Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  ‘I didn’t, actually. Is that significant?’ He swiped another biscuit from the plate and bit into it. ‘Maybe he’s simply protecting the identity of his clients?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Flora fell into step beside him as they emerged onto the deck, replaying the interview in her head. Despite the captain’s logic and the German’s conviction, she still couldn’t see Crowe as a cold-blooded killer, and whoever had murdered Eloise was certainly that.

  Chapter 21

  Bunny arrived exactly two minutes before their agreed time to take her to dinner, a broad smile of surprised admiration telling her all her efforts had not been in vain. She had vacillated all afternoon, then decided it would be a shame to waste the chance to wear Cynthia’s gown, which made her confident she could compete with the other passengers. The evening was almost warm, so instead of taking the interior corridor, they strolled across the deck towards the dining room, pausing to admire the dramatic sunset from the rail.

  ‘You aren’t nervous about this evening’s dance, are you?’ His arm grazed hers, the touch of his soft dinner jacket sliding over his muscles made her shiver. ‘I mean, you can dance?’

  ‘No, of course not – I mean yes I can dance, I’m not nervous and I am rather looking forward to it.’ She kneaded the delicate purse in one hand, crushing it. ‘Although there are times I wish Lord Vaughn had sent me home on a different ship, one with no murders on board.’

  ‘How did Eddy enjoy the horse racing?’ Bunny laughed, changing the subject.

  ‘He arrived back at our suite with a pocket full of coins I chose not to ask about. Not that Lord Vaughn would object if he knew. He’s not averse to a day at the races himself.’

  ‘I’m glad you felt confident enough to leave him alone tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Flora winced. ‘That steward you hired is bringing Ozzy over to our suite for the evening. He’ll sit with them then put him to bed.’

  ‘With Crowe safely locked up in whatever passes for a brig on this vessel, I doubt you’ll need him now.’ Flora gave him a sharp look and he shrugged. ‘Oh well, I might as well get my money’s worth.’ He winked, then pushed open the door of the dining room bathed in electric light, savoury food smells and the clink of crystal glass and low tones of music from the palm court orchestra.

  ‘You look very elegant, my dear,’ Monica said as Flora and Bunny took their seats. ‘I wish I had the colouring for dramatic hues, but pastels suit me better.’ She indicated her peach-coloured gown with its tight-ruffled bodice.

  ‘I wish you did too.’ Gerald’s appraising gaze slid up and down Flora’s costume. ‘I hope you’ll allow me a dance after dinner, Flora?’

  ‘Of course, Mr Gilmore, I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘I thought we had ventured past the formal by now,’ he said, mildly affronted. ‘Do call me Gerald, after all this is not your average sea voyage.’

  ‘Please don’t talk about - well you know what, again,’ Monica waved a lace handkerchief across her face. ‘Let’s enjoy a lovely evening without that.’

  Gerald rolled his eyes at Flora over her head, murmuring, ‘Yes dear.’

  The atmosphere of the room was charged with excited chatter and an air of anticipation, and a hysteria born of relief, which Flora attributed to the fact everyone believed the killer was under guard.

  ‘I hope there won’t be any of that Vaudeville music this evening.’ Mrs Penry-Jones eyed the quintet orchestra with suspicion. ‘Too low-class in my opinion.’

  ‘Really?’ Bunny pinned her with a challenging stare. ‘And I was hoping you would partner me in one of the new jazz dances, Mrs Penry-Jones?’

  ‘I’ll thank you not to goad me, young man.’ Her evening bag hit the table with a thump, though her pebble eyes twinkled with flirtatious amusement.

  It seemed no woman was safe from Bunny’s charm.

  Miss Ames swung a scarlet wrap over one shoulder, the sequin-encrusted edge missing Flora’s face by a half inch. She plucked two glasses of transparent purple liquid from a tray and handed one to Mrs Penry-Jones.

  ‘Do try some of this, it’s quite delicious.’ She giggled and downed half the contents of her own glass. ‘It tastes just like damsons.’

  ‘Indeed it does,’ Mrs Penry-Jones said after her first sip, frowning into the glass before she gulped the rest. ‘Goodness, it’s hot in here.’ She flapped an ostrich-feather fan rapidly in front of her face, the glass held out to Hester. ‘Get me another one of these fruit cups, would you?’

  Hester obeyed with an annoyed pout, her severe bun putting Flora in mind of a bad-tempered Jane Eyre.

  ‘That isn’t fruit cup, is it?’ Flora whispered behind her fan to Bunny.

  Bunny winked. ‘Not even close.’

  His gaze met hers and held, creating a sweet, tingling sensation that started somewhere deep in her belly and spread into her chest doing odd things to her nipples. Memories of their kiss remained, and hope lingered, that their closeness might continue once the voyage was over. She dragged her eyes away and turned to where Cynthia made her entrance, looking serene in an apricot gown trimmed with ecru lace, a simple line from bodice to hem, and pretty lace cap sleeves. Her champagne-coloured hair was drawn up onto her head in loose curls which exposed her swan-like neck. A crewman wheeled a bath chair alongside her in which Max sat, still wan-looking and with a square plaster on his forehead replacing the bandage; his sling-wrapped arm supported on a cushion on his lap.

  ‘I love Astrakhan Caviar.’ Cynthia read from the menu card, then slid it into her evening bag. She caught Flora’s gaze and giggled, ‘A souvenir of the most dramatic honeymoon ever. Maybe I’ll ask the captain to autograph it.’

  ‘Why weren’t we invited to dine with the captain?’ Monica said in a harsh stage whisper, nodding to where Captain Gates held court to a table full of smug-looking passengers. ‘We’re as important as anyone else on this ship.’

  ‘I don’t know why they call him Giggles,’ Gerald said in an undertone, making no attempt to answer her complaint. ‘Haven’t seen the fella laugh for days.’

  ‘Hardly surprising,’ Miss Ames chided. ‘Two deaths are hardly going to look good on his record.’

  A sudden, swift depression engulfed Flora, before a voice in her head whispered that Eloise would have been the first to encourage her to enjoy herself.

  ‘Who would have taken that Crowe chap for a double killer, eh?’ Gerald held up his empty champagne glass as a summons to a passing server. The man bowed, swapped it for a full one and bowed again before melting into the crowd.

  ‘If a man is ruthless enough to bludgeon another man to death for money,’ Hester said, ‘he’s hardly likely to baulk at stabbing a defenceless woman.’

  ‘I hate the word, bludgeon.’ Cynthia gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘It conjures such horrible images.’

  ‘I never liked him. He always struck me as the sleazy type.’ Miss Ames peered into her glass as if disappointed to find it empty.

  ‘I thought Mr Crowe was a charming man.’ Monica twirled the ice chips in her glass. ‘A little rough around the edges maybe.’

  Flora was about to point out that neither fact made him homicidal but kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘What happens now the killer has been apprehended?’ Miss Ames asked no one in particular.

  ‘The police in London will have questions of their own, I imagine,’ Gerald replied. Hester’s ubiquitous tapestry bag slipped to the floor with a resounding thump. She bent to retrieve it, but had barely replaced it on her lap again before it fell to the floor again.

  ‘Do stop fidgeting, Hester!’ Mrs Penry-Jones glared at her.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Penry-Jones,’ she simpered, her flush deepening.

  As the meal progressed, conversation moved by mutual agreement away from murder, until the tables were cleared away and the orchestra opened the dancing with a lively tune Flora didn’t recognize.

  ‘How about the quadrille?’ Bunny whispered.

  ‘Lovely.’ Sh
e lifted her chin in mock offence and took his outstretched hand, though was not prepared for the surge of awareness that swept over her as his hand closed possessively round hers, as if it belonged there.

  Bunny led her onto the dance floor where they made up the set of four couples in a square. In seconds, the music filled Flora’s head as she changed partners and returned to her own pairing with Bunny in the formation again. The need to concentrate dispelled the tensions of the last few days among a swirl of colour, light and noise as the fiddlers worked the melody into a noisy crescendo.

  Instead of returning to their table at the end of the dance, Bunny slipped his arm round her waist as the strains of ‘A Bicycle Made for Two’ filled the room.

  ‘Look over there,’ he whispered in Flora’s ear. ‘I suspect Gerald is taking his leave of his shipboard romance.’

  She turned her head to where Gerald danced with the young woman she assumed must be the same one he was talking to at the deck game.

  ‘Poor Monica?’ Flora whispered. ‘Do you suppose she knows?’

  ‘If she does, she’s making an excellent job of feigning ignorance. Or maybe she’s aware his attachment is only temporary, and once home she can rein him in again.’

  ‘That’s too worldly for me,’ Flora sniffed. ‘I expect husbands to be devoted. To the exclusion of all others.’

  ‘In your case, that wouldn’t be difficult.’

  All of a sudden inhaling became difficult as his hand shifted to her back, his head lowered until his temple rested against her cheek. Her chin grazed his shoulder as they swayed around the dance floor, the weight of unspoken words pulled between them. ‘Don’t you think you’re holding me too close?’ she whispered once they had covered half the floor.

  ‘Possibly, but I rather like it.’

  She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, where she fitted so naturally, it was as if they had done the same thing many times. She wanted the evening to last forever, with Bunny’s hand spread across the back of her waist, and the warmth of his jaw beside her cheek as the room revolved in a kaleidoscope of light that leapt and blurred.

  The music changed and Bunny relinquished her to a hovering Gerald, though not without reluctance. ‘Not too upset by this murder business, are you, my dear?’ Gerald asked. She gave a non-committal smile, her focus on her feet to prevent them being trampled, Gerald being an enthusiastic rather than a skilled dancer. ‘Nice girl, I thought,’ he went on when she didn’t answer, gripping her harder, though it was a fatherly touch rather than a suggestive one. ‘Must make the whole mess difficult for you when you seemed to like her.’

  ‘I did.’ Flora responded, hesitating to explain her misgivings about Gus Crowe being in custody.

  ‘Not boring you, am I?’ he asked with the confidence of a man who cannot imagine doing any such thing.

  ‘You’re not a boring man, Gerald. In fact, you are quite a surprising one.’ She slanted a flirtatious look up at his face, pleased when his smile went stale round the edges.

  ‘Can’t think what you mean by that, my dear.’ He cleared his throat, then apologized when his toe grazed her instep.

  ‘No harm done then,’ Flora said. ‘And I didn’t mean to put you off.’

  When the tune ended, she thanked Gerald politely, then left him in the middle of the floor staring after her with a perplexed frown on his face. By the time she located Bunny, the next dance had begun and he was partnering Cynthia, who laughed up into his eyes as he twirled her around the floor.

  Max was also watching them, his gaze on his wife with a fierce pride tinged with sadness. Did Max, like her, feel he didn’t deserve someone so dazzling? Or was he plagued with thoughts of misdeeds as yet unrevealed? Flora shivered, but didn’t have time to brood, as a young man from California approached her and requested the next dance.

  She had hardly returned to the table before Mr Hersch claimed her, which gave her momentary dread, though he surprised her by managing the two-step with remarkable grace for a big man, handing her back to Bunny with a flourish when it ended as if that was where she belonged.

  The hardworking quintet made a valiant effort with ‘After The Ball’.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ he whispered into her hair when the last notes had faded away. ‘But I could do with a sit down and a drink.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Flora slipped her hand into his quite naturally, pulling him gently towards their table, where Cynthia and Max sat with Miss Ames and a very flushed Mrs Penry-Jones, none of whom seemed eager to leave, though around them tables had begun to clear, waiters collected glasses and the band began to collect up their instruments.

  Gerald had returned to the table where he sat holding Monica’s hand, which drew an enquiring glance from Bunny.

  ‘Guilt,’ Flora whispered, at which Bunny nodded and ordered fresh drinks, slipping the waiter a banknote to avoid being told they were packing up for the evening.

  ‘Gone to the powder room,’ Mrs Penry-Jones said when Flora’s gaze lingered on Hester’s empty chair. ‘Though why such a plain woman needs to spend so much time in front of a mirror escapes me.’

  Flora merely smiled, recalling the heady perfume Hester had worn the other day. Perhaps expensive fragrances were the woman’s weakness?

  ‘Y’know, it strikes me,’ Gerald mused, as if he had turned the question over in his head all evening, ‘that Crowe chap didn’t have it in him to murder a gel.’

  ‘He robbed her, didn’t he?’ Monica snapped, ‘Sounds simple enough to me.’

  ‘Maybe too simple,’ Max murmured.

  ‘That’s what I think,’ Flora couldn’t help herself. ‘I don’t believe Crowe killed Eloise either.’

  Max reached for his glass, but fumbled it, and instead sent it toppling sideways.

  Cynthia’s hand shot out and caught Max’s glass, though not quickly enough to prevent a spray of amber liquid onto the pristine white tablecloth. ‘Can’t we simply forget about all that for one evening?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Max gave his wife a sideways look before going back to working his way through a plate of petit fours left in the middle of the table. ‘It’s a nasty business all round which has got out of hand.’

  Cynthia slowly wiped drops of whisky from her hand, but did not respond.

  ‘I agree with Cynthia.’ Gerald brought his hand down hard on the tabletop, making Flora jump. ‘Accept what everyone else has, that Crowe was a cold-blooded killer.’

  ‘Maybe, but—’ Flora halted when Bunny’s hand gripped hers on the table, a plea in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t let’s ruin this delightful evening by bringing up all that business again. Crowe is in custody. It’s over.’

  ‘I didn’t bring it up! Gerald did.’ Flora bridled, annoyed he was treating her like some vacuous female who needed instructions on how to think. She grabbed her bag from the table. ‘Excuse me, but I promised to say goodnight to Eddy.’

  ‘It’s nearly midnight!’ Bunny’s impatient sigh accompanied the scrape of her chair as she rose. ‘He’ll be asleep by now.’

  Ignoring him, she strode from the room, her angry footsteps propelling her across the deserted lobby and through the double doors onto the deck. Taking a deep breath of salt-tinged air, she set off across the boards.

  A thick layer of fog drifted in off the ocean, softening the electric lights to a misty glow, the thrum of the engines beneath her feet a constant background sound.

  The ship’s bell rang the hour with a muffled gong just as the moon broke through a bank of cloud in a milky ball, pushing through the grey vapour, only to be swallowed again, throwing the deck into darkness.

  The scene in the dining room replayed in her head as she walked. How dare Bunny try to control her into silence? He had no right to censor her opinions, and if he wasn’t prepared to accept she had a mind of her own, they weren’t suited at all. Though something else scraped at her brain she couldn’t shake. She had missed something, though what and where escaped her. She had seen it clearly at t
he time but allowed it to slip past her without understanding what it meant.

  Preoccupied, it took her a moment to realize that the suite door stood slightly ajar. She pushed it wider with one hand, her breath held as she flicked the light switch, bathing the room in light. She gave the empty room a swift glance, then tiptoed to Eddy’s door, easing it open on oiled hinges. The night light on his bedside table created soft yellow arc that threw the corners into shadow. Eddy must have heard her as the mound of covers lifted and he propped himself onto one elbow.

  ‘Flora?’ He scratched his head and blinked. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, but the suite door was open.’

  ‘The steward must have left it like that.’ He eased upright and wrapped his arms round his bent knees. ‘Did you have a good time?’

  ‘It was a lovely dance, I—’ She broke off at a dull thump that came from the sitting room behind her.

  ‘What’s that?’ Eddy’s eyes rounded as he slid from beneath the covers.

  ‘Stay there!’ She held up a hand and backed out of the room. The door to her bedroom stood open where she was certain it had been closed when she entered. Her head swivelled to the main door to the deck just as the flap of a full-length cloak disappeared through it.

  A lance of fury sliced through her chest, and without thinking, she launched herself after the intruder.

  ‘Flora!’ Eddy's voice, both fearful and exasperated, called after her.

  Chapter 22

  Flora’s feet thumped across the deck, propelled by raw anger that someone had dared enter their suite while Eddy slept. Her feet were already sore from dancing all evening but she pounded on, each step vibrating through the thin soles of her dancing shoes.

  Just as the thought struck her that the intruder couldn’t have got far, she caught sight of a figure gliding through the mist ahead of her, appearing as a dark outline in the swirling mist, only to disappear again immediately.