‘It’s in here, in here,’ she gabbled, taking me into the bedroom area. It had a king-sized bed, with blue quilted coverlet. One wall was entirely wardrobe drawers, shelves and hanging space. A door was swinging open, making a very slight noise.
‘Look inside,’ she cried. ‘Look inside.’
So I did.
And wished I hadn’t.
It was a very large dead rat, lying on top of a rack of evening shoes, its tail twisted round a gold strap. It looked sacrificial.
Ships often had rats but cruise ships kept them under control. We even had a pest officer on board. He was called immediately. But how could a rat have reached A Deck? If we had any, they were in the nether regions, where neither man nor cat would venture. I didn’t know if we had a ship’s cat.
‘This is very serious, Miss Ember. I will look into it immediately, but the purser needs to be informed. Cabins are not really my responsibility.’
‘But you are the only one I trust. You listen to me.’
‘Don’t worry. Come and sit down. It’ll soon be sorted out.’
‘I’m not staying here if rats are running round my stateroom. I want another cabin. I want a suite.’
‘I think it’s dead.’
She shrieked. She was wearing a Karl Lagerfeld ruffle-front blouse and high waisted trousers, and Christian Louboutin boots, nothing exactly picked up from charity shop rails. She was a mystery. Lucinda Ember looked as if she had money to spend, yet my instinct told me that she was trying to rip off Conway Blue Line. It happened sometimes and I had a feeling of apprehension. And it wasn’t only her name. I had a fear of fire. Fire on board ship is our worst nightmare.
Passengers often complain about the strangest things. It was a sort of game, them versus us. The majority paid the fare without a single grouse. One lecturer worked it out that mile for mile, it was cheaper than riding on the London Underground system, even with an Oyster card. It was hard to beat that.
But others wanted to take the company to court for every speck of dust, every sleepless night, every bowl of cold soup. They wasted the enjoyment of the cruise thinking up a mountain of minor complaints. They could not wait to get home and switch on the computer and start a new file marked Complaints.
‘Why not come on deck while this is sorted out?’ I suggested. ‘We’re passing some lovely scenery. Let’s sit on deck and enjoy it.’
‘You can’t fob me off with lovely scenery,’ she wailed, wringing her hands. ‘I know my rights.’
I didn’t really know what to do with her. We would soon be in Palma and perhaps the thriving capital of Majorca would distract her from rodent problems. No other stateroom was available for her. We were fully booked. There was no obvious solution.
I took Miss Ember on deck and ordered Buck’s Fizz from an ever-attentive stewardess. It was a bit early for me but the drink was welcome, nevertheless. The drinks came with complimentary bags of nuts. They might be my supper.
‘What’s happening?’ Miss Ember went on. ‘Someone has got it in for me.’
‘I don’t think so. Surely you don’t have any enemies?’ I asked.
She was taken aback for a second. ‘No, of course not. I’ve no enemies as far as I know. I’m an ordinary citizen.’
‘So this is a well-earned holiday?’ I probed. No personal questions was one of the ten commandments. But I needed to know more about her.
‘You can say that again. I’m a teacher. I teach maths. It’s the number one most hated subject on the curriculum. Nobody pays any attention in class. The pupils talk, text each other, go to sleep. Yet we all need to know how to add up, subtract, multiply. It hasn’t sunk into the wooden heads of today’s pupils. They think a calculator will do everything. Shop with a calculator. Buy a house with a calculator. Get a mortgage with a calculator.’
She had a point. I could understand the frustration.
‘And this is your special holiday, a retirement treat perhaps?’
She looked insulted. ‘I haven’t retired. How old do you think I am? Cruising is my hobby. I love the sea, ships, seeing the world.’
She sounded a lot like me. I love the sea, ships, seeing the world. Except that I worked and she paid. A slight difference in status.
‘I am at a loss to know what we can do for you,’ I said. My Buck’s Fizz was of nuclear-strength. Perhaps the barman thought I needed extra voltage. ‘We don’t have another stateroom available. We could fly you home from Palma, if you want to do that. And no doubt Head Office would refund your fare.’
‘No, I don’t want to go home,’ she said sharply. ‘You can’t fob me off with that. I want to see Elba, Corsica and all the other ports of call.’
‘Of course, I quite understand. We’ll see what we can do.’
Nothing would appease her, as far as I could see. It was the purser’s nightmare. He’d have to sort it out. Find some superior cabin that would suit her. All I could do was calm her down and keep her occupied. She needed a companion, someone who would help her maintain a sense of humour in the situation. Someone like me. But I was not going to volunteer.
‘Isn’t it a beautiful day?’ I tried in cruise-speak.
‘As long as you don’t have a dead rat in your wardrobe,’ she retorted.
I was going off Miss Ember. There was a limit to my sympathy. How could I remove her from my back so that I could get on with my work? I downed the rest of my Buck’s Fizz in a slurp. Slurps are good. I even smiled at Miss Ember as I got up.
‘Let me go and see what I can do,’ I said, lying through my pearlies. ‘Maybe one of the officers would move out of his quarters.’
Like the captain.
She didn’t know that they had cramped cabins. I’d seen Dr Mallory’s and although it was well furnished with wood panelling, he had few comforts and hardly enough room to swing a rat, sorry, a cat. And he had shelves of medical books. It was a bachelor pad.
I escaped to my office. There were a dozen emails to answer. Head Office seemed to think I sat there all day, waiting for incoming mail.
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘The singer due to join us tomorrow in Palma has become pregnant and won’t fly. They are sending out a replacement, an X-Factor contestant called Judy Garland. No, it can’t be Judy Garland. Surely no one would dare call themselves after her. She was a real star.’ I held my head in despair.
Lee leaned over my computer screen. ‘She calls herself Judie Garllund, weirdly different spelling, obviously something her agent has thought up.’
‘What a nerve. No one has ever been able to sing like Judy Garland, not even her daughter, Liza Minnelli, and she was pretty good.’
‘Perhaps it is her real name,’ said Lee, chewing on a biro. It would stain his teeth blue. ‘I bet there are dozens of Judy Garlands around this world.’
‘But not on this ship.’
I was prepared to dislike her from day one. No one should use the name of an icon, especially a dead icon. I put my head on my desk. Sleep waves were closing my eyes in an iron grip. I could hardly keep them open. I was fighting myself. I blamed the Buck’s Fizz.
‘Someone didn’t get enough sleep,’ said Lee with sympathy.
‘It was a very late night,’ I said. ‘Dripping blood, etc.’
‘I heard about it.’
‘And now it’s a dead rat. Nothing is secret on a ship. I’m warning you. Everyone is watching you. Passengers watch the crew. And the crew watch the passengers. No one is immune. You’ve only got to break a toenail and it’s round the ship in half an hour.’
He grinned. ‘I’ll keep my feet covered.’
‘Would you like some time ashore in Palma?’ I asked. ‘As this is your first trip with us, I don’t want you to feel overworked. I can manage the arrival of Ms Garllund, whatever she calls herself.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’d like that.’
I’d been to Palma many times. It was one of my favourite ports of call, but I could give it a miss for once. The great cathedral, Sa Seu, would be t
here another time, glorious and Gothic, dominating the skyline. If only we knew what life had been like during the building of that superbly sited edifice. I tried to image the stonemasons in the fourteenth century, the bustle of carvers, the wooden scaffolding, the support carpenters, the sprawling village of lowly housing, the pigs, the cattle, the taverns with beer and women, detritus strewn through the narrow streets.
They little knew that their long years of work would become a paying tourist attraction, that living statues would stand immobile in the burning sun, a hundred cameras at the ready. It had once been built to the glory of God, now it was a shrine to the glory of commerce. Now you had to pay to view the glory of God.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘The forecast is fine with clear skies. You’ll enjoy it.’
I was getting this strangled feeling. I could not pin it down to anything — indigestion, homesickness, loneliness. Yet all these maladies existed. Everyone thought 1 was so cool and calm and yet inside I could be a turmoil of emotions. Sometimes I couldn’t untwist the turmoil or find any answer waiting there. Things were never the same, no promises kept. Memories drifted and faded, recalling the fun of childhood. A childhood long gone, enduring four older brothers and carefree river days. I could steer a raft at four.
It was as if someone had altered the scenery overnight and every day was a new beginning. I had to struggle to find myself as an adult.
‘Casey? Are you all right?’
Our Dr Mallory was now kitted out, full dress uniform, to sit at his table of eight, first sitting, order wine, talk to the lonesome, chat up the winsome, make everyone feel at ease and laugh. He had those special glittery eyes. Some passengers invented slight indispositions in order to bathe in those eyes. It was forgivable. I had never seen a man with such laser eyes. I wondered if he was born with them, used them to good effect at nursery school, comprehensive, university, accident and emergency.
‘Ah, Sam,’ I said, using his streetwise name. ‘Have you come to save me from catastrophe?’
‘Are you expecting something to happen?’ He looked mildly concerned. ‘Shall I take your pulse?’
‘I can feel it in the air,’ I said.
‘Too much Buck’s Fizz,’ he said.
‘Not funny,’ I said. ‘Dripping blood, dead rats, what next? What do you suggest, Dr Mallory?’
I needed more than this from him. Samuel Mallory had been my saviour during the last cruise. I expected some sort of rapport now, not that I was looking for anything more, anything romantic, anything permanent.
All I wanted was support. Pretty mundane and ordinary.
‘I suggest you go dancing with your new deputy, the neatly-built Lee Williams,’ he said mildly. ‘He looks the perfect partner for midnight strolls on deck and late-night heart-to-hearts.’
This was a new and distant Dr Mallory. He puzzled me. Was he a mite jealous? He was giving me the brush off in the politest way, as if all the traumas of the last cruise had never happened. If that’s how he wanted it, then I would go along with whatever he wanted, try to forget how kind and caring he had been. Perhaps I had imagined the whole scenario.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll take your advice.’
Soon we would be approaching the end of the Ancient World. It’s where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea and medieval sailors thought the sea ended. In the early morning we would round Cape St Vincent and sail southwards towards the Strait of Gibraltar, heading towards Palma.
Sam went to eat at his table and I went to introduce the next spectacular show, Me and My Girl. It was a good show with great songs, and it was no hardship to sing its virtues. My dress was a Pucci turquoise silk with a silver belt. Very classy. Very expensive. I tried to forget how much it cost.
I did my usual circulation between shows, including catching a few mouthfuls at my table in the Windsor Dining Room. The food was out of this world. Officers were expected to host tables for at least a few meals. Passengers understood that we also had to work. It was a juggling act. There was always so much that needed checking. Quiz nights, ballroom dancing, disco, the casino, films, cabaret acts as well as the spectacular. No wonder passengers got worn out and caught up with their sleep on deck. I’d always watch a late film. Maybe I was born during a matinee at our local, the Dome. My mother would never admit it.
The cruise was going well, apart from the leaky shower and a stray rat. It couldn’t last. I still had this uncanny feeling of distrust. Some passengers died on a cruise. It was one of the hazards. They came on-board, elderly and frail, and maybe it was a good way to go, after a lovely day at sea and a wonderful meal.
Dr Mallory passed me in a corridor but he didn’t stop and talk. He merely nodded and moved on. This was not like him at all. It gutted me. What had I done to deserve this freeze-out?
Then he turned round. ‘Nice dress,’ he said, and walked on.
What did he think I was? A clothes hanger?
I was up on deck, taking my customary late night stroll, alone. The dark blue sea was rushing by as the captain made up a few miles overnight. The night sea and the night sky were magical. All those stars, twinkling away in a vast hemisphere of black velvet. Could they see us? What did they think of us?
I felt a difference in the vibration of the ship. The Countess and I were as one sometimes. She was slowing down. I could feel the sluggishness. I heard bells ringing, not the emergency count, but something different.
Then I knew what it was. Dead Slow Ahead.
For some reason, in the middle of the night, we were coming to a halt in the middle of the ocean. This huge ship was slowing down and coming to a complete halt. I kept back, well out of the way, as crew and officers began to gather starboard.
Something was happening. It wouldn’t be in the ship’s newspaper because I had already sent it to press. What did they expect me to do? Sub all night?
The great ship shuddered, still riding the waves, but not moving. I heard one of the lifeboats being winched down. It made a lot of noise, despite being well oiled and in perfect condition.
There were voices but I couldn’t make out any of the words. I saw some figures clambering aboard, blankets being thrown over them. Then I saw a very small rowing boat being winched up on a hoist. It looked as if it was on its last legs, wood rotten, gaping holes, no oars. Had we made a flamboyant rescue? Saved some souls from the depths. Hallelujah.
I could smell their fear. The figures were exhausted, being helped to stand, being rubbed, given drinks.
Dr Mallory was on deck now, medical bag at the ready. The survivors were immediately hustled below decks. The lifeboat was winched back to its moorings. Crew were washing it down. The rowing boat had disappeared. Was I dreaming? In minutes it was as if nothing had happened.
Nobody noticed me in the shadows.
But I had seen it. I had been there. It had happened. I’d find out about it tomorrow.
Five
Palma
Everyone clammed up. I couldn’t get a word of sense out of Richard Norton or Dr Mallory. They denied knowing anything, put on blank faces, and walked away. But I knew I was not wrong. I had been there. I saw it happening.
None of my friends among the crew admitted anything. ‘You must have imagined it,’ they said.
The passengers were unaware that anything unusual had occurred. They didn’t know that we now had extra passengers. Names unknown, nationalities unknown. This plus our incognito celebrity made me very nervous. Call it intuition, call it imagination, call it sitting through too many films. We didn’t want shutterbugs on the dockside at every port, filming shots for the tabloids.
Label it what you will, something wasn’t right. I had been the only witness but I kept quiet about where I had been hovering. If things were that tight, I didn’t want to be in the firing line. I would find out in my own good time. I always did, didn’t I?
We had passed south of Isla Formentera and Ibiza and made our approach to the harbour of Palma by eight. We were fast alongside
by nine.
I had once spent a delightful day on the nudist beach on Formentera. 1 walked for miles before there was a solitary patch for my beach towel. The sturdy Germans without even a thong did alarm me at first, but I got used to it. I mean, after you’ve seen one …
The water had been idyllic, clear, clean and blue. I swam topless but no one saw me. I was well past the lighthouse. No one had the energy to walk that far in the heat. I made it back to the quayside and the waiting tenders in good time. The sun was sizzling and my skin was not for burning.
*
‘Didn’t I hear a lifeboat being winched down in the night?’ I asked Richard Norton again, in passing. ‘Man overboard, was it? Did one of the crew slip on his mop?’
He shook his head. ‘Your imagination, Casey, is what’s overboard. You were dreaming.’
‘One of the lifeboats is decidedly damp this morning.’
‘Dew, my dear. Dew.’
I’d never heard of dew on board ship. Dew was a land thing, wasn’t it? I knew that frost was frozen dew. But I didn’t press the point.
Mrs Fairweather waved to me from a deckchair placed against the rails on the promenade deck. She had a pile of books beside her from the ship’s library, and a tapestry holdall from which a pair of knitting needles were protruding.
‘Miss Jones, don’t tell me if you think I am being an old busybody, but I understand a poor lady travelling on her own has found a mouse in her cabin. How awful. One simply can’t imagine a mouse running about on the Countess. Everything is always so spic and span.’
I didn’t tell her that it wasn’t a mouse. ‘It is a clean ship,’ I said. ‘Spotlessly clean. Every inch is washed, vacuumed, polished or dusted every day.’
‘I know. There’s always someone around, working with a duster.’
‘And through the night.’
‘Then it must have been a joke,’ she went on. ‘But not a very nice one.’
‘In very poor taste,’ I agreed.
Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2) Page 4
