Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2)

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘Professor Papados took some photographs on his mobile, which I asked him to do. He didn’t have time to get them to me. I don’t know if he even had time to get them printed. But I would like to have them.’

  ‘Photographs of what?’

  This man was seriously slow. He was an ex-Marine. Perhaps he got an extra hard bump on the head in some muddy manoeuvre.

  ‘The model in the Bond Street shop window. The model who was wearing Miss Ember’s Chanel gown. The model whose feet were dripping with blood.’

  I spelled it out to him.

  Richard heaved a sigh of relief. ‘It’s not very serious then, is it? I mean, it doesn’t matter whether we get these photos or not. It was just a prank.’

  ‘Quite a nasty prank. Those photos might hold a clue as to who did it.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I think we can call off the search for the mobile,’ he grinned as if in a Western movie. He got up. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with your entertainers while I do the serious stuff.’ He went out, laughing. Not sympathetic, at all.

  I wandered up and down the tiers of the theatre, wasting my time waiting for Judie Garllund. I had better things to do. My computer was bulking up with emails. They all had to be dealt with before I could go ashore.

  Now, I am all for artistes being dead serious about their work, and I had dealt with some divas in my time. But this woman was in a class of her own. I think she thought she was Judy Garland. A reincarnation, perhaps? I had not heard her sing The Trolley Song or Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I’d not heard her sing at all. It was becoming a worry.

  *

  Judie Garllund arrived, bursting through the doors with an armful of music. She was geared up in a floral dress with fishnet stockings and a big straw hat. Her face was fully made-up — false lashes, hair extensions — for a rehearsal?

  ‘Where are the musicians?’ she said, not even acknowledging my presence. I said nothing, went down the carpeted stairs, taking my time, wondering what would happen next, and sat myself in a comfy armchair.

  ‘Did you arrange for the band to be here, this morning, at …?’ I looked at my watch. I’d been growing nails for such an occasion. ‘Nine twenty a.m.?’

  She looked blank. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your musicians. Did you ask them to rehearse with you this morning? It is normal procedure to make your own arrangements for extra rehearsals. Of course, they may be ashore by now. Toulon is a really pretty port to explore.’

  She began foot-tapping and pacing. ‘No one told me that. You said nothing about making my own arrangements.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were having an extra rehearsal this morning. You’ve had your scheduled rehearsal time. There’s your Juliet balcony, as requested. I hope it suits you.’

  She didn’t even look at it. She was looking anywhere but at the balcony. It was absurd behaviour. Her music fell to the floor and I went down to help her pick the sheets up. I glanced at some of the titles. They seemed an odd ball collection, not a show with a theme.

  ‘So what exactly do you call your show?’ I asked. ‘Does it have a theme?’

  ‘It’s called Judie Garllund and Songs,’ she said.

  ‘Very snappy,’ I said. ‘We have you down as Judie Garllund and Movie Greats in the ship’s newspaper. At least, that’s what Head Office told us to put. Do you remember giving them your programme?’

  I was beginning to tire of this pantomime. I was here. She’d got her balcony. I could leave now and get on with the morning’s schedule. Suddenly she launched herself at me, banging at my face with her fists.

  ‘This is all your fault,’ she shrieked. ‘You’re trying to make me look a fool. I won’t have it. I want to see your superior.’

  I managed to dodge her blows. ‘You’re looking at my superior,’ I said. ‘I am in charge. I’m not trying to make you look a fool. You’re doing that very well by yourself.’

  She hit me again. Her nails were sharp. This was becoming a cruise awash with blood. At least now it was my own blood dripping down my face. I tasted it on my lips. It had a melon flavour.

  Nine

  Toulon

  ‘Hell hath no fury like a Juliet scorned,’ said Dr Mallory, dabbing at my scratches. ‘My nurse should really be doing this but she’s a little squeamish about theatrical fights. It must be hereditary.’

  ‘It wasn’t a fight. I never touched her.’

  ‘Don’t worry. There are reliable witnesses. She went for you, although we don’t know what you said. It might have been provocative.’

  ‘It was completely unprovoked.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the way you look, so cool and confident, in your uniform. Whereas she is the opposite. You know, shapeless, useless and a mess. Do you know where she went?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Trevor dragged her off me and at first I couldn’t see because of the blood in my eyes. Perhaps she’s gone ashore.’

  Dr Mallory attached a butterfly strip to the cut on my forehead. ‘There, you can hardly see any difference. The grazes will soon heal. No makeup for a couple of days.’

  ‘I look awful,’ I said, regarding my new face in a mirror. ‘Swollen, red and bruised.’

  ‘More for the grapevine to speculate over at drinks time.’

  ‘I am beginning to think that providing topics for gossip is my main role on this ship,’ I said, pulling a streaky fringe of hair down over the cut. It bounced back. I needed some mousse or gel. ‘What about that blood on the model’s foot? Have you had time to test it?’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t done it yet.’

  ‘Do you have a stock of blood donor’s sachets in your surgery? Have you checked them?’

  ‘Now, there’s a thought. No, I haven’t, but it’s next on my list. I’d assumed that the person putting the dress on the model had a nose bleed.’

  ‘I think it’s more sinister than that.’ I was feeling low and depressed.

  Dr Mallory patted my hand in an irritatingly paternal way. ‘You concentrate on your gorgeous stage shows and leave all the sleuthing to me. As you know, it’s become a fixation with me, solving all the problems you create.’

  ‘Now that’s not fair. I don’t create the problems. They seem to land on my plate.’ But those eyes were twinkling and I knew he didn’t mean it. He was taking a rise out of me to see if I would respond.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, getting up to clear the debris off his surgical tray. ‘That’s sparked you up a bit. I don’t like seeing you look so down, especially when the beautiful harbour of Toulon is still on our doorstep. Isn’t it a lovely place?’

  The medical centre was well equipped with its own dispensary, microscopic equipment, X-ray and treatment room, two bedded wards for passengers and separate accommodation for crew. There was an emergency room with ECG equipment, oxygen, ventilators and sea rescue outfits. The second sister was also a trained midwife, which could be useful. We had several passengers with baby bumps. Further down the spotless white corridor and discreetly out of sight was the operating theatre, and further still, tucked away, the morgue.

  ‘Thank you for doing my face,’ I said.

  ‘Anytime, but not too often,’ he said.

  I took a lunchtime break to walk round the harbour. It was bathed in sunshine and the streets were cheerful and elegant. I walked further into town and at every street corner was a café with people outside enjoying a liquid lunch. It was getting hot and I saw a young woman cooling her legs in a circular fountain, her black, strappy dress hitched up to her thighs. She smiled at me. I was almost tempted to join her. A breeze blew some of the water in my direction. The spray flew like diamond droplets through the air.

  I sat in the shade under the Three Dolphins fountain for a few moments before retracing my steps and going back to the Countess. I couldn’t really spare any longer. Work still awaited me.

  There might be an email about a new lecturer to replace poor Professor Papados. I also wanted to know about the arrangements for his body. He mi
ght have a wife or family who would want a funeral in his hometown. There were several options.

  Head Office had not wasted any time. They had a possible replacement but could not confirm it until the following day. We now had several consecutive ports of call so there was no urgency. There are no lectures on port days. A breathing space.

  But I still had to deal with the volatile Miss Judie Garllund. There was no question of bringing a charge against her, despite the viciousness of her attack on me. I was not badly hurt, having dodged most of the blows, due to my dance training and her inaccuracy. But her whereabouts was my responsibility. We could not have her causing mayhem in the dining room, throwing forks about or thumping people with wine coolers.

  I decided to have the purser confine her to her cabin for the time being. It seemed safer. We would postpone her show until she had calmed down or showed some remorse. A letter of apology would go a long way.

  But Madame had taken herself off to her cabin, locked herself in, and was only answering the door to room service. I hoped she enjoyed the in-house movies. They ran the same film endlessly until the morning change of programme.

  Miss Ember phoned. She wanted her Chanel dress dry-cleaned but did not trust the on-ship cleaners. ‘They wouldn’t know what to do with a dress as special as mine,’ she said. ‘Will you take it ashore at St Tropez tomorrow and find some specialist shop? They must have one with all those stars living around there. People like Posh and Becks wouldn’t take their clothes to any old dry-cleaners.’

  I doubted if they even bothered with dry-cleaning. They probably bought new. Now this was a dilemma. It was not part of my duties as entertainments director to run shore errands for passengers. I was there to make sure they were entertained and happily occupied. But I could see her point of view.

  St Tropez was not a docking port. It meant climbing in and out of a tender on a possibly choppy sea, and it might be a problem carrying a heavy dress. Miss Ember didn’t want to spend the day ashore looking for a specialist dry-cleaners. I could find out an address from our port agent. They always knew everything.

  I couldn’t understand why she wanted it cleaned. No one had worn it, only a polystyrene dummy. The thought of someone even touching her vintage dress must be giving her the wobbles.

  ‘All right,’ I said, stifling a sigh. ‘I hope I shall have time. I’ll get the one hour service.’

  ‘And the company will pick up the bill?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Then it twigged. The cost would be expensive. One less bill for when she got home. She’d probably throw in a few extras to have cleaned at the same time.

  And she did. She added a long evening skirt and a pashmina that she said had touched the dead rat in the wardrobe.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly wear them again after having touched a rat,’ she shivered as she handed over the clothes. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Casey?’

  Did I mind? What could I say?

  *

  Watching the Countess leave Toulon was an exercise in brilliant seamanship. She was tight against the quay, port side, with hardly any room to manoeuvre. She could not back off the berth because the curving stone quay was too close for comfort. Instead, inch by inch, the captain eased the stem away till it was clear of the stone wall, swung the ship bow to port, then reversed diagonally out of the harbour mouth.

  This was real seamanship, easing the huge ship away with a gentle and delicate touch, as if she was a mere feather on the water. I wanted to applaud.

  Once the Countess was clear of the harbour, she could steam forward and set course towards St Tropez. It was a beautiful evening with a light scattering of cloud and a moderate southeasterly wind. As I watched Toulon growing smaller and fainter, I hoped that another time, perhaps, I would be able to go ashore without a bashed-up face, and really explore its delights.

  I wondered if the young woman in the strappy dress was still bathing her legs in the fountain, or was she by now meeting her boyfriend at one of cafés? Were they holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes?

  We saw, watched and observed so many people in other countries, if only for a moment, whose lives went on after we had gone. We were transient, yet sometimes we were affected by what we saw. The carefree attitude of that young woman had touched me. I wanted to be free like her.

  I once rescued a puppy, nose stuck down a roadside hole, on a Greek island. The more it panicked and scrabbled about, the deeper it got stuck. I dug it out with a plastic spoon and fork begged from a nearby café. I found its mother chained to a nearby tree, without water. The rescue task continued with hunting for a plastic food container and filling it with water. It took all afternoon. I only just made it back to the ship and my work as deputy entertainments director on that line. Even then, back in the early years, I cut it fine, returning to the ship. Time I learned. A case of arrested development.

  Mrs Fairweather returned late to the ship, but without Miss Ember. I met her struggling through the reception area. She was laden with shopping.

  ‘Wonderful day,’ she said, struggling with her bags. ‘Lovely shops. Such pretty things. I’ve got a lot of grandchildren.’ I took some of her bags as she tried to get into the lift and find the deck button at the same time.

  ‘So Toulon is the tops?’

  ‘Yes, I really like it. A very pretty place.’

  ‘And Miss Ember? Is she back on board?’

  ‘Yes, Lucinda came back hours ago. The heat was too much for her. She said she had to look for something she had lost.’

  ‘The purser’s office has all the lost property. She should ask them.’

  ‘I’ll tell her. I don’t know what she has lost.’ The lift reached A Deck and Mrs Fairweather staggered out with her shopping. ‘Thank you so much, my dear. I can manage from here. Have you done something to your face? You look a bit different.’ She was so diplomatic.

  ‘Just a tiny accident,’ I said. ‘Walked into a door.’

  ‘You should be more careful.’

  It wasn’t far to the Terrace Café so I took the opportunity of a quick cup of coffee and a calorific eclair. Cruel that something so light and delicious could be lethal.

  Lee met me and his face lit up. ‘Glad you are all right,’ he said. ‘I heard about the fracas. Thought you might be wounded beyond recognition. Would you like me to do both the evening shows?’

  ‘Now that would be really helpful, since our resident doctor has barred make-up and I can’t go on stage without a few dabs of concealer.’

  ‘All you ever need is mascara,’ said Lee, soothing my ego instantly. What a lovely man. ‘Why not take it easy for the evening?’

  ‘Shall I do your quiz night? Is that a fair swap?’

  Lee looked relieved. ‘That would be great. We have some competitive teams and I was in danger of being lynched last night because of a decision I made on an answer.’

  The quiz was always popular and some of our passengers were pub quiz regulars and knew practically everything, from geography to sport and back again. It would make a change — I could host my dinner table without rushing away and dress smart casual.

  I laughed. ‘I won’t make any controversial decisions but agree with the majority. It’ll be fun. Thanks a lot, Lee.’

  Smart casual was a pair of white linen trousers, a silk camisole top in pale turquoise and a shimmer jacket. All from M & S, their spring collection. Flat sandals with a butterfly bow. My feet were grateful to be spared heels.

  Everyone was politely curious. My face was the main topic of conversation at the table till the starter courses arrived. What everyone was having was discussed and compared for taste, appearance and acceptability. It was always the way. Everyone wanted to try the other dishes, like a panel game. My starter was crumbled avocado topped with shrimps in a pine nut sauce. The rest of the meal was a gastronomic haze.

  *

  The upstairs bridge bar was packed with teams ready to pit their wits against each other. Some were quiz addicts. Some w
ere volunteers or press-ganged to make up numbers. Most teams were six strong.

  I knew I was going to enjoy this. I had all the answers.

  ‘For our new quiz-corners, let me explain briefly the elements of this quiz,’ I said, seating myself at the centre table with all the questions neatly stacked in front of me. They were produced for the company by an expert quiz master for each cruise.

  ‘There are eight sections — general knowledge, movies, geography, history, music, television and sport. And the very popular faces section. Each section carries a maximum of five points, with the exception of music and faces which are worth ten each. So the total number of points is fifty. First prize is this excellent bottle of champagne. Second and third prizes are bottles of wine.’

  The audience cheered, already happy and well-fed after a good meal with wine. They had pens and answer papers at the ready, drinks on the table, brains unzipped and ready to go.

  ‘General knowledge, first question,’ I announced in the hush. ‘Who won the Nobel Prize for Literature this week?’

  I liked doing the quiz, especially when I had the answers in front of me. I even managed to work the CD player for the snatches of music, which was a first for me. CDs usually came apart in my hands. ‘We want the title or the band,’ I said. I didn’t know any of them. Not my era.

  Then I handed out the sheet of ten celebrity faces. One sheet to each team. The celebrities were from all walks of life. Pop, politics, TV, films, theatre, finance and of course, royal families from around the world. Some of the photos were taken a long time ago and that’s when it became difficult. Queen Elizabeth, as a little girl, standing by her dolls’ house, was one of them. The buxom girlie tabloid celebrities all looked the same to me. I could do this section, had a stab, some guesswork. Got nine of them right.

  I collected in the answer sheets and put on some music while I retired to a nearby side room to mark them. There was a swift advance to the bar to top up drinks.

  ‘Don’t be too long, Casey,’ some wag called out. ‘We can’t wait forever for that champagne.’