He was holding a carmine intrecciato bag, strips of leather intricately woven. I’d seen it only a few hours ago. Joanna had joyfully told me it was made by Bottega Veneta and cost over a thousand pounds. ‘My favourite bag,’ she’d said.
‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t know she had lost it.’
‘She hasn’t lost it. I’ve got it. I think you had better come with me.’
It sounded as if he was arresting me. But he couldn’t arrest me, could he? This is a ship. He was not a police officer. But he hadn’t lost the lingo.
‘Where did you find the bag?’
‘I am unable to disclose that information.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Lead on. What’s this all about?’
‘You’ll soon find out.’
‘I think I’m entitled to know now,’ I said. Geoff Berry brings out the worst in me. I can never forget how he got off with a transfer and I got suspended.
‘You’ll know in good time.’
We were going down and down staircases to the bowels of the ship. This was the metal-lined crew area, big bags of trash waiting to be unloaded ashore, stores coming in, stacks of unwanted luggage, the mortuary. No carpets on the metal floor. It was busy with stewards and waiters and crewmen. I saw Staff Captain Duncan in the distance but he didn’t see me.
I followed DI Berry through a labyrinth of corridors, walls pasted with signs, announcements and warnings. I had no idea where he was taking me.
Then by the screens and activity around, I knew we were going towards whatever had happened.
‘This way please, Jordan. Mind your head.’
I ducked down. A door in the side of the ship was open. One of those swinging platforms was close alongside. Someone lay on it, wrapped in a blanket like a butterfly cocoon. I recognized the light blonde hair and the head that rested on a pile of rope. It was Joanna.
A fresh breeze came in from the harbour water. I hung on to some rail.
‘Is that Joanna Carter?’
‘Yes.’ It was a mumble, a whisper. I was stunned. ‘Is she dead?’
‘No, thank goodness, no. But we don’t know what happened. She was strapped to a rope ladder, her feet almost in the sea. She’s in shock. Maybe she will be able to tell us what happened when she comes round.’
‘I’ll look after her,’ I said. I was stricken with guilt and remorse. I was supposed to be looking after her and instead I had gone to the lido cafe for a spinach and cheese tortellini.
‘She’s going straight to the medical centre. She needs to be checked out by the doctor. You can see her later. OK, lads, careful now. Bring her on board. Clear the way now.’
Berry was in charge. He made sure I felt superfluous, in the way.
‘Thank you.’ It was hard work getting those two words out. Not easy when I disliked him so. But I realized that somehow I had to get into his good books. It was a cruel lesson.
‘I’ll help you all I can,’ said Geoff Berry, sensing a weakness in the defence walls. ‘You can rely on me, Jordan.’
He left me abruptly, following the stretcher bearers. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know how to get out of this confusing network. I tried several service lifts but they didn’t go to passenger areas. I was completely lost.
One of the uniformed Thai stewards took pity. ‘I’ll show you the way,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
I followed him along corridors, up narrow stairs, through curtains, no idea where we went. But eventually we reached carpet. Carpet on the floor meant a passenger area.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You’ve been very kind. I hope I haven’t delayed you.’
‘No problem, miss.’
I didn’t really know what to do. It was extraordinary. Joanna Carter had been found strapped to a ladder, half submerged. She was now in the medical centre, being checked out by their medical staff. I was unwanted on voyage.
But there was something I could do. I could trace her last steps, find out what had happened. Now, which was her favourite bar for Pimm’s Number One?
She had half a dozen favourite bars. She would have gone to the nearest first. The barman remembered her, but she hadn’t stayed. Joanna liked to circulate, cruising. As I went from bar to bar, I realized that she had drunk a lot of Pimm’s before lunch. All the bar staff remembered her. She was a good customer.
‘She was going to have lunch in the dining room,’ said the last barman, polishing glasses. He didn’t trust the glasswashing machine. ‘She was looking forward to her lunch. She said she was meeting someone for lunch.’
Now that was news, unless she meant me. But she would hardly look forward to lunching with her paid companion. She must have picked up a date. After all, she was good-looking and a wealthy woman. Some men like women with money.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Have you any idea who she was meeting?’
‘A gentleman, I think.’ He shook his head. ‘Can I fix you a drink? You look pale.’
‘Thank you, but no. Another time,’ I added, seeing his face drop.
The next stop would be the dining room. But it was closed. Lunch was over and the staff were having a well-earned rest before the mad session of two sittings for dinner.
I turned away from the flower-flanked wide glass doorway. It always looked so elegant. I bumped into someone. ‘Sorry.’
‘Jordan? Is that you, Jordan? I can’t believe it. Hello?’
I knew the voice. Warm and kindly. I had known the voice for years. It went back a long time to Latching, with a lot of bad funfair memories.
‘Francis Guilbert,’ I said. ‘Of all the p-people. I’m so glad to see you. Are you on this cruise?’
‘Jordan, my sweet girl, of course, I’m on this cruise. How are you? Whatever is the matter? You look really upset.’ Then, of course, I did a most unacceptable thing. I burst into tears. And in moments, Francis had his arms round me and was patting my shoulder in a fatherly way.
He’d always been like a father to me. And now I needed him.
‘I think you need a shoulder to cry on,’ he said, leading me to a secluded area. ‘Tell me what this is all about.’
It came into my head without thinking. ‘It’s called keelhauling,’ I said.
SIX
At Sea
Francis Guilbert owned the biggest department store in Latching, a mega retailer. I had worked there once, as undercover staff, during a Christmas period of strange unexplained stock losses. I still had the black dress. The other loss was the tragic death of his son on a funfair ride. I’d solved both cases. Francis liked me, rather too much, but the age gap was more than I could cope with.
But he was here now on the Double O and I was pleased. Francis had a friendly face and a kind heart. The Gods had arranged this. It was more than I could have hoped for. Except James. He would have been perfect. This was near perfection.
‘My dear Jordan,’ said Francis, leading me away. ‘Let me get you a coffee. You look absolutely done in. Are you on holiday? Or is this a case?’
‘It’s certainly a case now,’ I said.
We went up the curving staircase to the deck above where there was a wall-long bar and lots of small tables and armchairs. We sat down and an attentive waiter was there in seconds.
‘Two coffees and two brandies,’ said Francis. He was still a handsome man with his thick grey hair and clear hazel eyes. He had a beautiful double-fronted old house in Latching and a thriving business, but no son to pass it on to now. I couldn’t be a surrogate son.
‘Jordan,’ said Francis. ‘I’m absolutely delighted to see you here on the Orpheus Odyssey. I hope it means you are having a well-earned holiday. And seeing some of the world. I know how much you love the sea. You’re always walking Latching pier in all weathers.’
‘It’s not exactly a holiday,’ I said. ‘But I’m working, acting as a bodyguard for a very nervous woman who thinks someone is out to kill her.’
‘And are they?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe they nearly did. She is the passenger they have
just found strapped to a rope ladder, almost under the keel. She’s still alive. But it can hardly be classed as a deck game.’
Francis signed the chit for the drinks. ‘Thank you, young man. But how awful, Jordan. No wonder you are shocked and in distress. Well, I’m here now. Always a reliable shoulder to cry on, and always another cluster of brain cells to help solve your mysteries. Though, sorry to say, the brain is working a little slower these days. There’s still a job open for you at Guilbert’s. I live in hope.’
I had to smile. He was such a sweetie. We’d had a lot of laughs together and many cold suppers in his big, empty house. Then Francis began to get serious, throwing hints about moving in, and how good we were together. But he was thirty years older than me. And I loved James. And always would. Even now, despite the calming brandy, I was itching to get to the Internet study and surf the air waves, sending James an urgent email.
Instead I told Francis about Joanna Carter and her suspicions, her drinking and her paranoia. About me being hired to be her bodyguard. There wasn’t anything I didn’t tell him. Except I didn’t mention the fee and my current urgent need for capital. He would offer to lend me the money and I wasn’t having that. He nodded occasionally, taking it all in.
‘My dear, you have done everything that you could, without being at her side every second of the day and night. There was nothing definite to go on. Her suspicions were vague. You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened today. She was simply going to a bar for a drink and perhaps had one too many. It might have been a very stupid prank. First of all, you need the facts. So far you know practically nothing, beyond all the bars that she went to. At least Mrs Carter is still alive. Wait until she tells you what happened.’
‘You’re right. I need to know the facts.’
‘Can the security officer on board help you?’
I groaned. ‘I doubt it. We are not exactly buddies. Quite the reverse. He’s the man I least trust in the whole, wide world.’
Francis didn’t comment. He was wise enough not to push me.
I wasn’t going into details. They were unprintable. My recall of that painful period was erratic. It depended on my roaring hormones. I could be stoic or on the verge of murder.
‘I’ll go and see the ship’s doctor,’ I decided. ‘See if Joanna is recovering all right. That will be the first step.’
‘And understandable,’ said Francis. ‘You’d be concerned for your friend. Would you like to join me for dinner this evening? I’ll ask the restaurant manager to find us a quiet table for two. I’m sure you won’t want to talk to a lot of people.’
I nodded. ‘That’s true. Thank you. First or second sitting?’
‘I think it will depend on where he can fit us in. Give me your cabin number and I’ll leave a message on your phone.’
He took the number of the stateroom and wrote it down on a slip of paper. It was a bridge score card. ‘I’m having lessons,’ he said with a grin. ‘But I’m not very good at it. Bridge requires concentration and I keep looking out of the window.’
‘Thank you for the drinks,’ I said. I felt stronger despite the gnawing in my stomach. Cheese and spinach is hardly filling. I wondered if I could wait till dinner with Francis. I was becoming a food addict. It must be something they put in the drinking water.
The medical centre was way down in the depths of the ship. Perhaps they hoped that passengers would have recovered by the time they found the right deck and the right corridor.
It was like a mini-hospital with a receptionist, a waiting room, surgery, several small side wards and somewhere an operating theatre. Everywhere was antiseptically white and uncluttered. The receptionist wore white. The nurse wore white. The doctor, when he came out to see me, wore a white jacket and white trousers. It was like something out of a futuristic film.
‘I’m Dr Max Russell,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘You’re enquiring about Mrs Carter. Do I know you? Are you a friend?’
‘I’m Jordan Lacey, her travelling companion,’ I said. ‘We are in A708 and A710 staterooms on A Deck. You can check with the purser.’
I could hardly say I was her bodyguard and that I’d been stuffing my face with rum ice cream while she was being attacked. If she was attacked.
‘Is she all right?’
He took me into his surgery and closed the door. ‘Please sit down, Miss Lacey. I’m sorry about the caution, but I had to know who you were. Someone has caused this appalling episode. The shock and fright are severe, and it could be anyone on board. Everyone is under suspicion.’
‘What exactly happened? You have to tell me. I can’t help Joanna if everything is surrounded in secrecy.’
Dr Russell was tall, tanned and rugged with an Australian drawl. He was not handsome in a textbook way, not nearly as good-looking as James, but he had the right sort of personality to soothe irate passengers who wanted to sue every member of the ship’s company. It was a compensation mentality these days and the first thing passengers wanted as evidence was a doctor’s certificate saying that they had really suffered.
‘Firstly, Mrs Carter is sort of all right. She is not injured, nothing broken, no lost blood, a few minor cuts and bruises,’ he began. ‘But she is in a bad way. We’re treating her for shock. Keeping her warm and quiet in a private room.’
‘What do you mean, sort of all right? What happened to her?’
Dr Russell pursed his mouth. ‘We don’t know. She hasn’t said a word. She isn’t speaking. As far as we can tell from the evidence, she was bound and gagged and strapped to the forward keel ladder. It’s an emergency ladder used mainly for repairs. One of the crew spotted her and so the rescue operation was activated. But as far as I can make out, she hasn’t spoken to anyone about what happened.’
‘Perhaps she’ll tell me,’ I said, inwardly sinking. I was riddled with guilt. I should have been with her. I might have been able to stop this nightmare.
‘That’s a good idea. Would you like a cup of tea and a biscuit? You’re looking a little pale yourself.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said, standing up. ‘Could you show me the way?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
The doctor led the way along a corridor. There were lots of doors off the corridor and he took me to the last one. It was a plain and ordinary private room, with none of the stateroom luxury and comforts, apart from a decent bed and side table, and some pleasant modern pictures on the walls.
I would have felt quite at home in it. But I was glad I wasn’t.
Joanna Carter was sitting bolt upright in the bed, minus her smart trouser suit, a duvet wrapped round her, her hair damp. She was staring ahead, her eyes fixed on some point above the door. There was a saline drip fixed into a vein in her arm.
‘Hello, Joanna,’ I said. ‘It’s Jordan. I’ve come to see how you are.’
She didn’t move or even seem aware of my being there. I sat down on a chair and took her other hand. It was icy cold. Felt dry and papery.
‘She’s very cold,’ I said.
‘It’s shock. The bed is heated,’ said Dr Russell.
‘Hello, Joanna. Talk to me, please. Say something. You don’t have to tell us what happened, but we want to know that you are all right. Dr Russell here is worried about you. We are all worried about you.’
These were sincere words despite my not liking her. She looked dreadful. Her face was white, showing up make-up smears and mascara runs. The pupils of her eyes had blackened and there was no expression in them.
‘She can see, can’t she?’ I suddenly panicked.
‘Yes, there’s no damage to her eyes. She’s in a severe state of shock. Not surprising really. It must have been a terrifying experience, however she got there, almost in the water.’
A nurse came in with a tray of tea and biscuits. It was nicely laid with two cups and saucers, a teapot and milk jug. No NHS plastic and polystyrene.
‘Perhaps you could persuade Mrs Carter to have some tea. She has accepted nothing from us.
I’m afraid I have to leave you now. There are some patients waiting outside.’
‘I’ll stay with Joanna,’ I said. ‘I won’t leave her.’ It was a bit late to make that promise.
I sat with Joanna for over an hour. She never said a word and made no indication of being able to take the cup of tea. In the end I drank the tea and ate the biscuits. There was nothing I could do. I half expected her to suddenly pounce on me and tell me off for not being there when she needed me. But she never moved. She was like a statue, turned to salt, like Lot’s wife.
‘I’ve got your handbag,’ I said. ‘You know, the pretty red leather one. Would you like to do your hair or fix your face?’
I got out the small vanity purse she always carried around and opened it. There was the usual collection of lipstick, mascara, perfume. Something else dropped out. It was a small silver key. But it wasn’t a luggage key or a safe key. I didn’t recognize it at all.
Joanna’s expression didn’t change. I put everything back into the purse including the key. ‘Well, it’s here if you want it,’ I said. People did this for coma victims. Talked to them endlessly for day after day or played their favourite music. Maybe this was my punishment. I’d be here in this small room, day after day, while the Double O cruised the fjords and the midnight sun. They’d make me up a camp bed on the floor. I wouldn’t know if it was day or night.
The door opened and the nurse came in to take the tray. ‘Dr Russell thinks you should leave now. It won’t help if you become ill too. We’ll look after Mrs Carter and there’ll be an officer on guard outside her door. We are going to sedate her so that she gets some sleep.’
I got up stiffly. ‘Thank you. I’ll come back later.’
‘Any time.’
I got into the nearest lift and pressed any button. It didn’t matter which deck I went to, as long as I got some fresh air. The lift stopped at the promenade deck, my favourite. I set to walking a mile round. We were still in Stavanger, although I could see the last afternoon coach trips returning and passengers queuing up to come aboard. We must be sailing soon. I’d lost all track of time.
Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8) Page 6
