But I was hoping that I could fly home from somewhere when they found someone permanent to take over the deputy post. They would not want to be paying my full salary for the deputy post any longer than was necessary.
And the missing passenger. Who was he? Were the two events linked? My nose said yes, but all the evidence said no, apparently. What evidence? I’d only been told that they didn’t know each other.
First step was to contact the ship’s security officer. He was the arm of the law on board, but only the arm. No legs or feet or real authority. He could deal with small infringements of conduct: drunkenness, abusive behaviour, fights and marital disputes. Anything really serious, and a detective would be flown out from the UK and local police from the nearest port would board the ship.
Detective Chief Inspector Bruce Everton from Scotland Yard had been a lifesaver when he flew out to join the Georgina following the murder of Dora Belcher, a passenger found with head injuries. He’d given me his personal email address when he left the ship at Lisbon and we’d exchanged a few messages. I’d resisted the temptation to move the friendship up a notch. We were worlds apart and there was that stupid age difference. As if a few grey hairs had any significance. I was the one who was old before her time. I was ageing fast.
*
‘Haven’t you finished that yet?’ Pierre Arbour was back to pour a cup of coffee. He didn’t offer me one, only stood and watched me.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I can do these things in my sleep. It may be full of mistakes, since I don’t know the venues, artists, lecturers or craft teachers. Perhaps you could check it over. Or is it wall-to-wall bingo tomorrow?’
‘There are no lectures tomorrow. We have the whole day in port. So you need the excursion details from their office.’
‘Thank you for reminding me,’ I said. ‘Eighteen hours is tomorrow’s departure time.’
‘Is that why Tracy Coleman went missing? Did you forget to remind her of the departure time? Perhaps she thought, mistakenly, that there was an extra day in port as well. San Francisco is that sort of place. You need two days at least to wander around, get the atmosphere.’
Pierre Arbour did not look pleased. Maybe I was close to the truth. Getting left behind was everyone’s nightmare — crew and passengers. I tried never to cut it fine, but there had been times when I’d made an undignified late boarding. Once in Venice, a couple missed the last launch back and hired a water taxi to take them to the ship, fast. The water taxi was stopped by the police for speeding. But at least the ship did not depart without them, and the passengers enjoyed watching the couple’s late arrival with a police escort.
‘I need that programme ready in twenty minutes. I suggest you attend to your work and forget wild assumptions about Tracy’s disappearance. I’ve enough worries without your inefficiency added to them.’
I tried not to grit my teeth; it adds lines. This was going to be one hell of a cruise. ‘Are you introducing the show tonight?’ I asked, all innocence.
‘Of course I am. It’s a spectacular, a big show. You only get the minor shows to do or when I’m doing something else. I get to dine at the captain’s table quite frequently. You can do it then. Have you brought a decent frock?’
At that moment I was quite ready to jump ship and join Tracy in whatever waitress job she’d found in a fish restaurant in the harbour area. Then I thought of my flat in Worthing which I had worked so hard to buy. And I had to work even harder to pay off the mortgage and the council tax.
‘Several. I collect frocks.’
I made it sound faintly rural, all smocking and broderie anglaise without the bonnets. He could think what he liked. He probably had an Armani dinner suit with satin and diamanté lapels.
It was late before I escaped up deck to the Boulevard Café and got myself a cup of green tea. I was into green tea, hoping it would correct any medical problems and ease a sore heart, courtesy of Dr Samuel Mallory. Head Office had pulled a fast one on me and it was not like them. All dealings had always been on the straight and suspicion-free narrow.
The Boulevard Café was half on a sun deck and half under cover. Everything was self-service, and the choice of food was mouth-watering.
Nearby a man sat on his own in the shade, ploughing through a home-made scone, raspberry jam and lashings of cream. A cup of tea was cooling on the table. The well-pressed khaki uniform with gold braiding was familiar. This was the man I was looking for: the security officer.
‘Hi. May I join you? You and your cream tea are looking a bit lonely.’
‘It’s too hot to eat,’ he said, his eyes lighting up a degree. He pushed the plate away. ‘More food for the dolphins.’
‘They don’t throw it overboard these days. Pollution, you know. It has to be bagged and buried.’
‘Rather a pity to bag all that cream. Perhaps I ought to eat it.’
‘You could try. Conway cream teas are famous all over the world.’
‘And you are an expert on cream teas?’ It was a mild sort of flirting, pleasant after the earlier encounter with my new boss.
‘My daily treat. And you are the security officer? I recognize the uniform.’
‘Not many people do. They think I’m a passenger on leave from the Army. I’m Edmund Morgan, Eddie to my friends. And who are you? Not a passenger …’
‘I’m Casey Jones, the new deputy entertainment director.’ I had to force out the extra word with reluctance. Call me humble. ‘I’m replacing Tracy Coleman, who seems to have disappeared.’
‘Ah, our Tracy, who has done a bunk.’
‘What do you know about her disappearance?’
‘Not a lot. She went ashore at San Francisco and never returned. Not a lot I could do once the ship had left the USA. We searched the ship in case she was holed up somewhere, stoned out of her mind. But not a sign.’
‘Did she drink a lot, then?’
Edmund Morgan shook his head, crumbs falling off his mouth. ‘Not more than anyone else on board. Quite moderately, in fact. She liked a Campari and soda during the day, but ended the evening on orange juice. No, it’s just a rumour that she drank. No truth in it. The ship is rife with rumours.’
‘But why would someone spread a rumour like that?’
‘She wasn’t liked. Not by the passengers, I mean; they liked her a lot,’ he hastened to add. ‘She was popular. It was Pierre who disliked her. They didn’t get on. Argued a lot.’
Edmund Morgan chased the last crumbs on his plate, stirred his tea and drank it. I wondered how far I could push him without seeming too pushy. I needed to keep him on my side. So I said nothing.
‘Casey, that’s an unusual name,’ he went on. ‘Short for Cassandra, is it?’
‘No, it’s my initials. K.C. I was christened Katharine Cordelia to compensate for having the surname of Jones. My parents were into compensation.’
‘Neat,’ he said, standing up and pushing back his chair. ‘Work to do. See you around, Casey.’
I quickly stood up. I might never find him again on this enormous ship. ‘Can I ask you a small favour? I know it might be out of order, but I’m pretty curious about my predecessor. Any chance of a quick look at her cabin? The answer might be there.’
‘Sure, no problem. No one has been in her cabin since she disappeared — I mean, once we took a quick look to make sure she hadn’t collapsed in the shower. I can get the key card. Have you got ten minutes?’
I nodded. Pierre Arbour hadn’t issued any special instructions for the evening. Perhaps he was giving me some time to settle in. Maybe he had a pleasant streak underneath that arrogant exterior, although one would need the Timewatch team digging to find it.
Edmund Morgan was tall. Well over six feet. They often employed ex-Marines as security officers. But he was a stone overweight. All those cream teas, most likely. He obviously didn’t work out in the gym. And the gym would have every exercise machine invented, including skipping ropes and big squashy balls.
‘Are you ex-Marine?’ I
asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Special branch. Intelligence work, very hush hush.’
‘How interesting,’ I said, hurrying after him. In minutes, I was lost. I had no idea where he was taking me or even which deck we were on. Surely Tracy Coleman had had a decent cabin? I’d always had a good cabin. It had to be home for months. You made it into a home with flowers, mugs, photographs.
‘Down here somewhere,’ said Edmund, turning along a narrow corridor. ‘Don’t exactly remember where. We’re looking for 516. Ah, here we are.’
He put a key card in to the lock mechanism and pushed open the door.
Then he put the same card into the slot for the light switch. The lights came on. I gasped. I heard his indrawn breath and he stiffened at my side.
‘Ye Gods,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know it was like this.’
‘I don’t think anyone knows.’
2. Acapulco
The room was a disaster zone. Tracy Coleman’s cabin had not only been ransacked, it had been done over, trashed, destroyed, annihilated. Every movable item had been smashed, her clothes torn apart, make-up tipped on the floor, her single mattress slashed with a knife. And there had been spray-paint. The word ‘SLAG’ was scrawled across every bare wall, mirror and picture.
‘Ye Gods,’ Edmund Morgan repeated. ‘What a mess.’
‘It wasn’t like this when you first checked on her cabin, to see if she was in the shower here?’
‘No, it was perfectly normal. A little untidy, but normal for a woman. Sorry, I didn’t mean that. No offence taken, I hope. Nothing personal,’ he said, stumbling over the words. He was clearly not at ease with women.
‘No offence taken,’ I said. ‘Some of us are tidy and some are not. But this is something else. This is a case of malicious damage. They were either looking for something or acting out in a blind rage. Look at these clothes — some of them have been torn, but a lot of them are cut up with scissors.’
I picked up what was left of an evening dress, a blue tulle thing with sequins. It had been cut into strips, sequins strewing the carpet, twinkling like blue rain.
‘I’d better get it cleaned up,’ said Edmund, turning to leave.
‘No.’ I had to stop him. ‘No cleaning up, please. There’s a lot of evidence here. Could you arrange for the ship’s photographers to come and take some photographs for us? No happy, smiling anniversary shots, please. We may need to prove that this is how we found the cabin. We need the photos as evidence.’
‘Well, it is evidence, isn’t it?’ Edmund was lost. This kind of damage was beyond him. ‘I mean, we didn’t do it.’
‘And we have to make sure the photographers keep quiet about the damage. We don’t want passengers starting to panic, thinking there’s a manic scissor-hands ripper on board. The cabin has been locked for the four days that Tracy has been missing, hasn’t it? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I locked it myself. I came down here with Pierre and we had a look inside to see if she was here. Everything was quite normal. We left everything as it was in case she turned up at a later port. Sometimes people do miss ship-out through no fault of their own, and the port agent makes arrangements to fly them on. If it’s their own fault, then of course they have to pay for the flight.’
I shuddered. It was my own nightmare. Missing the ship’s departure would be a disaster. I worried about it all the time.
‘I know you will have to make a report about this,’ I said. ‘But it would be better for the time being if it went no further than the captain.’ I don’t know why I said this. I didn’t trust anyone yet. And I certainly didn’t trust Pierre. ‘What do the crew call Pierre Arbour? Informally downstairs, that is.’
‘Oh, we call him Peter-pecker,’ Edmund grinned. ‘Woodpecker, you know. Not brilliant. We might think of something better.’
‘It’s funny,’ I smiled. ‘I thought he might have collected a more suitable nickname. What do they call you?’
‘It’s not very good. Morgie-Porgie. Because I like cream teas and the odd cake or two. It’s all they could think of.’
‘When the photographers come, don’t let them touch anything or remove anything. Then lock up the cabin and don’t let anyone else come near it.’
‘Not even the captain?’
‘I don’t think he’ll want to look at it. Steering the ship is a lot more important than one vandalized cabin. I was wondering if, some other time — not now of course, you’ll be too busy with your report — if I could have another look at this cabin? A woman’s eye, you understand. I might notice something that isn’t quite right.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Any time. I quite understand,’ said the security officer, not understanding at all. I was going to get along fine with Edmund Morgan, or Morgie-Porgie.
‘And what about the passenger who is missing?’
‘That was Henry Fellows. Not exactly missing, as it turned out. Seems he was sleeping it off in someone else’s cabin.’
*
I went up on deck to watch the return of the passengers from their tours. Some of them had gone up into the mountains. They were tired from the long trip, longing for a shower and a drink. Sightseeing was tiring and often involved a long coach journey. The best tourist spots were seldom within walking distance of the port.
All the new passengers had arrived and were settling into their cabins and exploring the ship. You could spot them with their little maps or scanning the wall signs. All lost.
‘I’d like you to do the quiz tonight,’ said Pierre, appearing with a sail-away drink in his hand, although we were not actually sailing away until tomorrow. ‘And also the late-night disco. Our DJ, Gary, is feeling under the weather.’
‘It must be that fifteen-hour flight from Gatwick,’ I said. ‘I know the feeling.’
‘He hasn’t just flown in. He’s been on the ship since day one.’
‘But I have,’ I said pointedly.
‘You’ve got to pull your weight on this ship. No special allowances because you are a woman or jet-lagged.’
‘I wasn’t asking for anything special. Only an early night because I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘Catch up with naps during the day, that’s what I do,’ he said. ‘And tomorrow, I want you to go ashore and run some errands for me. I shan’t have time myself. We’re having lunch with some of the other cruise captains in port.’
I had noticed a huge, white American cruise ship anchored out in the harbour. She was too big to moor alongside. She probably had 4,000 passengers on board. Heaven help her crew. Catering must be organized chaos.
‘Of course,’ I said, smiling. ‘Anything to help out. Just give me a list. I love lists.’
It was true. I do love lists and spend my life making them, using them and then losing them. Current list, already made out:
1. Do everything Pierre Arbour says.
2. Do it willingly.
3. Do it with a smile.
4. Don’t do anything extra.
5. Don’t tell him anything.
I underlined the last item. I did not trust him further than I could throw him. And that was not far.
For a start, I was not going to tell him that I had seen Tracy Coleman’s cabin and the state it was in. I was not going to tell him that the security officer and I were becoming fast friends. I was not going to tell him that I would solve this mystery if I possibly could. Pierre Arbour would wallow in his own sawdust. Timber!
Timber? The word popped in to my mind without thinking. I found it hard to keep the merriment from my eyes. I pretended to tie back my hair with the Conway Blue scarf from my neck.
‘That’s not the day uniform,’ he said. ‘The scarf is supposed to be round your neck.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I helped to design this uniform. Nice, isn’t it?’
Not exactly a lie, but I had been consulted by Head Office. Georgina Conway had circulated the new designs among all top female employees. She was that kind of chairman. Straight na
vy skirt, crisp white shirt and the Conway Blue scarf. There was no stipulation about where you tied the scarf, as long as you wore it.
‘It doesn’t matter how you wear the scarf.’
*
Henry Fellows was next on my list. I needed a little more information before I pursued that road. Head Office would not have said he was missing without some reason. I did not want the security officer to think that I was poking my nose into his territory. The dining-room manager always picked up a lot of gossip about passengers. He might know.
It was time to shower and change into my black fishtail evening dress. The creases had dropped out. I was tall enough already and dreaded the prospect of slipping on that stage in front of everyone, so I matched the stunning gown with black kitten heels and silver earrings. No skyscraper heels for me.
A few passengers were already gathering outside the Zanzibar Dining Room, ready for the doors to open for the first sitting. They did not want to get on the manager’s black list for being frequently late. He noticed everything. And his memory for names was phenomenal. I often wondered how the staff managed to do it. In a few days, they knew everyone’s names.
‘Hello,’ I said to the manager. ‘I’m Casey Jones, deputy entertainment director, replacing Tracy Coleman for a few weeks.’
‘How very nice to meet you, Miss Jones,’ he said with a slight nod of his head. He was an old-style restaurant manager: black dress coat, polite and formal. ‘Will you be eating with us? I can find you a place.’
‘That’s very kind,’ I said. ‘But I think for the time being, I’m going to be too busy to eat in the dining room. Maybe I’ll take up your offer when I have settled in. It’s a beautiful room.’
It was a brilliant design. It took one’s breath away. Lots of walled mirrors and chandelier lamps like snowflakes falling from the ceiling. All the chairs were upholstered in pale turquoise brocade and every table had real flowers. Each piece of bone china was in the custom-made Conway design with a wavy blue line round the edge of the dinner plates. Everything sparkled with light.
‘Where was the missing passenger sitting?’ I added casually.
A Wide Berth Page 2
