Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8)

by Stella Whitelaw

  I followed my employer down two flights of plush stairs to A Deck. There were paintings along all the walls. They became my signposts. Three yachts, one red-sailed, and I was heading in the right direction whether we were going stem or aft. Down a long corridor to A708 and A710 and we were there. They were the last two staterooms along that corridor. The door at the end of the corridor opened out on to a deck area, quoits and shuffleboard. I could see sunlight through the window and vaguely a froth of sea. Mentally I marked it as an escape route. ‘Your stateroom is A710,’ said Mrs Carter. ‘I’m next door but the communicating door must be kept open at all times. I still don’t feel safe.’

  ‘Naturally.’ I was running out of things to say to her.

  I went into my cabin, or stateroom as Joanna kept calling it. Was I expecting bunk beds? For a moment I was stunned. It was luxurious. For years I had been living in two cramped bedsits. Easy to live in, keep clean, tidy. But the stateroom was amazing. I wander round, like it was a dream. Pinch me.

  In the brochure it was called an outside stateroom with balcony. King-sized bed. Full-sized bath and shower. Lounge area with sofa, coffee table and chair. I hoped I’d have some free time to sit on the sofa. TV and radio, writing desk, refrigerator, etc. But most of all, floor to ceiling patio doors leading to balcony with table and chairs. It was fantastic. Don’t ask me about decor, sort of pale wood everywhere. I went instantly colour-blind.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Joanna hovered in the doorway, wrapped in a voluminous bath towel. She’d been taking a shower already. That woman could move.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ I said, still opening cupboards and drawers like a demented housekeeper. My cruise clothes would fit into a quarter of the space.

  ‘Dinner will be served in twenty minutes,’ she said, humming to herself.

  I was beginning to think this case would be wasting my time. Whatever could happen on this floating paradise to harm Mrs Carter? She would be cocooned and watched over every minute of the day by stewards, waiters, crew, officers, all taking personal care of her. Every passenger was screened and scrutinized before coming aboard. No knives, bombs or guns in luggage. She was safe. Safe as houses or ships, whatever.

  My luggage had been delivered to my cabin. I hung up clothes and stowed undies and jerseys into drawers, but half of the wardrobe was still empty. I put my few cosmetics in the bathroom cabinet. The eye shadow and mascara looked lonely on the shelf beside the complimentary toiletries. There were big white towels stacked in the bathroom, enough to last me a week. And a brand new white face flannel folded on the shelf. That impressed me. A new fluffy face flannel. It felt so soft. Lots of fabric conditioner?

  ‘You missed the muster call,’ said Joanna. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I was on deck,’ I said. ‘Watching us sail away.’

  ‘You are supposed to go to it, to learn how to put on your life jacket.’

  ‘I guess I could work it out in an emergency. A few Velcro straps.’

  ‘You have to go to your muster station. Ours is in the Olympus theatre.’

  ‘But supposing that’s the end that’s sinking? Then where do we go?’

  She shot me a hard look and sniffed. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  I was tired of this conversation. How could I survive twenty-four hours a day nonstop chatter and recriminations? The noose on the branch had been a hoax. A neighbour maddened to distraction. This was all a farce. I was being taken for a ride. The cheque had probably bounced. She wanted a companion, slave, a servant, someone to boss around.

  ‘Come on, you’d better hurry and get changed. I said that we’re the first sitting tonight.’

  I was wearing something simple. I dug my heels in. I might wash my face and hands (like Eliza Doolittle) but I was not changing my clothes. They were all clean on this morning.

  A flash of annoyance crossed Joanna’s face as I reappeared later, still in my black jeans and white T-shirt. She pulled a waistcoat from her wardrobe. It was red and white striped brocade. It stirred a memory. I’d seen it before. Had I worn it somewhere before?

  ‘Put this on,’ she said. ‘We can’t have you looking like a starving student.’

  I put on the waistcoat but said nothing. Words would have choked me. Now she was dressing me and I was wearing her clothes. How much worse could it get?

  I followed her out of the cabin, sorry stateroom, along the corridor to the lifts. I had no idea where I was going. There were a lot of well-dressed people stiffly waiting for the lift.

  ‘I could walk,’ I offered, seeing a continuation of the stairs.

  ‘You’re staying with me,’ she said, between her teeth, as she smiled at complete strangers. Everyone was feeling new and strange, kept a distance and stiff British reserve, nodding and smiling. ‘Don’t you dare ever leave me.’

  The Delphi dining room was down on the reception deck. I recognized the central statue of Orpheus, the most famous poet and musician who ever lived. He was holding a lyre, about to pluck a string and never quite making it.

  ‘Legend says that trees and rocks followed his music,’ I said as we went into the dining room, welcomed by smiling waiters and staff. We were shown to a table. I’d never seen a room so opulent, such sparkling chandeliers. There was gleaming silver and glass on the tables and pristine white cloths and folded napkins.

  ‘What nonsense,’ said Joanna. ‘Wherever did you get that rubbish? A table for six, number seventeen, that’s ours, very nice. We shall have some company and people to talk to. We’re first to arrive so we have first choice where to sit. You sit there and watch the door. I don’t want my back to the entrance.’

  Posh eating was never my style. James had taken me out a couple of times, so had Jack, the millionaire but rough-edged owner of the amusement arcade, wanting to impress me, money no object. Maeve’s Cafe was more like home with freshly caught fish from one of her hunky fisherman friends or a three-egg omelette when I didn’t have the energy to cook.

  A waiter shook out the napkin and laid it across my knees. I nearly told him I was quite capable of doing that myself. Then he handed me the menu. It was miles long. There was so much to choose from. Some dishes were marked with a discreet ‘v’ meaning vegetarian. I fixed on Caesar salad and mushroom stroganoff. Joanna went for more elaborate dishes. And she ordered a bottle of Californian Merlot. I hoped it was for both of us.

  By the time we’d ordered, the other passengers on table seventeen were arriving. They were interesting people. A kindly middle-aged couple called Ron and Flo Birley from Guildford. This was their fourth cruise and they set about giving us a detailed description of the other three cruises and all the places they had visited. It would be easy to get along with them.

  A tall, well-groomed man arrived, in a natty blazer, cravat and pink striped shirt. Very dated. He bowed to all the ladies, including me.

  ‘Craig Quentin,’ he said. ‘I look forward to having the pleasure of your company at this sitting each evening. Quite delightful.’

  ‘I’m Joanna,’ said my employer, nodding politely. ‘And this is my friend, Jordan.’ She gave no surnames, no clues about anything. ‘We’re from Sussex.’

  He didn’t look like a Craig. He was probably a Colin or a Brian and thought Craig gave a younger image. I scrutinized his face for signs of Botox. He had a normal quota of wrinkles round twinkling eyes.

  ‘Oh, what part?’ asked Flo Birley. ‘We often go there.’

  ‘It’s a big county,’ said Joanna with a smile. ‘You wouldn’t know our little corner.’

  The last person to arrive was a large woman floating in colourful chiffon. She wafted in, throwing waves of perfume to each comer of the dining room. Her hair hung in white waves, long earrings dangled their own music.

  ‘Hello, hello, everyone,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I’m late. Got lost on the way. I’m always getting lost. You’ll find me in the officers’ mess tomorrow evening, I expect.’ She laughed heartily. I liked her. The waiter pulled out the chair beside me for her
. It creaked as she sat in it. She waved away the menu. ‘Bring me everything,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Yes, madam —’ he took the menu —’ a little of everything?’

  ‘You know me.’

  He obviously did. A regular cruiser. But I didn’t think she would bore us with the details. She looked around the table with good humour.

  ‘So who arc all you lovely people?’ she said. ‘I’m Natasha, by the way, loads of accent. Some of my friends call me Nat or Tasha. I don’t mind which. My father was pure Russian. My mother was a Slovakian dancer.’

  I could feel Joanna shrinking by my side. She was wearing a classic pale blue trouser suit with silk half-buttoned shirt. It was as if all the buttons refastened themselves an inch closer, hiding the gold chains.

  ‘I’m Joanna,’ she said, cool as ice.

  ‘And who are you, darling child?’ said Natasha, turning to me. ‘You look as lost in this big ship as I am.’

  ‘Jordan,’ I said, not feeling a darling child. ‘This is my first cruise. I’m knocked out by everything. It’s so big, so opulent.’

  ‘As long as you’re not knocked overboard,’ she joked. ‘We haven’t got time for any sea rescues. All that having to stop and lower inflatable rafts and lifeboats. It takes ages. Holds us up for hours.’

  ‘But they are trying to save a life,’ said Joanna with a sniff.

  ‘I say, let ’em drown,’ said Natasha. ‘If they are that stupid to fall overboard. The railings are high enough.’

  The starters arrived and I was immediately fascinated by what everyone else had ordered. Every dish was decorated with squirls of this and that, carved carrot or radish, a leaf of dill. Even my Caesar salad had a couture look as if the walnuts were placed. Joanna had ordered three sorts of salmon in some fancy sauce. They were laid out in a pattern. I thought of rows of chefs in the kitchens (or were they galleys?) decorating hundreds of plates, going cross-eyed with concentration.

  ‘So what do you do for a living, dearie?’ Natasha asked me, her mouth full of grilled goat’s cheese.

  ‘Jordan doesn’t work,’ Joanna put in fast.

  ‘Won the lottery, have you, dearie?’ She grinned.

  ‘Something like that,’ I said, joining the game. If Joanna was going to create an air of mystery, I was all for it. ‘Redundancy. The golden handshake.’

  ‘Then the drinks are on you both,’ said Craig, raising his glass with a wink. Let Joanna talk her way out of that one.

  It was the most succulent of meals. I was bloated by the end, especially after being tempted by a three-chocolate mousse and cream. It was out of this world, dark, light and white. None of my new clothes would fit me if I went on eating like this. And drinking like this. I’d had at least two glasses of red wine. Joanna could hardly ration me when the waiter did the pouring. Perhaps he had sussed her out when she attempted to stop him with a hand over my glass which he pretended not to see.

  ‘Are you going to see the show this evening, dearie?’ asked Natasha. She was going to call me dearie for the whole of the cruise. ‘It’ll be spectacular if you like song and dance.’

  ‘Well, Orpheus was supposed to be the greatest poet and musician,’ I said, getting my bit of Greek knowledge in again. ‘There’s some mountain oaks standing somewhere in the pattern of one of his dances.’

  This statement clarified my unique position at the table. I was simple-minded and should be treated with care and consideration. It suited me.

  ‘The Olympus theatre, then,’ said Joanna, declining coffee. ‘Come along, Jordan.’

  I nearly said, ‘Yes, auntie.’

  About four hundred songs later, I was out on deck. Joanna was fast asleep in her king-sized, gently snoring. I made sure that I had closed all the doors properly. We each had perforated door key cards, carried them with us at all times. I double-checked that I had mine. It would become a habit.

  The night sky was amazing. All those stars winking and blinking way out there in the beyond universe, the waves rushing by. It was not cold. I had put on my leather jacket and let the wind blow my hair all over the place. After the strangest day, I was at last at peace.

  I was aware of someone standing further along the rail. It was a ship’s officer in uniform. He was medium tall, not like James, but with short dark hair and broad shoulders. I couldn’t see his face properly as he was looking out to sea.

  ‘Your first cruise?’ he asked. Pleasant voice.

  ‘Yes. How did you know?’

  ‘You’ve got that gobsmacked look. Everything wonderful, so far?’

  ‘It’s true. I’ve never been on such a big ship. Never been on anything so lavish and luxurious. I live in two bedsits. Very frugal.’

  He seemed taken back by my honesty. ‘Then enjoy every minute. It’s like Brigadoon, a different world, lost in space, a floating village. People don’t even read the daily newspaper. The world outside doesn’t exist.’

  ‘We get a newspaper?’

  ‘Delivered to your door. All the latest news, abridged.’

  ‘Where are we?’ I expected him to know. He was an officer.

  ‘We’ve set a series of easterly courses through the English Channel. We’ll be through the Dover Straits sometime after midnight. There are strong tides in the channel but we should maintain twenty-one knots.’

  ‘How do you know so much?’

  ‘It’s my job to know.’

  ‘And when shall we reach the Mediterranean?’

  ‘The Mediterranean? We’re not sailing south. Don’t you know where you are going?’ He looked amused and surprised.

  ‘I thought all cruises went via the Mediterranean,’ I said faintly. How stupid of me. I’d never looked up Norway on an atlas. Never had the time.

  ‘Good grief, girl. We’re going to Norway, to the Arctic Circle, to the North Cape and the midnight sun. Haven’t you brought your thermals?’

  ‘I’ve brought two vests.’

  I was partially prepared. But prepared for what? That I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to know. I had a feeling that Joanna was keeping the worst from me. I shuddered at the thought.

  ‘You’d better go in,’ said the officer. ‘You don’t want to catch a cold.’

  I smiled. I’d already been caught.

  THREE

  At Sea

  The MV Orpheus Odyssey was sailing peacefully through the North Sea, no storms, no excessive ship movement, no alarming lurches. I was on deck, enjoying the fresh breeze after a large breakfast. Far too large for me. My banana on the run was a thing of the past. I’d had slices of mango, pineapple, melon, figs and mixed berries. Plus a slice of sweet seeded bread and a glass of tomato juice. I was packed to the gills, felt like a walking whale.

  Many passengers helped themselves to a full English and their trays were piled with plates of bacon, scrambled egg, fried bread, mushrooms, baked beans, hash browns, toast, marmalade, Danish pastries, coffee. I don’t know where they put it. Their legs must be hollow.

  Joanna had managed to order room service, merely juice, a croissant and a rose. She waved me away. ‘Go on deck, circulate, look around,’ she said, removing cooling eye-pads from her eyes. ‘Try to be normal.’

  I bit back a retort. What sort of normal did she want? Standard, typical, conventional?

  Three times round the promenade deck was nearly a mile, a brass plaque informed intrepid walkers. There were a lot of walkers in a variety of designer gear. I loved the great expanse of sea. No land in sight. I could have stayed on deck all day. Who needed lunch? Who wanted the early first sitting? Food was deported to lost causes.

  Natasha joined me on my walk. She was wearing bright green pyjamas and a sort of flowing kaftan. Her clothes were beyond description but her smile was genuine and pleasant.

  ‘Ah, Jordan, dearie. Walking down a large breakfast?’

  ‘Walking down a small breakfast. I’ve never seen so much food. I mustn’t think of the starving millions in Africa and the Sudan. It wo
uld be too upsetting.’

  ‘It doesn’t do to think of the rest of the world while you are on board ship. Be thankful that you have this oasis of lime in which to enjoy yourself. Pretend it’s Brigadoon. The Sussex coast might be flooded next winter and you’ll be holed up in a refugee camp.’

  How did she know I came from Sussex? I’d said nothing to give her a clue. Maybe it was a chance remark and not aimed at me. That officer had mentioned Brigadoon.

  ‘Sussex, Essex and Norfolk, too,’ I elaborated. ‘It’s all lowlying land. It could be flooded any time. Wasn’t there a terrible flood in 1957 when a lot of people drowned?’ ‘Canvey Island,’ she said. ‘It was disastrous. Water simply poured through houses, sweeping everything away. Fifty people died.’

  ‘Not likely to happen in Norway,’ I said, trying to steer the subject into safer waters. ‘All those deep fjords.’

  ‘Deep fjords are very dangerous,’ she said, her hair flying in the breeze, white strands whipping across her face. It looked dyed, now that I was viewing the roots. Some of the warmth seemed to have gone from her eyes. ‘They arc cold because of the glaciers melting into them. Icy water. You could die in minutes.’

  ‘I’ll remember that when I go swimming,’ I said.

  She gave me a sharp glance. ‘Keep your clothes on, girl.’ She left me in a flapping swerve, pushing open one of the heavy doors and disappearing inside, into the warmth and safety. I was stunned for a moment. There was obviously another side to the bubbly Miss Natasha. Come to think of it, her surname was a mystery. She had kept that to herself.

  I took a cup of coffee from the cafeteria and sat on the stern deck, reading the Orpheus Odyssey Now programme of the day’s events. Every minute of the day was scheduled with some activity to keep everyone busy. Deck quoits, shuffleboard, whist, bridge, lectures, art, craft work, port lectures, line dancing and ballroom dancing. The word relaxation was not evident. We were to be kept occupied. Boredom was banished.

  I wondered what Doris and Mavis would make of all this. They’d probably have a whale of a time, trying everything, tracking from one activity to another. I couldn’t even make up my mind.