‘So there you are,’ said Joanna, sitting beside me with half a cup of black coffee. ‘I wondered where you had got to. You are supposed to be with me all the time.’
‘But you told me to go on deck. Remember? I could hardly share your breakfast in bed,’ I said.
‘You’ve had plenty of air now,’ she said, finishing her coffee. ‘Let’s go shopping.’
The shop was like a mini-department store. It sold everything. It was a walk-though store with display windows port and starboard. It was called Sheherazade, slightly mixing the Greek theme with Arabic. It sold everything from jewellery, make-up, to perfumes and expensive evening wear. Joanna spent a happy hour trying on sparkly sequinned tops of which I’m sure she had a dozen already.
‘Captain’s cocktail party this evening,’ she said. ‘Must have something new for that.’
Sure, the captain was going to notice her something new at a party for 600 passengers? It was a palm-pressing occasion, probably free drinks and canapes. No names, merely a sea of faces, passengers having their photos taken with the captain to show the grandchildren.
‘Is it wise to go to such a big occasion?’ I said. ‘There will be hundreds of people there and you won’t know who they are or who they might be.’
A flash of apprehension crossed her face, then she straightened her jacket. ‘Well, that’s your job. You could check the guest list.’
‘They are hardly likely to mark the list with character ratings. Even if I am allowed to look at the passenger list. And I doubt it. Probably classified.’
‘All the officers will be there to protect me. Safe as houses, as long as you keep closely by my side. Have you got something suitable to wear? I hope you are not going to embarrass me.’
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Doris, my personal shopper, chose the perfect outfit. I’m sure you’ll be agreeably surprised.’
‘Let’s have lunch now,’ she said, paying for her purchase with her cruise card. She had bought a black sleeveless top, embroidered with sequins and black roses framing the neckline. It was a cashless and childless ship. Every purchase from the shop or a bar went on an account and was paid for at the end of the cruise.
We lunched in the dining room. I would rather have picked at some lettuce in the cafeteria on the lido deck, but no trays and self-service for Joanna. She wanted silver service and bowing and smiling and a napkin flicked over her lap.
It was an excellent lunch but I was not hungry. I cut down on the courses, having only soup and salad. The ginger ice cream was delicious but it brought home memories of ice cream at Latching, all the cafes along the front, especially Marconis and their twenty different Italian flavours. Although the ship was luxurious, I already wanted to go home. An odd sort of homesickness. Twenty hours afloat, surrounded by sea and I’d done enough cruising.
Joanna was chatting away to a new set of passengers at the table. You could sit anywhere at lunch time. I had forgotten how to talk. It was as if my tongue was paralyzed with food, glued to the roof of my mouth with seasoning. Joanna didn’t notice my quietness.
‘I’m going to play bridge after lunch,’ she said brightly. ‘You can come along.’
‘I’ll bring a book,’ I said.
The library was well stocked with a huge choice of books. I chose a couple and hurried to find the bridge room which was called No Deal. Someone had a sense of humour. I found a quiet armchair in a corner and settled down. A few glances were tossed in my direction as if my non-playing presence was going to disrupt their bidding.
‘Got my camera,’ I said, patting my hip pocket.
It was a good book called The Long Kill by Reginald Hill about a lone assassin whose eyesight was letting him down and he was starting to miss his targets. I was fascinated by the detailed mechanics of rifles and shooters. I wondered if such a trained assassin might have his sight on Joanna Carter and would aim from a passing ship. It was a disturbing thought.
I was deep in the story when suddenly there was a short cry from the table where Joanna was sitting. She stood up, hands fluttering nervously at her shirt.
‘Four times,’ she cried out. ‘Four times I’ve been dealt the ace of clubs, the death card. Who is it? Who’s doing this? I demand to know who it is. I can’t stay here a minute longer. It’s too dangerous. Jordan, where are you?’
‘I’m here,’ I said, reluctantly putting a scrap of paper in as a bookmark. Did the black trefoil symbol represent death? Joanna would get a reputation at this rate. It would go round Orpheus Odyssey that there was a woman on board who thought the bridge room was dangerous.
I took Joanna to a bar where she ordered a large brandy. I put The Long Kill under my armchair, hardly a reassuring title. The colour was beginning to come back into her face. A steward hovered nearby, spotting immediately when her glass was empty and she ordered another. He returned with a second brandy and a glass of water for me, clinking with ice.
‘Thank you,’ I said, surprised. I hadn’t ordered.
‘Air conditioning,’ he said. ‘You need plenty water.’
But Joanna barely gave me time to drink it before she was off to the port lecture. We were due to arrive at Stavanger tomorrow and she wanted to know all about it. I’d never heard of the place. Call me ignorant. There was a Norwegian travel book in my shop which I should have brought with me.
‘Stavanger is the largest port in the south of Norway,’ the port lecturer began. Earlier that day she had been selling excursions in the tour office. Same woman, different hat. I had a feeling that this lecture would be less about history and more about selling tours.
It was a sales pitch but it was also interesting and saved me reading a brochure. It looked a quaint place with steepled wooden houses along the front and cobbled streets. It also had an old area which had survived some awful fire, and all the houses were built of white wood and formed part of a heritage centre.
‘I’m going to get ready for the captain’s cocktail party,’ Joanna announced. ‘I’ve a hair appointment first. Are you coming with me?’
‘To the hairdresser’s?’
‘You are supposed to be with me, morning, noon and night,’ she said sharply. ‘And that includes the beauty salon. That’s what I pay you for.’
‘Fine,’ I said cheerfully. I had a good book. It seemed that the written word would save me from Joanna overload. I decided to keep a detailed note of everything we did together and where we went, date, times, etc. It might be important to check times if anything happened to Joanna. If my employer questioned my attention span, I’d produce my little black book.
The Beauty Box salon was the place to be comfortably spoiled. Lots of silver chairs, pale pink walls, flowers and good lighting. I found a spot where I could watch Joanna and read fifty per cent of the time.
A pretty young woman came up to me with a trolley laden with jars and bottles. ‘Would madam like a manicure while she is waiting?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m waiting for my friend. She’s having her hair done. The lady over there.’
‘I have no appointments. It would be complimentary, my pleasure.’
Now that was different. She could tell from my face that I was tempted. She brought over a small table on which was a bowl of soapy water and a pyramid of towels.
‘Please,’ she said, persuasively. ‘Good practice for me.’
I closed my book. ‘Go ahead. Practise.’
She told me her name was Leila and she was from Mumbai, the Indian port that used to be called Bombay. It would be six months before she went home to her family. She had two small children. Her husband had been killed in a motorcycle accident so now she was the chief provider.
But she did not sound upset about the unfairness, accepted that this was her fate, to be doing my nails.
She soaped and soaked my nails, filed and trimmed the cuticles, massaged my poor aching hands (all that holding a heavy book) and finally painted each nail a luscious deep plum colour, adding gloss and a fixative.
/> ‘With your hair colour,’ she said, referring to the tawny mass tied back with a crinkle band, ‘you must never wear pink.’
‘I’ll remember that. Thank you, Leila.’
I wanted to give her something, nothing so condescending as a tip. We didn’t use money. ‘Thank you,’ I said again. ‘My nails look beautiful. One day I will do something for you.’
She smiled and began clearing away the debris. She didn’t know that one day I would keep my promise.
The captain’s cocktail party began with two long queues of passengers dressed in their best, women in long evening or cocktail dresses, men in dinner jackets or kilts, waiting to shake the captain’s hand, have their photo taken, get their free drink. Two queues were on either side of the Olympus theatre, one shuffling towards the captain and the other towards the staff captain.
Captain Brian Armitage had the longest queue. I felt sorry for the staff captain’s lack of popularity and at the last moment skipped across the lobby to be introduced to him. Joanna would have no one less than the captain.
Joanna had barely glanced at my dress, probably dazzled by her own gown, sewn shoulder to hem with white sequins. Doris had spotted my dress in a charity shop, black chiffon lined with silk, hanging on a back rail among the small sizes. It had narrow shoulder straps and fish tail hem with ruffles, made for a shorter woman. It was a moral dress. I could barely move in it. But the skirt was beautiful and I loved the way it was cut on the cross and fanned around my ankles.
‘Ah, the stargazing lady,’ said the staff captain. It was the officer I had met on deck. He hadn’t grown any but he looked very smart in his dress uniform, lots of gold braid. In the brightly lit theatre I could see that his eyes were a warm brown, not the icy granite of my James. My James? How could I claim the man to be mine? He was miles away, solving Yorkshire crime, occasionally sending a curt email.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know you were someone special.’
‘Staff captain, and I sometimes steer the ship. One-handed,’ he grinned.
‘Isn’t it computerized these days?’
‘Computers break down. Then it’s hand signals.’
‘I thought I felt a wobble.’
‘That was when I spotted you from the bridge, stargazing.’
I almost spilt the drink in my hand. It was a sparkling white wine, not exactly champagne, but near. James never flirted. It was not his nature. He sometimes teased me or took a rise out of me. But flirt? It was a foreign accomplishment. Officers probably flirted a lot. Perhaps they were trained to flirt with female passengers.
‘Always wear sunglasses,’ I said, moving on out of danger.
I felt his glance follow me before he turned his attention to greeting the next party guest. I’d had my turn. There were so many people. So many lovely dresses. The floor must be awash with dropped sequins.
As I moved into the crowd, looking for faces that I knew, I heard a commotion from the far side. Something was happening. I saw a flash of blonde hair, a head that I had last seen being roller brushed and teased into a sleek helmet shape.
It was Joanna, shouting and screaming, her face distorted. I moved fast across the room. No time for hand signals.
FOUR
Joanna’s diamond necklace had gone. She was clutching her throat where the gems had sat, her face pale and anguished.
‘My diamonds,’ she shrieked. ‘I’ve lost my diamonds. Someone has stolen my necklace.’
I vaguely remembered her necklace, but among all the white sequins the necklace had been eclipsed. She had a jewellery box locked in the wardrobe safe and made mysterious trips to it. My safe contained my passport and a paltry wad of fivers and tenners for end of cruise tips. I was starting to wonder if I had brought enough.
‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.
‘Do I look hurt?’ she snapped. ‘Someone has stolen my necklace.’ She turned to the captain. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Captain Brian Armitage drew her aside. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Carter. Are you sure you were wearing it? On such a beautiful outfit, you may have forgotten?’
‘Of course, I’m sure I was wearing it. I’d never go to a cocktail party without my diamonds.’
He nodded. He never argued with passengers. ‘I’ll get the security officer to come and see you.’ He moved away and switched on his mobile phone, his voice too low for anyone to hear.
‘Aren’t you going to search all the passengers?’ she demanded.
‘I hardly think that would be diplomatic,’ he said. ‘Maybe it has dropped to the floor. I’ll ask the staff to make a thorough search. Clasps do have a way of coming undone or breaking. My wife is always losing things.’
What a smoothie. Full marks for the way he was handling the situation.
She turned on me angrily. ‘You weren’t here,’ she said. ‘You should have been watching, instead of going over to the other line.’
‘I was checking those who had already arrived,’ I said. I was beginning to catch on to her game and had rehearsed a few answers. ‘Just to make sure.’
This was ridiculous. To make sure of what? Checking who? Knives up a kilt? Hatpins in an evening bag?
‘Well, that’s all right then,’ said Joanna, taking another gin and tonic from a passing tray. ‘We’ll wait until the security officer gets here. Perhaps we’ll get some action then. He might be more efficient than you.’
The most awful sense of foreboding loomed into mind, like an iceberg homing in on the Titanic. I don’t know what made me think of him. I hadn’t thought of this man for years. I had worked for the West Sussex police in the Criminal Justice department, dealing with the prosecution process, conviction service, court liaison and the dozens of other admin things which go on behind the scenes.
To alleviate the boredom, I read everything. And it was during this reading I discovered that a certain Detective Inspector Geoff Berry had let a vicious rapist walk free due to his recording incompetence. I made an official complaint through the correct channels.
The correct channels were not amused and I was suspended and eventually asked to leave.
OK, it was one door closing and another opening and I never regretted starting First Class Investigations. I’d solved a lot of crimes, some minor which might otherwise have been overlooked and never solved, and I’d met a lot of people. And I’d found James. A man who rarely showed his feelings.
DI Geoff Berry was the last person I wanted to see and here he was striding through the cocktail party in a well-pressed khaki uniform, lots of braid and brass buttons, cap tucked under his arm as if on parade. He didn’t look pleased to see me, but returned his face to one of non-recognition in an instant.
‘Captain Armitage?’ he said.
‘Ah, Berry. This lady, Mrs Carter, says her diamond necklace has been stolen or lost, here at the party. Perhaps you’d like to take some details. I have my other guests to attend to.’
‘Of course. Would you come this way, Mrs Carter, and tell me all about it.’ He indicated some armchairs on the fringe of the party, well away from the bar and the circulating food.
He still had that mean look. Thin-lipped mouth and shifty eyes. I wouldn’t trust him with a parking ticket. I’d never followed his career. Grapevine had it that he’d been moved to another station, some far-off place, not the Outer Hebrides, but nearby. On reaching retirement, lots of ex-police took security jobs. DI Berry had landed one on cruise ships.
Joanna refilled her glass from another passing tray. She had quite a thirst. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, touching his arm for support. ‘I’m really upset. That necklace was given to me by my late husband. It’s really beautiful.’
For late, read ex? I thought she was divorcing him. Or perhaps there was another previously unmentioned spouse, already laid to rest.
‘A beautiful necklace for a beautiful woman,’ he said.
Creep.
‘This is Jordan Lacey, my companion,’ she said, waving me
to another seat. I had been demoted from friend to companion. Perhaps she found friend difficult to say. Companion implied paid.
Geoff Berry barely glanced at me. He was getting a small notebook out of his top pocket. It looked new and unused. There was very little crime on board.
‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me what happened. What time did you put the necklace on? Can you remember your activities in the last hour or so? Did anything unusual happen?’ He sounded so like a policeman.
His interviewing technique had certainly not improved. He was aware that I was listening and an extra crispness came into his laconic voice. I had never liked him and I liked him even less now. He rambled on.
Joanna was a fraction on the merry side now, despite the loss of her diamonds. I lost count of how many gin and tonics she had drunk. The party was almost over, stewards clearing up, passengers drifting off to first sitting dinner. But she was still sitting by the window, the sea rushing alongside at a lower level, rambling on about her jewels and her husband and recurrent depression. At least she didn’t blurt out about the threats to her life and my reason for being on the cruise. She had that much sense left.
I knew I looked knock-dead gorgeous in the black chiffon, my hair piled up in a careless tumble. My nails looked good too. So I let him have an eyeful of my expensive outfit as I got up and encouraged Joanna to do the same.
‘The first sitting bell has just gone,’ I said. ‘And it’s time for us to go and leave the search in the capable —’ I paused after the capable, to let him know I hadn’t forgotten his incompetence — ‘hands of Officer Berry.’
It made him sound as if he were on the beat again. This was not the way to make friends and influence people. There might be a knife in my back along a dark deck.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Joanna, with the slightest slurring. ‘Capable hands.’
‘Come along.’
‘Nursemaid?’ said Geoff Berry, in an aside. ‘Is that your present role? Suits you, Lacey.’
Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8) Page 4
