by Celia Imrie
Etcetera.
Amanda wondered what was wrong with them that they had understood neither the phone message she had left with the garrulous girl on the switchboard, nor the email she had sent from her phone. Did they think she could just jump off the side of a ship and swim back to the shore?
She looked out of the sliding glass door at the black space beyond her balcony. No sign of coastal lights now. She opened the door and stepped out. The only sound was the slosh of water as the ship cut through the wine-dark sea. All she could see was the pale blue peaks of the wake radiating from the ship’s prow.
Amanda knew that after the ship passed by the tip of Land’s End there were only the pancake-flat Scilly Isles and then straight on to the USA, with no nearby coast until they approached Newfoundland in five days’ time.
Could she get off? Was there any way she might reach land now?
If she went down now to the purser’s office and asked, perhaps the ship could lay on a small tender which could speed her to land on the Scillies.
But it would have to be prepared now, in the black of night. And the poor boat driver would have to go all the way there and then motor all the way back to the ship before it had travelled miles and miles onwards into the ocean. And for that to happen the ship would have to stop and drop anchor, or whatever they did, to wait for his return.
No.
What a fuss!
It was a ridiculous idea. And, even if it were possible to accomplish, who knew how much that kind of thing would cost? If she abandoned ship now, Amanda would certainly get no refund for her trip from the cruise company. It wasn’t as though they could resell her cabin!
She looked down at the waves, crashing into the white hull.
How amazing the sea was. If those waves looked so big from up here, just imagine how big they’d seem from a tiny open boat.
No. Ploughing through the black sea at night in a small open motorboat was not her idea of fun, even if it were possible.
Ah well. Just accept it. She needed a relaxing break, and the new flat would still be there when she got back in a few weeks, by which time she would be refreshed and energised from the voyage.
Amanda came inside and sat at her desk to write emails to Patricia, then to Mark, explaining where she was and when she would arrive back in England. When she set it out in black and white, her voyage seemed so extravagant. But why couldn’t she spend her money on herself? Especially when she’d have spent the same amount of money, if not more, if she’d remained in England, sleeping in a dingy hotel, eating sandwiches on her grubby candlewick bedspread while watching a tiny TV dangling from a bracket from the dreary papered wall.
It was strange to Amanda to think that her children might take it badly that she had done something so spontaneous, while they didn’t give a damn that only a few days ago she had been practically camping and sleeping in a student dormitory.
That ruddy banker and his flat! If it had been a woman, changing her mind every couple of days about selling or not selling, then about exchanging, and finally actually completing so suddenly and unexpectedly, it would be called dithering. Amanda supposed there was some nice businessman’s phrase to cover up all this annoying coming and going: ‘paradigm shifts’ or ‘keeping your options fluid’.
To Amanda’s mind it was just bloody infuriating.
So, here she was, trapped on a ship, with all her worldly goods stacked up in a storage unit and her flat now sitting there empty, but ready to move in to.
The best thing to do, she knew, was put the whole subject out of her mind and get on with enjoying life onboard this luxurious ship.
She lay on her bed, and read the Daily Programme for tomorrow.
On the cover she recognised the small black and white photo portrait of the woman doing the ten o’clock class. It was Suzy from Dahlias, the woman she had seen in the ballroom a few days ago. Amanda marked the event. The acting workshops took place in the ballroom every morning, the Programme said. Suzy Marshall was also giving lectures.
That should be interesting.
Amanda had always fancied a try at the performing arts.
This was fun, living on a floating hotel with all kinds of entertainment thrown in.
She wondered how Myriam and Tyger were getting on. She hoped she could protect them both from the casual insults of those grisly self-righteous ghouls, Chris and Jennie.
It was important always to ignore bullies but, somehow, as she grew older, Amanda had stopped being able to do that. She wondered how long she would last before giving Chris a piece of her mind. Obviously, it was best to bite your lip and, if Chris drove her too mad, Amanda herself might be goaded into using the alternative dining facilities. Eschewing a beautifully served meal in a delightful room for a buffet snack in the cafeteria would be no problem if it meant she could escape that man’s vile bigotry.
Amanda curled up, turned off the lights and lay gazing out into the night.
The sky was so black, and the stars sparkled.
*
Suzy sat at the back of the ballroom, where a few determined dancers still held the floor. The band had announced their last number and told the revellers that once they’d packed up anyone who fancied it could carry on dancing till the early hours at the disco next door.
Suzy hoped the gentleman hosts weren’t expected to go on bopping till dawn. She looked at the couples whirling round the dance floor. They looked so happy. It was difficult to pick out which were real couples and which were hosts with random women. Jason was proving a great success. With his movie-star looks and his flashing smile, he was making some elderly lady swoon. He was such a baby-faced young man, his features radiating charm. It was difficult to think of him as a crook.
But then some serial killers were good-lookers too, weren’t they? Suzy thought of Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. Being handsome did not necessarily equate with being innocent.
Perhaps Jason saw her because she was looking at him. For, as he swirled the old dear around in his arms, he glanced over her shoulder and gave Suzy a knowing grin.
Suzy tried not to smile back too widely. She was about to have a very serious conversation with him.
A waiter arrived at her side. She waved him away.
The band played the final chord, bowed to the dancers, then started packing up their instruments as the lights came up.
Jason led the old lady back to her seat then made a beeline over to Suzy.
‘Didn’t think you’d be up so late, Suze, my dear. Aren’t you on first thing tomorrow?’
Suzy didn’t want to have such an important discussion here, in such a public place, especially as the cleaning staff were coming in, turning the working lights full on. Meanwhile, she didn’t want to give Jason time to come up with a plausible excuse.
‘I’d like some help, please, Jason. I know you must be tired, but could you come to my cabin for just a half hour?’
‘Sure!’ Jason smiled and waved at various women as he strolled at Suzy’s side on their way through the main hall. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Something about you.’ Again Jason inclined his head towards a woman in full evening dress, cradling a cup of hot tea, heading for her cabin. ‘Weather’s going to pick up over the next few days. Did you hear? The Captain’s going to advise people who don’t have sea legs to go to the Medical Centre before we hit the gale.’
‘Gale?’
‘Remnants of a hurricane, apparently. In a couple of days.’
Suzy had no idea whether or not she had sea legs. Her only memories of travelling by ship were as a teenager on ferries to Ireland, and she’d been all right then.
As they entered her cabin, Jason commented on the piles of paperwork lying all over the floor.
‘My word, Suze, you have been busy! It looks like the cabin of a mad professor.’
‘Sit down, Jason.’
‘Oooh-errr, missus.’ Jason winced, and pulled a childlike face
imagining trouble afoot. ‘That voice sounds very serious indeed.’
‘I’ve heard from Emily and India.’
Jason’s face brightened.
‘Great! How are they? Got home safely, I hope.’
‘They’re at home all right … but they’ve both had their bank accounts cleaned out.’
Jason’s mouth opened in astonishment. Suzy wondered if he was a really great actor. He appeared genuinely shocked and was certainly betraying no signs of a guilty conscience.
‘Here’s the thing, Jason. All the money, it seems, was siphoned off into a Swiss bank account in your name.’
She peered at his face, watching for tics betraying his involvement.
‘A Swiss account? What do you mean? You think I have a Swiss bank account?’
‘A bank account under the name of J. Scott.’ She didn’t take her eyes from him. ‘Our friends’ money has been stolen. My money has been stolen. I haven’t told them where you are – but only because the signal was cut off. But they all know you did it, and they’re all looking for you. And, lucky for you, at this moment, no one knows where you are.’
As she said this Suzy realised she had made a big mistake.
‘Except you.’ Jason smiled. A truly plausible smile. ‘You know where I am, Suzy.’
Suzy watched him slowly rise from the bed.
‘I hope that you know I wouldn’t be capable of stealing, Suzy. Least of all from you.’ Jason moved towards the door. ‘Whatever has gone on, this crime had nothing to do with me. Nothing.’ He gripped the door handle. Suzy could see his knuckles showing white. ‘Obviously, I will do everything I can to clear my name. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’m going to return to my cabin to check my Swiss bank account, to see how flush I have become with all these ill-gotten gains. Though I have to admit, I have been frightfully stupid using my own name when I could have taken a numbered account to commit my criminal activities.’
‘Jason!’ Suzy watched his back as he pulled open the door.
‘I’m disappointed in you, Suzy,’ he said, without turning. ‘I thought you knew me. I believed that we were friends.’
And he was gone.
Suzy flopped down on the end of her bed. She realised she had been very clumsy in the way she’d handled the whole thing. She was tempted to follow him and knock on his door to ask to finish the conversation, but she knew that he shared the cabin with George, another ghost, and she didn’t want to drag anyone else into this mess until she was sure.
She slowly started putting the papers from the floor into neat piles, one for each class or lecture. She consulted the lists and arranged them in order of when each one would be necessary, leaving tomorrow’s class notes on the top, ready for her to grab in the morning.
Could Jason be innocent? All the evidence pointed against it. Innocent? If tomorrow he showed her online bank statements, who was to say he didn’t have two separate accounts – one straight, the other crooked? She found herself humming the tune of the 1950s song ‘The Great Pretender’. Was Jason stringing her along?
Guilt is easy enough to prove, if you’re in the police and have rights and warrants to look everywhere. But how could she prove anything? An actress, alone on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?
Comically, Suzy remembered TV’s amateur sleuths, Miss Marple and Jessica Fletcher.
How would they nail Jason, and get him bang to rights?
It was after 1 a.m. She knew she had to be up before eight, to reread her notes, grab breakfast and get to the other end of the ship to be ready to go for nine forty-five.
She climbed into bed, but sleep did not come for a long time, and when it did it was a tiring dream in which she kept losing her way while being chased along the ship’s corridors. She was scared and knew she had to keep running. But when she looked forward there was someone waiting at the far end of the corridor, and it was Jason. Except that it wasn’t – it was the Joker, from Batman.
9
Amanda got up slowly, luxuriating in the shower, then carefully laying out her clothes for the day. She had never been to an acting workshop before. Was it the same as going to the gym? Should she put on sporty gear – not that she had any, but she could easily get a leotard in the little shop outside the onboard fitness centre. Oh no, wait, miles too revealing. Amanda gave an involuntary shudder.
She opted for a casual pair of jeans with a T-shirt and trainers. She remembered seeing TV shows and musicals about acting, where the students always seemed to wear something like bunched-up socks around their ankles. But she wasn’t a pro so she would do without.
In the café she collected herself a very healthy bowl of muesli and some fruit and sat in a window bay.
Myriam, walking through, stopped at her table with a swoop.
‘Amanda, darling! I hope you’re going to the theatre-arts workshop. I adore expressing myself, don’t you? I love to feel completely uninhabited!’
Amanda gulped down her mouthful and thought she might choke on a nut which got stuck in her throat. She coughed until tears filled her eyes.
‘Are you OK, Amanda? Should I give you the Himmler Manoeuvre?’
Amanda really regretted the healthy breakfast choice which looked as though, rather than extending her life, it could finish her off.
‘Why on earth do people eat this stuff? It should only be served in a nosebag. I am going to the drama class, yes,’ she said in a tiny voice, all that was left of her vocals while the grains and nut remained unswallowed. ‘Will Tyger be going too?’
‘No, no, no, no!’ said Myriam. ‘Still asleep, I suspect. You know these youngsters. No stamina.’ She perched on the edge of the table while Amanda tried to finish her breakfast. ‘I do hope we do some Shakespeare. I simply worship the Beard of Avon. “Oh that this too, too sullied flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a doo.” Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet!’
Amanda wondered whether Myriam was having a dig at her.
‘Hamlet,’ Myriam continued. ‘The Great Dane himself.’
Amanda had now given up on the muesli and wished she had got herself toast and marmalade instead of an apple.
‘According to the little daily newspaper,’ Myriam’s voice bubbled with excitement, ‘this woman giving the class is a well-known actress. But I’ve never heard of her. Perhaps she’s very famous in England. But not in the States. When I think of famous actresses I only think of Bette Davis, Gina Lollabrigadier and Gretna Garbo.’ Myriam stretched out her arm then looked busily at her watch. ‘Come along, Amanda my dear – we’re going to be late, late, late. I shall go ahead and save us both a place near the front.’ She glanced down at Amanda’s bowl. ‘You should have got yourself something more substantial, deary! Muffins or pancakes. At this rate you’ll fade away. That’s not enough to feed a tit.’ Myriam pulled a face of horror and moved off. She made an abrupt turn and swung back to whisper in Amanda’s ear. ‘Did you see in the Programme, that Dorothy woman is throwing another of her sore-eyes this afternoon? I really must find out how you get yourself invited.’
As she swigged down the rest of her coffee, Amanda watched Myriam bustle off. Before leaving the café herself Amanda grabbed a couple of chocolate biscuits and nibbled one as she walked. The other she dropped into her pocket for later.
By the time she arrived in the ballroom, the seating area around the dance floor was very crowded. The room looked quite different by day. The curtains were all open, and huge picture windows reflected the light from the sea and sky. It was bright, echoey and airy.
Myriam was sitting at a table in the corner. She caught sight of Amanda and waved her chubby be-ringed hands in the air. Amanda moved in her direction but, before she could get there, Suzy Marshall had stepped into the middle of the dance floor and clapped her hands for silence.
Amanda slumped down into the nearest empty seat.
‘First,’ said Suzy, rolling up the sleeves of her loose cardigan, ‘we’re going to play some games.’ She surve
yed the crowd. ‘Everyone up on their feet, and on to the dance floor.’
As Amanda stepped forward she heard Myriam calling aloud: ‘Tyger! Tyger! Come join us! We’ll be an ensemble together.’
Amanda turned to see the poor boy resting on a window seat, shaking his head and hunching up his shoulders.
Suzy produced a stripy, blow-up beach ball, the kind which seals usually balance on their noses on old-fashioned greetings cards.
‘I am going to throw this ball, and when I throw it I will say my name. Each person who catches the ball must throw it on, randomly, while saying their name aloud.’
Amanda wondered what on earth this game could have to do with acting, but stood up, ready to play.
*
As Suzy set the players off, she prepared herself for the next game, a deep-breathing exercise. She looked around at the participants of the class – such a jumble of people, but seemingly much more keen than your usual gang of actors on a first day of rehearsal.
While the ball passed round the circle, and names were called aloud, Suzy noticed Jason come softly in and watched him as he perched on one of the window seats, adjacent to a young boy with long auburn hair and startlingly green eyes.
Why was Jason here? Had he come to taunt her? Was he actually holding everyone’s money in his bank? Had he lied to them and cheated them all out of their savings? Should she report him to the Captain, or write emails to Barbara, India and Emily and tell them that he was here onboard? Or should she interrogate Jason first and make sure everyone was right in their supposition before turning him in?
‘Suzy?’
Suzy snapped her attention back to the class. Everybody stood patiently in the circle, staring at her.
‘What do we do with the ball now that we’ve reached the end of the group?’
Suzy took the ball and applied her mind to the session. She got everyone to find a space for themselves and then pulled out all the relaxation exercises she remembered from drama school and from working with tired old rep directors who used them to prove that they were being relevant.
