‘I hope you are coming to the show tonight,’ I said. ‘It’s spectacular.’
‘I shall be there,’ said Lucinda. ‘I don’t miss anything.’
It sounded like a threat. But I shook it off. I was becoming paranoid. It was hunger. Breakfast in my Worthing flat had been a stale yogurt needing to be liberated from the refrigerator.
On some evenings I was expected to host one of the tables for eight in the Windsor Dining Room but this wasn’t possible tonight. There was too much to do. I hurried to the theatre where the first performance would soon begin. This was for the second sitting passengers who would eat afterwards. It was an upside-down arrangement. The first sitting ate dinner, then saw the show.
Back stage was chaos. I didn’t interfere. The shows were choreographed and rehearsed in London. They’d had all afternoon to get used to the size of the stage and the cramped dressing rooms, make costume changes. Now they had to go on stage and smile, smile, smile.
It was my job to MC the spectaculars. Both showings. But I had a feeling that Lee would be able to take my place on some evenings, very soon. The passengers would love him. Susan Brook, my previous deputy, had been a liability on stage. Any stage.
Sometimes I had to remind myself what the current spectacular was called. I had seen so many. Ah yes, the Showtime Spectacular tonight. Call that original. But it would be good. The singers could sing and the dancers could dance. And those that couldn’t do either wore very few clothes.
After a fanfare, I went on stage with loads of flourish in my yellow bee-striped creation and introduced the evening’s entertainment. Then I went off. I had a spare forty-five minutes before I was needed again, to go on stage and orchestrate the applause.
This was when I usually skidded down into the depths of the ship and found the Officers’ Mess on F Deck, and grabbed myself a starter or something. I never had time for a full meal.
The Officers’ Mess was well hidden among green-painted corridors of offices and stores and passengers’ stored luggage. It took a diviner to find it. The mess was well fitted with long tables set with silver cutlery and glasses. But it was self-service from the various hot plates and cold counters.
As I was still feeling cold from Southampton’s chill, I went for some parsnip and Stilton soup, followed by a quick, thrown-together Waldorf salad from the salad bar.
The audience had loved the show and the spangled dancers. Their headdresses were bigger than their costumes. I had no trouble in generating the applause.
Then I had less than twenty minutes before I was due back on stage before introducing the second showing, this time for the first sitting passengers, who by now were digesting their enormous meal.
This was what I meant by non-stop work. Sometimes there were problems to sort out backstage, or lighting out front, or sound anywhere. Sometimes I only had time for a cup of coffee.
I was on again. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Did you enjoy your meal? Wasn’t that parsnip and Stilton soup out of this world? We have great chefs on board the Countess.’
Dr Samuel Mallory appeared backstage, immaculate as ever, perfectly cut dinner jacket sitting on his broad shoulders. How did he get there? Then I noticed we were one girl dancer short.
‘A slight panic attack, a dancer called Maisie,’ he said. ‘She’s OK now. She’ll get over it. Probably be able to go on, halfway. The Moulin Rouge number is one of her favourites. She’ll probably make that number.’
‘I thought you’d come to volunteer as a replacement.’
‘The costumes are not my style. I’d need more than a couple of feathers.’
‘Have you been busy?’ I asked, trying not to think of the feathers.
‘A few passengers being seasick before we even passed the Isle of Wight. A couple who forgot their medication. How could you forget to bring your medication? It’s incredible. Top of the packing list is medication.’
‘It’s the cruise magic. The cruise excitement. Don’t blame them. Everything is different. Medication is the last thing they think of.’
‘It’s appalling.’
‘Clothes and suntan lotion come first.’
‘So where are we going this time?’ Dr Mallory sounded quite grumpy. Hadn’t he even looked at the itinerary? ‘Barcelona, I suppose?’
‘Palma first, then Barcelona. Don’t you like Barcelona?’
‘I had my wallet pinched there, many years ago. Never forgotten it. Not one of my favourite places.’
‘It’s a wonderful city. You must walk Las Ramblas and capture the magic again. All those living statues and the colourful stalls.’
‘I shall sit in a cafe and not move an inch,’ he said. ‘No shopping.’
‘How sad. If I see you, I’ll wave.’
‘Do that. I may wave back. I may not.’ Barcelona was one of the most vibrant and thriving seaports in the Mediterranean. I couldn’t understand how Dr Mallory could ignore it. If he had bad memories, then they had to be erased. Maybe I’d have a go at the process.
Sometime later that evening, when both shows were over and I had sorted out a few problems, there was time to go on deck. My favourite time. I liked to stand by the rails, all alone, and watch the waves rushing by. The sky was always a maze of stars. Moon or no moon, the immense and watchful universe was mesmerizing.
‘Miss Jones?’
A voice broke into my thoughts. For a nanosecond, I was annoyed. This was my time, for myself. But I was not paid to have even a nanosecond.
‘Hello, Miss Ember.’ I’d checked the passenger list, and she was Miss and not Mrs. Passengers always thought we had second sight.
‘I’m really sorry to intrude on you. I can see you are enjoying some much-needed time to yourself.’ Her voice was fluttering.
‘That’s all right,’ I said, easing myself round to face her. She looked a little pale in the moonlight, fraught and scrawny. As if she had had a fright. But surely not? There was nothing frightening about this elegant ship.
‘My cabin,’ she began. ‘I’m not happy about it.’
Oh dear, a housekeeping problem. She should ask the purser for a cabin change. Nothing to do with me. I am immune to cabin complaints.
‘Have you spoken to the purser?’
‘Yes, I have. But he is not taking me seriously. I’ve already told him.’
‘What’s the matter then?’
Miss Ember seemed reluctant to tell me. She had already been given the brush off by the purser’s office. I might be unhelpful.
‘I don’t really know how to tell you. It’s the bathroom,’ she said. ‘I know you’ll laugh at me and I don’t want to cause trouble. But I have reported it and no one will believe me.’
‘Tell me,’ I said, turning off the stars. ‘I’ll believe you.’
‘My bathroom shower is dripping blood,’ she said.
So at seven minutes past midnight, I was standing in Miss Ember’s bathroom, watching the shower drip blood. It was fresh blood, bright and crimson.
I was not surprised that no one believed her.
Two
At Sea
Lucinda Ember was not attention seeking. Her distress was genuine. That’s why I went with her to her cabin on A Deck, number 212. It was an outside stateroom with a balcony. Very luxurious. It would cost a lot for single occupancy.
The bathroom was on the right-hand side going into the cabin. Miss Ember went in front of me, and opened the door to the side. She did not look but went over to the glass doors that led to her balcony. She stood there, wringing her hands.
‘I don’t know what it means,’ she said.
Blood was dripping out of the shower head. There was a pool in the bath, shaking slightly with the vibration of the ship. I wanted to wash it away, but realized that it should be left as evidence.
‘I’d better get the security officer to come and look at it, and Dr Mallory. He’ll want to take samples. Some fault with the shower head, I’m sure. And I’ll arrange with the purser to get you moved to another cabin. Y
ou won’t want to spend the night here.’
‘No, maybe I won’t. Yet I’ve just moved in, unpacked and got settled. It’s too exhausting to move. But I suppose I had better go.’
I phoned to Richard Norton, the security officer, the nearest we have to a policeman on board. I described the situation briefly.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ he said gruffly. As if I was going to paddle in the stuff like a toddler. I’d obviously disturbed his meal. He was fond of his food. Then I phoned Dr Mallory in the medical centre.
‘Blood coming out of the shower? Not exactly a razor cut then, more like a touch of Sweeney Todd. It’s going to be one of those cruises, I can feel it.’
‘No, you can’t,’ I said. ‘You are trying to scare me.’
‘Now why should I do that, Casey? You are the most level-headed person I know. Apart from a tendency to miss departures, being taken hostage, and getting shut in cupboards. Quite normal in fact.’
I did not want to be reminded. The cruise to the Mexican Riviera had been eventful. Too eventful. This cruise was going to be different. Plain sailing. Nothing more complicated to solve than finding a few lost bottles of suntan lotion and a couple of library books sliding about on deck.
‘Are you coming round? It’s cabin 212 A Deck.’
‘The posh part. OK. Perhaps the lady would like a sedative? I’ve a nice line in sleeping pills this cruise.’
‘You sound like a shop.’
‘I’m a walking chemist’s shop. And I’ve some special offers.’ His voice was teasing. I knew what he meant. But I had decided that I didn’t want any complications in my life. I had discovered an allergy to commitment.
I made Miss Ember a cup of tea and settled her in the armchair near the window, so that she could watch the sea washing by and the stars twinkling in the night sky. They were soothing. Her face was regaining its colour. She sat carefully, not wanting to damage the camellias sewn on to her stunning dress. I’d have liked to ask her about it, but it was a rule: no personal questions.
She read my thoughts. ‘It is a beautiful dress, isn’t it?’ she said, fingering one of the petals. ‘It’s Chanel, you know. The camellia was her signature.’
‘It is lovely. But difficult to wear without crushing the flowers.’
‘I have to be careful how I sit down. She invented the little black dress, you know, something simple and understated. I expect you have one in your wardrobe.’
‘Haven’t we all?’
Richard Norton arrived first. He was a big, burly man, ex-Marine, in a khaki uniform, different from the crew uniform. He gave me a warm smile in the doorway, hoping to get into my good books. It was wishful thinking. I liked him but I had a suspicion that there was a Mrs Norton tucked away safely somewhere in the Home Counties. Out of sight and out of mind but still ironing his shirts.
‘Hello, Casey,’ he said. ‘What have you got for me this evening? I hope it’s nothing more than a bit of rust. Have you called a plumber?’
‘I’ve called a doctor.’
His face fell slightly. Dr Samuel Mallory was unbeatable opposition. Not a man on-board stood a chance with the ladies when the doctor was around.
‘Ah well, I suppose Miss Ember is suffering from shock and needs some TLC.’
‘She’s doing all right,’ I said. ‘I’ll introduce you and then you can look at the luridly leaking shower.’
Richard Norton accomplished both with his usual solid efficiency and made some notes. The shower was still dripping blood. No sign of anything abnormal during the afternoon. Miss Ember only noticed the blood when returning from dinner. So her cabin had been unoccupied during that mealtime. Richard talked to her steward, a rather scared young man called Nicky. He thought he was going to lose his job. They always thought that. Their families depended on the money they sent home.
Samuel Mallory arrived, sat down and talked to Miss Ember. ‘What a nasty shock for you,’ he said. ‘I see Miss Jones has made you a nice cup of tea. I think I’ll leave you a sleeping pill, a very mild one, just for tonight. You might have trouble getting to sleep.’
‘I think I should like to sleep somewhere else. Miss Jones did say …’
‘Good idea. I’ve spoken to the purser and there’s an empty cabin that you can move to.’ Sam went into the bathroom and took several samples of the blood in a tube. The dripping was beginning to ease off. He was bemused. He’d never seen blood coming out of a shower before. It was really creepy, like the film Psycho. He pulled out the plug and let the blood wash away in a swirling raspberry puddle. There was no point in keeping it. The samples were enough.
He asked Nicky to come and give it a thorough clean with disinfectant.
Miss Ember was not pleased with the cabin that was on offer. It was not up to her current stateroom standard. No balcony. No sofa, no armchair. Twin beds, with the unused one folded against the wall. The view was the side of a lifeboat.
‘It’s only temporary, only for tonight,’ I said, hovering. ‘You can move back to your stateroom as soon as it has been given a complete service and a new shower installed.’
‘Haven’t you got anything else? A suite? How about the penthouse suite?’
I shook my head. ‘The ship is full,’ I said. ‘This cabin is only empty because the couple haven’t turned up. Some family crisis.’
‘No, I’m not staying here,’ she said, firmly. ‘It’s too small, too pokey. And look at the bathroom. It’s not like the one I’ve just left.’
‘But it’s a really comfortable cabin. It doesn’t have all the extras that you have paid for. But it’s still a nice cabin and we are only talking about somewhere to sleep for tonight.’ It had been a long day and evening. I was beginning to feel tired. I’d been on the go since early morning. Miss Ember still looked as fresh as a, well, camellia. She had to make up her mind soon.
‘I’m really not satisfied with this exchange,’ she said. ‘That was blood in my cabin. I am going to complain to the purser.’
‘As you wish,’ I said. ‘But I do have to go and do something else soon.’ This was a lie, a shade of white. Forgive me, St Peter. There’s a limit to my patience at this time of night. ‘So if you would please decide.’
‘All right, I’ll stay here, but arrange immediately for some of my things to be brought to me.’
‘Of course, I will. I’ll ask a female steward to bring you what you want. Perhaps you’d make a list?’
‘My toiletries out of the bathroom, nightwear, and some slacks and a shirt for tomorrow morning. I shall expect my stateroom to be ready for my return after breakfast.’
‘I’m sure that will be possible,’ I said, maintaining the charm. That meant the plumber and Nicky would have to work overnight. I made a mental note to ask the plumber to put the old shower into a plastic bag for further examination. I was beginning to think like a cop.
I also arranged for a small cold supper tray to be delivered to the new cabin in case Miss Ember was peckish after all the trauma she had gone through, plus a small complimentary bottle of brandy. She might prefer that to Dr Mallory’s wonder pill.
When I left Miss Ember she was furiously making notes on the writing paper supplied in the cabin. She was obviously composing her letter of complaint to Head Office already.
‘Have you settled Miss Ember?’ said Samuel Mallory, catching up with me in the corridor.
‘Settled is hardly the right word,’ I said.
‘What is the right word then?’
‘She would say it was dumped. She doesn’t like the new cabin. It’s not up to her standards.’
‘To be expected. Her posh stateroom is one of the best. Naturally she doesn’t like the temporary cabin too much.’
‘It’s only for one night.’
‘Care for a nightcap and walk on deck? I know you like the night air to blow away the day’s cobwebs.’ Sam was remembering the last cruise, when these late walks together became something of a habit.
‘And there’s been plenty of
those today. The spiders have been busy,’ I agreed. ‘But, no thank you. Your job is to keep our passengers healthy, and charm the female ones. You should be circulating the bars.’
Sam’s eyes hardened for a second, then a gleam of amusement returned. ‘As you wish. Medusa has spoken.’
Medusa was a monster from Greek mythology with snakes in her hair, who could turn anyone who looked at her into stone. I thought his joke was pretty juvenile. My state of mental exhaustion prevented me from thinking up a smart reply.
‘And the snakes bite,’ I said, turning away. It was the best I could do.
‘Plenty of serum back at the dispensary.’
It was way past one but I did go for a brief deck stroll. I loved it when the decks were empty but for a few distant crew swabbing down. Everything was cleaned and polished every day. The ship must be spotless for the next day’s revels.
I leaned over the rail and watched the white-tipped waves rushing by. The captain had put on a spurt of speed, covering a good few extra miles during the night. He had a schedule to keep. The Countess always arrived on time.
This was going to be an idyllic Mediterranean cruise, lots of small islands to explore, and other sophisticated ports of call. The passengers would love it. I would love it. There were even a few places that I hadn’t seen before, and that was rare.
Tomorrow I would get to know more of the passengers. Circulate. Try to learn a few names. And no doubt collect a lot of complaints for my trouble.
Richard Norton was at my side. He appeared like a giant out of the shadows. He was six foot three. He was not a great talker, so he stood silent for a few moments.
‘I thought I’d find you up here,’ he said.
‘Blowing away the cobwebs,’ I said.
‘You ought to know that we have a celebrity on board, travelling incognito with a personal bodyguard.’
‘What fun,’ I said, immediately interested. ‘Male or female celebrity?’
‘Incognito, so we don’t know. Only the captain has the full details.’
‘Maybe it’s Madonna?’
‘I think she would take over the whole ship. That’s her style. No, it’s some other celebrity who doesn’t want to be recognized.’
Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2) Page 2
