The Royal Palace, built by a rich merchant’s widow in 1774, was the biggest wooden building in the world with 140 rooms. Some scout hut. There were tavemas on poles and old warehouses on stilts striding the River Nidelva. A lot of water, canals and rivers, very picturesque.
But I liked the modern things too. Some bright spark had come up with the idea of a bicycle lift up the steep Brubakken hill, almost up to the Kristiansten Fort. An underground cable, operated by a key card, gently pulled the bike up the hill while the cyclist kept his foot on a footplate.
It looked a lot of fun. Anyone could have a go. Apparently the tourist office would let you borrow a bike and a key card and try it out. I’d have liked a go. But there wasn’t time as our tour was hurried along to the next piece of historic architecture.
Even more to my liking was the flower bridge for pedestrians and cyclists. Each side was a riot of flamboyant pansies, all colours, planted in troughs on top of the stone ramparts. What a perfect memorial this would make for our sad princess. A flower bridge where daily people could walk and stroll over a river. Far better than a leaky pond in a park.
It was still trying to rain and the wind was gusty. Umbrellas were blown inside out regularly. They went into litter bins. No dumping them in gutters in Norway. My cap kept blowing off. By the time we got back to the ship, my hair was dripping wet.
I hurried aboard and down to the medical centre, hoping that Joanna had not been demanding my attendance. The receptionist offered me a towel. ‘You don’t want to drip all over her,’ she said.
‘Is there any change?’
She shook her head. ‘Not a whisper. We’re having to feed her through a tube.’
Joanna would hate that. So undignified having a tube in your nose. Her perfectly sculptured, probably reshaped nose would object.
Joanna was sitting up in bed, wearing some of the clothes which I had brought down for her. I began to feel sorry for her, having that tube … hardly cruise gourmet food, something bland liquefied.
‘Hello, Joanna,’ I said. ‘How are you? I’ve come to tell you all about Trondheim. It’s a very historic city, goes back donkey’s years. King Olav the First and lots of coronations.’
I was no good at bedside talk. My hospital visits in Latching had been kept to a minimum. Though adding the times I’d been a patient in hospital spiralled my average to pretty high. The staff ran bets on when I would be back.
Joanna never moved, not a flutter of an eyelash betrayed that she was aware I was there or had spoken. I could have been reciting the Koran. It was an idea.
Dr Russell came into the room. He was drying his hands in the air, wafting them around. This hand thing was paramount on board ship where any infection could spread so quickly. We were urged to be constantly washing our hands or using the sanitizing spray.
It was an excellent idea but it dried the skin. I had washerwomen’s hands already.
‘You’re looking better,’ he said. ‘The wind has whipped some colour into your cheeks. I’m sure Mrs Carter would feel better if we could get her out into some fresh air.’
I suddenly saw myself wheeling Joanna around on deck in a wheelchair for the rest of the cruise. He read my resigned expression.
‘No, no, I wasn’t suggesting that. She’s not well enough for open decks. But I have a suggestion which might work well. There were two accidents last night in that rough weather, both broken limbs, and they need constant nursing. We need this private room.’
‘And Mrs Carter, although in deep shock, is simply staring into space.’
‘Yes, and she could be nursed quite adequately in the comfort of her own stateroom. She could sit in an armchair by her balcony, watching the scenery go by. There is a Thai stewardess who has had midwife training, and she could be transferred to care for Mrs Carter full time. Do you agree?’
‘That’s a great idea,’ I said. ‘I’m sure we could both take care of her. And if it would free this room for your other patients, then of course, we must do it.’
‘Thank you, Jordan,’ he said, his eyes warming with gratitude. ‘I’ll make all the necessary arrangements. One of my nurses will visit regularly with Mrs Carter’s medication and I’ll pop in as often as I can.’
It wouldn’t be easy but I was ridden with guilt about not looking after Joanna and all the money she was paying me. I was not being paid to gaze speechless at snow-clad mountains and magnificent scenery. My job was to look after Joanna, nursemaid or bodyguard. I could read my book to her.
‘Now go and have your salad lunch,’ said Dr Russell. ‘Enjoy a few last minutes of freedom.’
I looked at his face for clues. ‘How do you know what I eat?’
‘I have my sources,’ he said mysteriously.
And that comment about a few last minutes of freedom … maybe I had someone on my side and that was a nice feeling. If James wasn’t around, it wouldn’t hurt to have another surrogate friend. Temporary, of course.
During our entire conversation Joanna had not moved or taken any notice of our being in the room, barely breathing. It was uncanny. It was if she had indeed been turned to salt.
I made everything ready for her return. Nothing out of place. An armchair by the balcony. A footstool. Fresh flowers in a glass bowl.
They brought Joanna in a wheelchair via some back lift from the medical centre so that the move could be made with some privacy. Even then, a few passengers caught sight of her white face and clucked sympathetically.
‘She’s getting better,’ I said.
Our Thai stewardess was one of the older women on the crew, but still not more than thirty. She had a beautiful oval face, dark eyes and dark hair pulled severely back. She was still in her bar uniform, slim dark skirt, white shirt and striped waistcoat.
‘Hello,’ I said warmly, holding out my hand. ‘I’m Jordan Lacey, Mrs Carter’s travelling companion. What’s your name?’
‘Suna,’ she said. ‘It’s a nickname, miss. Real name very long.’
‘Suna. It’s very pretty. You can call me Jordan.’
‘Thank you, Miss Jordan,’ she added shyly.
I knew we were going to get along well. This obviously made a change to waiting at a bar and the stateroom was a luxury she did not often enjoy. The king-sized bed in Joanna’s stateroom had been separated and made up as two singles. Dr Russell had arranged that Suna should sleep next to her patient.
It was almost like being back in my bedsits in Latching. I put the kettle on in my cabin and made a tray of tea. I did not want Suna to think that I expected her to wait on me as well.
She was making Joanna comfortable, sitting her up in her bed, the television moved so that it was in view. The nose tube had been replaced after the short journey.
‘It’s Roman Holiday on the film channel,’ said Suna. ‘That is a nice film, yes?’
‘Audrey Hepburn,’ I said. ‘Yes, very nice. Lovely film. Joanna might like it. Here’s some tea. Help yourself, the way you like it.’
The Double O was still berthed alongside Trondheim and from the balcony I could see the skyline and even the white Kristiansten Fortress up on the hill. Although I might never step ashore here again, it was special. But perhaps elsewhere, there might be a few moments for myself. There was something about the Norwegian air that felt healing, fresh and clean. And everywhere was so beautiful. I loved Latching, the changing sea and the long walks, but Norway was something different.
‘You have hurt your back, Miss Jordan?’ said Suna.
‘How did you know?’ I’d said nothing to anyone.
‘You are walking stiff. You must take more care. Ship very dangerous.’
I nodded. I was beginning to feel that the ship was a dangerous place. It was a sobering thought.
NINE
At Sea
The Orpheus Odyssey crossed the Arctic Circle before breakfast. I was on deck, expecting to see something. The captain’s voice came over the tannoy system.
‘I hope you all felt the slight bump a
s we crossed the Arctic Circle,’ he said, his voice deadpan. Some passengers fell for it. Several nodded. ‘As you know, the Arctic Circle is one of the five major circles of latitude that mark maps of the earth. Everything north of this circle is called the Arctic.’
He was into his stride. He enjoyed telling passengers what he thought they ought to know. I was listening. Any new knowledge is worth having.
‘The summer solstice is in June and the sun will be above the horizon for at least twenty-four continuous hours. My wife will be joining us at Tromso. Meanwhile, enjoy the midnight sun. Take care. See you on deck.’
I wouldn’t like to be around for the winter solstice when the sun was below the horizon for endless months.
I wanted to see the midnight sun, or at least enjoy nonstop sunlight. Suna and I had to work out a routine. She needed breaks and I needed breaks. I also needed to know what kind of straps were used to pinion Joanna to the ladder. It was so hard to find out anything on board ship. It seemed I was equally strapped to Joanna, ankle and wrist, sealing wax and all.
‘Good morning, Jordan,’ said Geoff Berry. ‘Enjoying our first sight of the Arctic?’
‘Not much to see yet,’ I said. Except the endless rolling waves which I loved and could watch forever. The white-tipped waves washed past the ship’s hull in a continuous murmur. ‘But I did feel the slight bump.’
I let him think I was an idiot. It might be to my advantage.
‘Ah yes.’ He was bemused. He had not listened to the captain’s tannoy announcement. ‘How are you getting on with your investigations?’
‘I could ask you the same,’ I said. ‘You’re the man in charge of security. What have you discovered about this unfortunate incident? You have the resources and access to all the information.’
‘Very little,’ he said airily. ‘Someone strapped Mrs Carter on to the starboard keel ladder. Not sure how, probably knocked her out. Some other passenger alerted us to the situation and Mrs Carter was rescued.’
‘Who was the passenger?’
‘That’s confidential.’
So much for DI Berry’s investigations. He knew nothing much at all. He’d been a lightweight in Sussex, preferring to sit in a pub with a foaming beer rather than get out on the ground. And surely it had been the forward keel ladder? How many ladders does a ship this size have?
‘So what was used to secure Mrs Carter to the ladder? Something pretty sturdy, I bet.’ Go on, dig, girl.
‘They look like luggage straps. Someone must have been down to where we store unwanted on cruise luggage and ripped out a dozen luggage straps. They are pretty sturdy stuff. Velcro, metal buckles, double-back straps. She also had brown parcel tape across her mouth so she couldn’t cry out. Can’t trace it, of course.’
‘Nasty taste.’
‘We cut her out of it and took her down to the medical centre.’
‘Do you still have the straps?’
‘Oh yes. In my office.’
‘And how about CCTV footage? Anything on those?’
Berry looked blank. He’d not looked at them. There were CCTV cameras everywhere on board. You could track a passenger from bar to pool and back. They had probably been tracking me for days with an eagle eye, wondering what the heck I was up to.
‘In progress,’ he flustered. ‘Being scrutinized. Under control.’
No prizes for guessing the state of that progress. He didn’t exactly have staff on board. Cruise ships are normally crime free. Maybe a little shoplifting or pilfering from a minibar. Nothing serious to report. The most a security officer had to do was to quieten down a late party before it got too rowdy.
‘Could I have a look at them?’ I asked. ‘An extra eye might be useful. An untrained eye.’
He looked relieved. I sounded friendly and unthreatening, as if I had completely forgotten the circumstances that got me suspended. I would never forget. He didn’t know I was Latching’s only elephant. An Indian elephant, the kind with the long ears, and an even longer memory.
‘Sure, Jordan,’ he said. The man was a fool. ‘Come down any time. This is my office and my mobile number.’ He gave me both. Heaven only knew where his office was, somewhere down in the depths of the ship’s bowels. I might never return to the dining room.
‘Thank you,’ I said with my most insincere smile. I could do insincere. I’d had plenty of practice in the past. ‘I’d be delighted to help out. I know how busy you are in your official capacity.’
I took a fast breakfast, slices of melon, pineapple and paw-paw, then returned to our staterooms. Joanna was still staring but Suna was having difficulty with the feeding tube.
‘It won’t stay in,’ she said faintly. ‘She must not starve.’
‘The nurse will be along soon. She can put the tube back in. I’ll stay with her while you have a break,’ I said. ‘Do you have your breakfast in the crew cafeteria? OK. And you don’t have to wear bar uniform here with us. Come back in your own clothes, if you like.’
She shot me a look of gratitude and escaped to the crew quarters below decks. It had been a long night. She didn’t say if she had slept in the bed next to Joanna. It looked untouched. Perhaps she had sat in a chair all night.
Joanna remained the same, staring, rigid, unresponsive.
It was weird. I should have thought that by now she would have been responding to the treatment, coming round, weeping, reacting. Shock usually wore off.
I did her hair and pulled the top back into a glittering butterfly clip. She had a velvet bag full of posh hair ornaments.
‘There,’ I said. ‘That looks nice.’
For a second, I thought she responded. There was a flash of derision. As if she thought the butterfly clip was the pits. I changed it for a plain black bow. There was no response.
‘So, Joanna,’ I said, sitting beside her and taking her hand in a most familiar manner. A manner she would never have allowed in normal circumstances. I know you went through a terrible time and none of us can ever imagine how terrible it was, but the sooner you can tell us about it, the sooner we can find out who did it.’
She did not move. Her hand was dry. I was bewildered. I didn’t know what to do. Send me on a course.
The phone rang in my stateroom and I went through to answer it. It was Geoff Berry. I had to hold the receiver steady, ready to practise grovelling.
‘You can come and look at the CCTV footage any time you like, Jordan,’ he said, all matey. ‘There’s a lot of it. I won’t tell you how many cameras we have on board ship. They are everywhere.’
It sounded as if I was going to be glued to a screen for several hours. It crossed my mind that I would be neatly out of the way if someone had other plans in mind. Searching for information on board was so difficult. No popping down to the library or local newspaper for microfilm. No interviews round the clock or combing the streets. I was securely tied to eleven decks and hundreds of cabins. I couldn’t count the bars.
The big plus side of cruising was not having to shop or cook, not that I ever did much of either. The daily servicing of the staterooms was carried out by Ali, our invisible steward. Beds were made, bathrooms cleaned, fresh towels appeared every day like magic. My two bedsits could do with some of that treatment. I’d give him a key.
Key. I remembered that small key I had found and wondered what it fitted. Joanna’s luggage did not seem to include a jewellery case or cash box of any kind. But I could hardly search the stateroom now that Joanna had returned to take up permanent residence.
Suna returned, wearing her own clothes, a slim skirt and colourful blouse. She looked comfortable and happy. She had also brought some magazines.
‘Is it all right to read?’ she asked, showing me the magazines.
‘Of course,’ I said. I gave her the extension number of the security office. ‘Give us a bell if you need me. I’ll be there a while.’
‘A bell?’
‘A ring. Phone me.’
She laughed. ‘New one. A bell.’
/> Getting lost on board the Double O was an everyday hazard. I had to read all the notices, check which deck I was on and in which direction I was going. I had never in my worst nightmare thought I might one day be going voluntarily to Berry’s office, to actually sit in the same space, breath the same air-conditioned air. It gave me a surreal feeling. Perhaps I was dreaming.
He obviously felt the same. So he hadn’t forgotten. ‘I’ll leave you to get on with it,’ he said abruptly. ‘Busy, busy.’ He showed me how the replay machine worked and how to put in a new film. ‘You might spot something.’
‘OK. Thank you.’
He didn’t say if he had spotted anything, or if he had even looked through them. He was notoriously lazy and had probably left me to do the work.
‘It’s all yours,’ he said, escaping as swiftly as he could without running. But for one moment, he gave me a look which I could not fathom. Nor did I want to.
The office was tidy, over-tidy. Not a speck of dust anywhere, not an out-of-place paper clip, not a single piece of paper on the loose. This said one thing to me. Not much was going on in this office. Not like my FCI office behind the shop. My stomach felt a small twinge of homesickness for my shop. I’d put up the CLOSED FOR REDECORATION notice the day before I left and hoped no one would break in. Nothing to steal anyway. Only cobwebs and old books.
Nor did I have much idea what I was doing here. I was lost at sea. But that overgenerous fee was a burden and I had to earn it. So I began watching CCTV film of what everyone was doing on ship, on every deck, around that time. It was like being strangled with wet wool.
People were promenading everywhere. Either vaguely lost or talking or ignoring other passengers. I saw the same people over and over again. Did they ever stop walking or strolling? I wanted to find something that was unusual or weird or out of the ordinary, like Joanna being bundled into a lift to the depths.
It was all unremarkable, passengers behaving as you would expect them to on a cruise. But then something registered. One face began to emerge and re-emerge time and time again. But why? And around this same area? Was I seeing double? There he was again. In the shop, at a bar, in the library, on deck, by the pool, watching quoits, in the shop, at a bar, in the library, etc., etc. The man had a walking routine. He covered the same ground, sorry, deck over and over again in a regular period of time. It was incredible. But why?
Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8) Page 8
