A Wide Berth

by Stella Whitelaw

  As usual, the medical centre was many decks below and it took a while to find it. It was the usual spic-and-span area, everything white and pristine. A row of passengers sat in the waiting room, most of them sporting areas of red skin, looking hot and bothered. The receptionist was in a white uniform; a bustling nurse was in white trousers and tunic. She gave the impression of permanent efficiency. She was leaning over an elderly woman, talking to her in a quiet voice.

  ‘Can’t you remember the name of the medication you were taking?’ she was asking. ‘Have you still got the packet?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I threw it away, and I’ve taken the last tablet. I don’t know what they are, sort of round and pink.’

  ‘There are hundreds of pink tablets — large ones, tiny ones, round, oblong. We’ll have to start from scratch. Please come through to the consulting room.’

  The nurse straightened up. She was tall and well built, with a lot of frizzy brown hair. Her face was amiable and almost void of make-up, but her skin could stand it. There was the faintest touch of lipstick. Perhaps the nursing staff was not encouraged to wear make-up. Hygiene, etc.

  ‘Hello, can I help you?’ the nurse asked. ‘Is it sunburn?’

  ‘No, I’m not a patient.’

  ‘You can see we are busy. Can you come back later?’

  ‘I’m Casey Jones, the temporary deputy entertainment director.’ It was a mouthful, and I was sick of saying it. ‘I was wondering if I could see the doctor.’

  The nurse looked at me blankly as if I were some unknown specimen she had never seen before. ‘You haven’t done your homework, Miss Jones. I’m the doctor, Dr Judith Skinner. What’s this about?’

  What an infantile mistake. I should have looked at the crew photos on display outside the library. I had scanned the faces, rushing on my way to somewhere, but only guessed that the female faces might be from the hotel staff or in the purser’s office. I should have checked.

  ‘Sorry, my mistake,’ I said. I’d only ever met one other female doctor during my years on board ship. It would make a change. No throngs of female admirers at the bar, although perhaps Dr Skinner attracted the widowers who wanted to talk about prostates. ‘I’ll come back later.’

  ‘Ask the receptionist to make an appointment for you at the end of surgery hours, if she can fit you in. Or ask Helen, she’s the head nurse.’

  This was efficient and methodical. I never had to make an appointment to see Dr Mallory. It was more a case of fighting one’s way through the clusters of divorced women to find him.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll do that.’ I hoped I sounded meek and grateful. The doctor had to be an ally. I knew from past cruises that it was essential to have a good relationship with the medical staff.

  Dr Skinner turned her attention back to the elderly woman. ‘Come along, Mrs Smertz. Let’s see if we can find out what you’ve been taking.’

  It was then that I noticed she had a stethoscope tucked into her top pocket and a red tab on her shoulder. Casey, you’re slipping.

  *

  In his office, Pierre was stalking a fly which had managed to evade every known device installed to prevent flies getting onto the ship. It could die of fright.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he snapped. ‘The tenders have been back ages. I want to organize tonight.’

  ‘There are lots of passengers ill with sunburn,’ I said, not explaining how this might involve me. Let him work it out for himself.

  ‘Not your job. Send them to the medical centre. I need you here.’

  ‘I did,’ I said. ‘It’s standing room only down there. Many of them couldn’t even find it.’

  ‘I’ve had a complaint from one of the quiz teams,’ he began, obviously relishing the moment. ‘A Mrs Lorna Fletcher said you kept leaning over her and she felt intimidated.’

  ‘What do you mean? Leaning over her? I don’t believe it. That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s here, in writing. She even bothered to write.’ He tapped a sheet of Conway stationery sitting on his desk.

  They say that attack is the best form of defence and Mrs Fletcher had done exactly that. She didn’t scare me. I could use similar tactics.

  ‘Sure, it’s because I am tall and scary,’ I said, agreeing. ‘Fancy poor Mrs Fletcher, who is rather small, feeling scared of me. It must have been awful for her. You’d better get Debbie to do the quiz tonight so that Mrs Fletcher can relax and feel comfortable. Everyone loves our Debbie.’

  I slipped in the everyone loves our Debbie for his benefit.

  I didn’t say anything about Bluetooth. It could wait. The right moment would come, if Edmund Morgan didn’t lose his nerve.

  Pierre looked taken aback that I was not cowed by the written complaint. He swiped at the fly viciously. End of fly.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to find you something else to do. I’m doing the spectacular, of course. Star-billing tonight. Disco, as usual. You could also do the karaoke in the pub bar.’

  ‘Is Gary still ill?’ I asked, my voice full of concern for the ailing disc jockey.

  ‘Pretty nasty bug. He’s really under the weather. Can you manage the karaoke?’

  ‘Love to,’ I said brightly. ‘One of my favourites.’

  It wasn’t my favourite, but it could be fun. It was also scheduled quite late, so for once I’d have time to eat civilized in the Zanzibar Dining Room and meet people. I’d wear something stunning and elegant. Wash the sand out of my hair. And it gave me time to see the doctor.

  *

  ‘Sorry I was a bit abrupt with you earlier,’ said Dr Skinner as I went into her consulting room. ‘I get so frustrated by the number of passengers with sunburn, when they are told morning, noon and night to wear sun protection.’

  ‘Factor 30.’

  ‘Exactly. They always think they are the exception to the rule. Please sit down, Miss Jones. I’ve ordered some tea. It should be here any minute. I suppose you have come to see me about Tracy Coleman.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, I was wondering if you could shed any light on the circumstances surrounding her disappearance and the miscarriage in her bathroom.’

  The tea arrived on a tray, and Judith Skinner busied herself with pouring tea and passing me a cup. I declined a biscuit. There was a delicious dinner ahead.

  ‘I can’t really tell you anything,’ she said, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to her tea. ‘There’s patient confidentiality, even with crew member’s records.’

  ‘Did you know Tracy Coleman was pregnant?’

  ‘She never told me.’

  ‘But you did know,’ I persisted.

  She wasn’t saying. She took an exceptionally long time to stir her tea.

  ‘I can’t see that this is of any importance.’ Dr Skinner was proving a hard nut to crack, but somehow I had to get her cooperation.

  ‘Even so, we have to find her, don’t we, and find out? She might be lying somewhere, bleeding to death. A miscarriage can be dangerous if it’s not properly attended do.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Dr Skinner stretched out and put her feet up on a stool. She was wearing Jimmy Choo shoes. Beautifully cut leather court shoes, yellow and red with purple toes. The style was understated, perfect with a little black dress for social occasions but murder if you were on your feet all day.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me something about Tracy Coleman as a person. It might help.’

  Dr Skinner relaxed one degree and began eating a digestive biscuit. ‘She was young, pretty in a pert way, vivacious, the life and soul of any party. She put our Pierre in the shade. He didn’t like it one bit.’

  ‘He wasn’t her boyfriend, then?’

  ‘No way. They hated the sight of each other. They quarrelled all the time. It was like broken glass between them. We tried to keep them separate in case they came to blows.’

  ‘Did Tracy have a boyfriend on the ship, someone she was really close to?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was no secret. She had a boyfriend, all right. They were mad abou
t each other. It was that Russian pianist, Romanoff. They spent hours huddled over a piano. Composing music, they said, if that’s what you call it these days.’

  I stood up and put the cup back on the tray. ‘Thank you for the tea. Very welcome. You’ve been most helpful. I know how busy you are. Doctors are always working, all hours of the day and night.’

  She took another biscuit. ‘By the way, I got an email today from Dr Samuel Mallory on the Georgina. He says he’s missing you.’ A sudden twinkle came unexpectedly to her eyes. ‘I bet he says that to all the female crew. My head nurse, Helen, says she met him once and she has never forgotten it.’

  I felt a surge of happiness. It was the best moment of the day. Maybe I’d give him one of the carved wooden ducks.

  ‘I know,’ I laughed. ‘And he says it to half of the female passengers as well, the younger half.’

  I was almost out the door when she spoke again.

  ‘I did some tests on the blood in the loo in Tracy’s cabin. It wasn’t Tracy’s blood. Different blood group. Thought you ought to know.’

  I turned carefully. ‘Not Tracy’s blood? Do we know whose blood it was?’

  ‘No idea. Very common group. I could give you a list of female crew with the same group.’

  I didn’t want the list, but it could be a start.

  7. Costa Rica

  The evening had gone well. I wore a silky grey trouser suit that was sophisticated, understated and out of this world. So was the meal, all four courses served with panache. The food had been specially designed. And I met some interesting people at a table for eight. They plied me with wine. I didn’t have to buy a single glass.

  The karaoke was a laugh. My wits returned and I was the MC supreme. The more everyone laughed, the funnier I got. Some of the turns were really good and some were so bad, it was a wonder the medics were not called. But it was entertainment and that was the point. Don’t ask me who won. The voting was hardly first-past-the-post standard.

  I went to the disco and cottoned straight onto Gary. He was wearing another loud Hawaiian shirt, girls with coconuts frolicking among the palm trees.

  ‘I’m standing in for you because you are supposed to be ill. What’s going on?’

  He had that glued stiff, stuck-up hair that had become so trendy and was wearing a touch of mascara. Whoever thought that hedgehog hair looked good? The oddest style for young men. He gulped at his beer, guiltily.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Casey.’ He knew my name. ‘I’ve called in sick, really I have. It’s an emergency. Pierre wants me to do events that I can’t do. I don’t want to lose my job, but there is a limit.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Deck games. I get vertigo up that high. And refereeing pigeon shooting from the stern. I can’t stand the noise of the guns. Now, he wants me to do the seven o’clock morning run round the promenade deck. I’m allergic to getting up early.’

  ‘You might find it invigorating.’

  ‘It would be first-degree cruelty.’

  ‘OK, I get the picture,’ I said. ‘Now, I am dead tired and need to catch up on my sleep and this noise gives me a creeping headache. I will DJ till half-time, and then you will take over. We’ll say nothing to Pierre. How does that strike you?’

  ‘Perfect.’ He planted a beery kiss on my cheek. ‘You’re an angel.’

  ‘Don’t push me. I shan’t be angelic for long. I’m already shedding my wings. Look, the feathers are flying everywhere.’

  He grinned. ‘Thanks, Kiddo.’

  ‘I’ll even do the morning run for you if you stop calling me Kiddo.’

  It was like Pierre to give people events that they could not do. Still, if you joined the entertainment team, you were supposed to be able to do everything. Perhaps one evening I would get the show spectacular and Pierre could wipe off his Max Factor.

  *

  I had heard so much about Costa Rica and its economic revival. It made me think that the world could learn from them. They had disbanded their entire army. Who needed an army anyway? The money they saved instead went towards education. Schooling for every child, from primary to sixth form. Uniforms for all grades, breakfast and lunch provided. For every child.

  Adults did not get benefits to spend on alcohol, junk food and bingo. The money went on the children and their future.

  It was a long, narrow quay at Puntarenas, Costa Rica, jutting far out to sea to take big ships. Passengers could walk it or take a little shuttle train. The coaches were parked ashore, lines of them, ready to take passengers on the many varied tours. I had volunteered to do escort duty on a tour to the mangroves. It included a boat trip and I wanted to see those macaws, kingfishers, egrets and herons. Maybe a few crocodiles and butterflies. Perhaps I’d catch sight of a brown osprey flying high.

  ‘You volunteered?’ Pierre was nearly speechless.

  ‘They are desperately short of escorts. It shows goodwill from this department. It’s only half a day. I can be back on duty all afternoon.’

  ‘All right, then, but make sure you come straight back. On time. No hanging about in the market along the front.’

  Our voluble guide, José, told us a lot of things I didn’t really want to know. Costa Rica had 120 volcanoes, 6,000 earthquakes a year and 114 different kinds of snakes. And they had one poisonous frog that could kill 100 men. Who was he kidding?

  The coach took us through landscape that was dry and parched. We drove over a narrow wooden bridge that was only the width of the coach. It was scary. They were waiting for rain, said José. A fifty-seat boat was waiting to take us along the mangrove river, a muddy twenty-foot wide waterway, the colour of whipped chocolate, with dense forest on either side, branches dipping into the water. Bird song filled the still air, the water cooling the steamy atmosphere.

  The riverboat steered a V-shaped channel through the water, washing up the banks, eroding the earth which slid down in miniature rivulets. The excursion boats were ruining the riverbanks. But they brought much-needed money to the people. It was all about surviving.

  Sunlight dappled the trees as the guide pointed out birds and basking crocodiles. The crocodiles were difficult to spot, half-submerged in mud and imitating dead branches. Three white ibis were photographic, and a blue heron standing among the mangrove roots was more photo fodder.

  I was glad for my hat. The doctor would have more cases of sunburn this evening. When the riverboat returned to the bungalow base, there were cold drinks waiting for us on the veranda. Glasses of mango, pineapple and orange juice. No ice. Passengers were queuing up twice.

  I didn’t blame them. The mango juice was delicious.

  Many of them fell asleep on the drive back to the ship. They missed the scary narrow bridge. Some daredevil photographers asked the driver to stop so they could snap the coach braked halfway across the bridge. I crossed my fingers.

  But I’d seen these beautiful birds, flying free, protected in their natural habitat. I didn’t care what Pierre had up his well-pressed sleeve. I had done the morning run for Gary, so favour repaid there.

  The long string of market stalls along the beach promenade at Puntarenas looked inviting, and as the passengers woke up, they were mentally planning a return to shore after their lunch to spend some money. I hoped they would buy sunhats. It was going to get even hotter.

  We’d anchor at Panama City tomorrow evening. How was I going to get Pierre to allow me to go ashore with a tour?

  *

  There was no time for a crumb of lunch. Pierre had me on a tight schedule. Bingo, deck games, chocolate buffet and the introduction of a repeat port lecture for those who missed it the first time around.

  It was teatime before I even got a cup of coffee.

  Edmund Morgan cornered me in the Boulevard Café where I was drinking coffee by the gallon. He sat down opposite me and pushed a plate of cakes in my direction. It was kind, but I don’t eat cakes. All that fat-inducing cream and icing.

  ‘That blood was not Tracy’s.’


  ‘I know. Not her blood group.’

  ‘So someone else has m-miscarried.’ He managed the word. Good for Edmund. He was improving. ‘Some other young lady is in trouble.’

  ‘Was in trouble,’ I corrected. ‘But she might still need medical help. The doctor should be the first to know.’

  ‘So it still doesn’t help us find Tracy Coleman?’

  ‘No, we are back to square one there.’

  He began to nibble at one of the cakes. A pink fondant square with a marzipan flower on top. It was chock-full of deadly calories, salt and fat that went straight to his unforgiving waistline.

  ‘I believe Tracy is still on board. She didn’t leave the ship at Acapulco, or she would have taken her inhaler. An asthmatic never stirs without it.’

  ‘Unless she was forcibly removed?’ said Edmund, with an unusual degree of insight. ‘Perhaps she got off today or yesterday. Someone could have smuggled her off.’

  I remembered all the wheelchairs. One might have slipped through without being scanned. Getting wheelchairs aboard tenders is always such a complicated procedure, I often wonder if it’s worth it. But I suppose it is a stab at freedom for the mobility they used to have.

  ‘Unfortunately, that is a possibility. Did she have any enemies? Rivals? People who hated her?’

  ‘She was popular everywhere. Bubbly and good fun. As I said, the only person who didn’t like her was Pierre. She outshone him in the popularity stakes.’

  That man again. It was too easy to suspect him of being involved. None of the crew liked him. He didn’t like anyone this side of the passenger list. He was the ship’s company number-one Mr Nasty. I could buy him a badge.

  There was an email blinking on my computer when I got back to the office. It was from the captain. It was brief and to the point.

  Dear Miss Jones

  Can you spare me five minutes at 1800 hours? On the bridge.

  Captain Luke Wellington.

  I emailed him back, via reply. Yes, Sir. I could be brief, too. I resisted the temptation to call him Boots.