by Ruth Ware
I frowned as I pushed the phone back in my pocket.
Could Archer have been the person who wrote the message in the steam? I thought of his strength, the hint of cruelty in his smile last night, and I felt sick at the idea of him tiptoeing past me while I slept.
“We went down to the engine room,” Ben said, almost as if reading my thoughts. “It’s three decks down, we probably passed fairly close to that exit from the spa you were talking about.”
“Would you have noticed if someone had peeled off from the group?” I asked. Ben shook his head.
“I doubt it. The engine deck was very cramped, we were all kind of strung out, slotting in and out of small spaces, the group only got back together when we got upstairs.”
I felt suddenly and nauseously claustrophobic, as if the stifling opulence of the boat were closing around me.
“I’ve got to get out,” I said. “Anywhere.”
“Lo.” Ben put a hand out towards my shoulder, but I pulled myself away from his grasping fingers and staggered towards the deck door, forcing it open against the wind.
On deck, the wind hit me in the face like a punch, and I stumbled to the rail, hanging over it, feeling the pitch of the boat. The dark gray waves stretched out like a desert—mile upon mile, stretching to the horizon, no sign of land of any kind, nor even a ship. I shut my eyes, seeing the fruitless whirling of the Internet search engine icon. There was literally no way of calling for help.
“Are you all right?” I heard over my shoulder, the words snatched by the wind. Ben had followed me. I screwed my eyes shut against the salt spray that smacked the side of the ship and shook my head.
“Lo . . .”
“Don’t touch me,” I said through gritted teeth, and then the boat went up and over a particularly big wave and I felt my stomach clench and I threw up over the rail, my stomach heaving and heaving until my eyes watered and there was nothing left but acid. I saw, with a kind of vicious pleasure, that my vomit was spattered across the hull and porthole below. Paintwork not so perfect now, I thought as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.
“Are you okay?” Ben said again from behind me, and I clenched my fists on the rail. Be nice, Lo . . .
I turned round and forced myself to nod.
“I actually feel a bit better. I’ve never been a great sailor.”
“Oh, Lo.” He put an arm around me and squeezed, and I let myself be pulled into his hug, suppressing the urge to pull away. I needed Ben on my side. I needed him to trust me, to think I trusted him. . . .
A whiff of cigarette smoke caught my nostrils and I heard the tap, tap of high heels coming along the port side of the boat.
“Oh God.” I stood up straighter, moving away from Ben almost as if it were accidental. “It’s Tina, can we go in? I can’t face her at the moment.”
Not now. Not with tears drying on my cheeks and vomit on my sleeve. It was hardly the professional, ambitious image I was trying to project.
“Sure,” Ben said solicitously, and he held open the door as we hurried inside, just as Tina rounded the corner of the deck.
After the roar of the wind the corridor was suddenly quiet, and stiflingly hot, and we watched in silence as Tina strolled to the rail and leaned over, just a few paces upwind of where I had vomited moments before.
“If you want to know the truth,” Ben said, looking out through the glass at Tina’s unconscious back, “my money would be on her. She’s a stone-cold bitch.”
I looked at him in shock. Ben had sometimes been hostile about the women he worked with, but I’d never heard such naked dislike in his voice.
“Excuse me? Because she’s an ambitious woman?”
“Not just that. You haven’t worked with her, I have. I’ve met a few careerists in my time, but she’s in another league. I swear she’d kill for a story or a promotion, and it’s women she seems to pick on. I can’t stand women like that. They’re their own worst enemy.”
I kept silent. There was something close to misogyny in his words and tone, but at the same time, it was so uncomfortably close to what Rowan had said that I wasn’t sure if I could dismiss it as just that.
But Tina had been downstairs in the spa with me when the message appeared. And then there was her defensiveness earlier this morning. . . .
“I asked her where she was last night,” I said, half reluctantly. “She was really odd. Very aggressive. She said I shouldn’t go about making enemies.”
“Oh that,” Ben said. He smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile, there was something rather unkind about it. “You won’t get her to admit it, but I happen to know she was with Josef.”
“Josef? As in, cabin attendant Josef? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. I got it from Alexander during the tour. He saw Josef tiptoeing out of Tina’s cabin in the early hours in a state of—let’s just say déshabillé.”
“Blimey.”
“Blimey indeed. Who’d have thought Josef’s devotion to passenger comfort would extend so far. He’s not really my type, but I wonder if I could persuade Ulla to do the same. . . .”
I didn’t laugh. Not with the narrow, sunless rooms just a couple of decks beneath where we were standing right now.
How far might someone go to escape their confines?
But then Tina turned from where she was smoking at the rail and caught sight of me and Ben inside the boat. She flicked her cigarette over the rail and gave me a little wink before making her way back along the deck, and I felt suddenly vile at the thought of all the men chuckling about her little adventure behind her back.
“What about Alexander, then, if it comes to that?” I said accusingly. “His cabin’s aft, along with ours. And what was he doing spying on Tina in the middle of the night?”
Ben snorted.
“Are you kidding me? He must be three hundred and fifty pounds. I can’t see him lifting an adult woman over a rail.”
“He wasn’t playing poker, so we’ve no idea where he was, apart from the fact that he was prowling around in the early hours of the morning.” I remembered, too, with a sudden chill, that he had been in the photo on Cole’s camera.
“He’s the size of a walrus. Plus he’s got a heart condition. Have you ever seen him take the stairs? Or, more to the point, heard him? He sounds like a steam train, and you start to worry when he gets to the top that he’ll kark it and fall back on you. I can’t imagine him overcoming anyone in a struggle.”
“She could have been very drunk. Or drugged. I bet anyone could tip an unconscious woman overboard—it would be just a matter of leverage.”
“If she was unconscious, then what about the scream?” Ben said, and I felt a sudden pulse of fury run through me.
“God, do you know what, I’m so fed up with everyone picking at and questioning me as if I should have the answers to all this. I don’t know, Ben. I don’t know what to think anymore. All right?”
“All right,” he said mildly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I was just thinking aloud. Alexander—”
“Taking my name in vain?” came a voice from up the corridor, and we both swung around. I felt my cheeks go scarlet. How long had Alexander been there? Had he heard my speculations?
“Oh, hello, Belhomme,” Ben said smoothly. He didn’t seem at all put out. “We were just talking about you.”
“So I heard.” Alexander drew level with us, panting slightly. Ben was right, I realized. The smallest exertion set him gasping breathlessly. “All good, I hope?”
“Of course,” Ben said. “We were just discussing dinner tonight. Lo was saying how knowledgeable you were about food.”
For a minute I couldn’t think of anything to say, stunned by how good a liar Ben had become since we were together. Or had he always been such a slick deceiver and I’d just never noticed?
Then I realized both Ben an
d Alexander were waiting for me to speak, and I stammered, “Oh, yes, remember, Alexander? You were telling me about fugu.”
“Of course. Such a thrill. I do think it’s one’s responsibility to wring every ounce of sensation out of life, don’t you? Otherwise, without that, it’s just a short, nasty, and brutal interlude until death.”
He gave a broad, slightly crocodile-like smile, and hoisted something beneath his arm. It was a book; a volume of Patricia Highsmith, I saw.
“Where are you off to?” Ben asked casually. “We’ve got a few hours free until dinner now, I think.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Alexander said confidentially. “But this color isn’t entirely natural.” He touched his—now that he mentioned it—rather walnut-colored cheek. “So I’m off to the spa for a little touch-up. My wife always says I look better with a color.”
“I didn’t know you were married,” I said, hoping my surprise wasn’t too evident in my voice. Alexander nodded.
“For my sins. Thirty-eight years this year. You get less for murder, I’m led to believe!”
He gave a slightly grating laugh, and I inwardly cringed. If he hadn’t heard what we were saying earlier, it was an odd remark. If he had heard, then it was in very poor taste indeed.
“Have a nice time in the spa,” I said at last, lamely. He smiled again.
“I will. See you at dinner!”
He was turning to go when I spoke, suddenly, compelled by an impetus I couldn’t quite dissect.
“Wait, Alexander—”
He turned, one eyebrow raised. I felt my courage falter, but I carried on.
“I—this is going to sound a little strange, but I heard some noises last night, coming from cabin ten, the one at the end of the ship. It’s supposed to be empty but there was a woman in it yesterday—only now we can’t track her down. Did you see or hear anything last night? A splash? Any other noise? Ben said you were up.”
“I was indeed up,” Alexander said dryly. “I have trouble sleeping—you do, you know, when you get to my age, and a new bed always makes the matter worse. So I slipped up on deck for a little midnight walkies. And on my way there and back I saw quite a few comings and goings. Our dear friend Tina had a little visit from our very attentive cabin crew. And that dishy Mr. Lederer was prowling round here at one stage. I don’t know what he was doing out of bounds. His cabin is at quite the other end of the ship. I did wonder if he might have been coming to see you . . . ?”
He cocked an eyebrow at me and I blushed furiously.
“No, definitely not. Could he have been going into cabin ten?”
“I didn’t see,” Alexander said regretfully. “I just caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner. On his way back to his cabin to establish an alibi for his crimes, perhaps?”
“What time did you see all this?” Ben asked. Alexander pursed his lips, thinking.
“Hmm . . . it must have been around four or four thirty, I think.”
I exchanged a glance with Ben. I had been woken up at 3:04. That meant that the sighting of Josef at four a.m. probably ruled out Tina—presumably he had been in her cabin all night. But Cole . . . what reason could he possibly have for being down at this end of the ship?
I thought again of his huge case of equipment being bumped up the gangway.
“And who was the woman I saw coming out of your cabin?” Alexander said, rather slyly, looking at Ben. Ben blinked.
“Sorry? Are you sure you have the right cabin?”
“Number eight, isn’t that right?”
“That’s mine”—Ben gave an uneasy laugh—“but I can assure you no one was in my cabin apart from me.”
“Is that so?” Alexander raised his eyebrow again, and then chuckled. “Well, if you say so. It was dark. Perhaps I mistook the cabin.” He hoisted his book under his arm again. “Well, if you have no further questions, my dears?”
“N-no . . .” I said, slightly reluctantly. “At least, not now. May I come and find you if I think of anything else?”
“Of course. In that case, adieu until dinner, when I shall emerge bronzed as a young Adonis, and basted as a Christmas turkey. Toodle pip . . .”
He puffed away, up the corridor. Ben and I watched as he rounded the corner.
“He’s the full package, isn’t he?” Ben said when he’d disappeared.
“He’s—he’s just so full-on. Do you think that character is all an act? Or is he really like that twenty-four/seven?”
“I have no idea. I suspect it started out as a bit of a pose, but it’s become second nature now.”
“And his wife—have you ever met her?”
“No. But apparently she really exists. She’s supposedly something of a dragon—daughter of a German count, and apparently quite the beauty in her day. They’ve got this incredible house in South Kensington, it’s full of original artworks—Rubens and Titians, utterly unbelievable stuff. It was featured in Hello! a while back and there were all these rumors that they were actually looted Nazi stuff and they got a tap on the shoulder from the IFAR, but I think that’s bollocks.”
“I can’t work out whether he said anything useful.” I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to scrub away the weariness that was starting to settle over me like a black cloud. “That stuff about Cole, that was weird, right?”
“Y-yes . . . I guess. But if it was around four, does that really help? And, to be honest, I’m starting to think that he’s maybe just making stuff up for effect. That thing about me having a girl in my cabin was pure bollocks. You do believe that, right?”
“I—” I felt a lump rise in my throat. I was so tired. I was so tired. But I couldn’t rest. Jesus, so much for this trip being the making of my career. If I carried on causing trouble like this I could end up with an address book full of enemies, not contacts. “Yes, of course,” I managed. Ben looked at me, as if trying to gauge whether I was telling the truth.
“Good,” he said at last. “Because, I swear, there was no one in my cabin. Unless someone got in while I was out, of course.”
“Do you think he heard us?” I asked, more to change the subject than because I wanted to know. “Before, I mean. The way he came round that corner—you wouldn’t think someone so big could creep up on you like that.”
Ben shrugged.
“I doubt it. I don’t think he’s the type to hold a grudge, anyway.”
I said nothing, but inwardly I wasn’t sure I agreed. Alexander struck me as exactly the type to hold a grudge, and enjoy holding it, too.
“What do you want to do now?” Ben asked. “Want me to come with you to find Bullmer?”
I shook my head. I needed to go back to my cabin, get some food inside me. And besides, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted Ben to come with me to see Lord Bullmer.
- CHAPTER 19 -
The door to my cabin was locked, but inside an open sandwich was resting on a room service tray on the dressing table, alongside a bottle of mineral water. It had been there some time, judging by the runnels of condensation on the side.
I wasn’t hungry, but I’d had nothing since breakfast, and most of that I’d thrown up, so I sat and forced myself to eat it. It was prawn and hard-boiled egg on heavy rye bread, and as I chewed it, I watched the sea rise and fall outside the window, its ceaseless movement echoing the restless thoughts that were running around inside my head.
Cole, Alexander, and Archer had actually been in the same room as that girl—I was almost sure of it. Her face had been turned away from the camera, and it was hard for me to remember the brief flash of features I’d seen through the open cabin door yesterday, but the jolt of recognition I had felt when I saw the picture had been like an electric shock—I had to hang on to that certainty.
Archer at least had an alibi—but I was beginning to realize that it was one that rested entirely on Ben’s evidence, and that he had his o
wn reasons for wanting that room to be secure. And no matter how you spun it, he had deliberately lied to me. If it hadn’t been for Cole’s chance remark, I would never have known that Ben himself had left the cabin.
But Ben. Ben? Surely not. If I could trust anyone on board this boat it had to be him, right?
I wasn’t sure anymore.
I swallowed the final crust of bread, wiped my fingers on the napkin, and stood, feeling the rock and sway of the boat beneath me. While I’d eaten, a sea mist had crept in, and the room had become darker, so I switched on the light before checking my phone. There was nothing there—nothing from Judah, either. I refreshed, hoping without hope for an e-mail from someone, anyone. I didn’t dare think about Judah—about what his silence meant.
When the CONNECTION FAILED notification came up, I felt a shift in my stomach that was mingled fear and relief. Relief because it meant that perhaps, just perhaps, Judah had been trying to contact me. That his silence didn’t mean what I feared it might.
But fear because the longer the Internet was down, the more I was starting to think that someone was deliberately trying to stop me from accessing the Web. And that was starting to make me feel very worried indeed.
The door to suite 1, Nobel, was the same anonymous white wood as the rest of the cabin doors, but you could tell from the fact that it was by itself in the prow of the boat, with a blank expanse of corridor stretching away behind us, that it must be something pretty special.
I knocked, cautiously. I’m not sure what I expected—Richard Bullmer, or perhaps even a maid, neither would have surprised me. But I was thrown completely when the door opened and Anne Bullmer was standing there.
She had clearly been crying, her dark eyes rimmed with red and circled with deep shadows, and there were traces still on her gaunt cheeks.
I blinked, completely losing the thread of the carefully prepared request I’d rehearsed in my head. Phrases skittered through my mind, each more inappropriate and impossible than the other: Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?
