The Christmas Pudding Lie

by P. B. Phillips

  Marlowe motions Anna to take it down a notch. “Geez Doc, you’re jumpy this morning. You look like you’ve seen a mummy. It’s the who-dun-it murder!”

  “Oh right! Sorry. So the crazies are up at the crack of dawn looking for clues. Who got rubbed out?” Doc asks, trying desperately to get back into character.

  Marlowe answers, “Don’t know. Don’t think it’s happened yet. But you can be sure the wanna-be dicks will be looking for clues in the scrambled eggs.”

  At the head of the line, the headwaiter asks, “Table for two?”

  Marlowe answers, “Of course, yes.”

  The two stroll quietly pass the many eye pleasing, aroma enticing early morning food selections. Marlowe is content with coffee and bagel. Anna mindful of girth and gluttony settles for an artistic dish of fresh fruit and an espresso. In the back of her mind, however, is a plate of sumptuous French toast smothered in strawberries and cream.

  Everywhere there are small, secretive enclaves of the great pretenders preparing for the hunt. Marlowe is as amused as Anna. “This is a kick, ain’t it Doc? So Doc, ever see yourself as a private eye? Or a mystery scribe? ”

  Anna feeling surprisingly comfy and content with the strong java and fresh fruit bends in close to Marlowe and answers,

  “I’m no sleuth. I don‘t go in for contact sports. I’m more a conspiracy kook.”

  Marlowe smiles, “Oh so that’s what all the MH5 gibberish was about last night.”

  Anna grimaces pretending great offence. But a smile makes its way quickly, “You heard about that? Hey you’re not going to blow my cover, Marlowe?”

  Marlowe grins and zips his lips, “Loose lips sink ships and all that rot.”

  Anna’s head tilts with curiosity. A twinge of concern causes her to hesitate. Her conspiratorial mind set has her full attention:

  ‘What’s this guy’s game? Something is not kosher here. Living like a beach clam for so long, I’d forgotten that travel invariably carries excess baggage i.e. fellow travelers. First the rock man cross country and now the mystery sleuth… they sort of… Don’t go there! Isn’t the fun of travel, new places and new people?’

  Anna tries to dismiss her edginess as a caffeine buzz. Yet her conspiratorial mind leaves her with a haunting question: This is too much happenstance, don’t you think?

  Marlowe sees that Anna’s short hairs are up. He tries to win back her attention,

  “If you’re finished up here, we can take a turn around this frigate.” He adds, “No cruise is complete unless you explore downstairs.” He gives his familiar motion to follow. She obliges.

  Deck side, the full brunt of the North Wind explodes in Anna’s face causing the shivers. She bristles. Marlowe’s cheeks turn red instantly in the rush of the wind. He asks, “Shall we take the wind at our back?”

  Anna quickly turns against the wind. Marlowe prays, “‘May the wind be always at your back.’”

  Anna is curiouser and curiouser. Who is this guy? She follows with, “And may God hold you in the palm of his hand.”

  Embracing fully the gushing sea air, she adds, “There is a real paradigm shift out here on the high seas.”

  Marlowe asks with real curiosity, “How so?”

  Anna tries to explain, “I don’t know exactly. It’s something about being untethered by time and space. Out here one is at the point of creation. In the middle of nowhere, life is fluid, no boundaries, no borders, no limits.”

  She wants to add ‘ageless’ but she decides not to go there.

  Marlowe nudges her elbow and says, “Indeed, the universe has neither edges nor a center.”

  Anna says, “Yes, that’s it.” She doesn’t really know what that means. But it sounds right.

  Marlowe shakes his head but keeps his eyes focused forward. He urges, “I think that we need to move this tour indoors. The downstairs of this ship is a modern wonder.”

  She adds, “Aye, aye Captain, I’ve got your back.”

  Marlowe laughs and asks jokingly, “Hey, do you know something I don’t. Are they planning on my demise?”

  Anna replies, “I sort of hope it’s the Poirot imposter.”

  Marlowe knows where she is coming from. “Yeah the little Belgian can be annoying. He is taking wagers as we speak. He claims that he will have the murderer in hand before midnight. They won’t knock him off. He is too entertaining.”

  Marlowe proves to be as chatty as the chap decked out as Poirot. He assumes the role of tour guide quite naturally. “I think that the best part of the cruise is downstairs. That’s where the real action is. You’ll see. The ship is a city unto itself. The best cruise liners are floating five star hotels.”

  Anna can’t quite make out this guy. He is filled with surprises. She wonders if maybe he is the captain in disguise. She can’t get a good reading on Marlowe. She must let him play on. And she has to admit that she enjoys his company. From a hermit that is saying a lot.

  Having seen the many levels of cruising Anna finds that she is tired out. A nap would do nicely. She begs off. “I must find my way back to my cabin which now looks oh so grand compared to what’s below. Thank you for a wonderful morning. A bientot.”

  Marlowe bows and says, “The pleasure was all mind. I wonder if Poirot won his bet. I think I will track down the stars of mystery. Thanks for the company.”

  Anna never runs into Marlowe again despite keeping an ever-roving eye out for him. On the last day she realizes that six days have passed with no serious conspiracies preoccupying her. She makes a note to herself that the passengers on board are of the same age as the travelers on the train. She adds a footnote. Maybe she should have booked an excursion instead of moving. Travel and the masquerade seem to trip up senility’s game. Feeling more optimistic about the prospects in old age she turns back to the mystery of the missing Marlowe.

  “I wonder what became of him. I wonder if he ditched me. Maybe he was the murder victim after all. No, I bet he was the murderer! EEEh gads!”

  Out of the blue, she remembers London and the excitement of that first solo trip across the Atlantic. The sweetness of the memory spoils when she thinks back on her long awaited secret rendezvous with an old lover. She suppresses that misadventure. Instead she goes topside to take in the dawn and escape the furies of her mind.

  Darkness softens into grayness. An arc of blush pink emerges on the horizon. A rush of muted oohs and ahhs rise up from the other passengers. No one speaks too loudly less the new day be spooked. As the light spews forth Anna sees that the railings along the multi-tiered decks of the ship are lined with passengers eager to see the first sight of land.

  When the call “Land Ho” bellows out along with a series of loud blasts from the ship’s tall stacks, the passengers applaud wildly.

  “Passengers, prepare to disembark. Be sure to take all your belongings with you. There will be new rooms assignments for the return voyage. The ship is not responsible for items left behind. For those passengers, who will be returning by air, we thank you for your patronage. It was a pleasure to serve you. We hope your Atlantic crossing was a success in every way.

  For those passengers who are staying on in England for the extended tour, have a pleasant stay. We look forward to serving you on your return. And for those who will be sailing back with us in two days, make the most of it. Your land guide will meet you at the dock. Happy trails to you… Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

  Whistles and tin pipes blow as the crew prepares to enter port. Passengers by the hundreds scramble to and fro. The excitement in the air is so electric it sparks hope for better things to come even in Anna.

  Chapter Six

  Back on land, Anna develops a bad case of sea legs. Jokes about drunken sailors abound. On the ride in, the passengers busily make arrangements for taking in the sights. The land guide calls for everyone’s attention: “I hope that you will enjoy the grand tours we have arranged for you. In your complimentary traveler’s packet you will find a handy street map of London and an asso
rtment of coupons and brochures for the many tours we offer.

  As you all know, we had an incident last week. But I assure that it is all behind us now. London is open for business. We learned a long time ago that ‘we have nothing to fear…’”

  The senior travelers all too familiar with Churchill’s missive burst out “but fear itself.”

  The land guide receives their vote of confidence with a grand grin and continues, “Brilliant! Our security forces are out in ample numbers. Be assured that the safety of our citizenry and visitors is our number one priority. We ask that you go normally about your travels. Please remain alert, however. Report anything that looks suspicious. You will find a bobby close by. For those of you who will be returning by ship, we meet at the entrance to the Grosvenor Hotel. Don’t be late. We leave on schedule, dawn.”

  Anna looks over the tour information. ‘A British Museum tour, I wonder if I could find my desk in the reading room. I was the first in line when it opened in the morning and the last to leave in the evening. That was until I got distracted and turned around by those secret missives signed Jenkin’s Ear that began appearing mysteriously at my desk.’

  She chides herself for looking back. ‘If I insist on seeing things as they were, I’ll miss out. This is my last chance to do the right thing. I better stick with London’s theater. Now if I can escape the clutches of the Dial M for Murder group…’

  Anna’s eyes struggle to take in the fast moving landscape. Inside the city limits, the bus slows down considerably as it merges into what seems to be one grand traffic jam. As the mammoth eighteen-wheeler tour bus winds its way through the narrow streets, she breathes in to accommodate the tight squeeze. The streets of Old London were built for one horse carriages. The super sized bus stops on hoity-toity Park Lane smack in front of the Grosvenor House Hotel.

  Anna looks out, ‘Oh Prat Lane, how grand!’

  M. Faux Poirot waddles off the bus. His belly jiggles as he pigeon toes it towards the gilded entrance. Anna giggles, ‘Surely this dude must have been a penguin with two left feet in another life.’

  Poirot also finds the new digs quite acceptable, “Mon Dieu, this is a palace. This Mr. Grosvenor must be, how you say, a big shot. I think, perhaps, maybe we need cow bells so as not to lose one another.”

  The mystery group, en masse, lets out a loud groan “Moo Boo,” casting their disapproval of Poirot’s feeble attempt at humor. Anna’s eyes light up upon entering the grand lobby. The consensus is one of awe and delight. Mrs. Fletcher speaks for them all when she exclaims, “Oh my! If this is a lobby, I can’t wait to see the grand hall.”

  The group moves as a herd toward the front desk. Anna hangs back fascinated by the hotel’s old world atmosphere. The highly polished marble floors are covered with deep royal blue carpets with a gold lattice design. The two story ceilings soar towards the heavens. The walls are gracefully painted a soft gray with decorated panels outlined in gold crown molding. The windows, twenty odd feet high are draped in a darker shade of gray silk shantung with matching massive covered cornices. The glossy finished oak front desk stretches out into a grand semi-circle.

  Check in at the hotel is quite orderly and civilized. Anna muses silently while waiting. She approves of its understated British elegance. The desk clerk hands her the key as well as a message, upon registering. Anna imagines that it must be from her sister as she is the only one who knows her whereabouts. However to Anna’s great consternation the message reads, ‘Welcome to merry olde England. I expect fully that the crossing was grand. Come to tea. I’ll be at 180 Baker St, say fourish. Mycroft, Ciao! P.S. The Game is Afoot!”

  Anna bristles. Under her breath she mutters, “But how…?”

  She is put off to say the least. “Drat, just when I think that I’m over conspiracy fever this happens!”

  She ponders a possible scenario. Ada no doubt told JB. JB told Doddie. And viola..!

  But just as she is about to dismiss this mysterious missive she finds that she can’t help herself. She wants to know what all the fuss is about a spy’s wife. She asks herself silently, “Who really is Lady Banks?”

  She catches herself drifting into the conspiracy zone. She rips up the note into tiny little pieces. She is quite satisfied with herself. She cut that that little bit of nuisance in the bud.

  Her room is a welcomed sanctuary. It overlooks Hyde Park. It is palatial compared to the cramped quarters of train and boat. The first order is a bath. She luxuriates in heavenly garden scented hot waters for the better part of an hour. Upon dressing in fresh digs, feeling renewed, even a bit cocky, she decides a walk around Hyde Park is safe. In the lobby, she makes a stop at the front desk to ask about the theater tour.

  The clerk, a sallow skinned pimple faced youth with Gotham black spiked hair laden with gel announces, “Madam, Mr. Holmes is waiting for Doc B in the Red Room.”

  Anna’s mind still in the raptures of the steam and fresh scent of lavender jolts into alarm mode. She bellows out a nervous burst of laughter thinking that the lad is joking of course.

  “Good one! Where will the theater tour meet?”

  The desk clerk answers, “The tour will meet in the west wing. And the Red Room is to your left.”

  Anna’s anxiety twitches. She is certain, well ninety-nine percent sure that this is a joke that they play on all the mystery cruise passengers. But a shadow of a doubt spooks her confidence. Could it be Marlowe?

  Anna plays along, “Are you sure? I understood that the gentleman has been dead for some time now.”

  The clerk says nothing but smiles and points in Holmes direction. Anna spies a lean man with long bony legs, maybe in his late fifties or early sixties, seated in a barrel back cane chair with black koa wood trim.

  ‘Who is this tailored cowpoke with a strawberry blonde pony tail?’

  A straggler left over from the sixties perhaps. This must be what goes for shabby chic in London. Though she rather likes the look of well worn denim jacket paired with a crisp tailored navy shirt and no tie. His face is clean-shaven with a tint of rose color. She is sure that she would have noticed this lovely creature on the ship.

  She walks tentatively across the lobby floor, looking out for JB hiding behind a column or chair or whatever.

  “Mr. Holmes?” Anna asks. The bloke looks as bewildered as Anna. He bolts upright and extends a strong hand.

  “Um yes, Mycroft, please. And you are? But of course…! Well if that doesn’t take the biscuit!”

  He seems as surprised as she. This really has Anna worried. She can hardly find her tongue. All she can say is “Sorry?”

  Mycroft begins to see that he too has been played. He says, “Leave it to old boy Dodd. He failed to mention that you …”

  Anna thinks that she understands now. She cuts him off, “Sorry you were expecting a younger someone, oh no, a man!”

  Mycroft doesn’t want to explain his initial shock so he decides to follow her lead. Male chauvinism will do for now. “Please forgive my male chauvinism. I was sure that I had that licked.”

  Anna feeling too awkward for words now tries to put Mycroft as ease, “No apology is needed. It happens all the time. You see it all started with mother who insisted that there be poetry in all things. She donned me Gianna Boccherini, my brother Gianni and little sister Giada. But in the fifties, the rising tide of anti-Italian bigotry in America forced us to take up American names. I became Anna. Gianni became John and Giada became Ada.”

  Anna stops abruptly when she sees a small smile creep up on Mycroft’s lips. She realizes that she is babbling. She is totally embarrassed. She tries to get to the point. But can’t remember why she is telling him her family history. Then she remembers.

  “When I took up my post at university I realized that the university was a bastion of male chauvinism. So I used the name Doctor Boccherini whenever I could to avoid gender bias.”

  Anna stops again. She sees that Mycroft is fully absorbed in her tale. She must stop rattling on. She must so
und like an old fool. She tries again to get to the point

  “And then Doddie came into my life and decided that Boccherini would have to go as well. I became Doc B. And it stuck. But please Anna gets my attention just fine. But I do have a bone to pick with Dodd. He never told me that your name was Holmes.”

  She blushes profusely.

  Mycroft recognizes her discomfort. He takes the lead. “I try to avoid the name for obvious reasons. And I have to blame mother as well. But I will save that story for later, if that is all right with you? And I rather like the name Doc B. It suits you. Do you mind?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. He goes on “Shall we move into the library? It is a bit more suitable for conversation. Their tea service is epicurean. Please say yes.”

  Anna hesitates. She asks, “First, tell me how you knew that I would be here?”

  Holmes allows her reluctance and gestures for her to take a seat. She takes up the well-worn brown tufted leather wing chair opposite Holmes.

  “I hope that I am not being presumptuous. I assumed that you and Dodd made arrangements. He told me that you were here for but forty-eight hours. So I took it upon myself to come ahead unannounced.”

  Anna laughs out loud. “Yes, Dodd, of course...”

  Mycroft jumps in, “I think that we both assumed that you decided to take up the work of Lady Banks. Are we mistaken? I apologize copiously if I am being intrusive.”

  Anna replies, “It’s just like Dodd to get the upper hand. He is a master when it comes to the element of surprise.

  I’m sorry that I didn’t answer your note straight away. I could have saved you this trip. To be honest with you, I’m just not your best pick for this assignment.”

  Mycroft replies, “I understand completely your reservations. Did I tell you that in addition to being the best damn investigator in London, I am the perfect tour guide? Let’s have a spot of tea. We can get to know each other a bit better. And then perhaps that walk along the Thames.”