by Celia Imrie
Amanda leaned against the glass balcony door. She felt as though her life had spun totally out of control.
From the corridor, she heard the familiar bongs of the noon announcement. She pulled her door ajar, and listened. The Captain was telling those who were interested that within an hour the Blue Mermaid would be passing the final resting place of the RMS Titanic. Amanda had seen from her Daily Programme that there was some organisation of Titanic fans onboard. They were having daily talks in the Starboard Lounge, and presenting a small exhibition there about the ill-fated liner. They’d all be out there on the deck later with their cameras, taking photos of the sea, no doubt, despite the fact that those photos would look exactly the same as any taken of the sea since they had lost sight of shore.
Amanda decided that she couldn’t bear to sit on her own in the cabin any longer, and hoped that Chris and Jennie must be out of the spa by now. She wondered if her blood pressure had gone through the roof. Her head was pounding and her heart thumping.
She’d go there and see whether she might get herself a massage to calm down.
*
Suzy and Jason had lurked in the corridor on the starboard side near the stern of Deck 8 for over an hour. Whenever anyone came along they took turns at walking up and down and going round the corner on to the landing where the lifts were, or going in and out of the table-tennis room, so that it wasn’t quite so obvious that they were simply loitering with intent.
‘How’s your talk coming along for tomorrow then, Suzy?’ Jason asked, as they lolled against the doorframe.
‘Getting quite excited actually, Jason. Instead of focusing on me, I’ve got some very interesting titbits about actors through the ages. Did you know, for instance, that Ancient Greek actors had to eat a diet of only four things: lettuce, cheese, garlic and eels?’
‘Delicious,’ said Jason, wincing. ‘Actually, they should bring that rule back. It would certainly get rid of all those silly wannabees.’
Suzy laughed, trying to imagine her drama-school girl being forced to live on that diet.
‘I’d still do the job if I had to live on garlic and eels, wouldn’t you, Suze?’
‘Yes. I suppose I would. But hopefully they wouldn’t have been able to see all the things I secretly ate at home.’
‘No, Suze. Ancient Greece was famous for its CCTV cameras, which they kept perpetually trained on actors’ homes.’ Jason glanced at his watch. ‘What time are you on next?’
‘Tomorrow, 2 p.m. In the big theatre.’
‘I’ll be there, loudly cheering you on. Rent-a-claques are us.’
They stood in silence for a moment or two, then someone emerged from one of the lifts behind them and they both walked off in different directions, trying to look insouciant and everyday.
It was a woman in gym clothes. Suzy followed her as she turned along the corridor of cabins and, as she entered Cabin 8121, Suzy walked on to the table-tennis door then came back to join Jason near the lifts.
‘Of course, he might be inside all the time,’ said Suzy. ‘Should we knock on the door and, if someone opens up, pretend we made a mistake?’
‘Or be like kids, knock and run away, then peep around the corner to take a look?’
They both laughed nervously at the thought of being caught by whoever was going by the name Stan Arbuthnot.
Suzy said, ‘Of course it might be one of those blokes who’s out all day and only comes back to change for dinner.’
‘You’ve hit it, dear Suzy!’ Jason slapped his forehead in a theatrical gesture of mock surprise. ‘We’re wasting our time here. We should come back here at sixish. Everyone has to change for the evening. Come on. It’ll give you time to do a bit more prep on your fabulous lecture.’
They both turned and walked back towards the lifts. Just after they left the corner they heard the door to the table-tennis room slam. They exchanged a look and spun around. Suzy took a peek.
‘It’s a bloke,’ she hissed to Jason, who leaned in close behind her, his head touching hers.
Just as the man pulled out his keycard and put it into the lock of Cabin 8127, Suzy felt Jason’s intake of breath. By the time she looked around to ask why, Jason had taken flight and had already disappeared down the first set of stairs. As Suzy followed him, galloping down through the decks, the tannoy bells rang and the Captain made an announcement about the final resting place of the Titanic.
Just what we need, thought Suzy, out of breath, as she turned into the entertainment quarters. The Titanic!
Jason was cowering outside her cabin. He was pale, and a slight sheen of sweat shone on his forehead. He looked as though he might faint.
‘Are you OK, Jason?’ Suzy whipped out her keycard and opened the door. Jason ran inside ahead of her, and lowered himself to sit, hunched up on the end of the bed.
‘There’s no escape,’ he said quietly, putting his head into his hands. ‘I have to get off this boat. Or I’m a dead man.’
‘What are talking about, Jason? What just happened?’ Suzy shut the door behind her, came in and sat at the dressing table. ‘You look as though you just saw a ghost.’
‘Worse than that,’ said Jason. ‘I saw him.’
‘Him? Who’s him?’
‘The Devil himself. That was Mr Appenzell.’
Suzy took a second or two to understand him.
‘That was Appenzell? Are you sure?’
‘Certain. I will never forget him, or that last look he gave me from the balcony of that apartment.’
‘Did he kill Stan, do you think?’
Jason sat silent for a second or two.
‘Oh God, Suzy! It all adds up. I heard Stan saying “I’ll scream until I am satisfied” and doing his squealing thing. Then the police rang the bell. Next thing it went quiet. There was a little while, just enough for him to have stifled Stan. Then Appenzell came on to the Entryphone, sounding all drowsy. He must have wanted to shut Stan up, while the police were ringing at the door. Did India say how Stan died?’
‘She just said he was dead. Perhaps there’ll be more detailed info by now.’ Suzy went to the laptop and turned it on. ‘I’ll check. I read her email so quickly and came immediately to find you.’
‘Oh help!’ Jason gave an agitated sigh. ‘Why is Appenzell on this ship? He must have boarded at Southampton. But why? Did he know I was here? Is he chasing me?’ Jason flung himself back and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. ‘He’s come on this ship to finish me off. I know it. I’m terrified, Suzy.’
‘How would he know you’re here, Jason? No one knows.’ Suzy scrolled through her emails. ‘Things happened so quickly and I’ve never got round to telling anyone. The only people who know you’re here are the crew, who never saw either of us before in their lives, me and Max. And Max has no connection with all that stuff. He just takes his twelve per cent. Appenzell can’t have known you were onboard.’
Suzy opened India’s email and read it through again. ‘No, it doesn’t say murdered. Just “found dead in an empty Zurich apartment”.’
Jason groaned.
‘I don’t want the next email to be you writing to them: “Jason Scott was found dead on the Blue Mermaid.” ’
‘ “Stan had been lying there for about ten days.” ’
‘Which means he must have died that night.’ Jason covered his face with his hands and stifled another groan.
A knock on the cabin door caused Jason to jump bolt upright and run to the wardrobe. He climbed inside and shut it behind him.
Suzy went to the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Ong, Miss Marshall, to do your room.’
‘I don’t really need it this morning, Ong.’
‘I’ll just empty your bins, then, and replace your toiletries.’
She stood in front of the wardrobe door and let Ong pass into the room.
‘Did you find your friend?’ he asked as he picked up the waste-paper basket and emptied the contents into a rubbish sack.
‘Oh yes, thank you, Ong. It’s not really a friend. Someone who had seen my talk and wanted my autograph,’ she said, wondering how far this corresponded with what she had said about Stan earlier.
Ong went into the shower room and came out shaking his plastic sack.
A hanger clanged in the wardrobe behind her. Suzy feigned a sudden movement, as though she herself had caused the noise.
‘I’ll just quickly get the vacuum cleaner,’ said Ong, passing her, heading for the corridor.
‘No, don’t bother, Ong. It’s fine. Really.’
Ong nodded and left the cabin.
After a few seconds, Suzy pulled open the wardrobe and Jason stepped out.
‘One thing is puzzling me,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s presume Appenzell left Zurich and then got onboard this ship in Southampton for whatever reason. Why on earth would he come aboard pretending to be Stan? Why not use his own name? And why take someone else’s? And, of all people, why pretend to be Stan Arbuthnot?’
16
Amanda lay snoozing on the spa day beds. She had been in the sauna for a short while. She had ten minutes before her massage.
Pampering didn’t make the anxiety go away. It hadn’t even slightly assuaged the tension she had felt earlier. Three words kept running through her head: fraud, theft and pornography. She dreaded to think about the last one. Surely the police weren’t going to pull you in if you had a few copies of Playboy stashed at the bottom of your wardrobe.
Amanda took a deep breath.
If there was nothing you could do, you had to stop worrying. Stop thinking about it! Stop worrying!
Boy, was that hard. It reminded her of sitting in traffic jams, tense and angry because you were late, but pointlessly letting your head almost burst with anxiety, instead of being a bit more Zen and humming along to soothing melodies on Radio 3. No amount of high blood pressure was going to dissolve the rows of static cars any more than getting stressed out would make things better for Mark.
As Amanda gazed out of the windows she watched the small gaggle of people, all wearing Titanic Club T-shirts, kagouls, caps and badges, chatting as they started to disperse. Two stragglers leaned against the rail. One threw a flower over the side and strolled away. Amanda wondered whether he had taken the flower from his table setting or ordered it specially from the onboard florists.
Now that the Titanic-watching gang had gone only one person was left. A lanky figure in a hoodie gazing down at the water below. He shrugged, then turned and pulled the hood down.
Amanda recognised Tyger. Typical thirteen-year-old, she thought. All teenagers seemed to have a fascination with the Titanic.
Tyger shook his hair and resumed his watch, seemingly riveted or hypnotised by the waves.
A jogger ran by, wearing only T-shirt and shorts. Amanda thought that it must be pretty cold today for such scanty attire, but presumably sporty activities like that warmed you up sufficiently for you not to notice.
It was lovely lying in the cosy, quiet warmth of the spa, looking out at the grey dull deck, with its ever-changing scene. Watching the world go by through the one-way mirrored windows reminded Amanda of watching those old late-night TV shows which displayed a log fire or the view from the front of a train engine chugging through the Alps.
The same jogger was back, trotting along in the other direction now. That was strange. It seemed to be an unwritten law among the joggers always to run round the deck in an anticlockwise direction. As the man came past the spa he stopped, turned and looked in. She realised the jogger was Karl. How funny! He was adjusting his hair in the mirror. She waved to him, but of course he could not see her.
Karl turned and walked slowly towards the edge of the deck. He stood close to Tyger, leaning on the rail beside him. They seemed to chat for a little while, both looking down into the water.
Then Karl did something strange. Slowly, he brought his hand up and started stroking Tyger’s back.
Tyger flinched and took a step away. After a brisk interchange, Tyger turned and bolted. Karl stayed where he was for a few moments, then, first brushing his hair back from his forehead, he resumed his jog, this time on the normal anticlockwise track.
Amanda felt strange at having watched this little vignette through the two-way mirror. She felt dirty, almost as though she had been prying through a keyhole.
‘Mrs Herbert?’ A pretty Filipino girl stood at the end of Amanda’s day bed. ‘Would you like to come through now for your massage?’
*
Suzy looked at her watch and leaped up.
‘Weren’t you supposed to be at the tea dance?’
Jason shook his head. ‘String quartet today. No dancing. Just tea. Not wanted.’ He sighed again. Jason had been sighing for the last hour, as though his body could not get enough oxygen. ‘I’m fearful for tonight, Suzy. What if he’s there in the ballroom? Do you think he’s seen me dancing there? He might lurk at the back every night, watching me.’
Suzy had been listening to Jason working up a state of increasing panic, but didn’t know how to calm him down.
‘Would you recognise him again, Suze?’
Suzy thought about it. Though she had only seen the man for a split second, before Jason ran off, she could recall his distinguished-looking appearance, the swept-back silvery hair, the chiselled features. Though she wouldn’t trust her memory enough for a police line-up, she was pretty sure she would know his face again.
‘Would you sit in on the dance tonight? You could be a lookout. I have to talk to the ladies I dance with. I can’t spend the night looking over their shoulders. It would be as though I was rubber-necking to see if I could get a better date.’
‘But if I saw him, what could I do?’
‘You could warn me.’
‘Then what?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Not sure. We’d have to take it as it comes.’
‘Should we go to the Captain?’
‘And tell him what? That I was at a party with someone onboard who the police did not think was guilty of any misdemeanour?’
Suzy could see what Jason was saying.
‘The police were looking for Appenzell that morning at the theatre.’
‘Yes,’ said Jason. ‘But only because I had made that second anonymous phone call.’ Jason perked up. ‘They’d already gone to his apartment when I was outside watching and he had dispelled their worries. I made the second call, a little while later. They could only have gone to the theatre because there was no reply at his apartment. I did tell them he was backing our play.’
Suzy understood what Jason was implying. ‘So you think that Appenzell was already out of the apartment before 7 a.m. when we were at the theatre.’
‘Either he was hiding inside, not answering the door, or he was gone.’ Jason ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I really must have put the wind up him. He must have got out …’
‘What about Stan?’
‘Presumably Stan was lying dead, inside the flat.’
‘But why didn’t they find him for so long?’
Jason leaned forward. ‘Don’t you see, Suzy? The police don’t knock your door down if you don’t answer. And, after all, they were only responding to an anonymous tip-off from me. And they’d already spoken to him once and gone into his quiet, apparently empty, normal-looking flat. So they’d have just written it off as a nuisance call.’
‘But Appenzell then left Zurich and made his way to Southampton.’ Suzy shook her head. This was all too much. ‘I can’t get that link at all.’
‘Me neither.’ Jason shrugged. ‘He can’t have known we were onboard.’
‘No one did.’
‘But he did know that the heat was on …’
‘And if Stan was there, lying dead …’ Suzy tried to piece it together, attempting to put herself into someone else’s mind. ‘If the police were nosing about, but you had a dead body in your apartment, what would you do?’
‘Try to get rid of the body, I suppose.’<
br />
‘Stan’s body? He was huge. Heavy, fat. Appenzell may be a fit man, but how on earth could he carry Stan? How could anyone? Especially if Stan was literally just a dead weight?’
‘You’re right, Suze. If Stan was lying dead inside that flat, which was on the fourth floor, there was no way he could have got him out. The flat was in the centre of a busy city. So, he had to have shoved Stan’s corpse under a bed and then done a runner.’
‘You remember when Barbara saw Stan’s name on the flight list that morning? Maybe it was Appenzell on that plane. He may have had Stan’s passport …’
‘He’d hardly pass for Stan. They were as alike as Laurel and Hardy.’
‘But look, Jason. Appenzell certainly knew the flight number, and all the ticket details. He could have printed them out.’
‘Of course.’ Jason tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘After all, he bought our tickets. But the passport?’
‘I don’t know, Jason. Perhaps he has a way of changing photos or something.’
Suzy realised that they were starting to get somewhere. She was anxious to make notes. She grabbed a pen from her bedside table.
‘Jeez, Jason, look at the time. I’d better get my glad rags on. You too.’
When Jason had gone to get smartened up, Suzy quickly logged on to the internet and sent emails to Barbara, India and Emily to ask what news they may have had since the one she picked up this morning. She tried to work out what the time was back in London and first thought it must be lunchtime, until she remembered that New York woke up later than London, so now it must still be night-time in England.
As though she knew what Suzy wanted, an email came in from Emily. It was crammed with detail.
Reg was being questioned by the police about his relationship to ‘the money bloke’, as Emily called Appenzell. Stan had, it seemed, died in the spare bedroom of a Zurich apartment, rented for that fortnight by a Mr Hamlyn. Reg had identified the flat as being the one in which Appenzell was holding a party on the night before the show was cancelled. No one knew why Stan was there. He had not gone back to his digs after the party, but the landlady had thought nothing of it as she was used to actors and their nocturnal ways. Though, after a few days, she had contacted the theatre to tell them she was worried. But the theatre simply told her the show was off and that Stan, along with the rest of the company, had gone back to London. The landlady waited a few days for a phone call from Stan, then gave the clothes and suitcase to charity, which, once his body was discovered, proved a great annoyance for the Zurich police. Stan had checked in for his flight, by computer somewhere in the vicinity of the flat where his body was later discovered, but had never arrived at the airport. Everyone, Emily wrote, believed that Jason was in league with Appenzell, and Reg was fuming about the whole thing.
