“I would rather be in my room,” replied the old lady, looking tired. Her face was drawn, and although she appeared calm, Rachel noticed she was shaking slightly.
Marjorie got up from the wheelchair, and Brigitte said goodbye, mouthing “Look after her” to Rachel. Rachel nodded.
“Thank you, Nurse,” said Marjorie.
“Can I help you into your room and get you something to drink?”
“That would be very kind, Rachel, thank you.”
They entered the stateroom and found a huge bunch of flowers in a vase on the table, along with a bowl of fruit and a note. Marjorie picked up the note and smiled.
“They must be from Jeremy,” she announced, but then Rachel noticed a flicker of disappointment as she read the note. “They are from the captain, how kind of him.”
Marjorie handed the note to Rachel.
“Dear Lady Snellthorpe, wishing you a swift recovery, and may I offer my sincere apologies for your unpleasant experience yesterday. If there is anything I can do, please relay a message via Dr Bentley, who will be keeping an eye on you. Yours sincerely, Captain Peter Jenson.”
Rachel thought it a lovely touch, but she could understand Marjorie’s disappointment that her son had not sent her any messages. Not for the first time, Rachel felt a searing anger towards a man she had never met.
“Here you are.” Rachel handed her a cup of Earl Grey tea.
“How did you know I like Earl Grey?”
“Observation,” replied Rachel. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No thank you, dear. I will eat in my room this evening as I am out on a trip tomorrow in Barcelona.” Rachel admired her tenacity and determination to carry on and felt even more protective than ever. “You go out and enjoy yourself. I don’t want these unfortunate events to ruin your holiday.”
“I’ll look in on you tonight if your light is on,” said Rachel. “Otherwise I will see you tomorrow after your outing.”
Rachel returned to her room and dressed for dinner. For the first formal night on the ship, women donned evening gowns and men wore tuxedos. The captain and all his officers would be present.
As soon as Rachel entered the dining room, she felt an arm rest on her shoulder. She turned to see Carlos beaming down at her and she felt familiar butterflies in her stomach. Don’t fall under his spell, she warned herself, without much success.
“You look breathtakingly beautiful tonight,” he said as he held her apart from him and gave her an appraising look up and down. She had on a red strapless evening gown with a matching bow above the left breast, and even with her wrap covering her shoulders, she was attracting appreciative glances from other men as they entered the dining room.
Her blue eyes shone as she smiled and relaxed for the first time that day. Carlos looked incredi
bly handsome in his tuxedo, and he was annoyingly confident and assured as he took her arm and led her to their table.
Dinner passed pleasantly. No-one at the table seemed to know about the events that had unfolded the day before, except perhaps Carlos. He kept giving Rachel looks as though he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind.
For her part, Rachel tried to probe him with questions about where he was from and what he did, but he was evasive. In between, he was charming, and his commanding presence meant that the others on the table wanted to speak with him just as much as she did.
So much for being skilled at information gathering. It was much easier when Rachel was questioning suspects or victims because she could be more frank.
After dinner, Carlos escorted her to the main atrium to meet with the captain and his officers. They were handed a glass of champagne, and Rachel was feeling a lot more at ease, partly because she had already had two glasses of wine with dinner, and now the champagne was filling her stomach with a warm, pleasant glow. She wasn’t used to drinking in quantities and her head was swimming. Carlos was more attentive than he had been thus far in the cruise, and she was enjoying his closeness.
Then she abruptly remembered her suspicions.
“Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?” she asked.
“In Lisbon?” He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge this. “It was alright. I went into town, that was all. I have been to Lisbon many times before.”
“Oh, I see. Did you not visit the western end of the harbour?”
“No, I returned to the ship from town.” Rachel noticed a brief hesitation and a flicker of his eyes before he answered. Just enough to tell her he was lying.
Rachel stiffened slightly.
“I’m tired, I need to go to bed,” she said, suddenly turning away. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him, and she felt breathless as he looked into her eyes.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he whispered and kissed her lightly on the lips. Rachel summoned all of her willpower and strength in order to prevent this becoming a deeper kiss and broke away for the second time.
“Goodnight,” she mumbled and left the atrium.
She didn’t return to her room immediately. Deciding to get some fresh air first, she took a walk around one of the upper decks. She passed the outdoor movie screen and noticed that a film was showing, but she didn’t stop to watch.
Her thoughts were confused. If it were not for the Marjorie thing, she would be enjoying her time with Carlos much more, but the nagging doubts in her head kept her from trusting him.
After about an hour of staring out to sea, Rachel returned to her stateroom. Marjorie’s light was out, so she went straight to bed, and immediately her head hit the pillow, she was wrapped in dreams concerning romance and murder.
Rachel woke at seven the next morning after a restless night and saw that the ship was docked in Barcelona. Knowing that Sarah was working, Rachel had booked herself on to one of the coach tours to Montserrat for the morning, and afterwards she would meet Sarah to go to Las Ramblas for some shopping.
As she opened her door, she saw Josie in the corridor. “Good morning, ma’am Rachel,” the Philippine woman said.
“Good morning, Josie. Have you seen Lady Snellthorpe this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am, she left early to go on her outing. Dr Bentley visited her and escorted her to her meeting area.”
Rachel was relieved. “See you later.”
“Have a nice day, ma’am Rachel,” said Josie as she entered one of the staterooms armed with new bed linen and towels.
Rachel walked up the corridor towards the theatre where she would be meeting her tour guide. She was given a blue sticker with a number nine printed on it, indicating which tour group she would join, and then she sat and waited patiently until her number was called.
The group followed one of the crew members down to deck four, where they passed through the usual security before leaving via a ramp down to the port side. The others in the group had obviously done this before, and Rachel followed them to a coach with a large number nine sign displayed in the window. The passengers were all greeted by a Spanish woman, who introduced herself as Maria, and the coach driver called Patrick.
Once on the coach, Rachel found a seat. It wasn’t long before an Asian family sat around her, a teenager sitting next to Rachel.
“Hi, I’m Vindra,” the girl said. “You’re very pretty.”
“I’m Rachel,” she replied, laughing. “And so are you!”
Vindra was thirteen going on twenty, and turned out to be a chatty, outgoing young girl who entertained Rachel with stories of her school-life in Kent.
“If she annoys you, tell her to shut up,” said the woman on the seats parallel to theirs. Rachel noticed she had much more of an accent than Vindra and wore a beautiful blue sari. Silk, Rachel thought. She must be quite hot. Sitting next to her was a man who appeared to be in his forties, wearing a smart short-sleeved white shirt and brown trousers.
“She is not annoying me,” said Rachel, politely.
Vindra was dressed less formally than her parents, wearing pink shorts to mid-thigh and a vest with the word ‘Lisbon’ sprawled across the front. She smiled at Rachel, a beautiful smile that showed off her white teeth, and her deep brown eyes shone.
You are going to be a heartbreaker.
Rachel enjoyed the chatter and listened to the family as they laughed together. On the seat in front of Vindra’s parents were two young boys who, Vindra told her, were six and eight. They were playing video games from what Rachel could make out.
“They would be searching for Pokémons if they had mobile phones, but Dad won’t let them have one yet because they are too young,” explained Vindra. “I do let them use mine, but Dad told me off in Lisbon because they kept getting in people’s way while they were chasing after the Pokémons.”
The guide drew the passengers’ attention to the various landmarks on the drive up to Montserrat. The Benedictine Monastery was perched on the mountainside with spectacular views. Once the coach stopped, Rachel parted with the group and decided to go for a wander by herself.
The monastery was spectacular to look at, and she admired the basilica which the guide had said was Romanesque. In spite of the number of people there, Rachel thought how peaceful it appeared, and she admired those who lived, worked and prayed there.
She caught sight of some of the monks and followed them into the main building. Here she found beautiful architecture and evidence of a life that had not changed in centuries. She sat for a while and enjoyed the peace and tranquillity, until a group of tourists arrived with a tour guide who had a rather loud voice. Rachel watched the group for a short time and realised the guide was speaking French. Rachel had studied the language at school to A level and was able to hold a relatively fluent conversation, but she was struggling to make out some of the guide’s words. They were probably technical, relating to the architecture around her.
She left the monastery and headed into the main plaza where the shops were situated. Ordering a cup of coffee from an outside café area, she watched as people crowded into the small souvenir shops. There were a number of tour groups visiting, some from her ship and some from another cruise ship she had seen in the port. The Mediterranean was busy at this time of year and tourism brought a welcome boost to the Spanish economy, which was not in the healthiest of conditions.
Rachel joined the rest of her group for lunch, provided as part of the tour package, and Vindra insisted she join her and her family to eat. Rachel liked this girl and was pleased that her parents allowed her to express herself so openly. She had met some Asian parents through her line of work who baulked at their children becoming a part of the western culture and still encouraged arranged marriages. Vindra had explained to Rachel on the coach that her father was a strict Hindu, but that he had agreed to allow his children to choose their own marriage partners.
“He would prefer them to be Asian,�
� Vindra said, “but would accept them, whoever they are.”
Rachel acknowledged the difficulties of integration into western culture for those who had not been brought up in the West, and understood the concerns of parents as her own parents found some aspects of western life difficult, too. Having a vicar as a father, she sometimes felt she was more aligned to the morals of other cultures than her own. Even though her brother had renounced Christianity and lived with his girlfriend, Amy, Rachel’s parents still welcomed Amy and her daughter from a previous relationship into their home.
“Life’s complicated,” her father had said. “We are not here to judge people, but to live as honestly before God as we can.”
Rachel agreed with this sentiment, and although she knew what she believed, she understood that for many, her way of life was archaic.
She was brought out of her reverie by Vindra.
“Rachel, come on! It’s time to go back to the bus.”
With that, Vindra took Rachel’s hand as though leading a small child back to the coach.
Vindra continued her nattering all the way back to the cruise terminal, and Rachel half listened and half dozed through the journey.
Sarah was waiting for her as she got off the coach.
“Looks like you had fun,” Sarah said, smiling.
“I did, actually. Vindra is entertaining and beautiful, inside and out. I hope she stays that way.”
“Well, come on, you. It’s time to go to Las Ramblas. Remember to hang on to your bag as there are a lot of thieves around, but it is quite spectacular. You will love the stalls and the cafés.”
“You forget I am trained in self-defence and have a black belt in Karate.”
“I did forget, sorry. I feel much safer now.”
Sarah took Rachel’s arm and they began their walk.
The temperature was 30 degrees centigrade as they entered Las Ramblas, and Rachel loved it immediately. Stalls flanked both sides of the road, selling various wares. Cafés were also on both sides of the road, and outdoor seating areas were set up all along the centre so that people could stop at any time they wanted to for a drink or food.