[Inspector de Silva 06] - Passage From Nuala

by Harriet Steel

  A door to one side of the room opened and a uniformed maid appeared. Several evening dresses embellished with embroidery and feathers were draped over her arm. Behind her, de Silva glimpsed a sumptuous bed, canopied with white muslin curtains.

  The moment she saw her mistress had visitors, she stopped. ‘I’m sorry, madam,’ she stuttered. ‘The dresses need pressing, and I didn’t know you had company this morning.’

  ‘Never mind, Perkins. Get on with your work.’

  The maid bobbed an awkward curtsey and scuttled out of the room.

  ‘One of the inconveniences of life on board ship,’ remarked Diana March as the door closed. ‘Far less space and privacy than one is used to.’

  De Silva couldn’t help but reflect that there was many a home in Ceylon where even the largest of families would have thought that the gods smiled on them if they had accommodation as spacious as Mrs March’s. Presumably Chiltern’s stateroom next door was no less impressive.

  ‘Did you notice any unusual noises on the night of Mr Pashley’s death?’ asked Petrie.

  Diana March pondered for a few moments before shaking her head.

  ‘What about you, Mr Chiltern?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Do you recollect hearing altercations at any earlier times?’

  Chiltern let out an impatient snort. ‘Do you mean since we left Hong Kong? We have better things to do than listen at doors.’

  ‘Can you tell me what your movements were last Wednesday evening?’

  ‘Good God, sir,’ exploded Chiltern. ‘Are you accusing us of being involved?’

  ‘Arthur, please…’ Diana March intervened. ‘I’m sure Mr Petrie doesn’t think that.’ She turned to Petrie. ‘I expect you need to ask these questions to build up a picture of events on the night Mr Pashley died, don’t you? It was the night he died I take it?’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs March. We believe it was actually in the early hours of Thursday morning.’

  ‘We had dinner at the captain’s table, then danced for a while. We retired to bed – let me think, it must have been about two o’clock. In the morning I breakfasted in my room at ten before dressing. Arthur always goes to the restaurant for breakfast.’ She smiled. ‘I refuse to have his favourite kippers anywhere near my stateroom. Do you remember what time you went, Arthur?’

  ‘Nine o’clock or thereabouts,’ muttered Chiltern.

  An awkward silence fell, broken by Diana March. ‘I’m so sorry we can’t be of more help to you, Mr Petrie.’

  ‘It’s no matter, Mrs March. But if you should recall anything, the inspector and I would be grateful if you would let us know.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Her eyes rested on de Silva. ‘How fortuitous that you were on board, Inspector de Silva.’

  ‘Purely in a private capacity. My wife and I are taking a holiday.’

  ‘How delightful. Are you going all the way to England?’

  ‘Port Said, then inland to visit the pyramids.’

  ‘Oh, I should love to see the pyramids. I fear it will have to be another time though. Arthur and I are anxious to get to England. I’m longing to meet his family.’

  ‘Have you been away for many years?’ asked Petrie.

  ‘I’ve never lived in England. This will be my first visit. My grandfather and my father had businesses in Shanghai, as did my late husband. I was born there.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, de Silva saw Chiltern’s bony fingers drum on the back of the armchair. ‘Darling,’ he said irritably, ‘we’ve agreed to meet the Montagues for drinks before lunch.’

  ‘Forgive us, Mr Petrie. Inspector de Silva.’ Diana March held out a hand to each of them in turn. As he kissed it, de Silva smelt sandalwood. When he raised his head, he saw the warmth in her dark eyes. ‘I hope,’ she murmured, ‘that our next meeting will be in more pleasant circumstances.’

  **

  ‘One almost feels sorry for her,’ said Petrie. ‘Granted she chose him, but I hope she’ll never regret saddling herself with that dunderhead. There must have been plenty of men willing to marry her. It’s impossible to credit that such a delightful creature would be involved in Pashley’s murder.’

  Not impossible, thought de Silva, but unlikely.

  Petrie glanced at him. ‘Surely you agree?’

  ‘At this stage, sir, I never rule out anyone.’

  He waited for a dressing down. If this had been Archie Clutterbuck, he would probably have got one. But, after a pause, William Petrie merely shrugged. ‘I can’t deny it’s a valid point of view. But if Diana March is our murderer, I’ll eat my hat.’

  **

  ‘How did it go?’ Jane studied her reflection in the dressing table mirror. After Diana March’s suite, the room felt to de Silva like a doll’s house.

  She picked up a puff and dabbed powder on her cheeks then frowned. ‘Oh, dear, I think I caught the sun yesterday. I see a few freckles.’

  ‘I can’t see any, my love,’ said de Silva absently.

  ‘That’s because you’re not looking.’

  She gave him a sympathetic glance. ‘Were you disappointed with the interview?’

  ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Murder’s rarely an easy case to solve.’

  Jane applied a touch of pink to her lips. ‘That’s the spirit. Anyway, you haven’t spoken to everyone whose cabin is on the same corridor as Pashley’s yet.’

  ‘That’s true. So, what did you get up to while I was away?’

  ‘Well, I’ve had an interesting morning. I grew tired of being in the cabin, so I went up on deck, but it was so dreadfully hot that I decided to read in one of the lounges instead.

  ‘It was almost deserted there. Most people were probably resting in their cabins. I felt sorry for the lady from the entertainments crew, playing the piano with hardly anyone to hear her. She had such a lovely, light touch on the keys. I listened while she played my favourite Chopin Nocturne, and when she’d finished, I went over to thank her. She said her session was over, so I asked if she’d like to have a cup of tea with me. She said that she’d love to, and we had a most illuminating conversation.’

  ‘Do you mean from the point of view of the case?’

  She put her head on one side and thought for a moment. ‘Not precisely,’ she continued. ‘But it might provide an insight into one of your suspects.’

  ‘I’m intrigued. Carry on.’

  ‘At first, the pianist, her name’s Betty Falconer by the way, told me how she came to be on the cruise, but then we went on to talk about the other musicians she works with. She likes most of them, but she says that the American singer, Harry Delaney, is very temperamental.’

  ‘I could have told you that from the way he behaved in the bazaar and in the dining room the other evening.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s more. Betty says that one of the passengers is obsessed with him, and that’s what she thinks is making him even more irritable than usual.’

  De Silva’s brow furrowed. ‘Did she say who it was?’

  ‘No, and I didn’t want to ask her to be indiscreet. But she did tell me it was a wealthy, older woman who was travelling alone in Cabin Class.’

  ‘Do you think she meant Venetia de Vere?’

  ‘She’s the first one to spring to mind.’

  ‘But how would they have met?’

  ‘Apparently, it’s the practice on the ship for the male entertainers to take their turn to act as dancing partners for unattached lady passengers, particularly the wealthy ones in Cabin Class. Being rather romantic looking, Harry Delaney’s always in demand.’

  ‘I’ll have to think about this. Right now, I don’t see a connection.’ He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. ‘May I say that you’re looking very lovely today?’

  ‘You may; I thought I’d make an extra effort.’

  An alarming thought jumped into his mind. Had he forgotten an anniversary?

  Jane gave him a mischievous smile.
‘No, you haven’t forgotten anything. It’s just that there’s going to be a dancing competition this afternoon.’

  ‘Are you expecting me to enter?’

  ‘Well, I can’t dance without a partner.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  She turned her head to kiss him. ‘It will be fun. You’ll see.’

  **

  As he and Jane entered the lounge where the dancing competition was to be held, he saw that the area reserved for the orchestra was festooned with coloured streamers and bunches of balloons. Looking round the tables pushed back against the walls, Jane noticed the Rosses waving, and they went to join them.

  ‘Isn’t this fun!’ said Barbara Ross. ‘I love dancing.’

  She tucked her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. ‘James has been grumbling, but I know he’ll enjoy it once we get started. Do you dance much at home?’ She directed the question to both de Silva and Jane.

  ‘Whenever we get the chance,’ answered Jane. ‘Some of the hotels in Nuala hold regular dances, and there’s a dance hall too. But we’ve never entered a competition before.’

  Barbara Ross beamed. ‘I’m sure you’ll do terribly well.’

  She fanned herself with the pretty fan she held. It was of Indian design and the carmines, ochres and ultramarines had a silky sheen to them.

  ‘What a lovely fan,’ said Jane.

  ‘James bought it for me in the market in Bombay.’ She squeezed his arm, but only received a fleeting smile for her pains. ‘Have you had a nice morning?’ she asked, with what de Silva thought was rather forced brightness. He let Jane reply. It would hardly be appropriate to divulge the events of his day so far.

  A flurry of activity in the area reserved for the band brought an end to the conversation. De Silva looked across and saw that the musicians had begun to take their places. The Master of Ceremonies arrived. A dapper man with heavily pomaded black hair, he made a great business of adjusting his microphone. When he tapped it with his knuckles to test it, it gave off a series of loud whistles and crackles.

  ‘I think I’ll go to the powder room before they begin,’ said Jane.

  Barbara Ross snapped her fan shut. ‘I’ll come too.’

  After the ladies had departed, James Ross was not much more talkative than before. De Silva wondered what had happened to put him out of countenance. Whatever it was, it was possible he had already resorted to alcohol to console himself; the malty smell of whisky lingering about him was very noticeable.

  Jane and Barbara Ross returned, and the Master of Ceremonies, finally satisfied with his microphone, announced the first dance.

  ‘How will they decide who’s won?’ de Silva asked Jane as they took their places.

  ‘I understand it will be by process of elimination.’

  He grinned. ‘We’d better survive a few rounds then. The honour of Nuala is at stake. Luckily, I think I can just about manage this first one.’

  ‘I should hope so. We’ve danced the foxtrot dozens of times.’

  ‘Slow, slow, quick, quick… is that it?’

  ‘Full marks.’

  ‘I think that went rather well,’ he said when the music stopped, and he had time to catch his breath.

  ‘There. I told you it wouldn’t be difficult. I wonder what they’ll play now?’

  The MC announced a waltz, and de Silva felt relieved. It was a dance he could cope with quite easily. The opening bars of Johann Strauss’ famous tune stole through the room. Although he had never seen them, de Silva liked the idea of the rolling, blue waters of the Danube that the music evoked. He pictured Viennese ballrooms where couples whirled past in ever-changing patterns of colours, like the kaleidoscope he had played with as a child.

  ‘By the way,’ he said as he and Jane danced. ‘Do you have any idea what’s wrong with James Ross this afternoon?’

  ‘Oh, Barbara told me in the powder room that it was just a silly argument they had earlier. She thought she’d left her book on deck, but when he went to find it for her, it was gone. Then she remembered she’d been sitting in a different place altogether. It made them late for lunch, and he was cross.’

  Steering Jane into what he hoped was a graceful twirl, de Silva raised an eyebrow. ‘Late for lunch. What a disaster!’

  ‘You might think that yourself if you were hungry!’

  ‘Very true.’

  He chuckled. ‘I must say, Barbara Ross does seem rather scatter-brained. Between losing her way and losing her possessions, poor old Ross might have to tie a luggage label to her before he loses her altogether.’

  Jane laughed. ‘It’s so nice to see you cheerful again.’

  ‘Do you mean I haven’t been?’

  ‘You know you haven’t, but I understand, and I did have some inkling of what I was getting into when I married a policeman.’

  ‘Has it been as bad as all that?’

  She smiled. ‘Not bad at all. Now, we must concentrate, or we might be out at the end of this dance.’

  ‘I’d say we acquitted ourselves very well,’ he remarked when they sat down. The jitterbug had proved to be their undoing. They had only danced it once before in Nuala, and the band had taken the music at a brisk pace.

  ‘Never mind. I’ll be glad to sit out for a while. A cold drink would be nice.’

  ‘Good idea. What would you like?’

  ‘Barbara Ross says the bar stewards make a delicious cocktail from pineapple and mango juice with some rum and a dash of Angostura Bitters.’

  ‘In the afternoon? It sounds very potent.’

  ‘I’m sure we’d be safe with one.’

  ‘Oh, why not? After all, we are on holiday.’

  A passing steward took their order, and they settled down to watch the dancers who remained in the competition. Among them were the Rosses.

  ‘He looks to be in a better mood now,’ observed Jane.

  ‘Probably because he thinks they might win.’

  ‘For her sake, I hope they do.’

  ‘Not for his too?’

  Their cocktails arrived, and the steward set them down along with a small bowl of salted cashew nuts then went away. Jane took a sip. ‘Mm, delicious.’

  De Silva tried his own drink and nodded. ‘Not bad.’ He tossed a cashew into his mouth. ‘You didn’t tell me why you only want the Rosses to win for her sake.’

  ‘Silly really, but I have the impression he’s a difficult man to live with. Barbara mentioned he can be very critical about little things, and she seemed upset.’

  ‘Well, they look perfectly happy together now.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose they do.’

  Perhaps, de Silva thought as he watched the couple going through their paces in the next dance – an energetic affair called the Lindy Hop, invented to commemorate the flight of the aviator, Charles Lindberg from New York to Paris – the Rosses were the kind of couple who thrived on arguments. He remembered several colleagues in his days in the Colombo force who appeared to quarrel frequently with their wives. Their excuse was the pressures of policing the big city. It had been a major reason in his decision to move to Nuala. He hadn’t wanted that life for him and Jane.

  He had intended to forget the case for a while, but Jane was happy watching the dancing, so he let his mind wander in the direction that tempted it. He recalled George Ryder’s mild, diffident manner; Arthur Chiltern’s aristocratic irritability, and Diana March’s charm. None of them were obvious choices for the murderer, but in a few days’ time, would he think differently?

  A round of applause brought him out of his reverie. Only two couples remained on the floor. One of them was the Rosses, and James Ross was smiling.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Damn the wretched woman! Doesn’t she understand I have a ship to run? First Charles Pashley goes and gets himself killed. And now, that novelist woman throws herself into a fit of the vapours.’

  Captain McDowell’s grizzled beard quivered with indignation. He had called de Silva and Petrie to see him the next m
orning.

  ‘And at dinner last night, I sat next to the Pilkington woman and had great difficulty keeping her quiet on the subject of Charles Pashley.’ McDowell scowled. ‘Was it really necessary to tell her, Petrie?’

  ‘Couldn’t be avoided, I’m afraid.’

  ‘How many people know about Pashley now? Too many, I suppose. Once rumours start flying, one’s lost the battle. It’s a bad situation. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and a corpse on board ship is unlucky. I don’t want a mutiny on my hands.’

  ‘It may come to the point that making a statement does more to allay people’s fears than saying nothing,’ said Petrie. ‘But I think we can wait a little longer. I’d prefer to be able to tell the passengers that the culprit has been found.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Petrie turned to de Silva. ‘In any case, we can make ourselves useful and visit Mrs de Vere. It will give us an excuse to talk to her. We would have needed to do so anyway as her stateroom is on the same corridor as Pashley’s. Do you know what’s caused the trouble, McDowell?’

  ‘Some problem with one of the crew, I believe.’ He grunted. ‘Grateful to you for dealing with it, Petrie.’

  ‘Lady Caroline has filled me in a bit more on Venetia de Vere and her work,’ said Petrie after they had parted company with the captain and were making their way back to the Cabin Class area of the ship. ‘Apparently, she’s written over two hundred books, all in a romantic vein. They sell like the proverbial hot cakes, so she must have made a very satisfactory living out of them.’

  Since she could afford to travel Cabin Class, de Silva imagined that she had.

  ‘She’s been in Hong Kong and Singapore because she was invited to talk to various ladies’ literary societies,’ Petrie went on. He grinned. ‘Best foot forward, eh? We’ll have to do our utmost to smooth over whatever’s upset the lady. I fear that if she won’t be placated and McDowell gets dragged into it after all, he may spontaneously combust. He already has enough to deal with. One of the main engines is malfunctioning. The engineers are working on it, but you may have noticed that the ship hasn’t been making as good headway as usual since yesterday. McDowell may need to arrange a place on a later convoy to go through the canal at Suez.’