Second Sitting

by Stella Whitelaw

‘So shall I buy you a plant instead?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m not sure I can take a plant on board. Isn’t there some regulation?’

  ‘I know you can’t take a plant into the States. So how about tonight? What are you doing? We’ve all that extra time in port. Fancy a walk around the quayside, maybe a coffee or a glass of Madeira?’ he asked.

  Samuel was in a black T-shirt and white jeans, sneakers, wraparound sunglasses. He looked like any other tourist except for the cool, handsome, chiselled jaw. I was not that impressed by his good looks. Not like some of the women passengers who crowded round him the moment he appeared on deck.

  ‘I’ll see if I’m free,’I said. ‘It’ll be a busy night, getting everyone back on board. I can see myself doing a sweep of the bars.’

  ‘Then it makes sense if we do it together,’ said Samuel. ‘How about that we meet at eight o’clock, have a coffee and a walk, and then set to work. Two officers working together should have the required authority to get passengers turning back to the ship. What do you think?’

  ‘Put like that, it sounds good,’ I said, wondering what I had let myself in for. I didn’t fancy wandering around the harbour of Funchal with this attractive man late at night. He might be difficult to handle. There were no guide books for dealing with men who knew they had everything and thought they were the answer to every maiden’s token prayer. Caution, Casey. Stay alert. Don’t wear anything that looks like a come-on. No cleavage or clinging skirt.

  That’s how I came to meet Samuel wearing navy slacks, matelot striped shirt, and low-heeled navy sandals, hair loose. He had changed into chinos, a linen jacket and open-necked white shirt. His eyes swept over me.

  ‘Very … er, masculine,’ he said eventually.

  ‘It’s the pseudo authoritarian look,’ I said. ‘It’s about getting people back on board, not about enjoying myself.’

  ‘I hope that I’ll be able to change that,’ he said, taking my arm to guide me through the throng of evening strollers along the front. ‘A hard-working lady like you deserves a few treats.’

  I noticed that he didn’t describe me as beautiful, or lovely or elegant. Hard-working was how he saw me. It was a small stab in the back. I tried not to let it hurt.

  The line of sea-front stalls were fun. Lots of passengers were spending their last Portuguese escudos on knick-knacks and fripperies. The stalls sold everything from food to souvenirs, exquisite embroidery, painted tiles, local produce and flowers. The big cruise ships in the harbour meant lots of money changing hands.

  Samuel went up to a stall that sold hair ornaments of all sorts, shapes and designs. He cast an experienced eye over the assortment and pounced on a circle of exotic white flowers sewn on to some stretchy stuff.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said. He bought it and before I knew what was happening, he had pulled back my straggling hair and threaded on the circlet of flowers. I could hardly fight him off. ‘A touch of glamour,’ he added.

  ‘Very nice. Thank you,’ I said ungraciously. I knew it was perfect but I wasn’t going to tell him so. The flowers were over the top but took away the severity of my navy outfit. My step lightened. I couldn’t stop my feet wanting to dance. And there was music coming from a nearby café.

  Samuel noticed the change in my mood and steered me towards the old-style Café Apolo in the street running down from the cathedral. ‘Coffee or wine?’ he asked.

  I’d forgotten ‘Caution, Casey’. ‘Wine, please. White with ice.’

  ‘Ice in wine?’ he raised one of those dark eyebrows. Did he know how suave he looked? ‘That’s new for me. Do I detect a puritan streak?’

  ‘That’s for me not to say and for you to find out,’ I said. This was not an entirely original response. I’d read it somewhere and liked it. This was one smooth baby. For a moment I could forget all the shipboard problems and the two bodies in freezer compartments down in the depths. I wondered if Mrs Foster had come ashore or whether she had stayed on board, listening to Cole Porter and Gershwin.

  Samuel ordered in hesitant Portuguese. ‘I’ve ordered you a white port on the rocks,’ he said. ‘Something different for you to try.’

  ‘Does it have a floral overtone?’ He was too bossy for words. My hair, now my drink. What else was he going to change?

  I saw Mrs Laurent being wheeled along by an older man in a blazer. She was wearing a long floaty mauve dress to hide the plaster. He looked very attentive, listening to her every word. He had a captive companion who might be a first for a long time. There were a lot of lonely people on board.

  ‘Nice lady,’ said Samuel, nodding towards the departing wheelchair. ‘She had a tricky break but she made no fuss. Pops a few painkillers and is getting on with the cruise. Some of my patients … you wouldn’t believe it. They expect a Harley Street consultation for a headache.’

  ‘It takes all sorts,’ I said vaguely. ‘But they don’t allow wheelchairs into the casino, so she can’t gamble.’ I wasn’t going to gossip about the passengers. I didn’t trust this man half an inch. But the port was lovely and it made me smile at him. The extra coldness gave it a bite.

  ‘You should smile more often,’ he said. ‘It lights up your face.’

  ‘I smile all day long,’ I said. ‘Give my muscles some time off. I’m off duty now.’

  ‘I hear they are departing table two, second sitting, in droves,’ he said. He was drinking some ice-cold local beer. ‘It’s down to four now. No one wants to sit there. They are spreading stories about the table being jinxed.’

  ‘The waiters won’t like it. They’ll lose their tips. The magician’s box … I suppose it has been put safely into storage somewhere?’ I was digging.

  ‘Sure. It’s evidence, apparently.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about Merlin’s act. He did those illusions right under the nose of the audience. Very clever. He did it by distracting their attention with something totally irrelevant. I think the box is totally irrelevant. I think we are being distracted.’

  ‘Now there’s a clever girl,’ said Samuel, grinning.

  ‘Hard working and now clever? That’s two compliments in one evening. I’ll have to chalk it up. Will I be able to stand it?’

  ‘Just you wait. You might like the third even more.’ He was laughing at me, understanding my sarcasm, going along with it. He’d earned half a point. ‘And you may be right. I couldn’t see the point of the box. Unless he didn’t die of a heart attack and wasn’t meant to be found for quite a time.’

  ‘So what about the cherry-red blood?’

  ‘How do you know there was cherry-red blood?’

  ‘I was there. I saw it. Remember, when Mr Foster collapsed?’

  ‘And what exactly do you know about cherry-red blood? Tell me, like you’ve read some books or are a failed medical student.’

  ‘Neither. But it’s a sign of cyanide poisoning, isn’t it?’

  ‘Exactly. Whereas with a straightforward heart attack the blood is usually a dark purple.’

  I shivered. I didn’t want to talk about this death any more. ‘But where would anyone get cyanide? You can’t buy it in any shop. Surely we don’t have it on board.’

  ‘It’s used in photography and some jewellery work. It can also be extracted from laurel leaves and some seeds. That’s why it has a bitter-almond smell.’

  ‘Who got near enough to smell anything?’

  Samuel leaned across the table. He touched my hand. It was fleeting but like an electric shock. ‘Shall we talk about something different, Casey? This is an evening for the living, not for dying.’

  He was right. The night was balmy, a beautiful sickle moon, the harbour full of lights. And the music. My life has always been full of music. Now I had to live without it.

  I spotted Amanda Banesto, looking gorgeous in something straight from L’Eclaireur, Paris. It must have taken weeks to sew on all those shimmering beads. She was strolling with the same young man I had seen with her in Palma.


  ‘Do you know those two?’ I asked, forgetting that I wasn’t going to gossip. Perhaps this was my night for forgetting. I had a lot to forget.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, clamping down. ‘She has some trouble sleeping. Don’t ask me anything else about Ms Banesto. Patient confidentiality.’

  ‘I’m not surprised if she witnessed her fiancé being knifed. I’d have trouble sleeping.’

  I’d finished my drink. A second would not be a good idea. Samuel understood and didn’t offer. We got up and started to wander, meandering through the crowds.

  Nigel Garten spotted the two of us. ‘Hey,’ he said with a grin. ‘Isn’t this called internal crew fraternization? Is it allowed?’

  ‘Purely professional,’ I said. ‘Mr Garten …’ I was calling him back. ‘Aren’t you on table two, second sitting? I’m glad to see that it doesn’t worry you.’

  ‘No way, Miss Jones. I’m not superstitious. Both heart attacks, weren’t they? I’m as strong as an ox. Why don’t you join us? There’s a couple of empty places now. It would be nice to have a pretty face on our table.’

  ‘I may well do that, but you know what my evenings are like. Hardly time for a bite. Maybe my deputy will stand in at a show and I’ll join you.’

  ‘That would be real nice.’

  He was overweight but pleasant with it. He had a cheerful open face, was the kind of man who didn’t make snide remarks, no put-downs, always outgoing, even if he did go to a lot of parties. I wondered about his background. Was he divorced, separated, widowed, single? I didn’t know.

  ‘You’ve an admirer,’ said Samuel as we started touring the bars. ‘He seems very nice. Could do with losing a few pounds but people forget to eat less as they age.’

  ‘He is nice but lonely. A lot of lonely people come on cruises.’

  ‘And it’s not only the passengers. Crew as well. Crew are lonely too. They are separated from their families for months on end. They sign contracts. But they need the money to send home.’

  ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me. I know how long the stewards work before they can go home. My steward has a wife and two baby girls. He’s shown me their photos. He sends money home to support them.’

  ‘So where is your home, tell me, Miss Jones?’

  ‘West Sussex, on the coast. And how about you, Dr Mallory, such a handsome man of many charms?’

  ‘It’s Irish charm. Haven’t you detected the accent? I’ve been working on it for years. It is not trusted in some parts of the world.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I trust you, sort of, I think. Don’t let me down. I’ve a feeling we are going to need each other on this cruise. In a purely professional way, of course,’ I added hastily. I didn’t know why I was suddenly serious.

  ‘That may be very true, Miss Jones. Look, I know that we didn’t get on very well, at the start. But I like you. And it’s not just Madeira moonglow. We need each other. You’re clever, and don’t get me wrong, you are also quite beautiful in a remote way, a face to launch a thousand ships. One look at you and I’m floating, and that’s not good.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Dr Mallory was staring at me, those light grey eyes so intent. I was thrown. It was time to move on. I looked at my watch. One hour before departure. The Countess was primed to leave soon. Time to round up the late-nighters still in the bars.

  ‘So forget launching ships. Shall we get going?’ I said, a real smile touching my face. ‘You and me, Dr Mallory. The last roundup. It’ll be fun. Hand in hand, like the Sundance Kids. Let’s get going.’

  ‘Hey, I need a kiss. I can’t ever get going on round-ups without a kiss.’

  No soft lights. But he kissed me. Not quite sure where, on the cheek, but it was enough to get us both going. We went out to round-up the late-comers. The chivvying was light-hearted but they got the message. Except for one passenger who was sitting in a café right on the front, drinking beer, watching the Countess making her preparations to leave.

  He was dragged on board by an eagle-eyed crew member when the electronic cruise-card check at the top of the gangway didn’t tally. The man apologized profusely, said it was such a lovely evening, he had quite forgotten he was on the ship.

  Seven - At Sea

  We were heading for the Caribbean now at an average speed of twenty knots and the days at sea were getting hotter. Passengers lay in rows on the deck, determined to toast themselves to a crisp. The sea breeze was deceptive and they did not realize how the temperature was climbing.

  The stewardesses did a roaring trade in serving cold drinks while managing to stay looking cool and trim. There were two small swimming pools and a Jacuzzi, all packed with bodies. I never swam in a ship’s pool. Four strokes and you bumped your head on the opposite side. I preferred to wait for a beach and sand, and maybe make friends with a shark or two.

  I rarely went out on deck till after four o’clock. My morning run round the promenade deck was early before breakfast. The air was cool then, but already warming up. Three times round was slightly under a mile. I made sure I staggered at least a mile even though I totted up a good few miles touring the decks each day on my usual rounds.

  Our first port of call in the Caribbean was Barbados where we would be picking up Estelle Grayson, the soprano. I’d met her on other cruises. Her career was hopping between cruise ships with her solo act. Her touched-up photo was already displayed prominently in our entertainers’ showcase.

  Estelle was glamorous, with any lines or wrinkles that dared to appear quickly Botoxed out, her dark hair lustrous and piled high. Once on board, she demanded a daily appointment at the beauty salon. Never thought of washing her own hair between shows. Extensions are tricky to wash. She queened it around the bars, cadging drinks from admirers. Strictly against company rules but she took little notice. I knew I would have to warn her. And she would make a beeline for our gorgeous doctor. Maybe I ought to warn him too.

  I came across the lady in grey lace whom I could now put a name to. She was Madame Maria de Leger. Every time I saw her she was at a deck table, scribbling away in a notebook.

  ‘I’m writing my life story,’ she told me. ‘I went to one of the writing lectures about putting your life story on paper, and have got completely carried away. I can’t stop writing. I’ve got to get it all down before I forget everything. It is taking over my life. Of course, I shall go ashore at all our ports of call, but it’s wonderful to have something real to do on board, apart from eating and drinking.’

  ‘I expect you’ve had a really interesting life.’

  ‘Can you believe I was parachuted into France during the war?’ she laughed. ‘Wait until you read my story. I must think of a good title. That writing lecturer said a good title was really important. It’s your selling point.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll think of a few for you. Ready, Steady, Jump? Ripcord Rebel?’ I suggested. Madame de Leger was not wearing lace today, but a cool looking linen pastel apple-green safari suit with lots of pearl-buttoned pockets. She had superb taste.

  ‘I need all the help I can get. I like Ripcord Rebel. I suppose I was a bit of a rebel, for my time,’ she said, offering me a drink. ‘But it was wartime and people did strange things, found new strengths.’

  I refused the drink again, politely, lightly, and moved on. There was an art auction this afternoon and I had to make sure everything was ready in the Princess Lounge. The crime scene tapes were down and we were back to normal, or near normality.

  Tonight’s entertainers were rehearsing and the lounge was closed to passengers as the dancers tried to remember what they had already forgotten. The music sounded good. It was an Abba orientated show, all their popular songs. We had some good singers aboard. Estelle would have to look to her laurels. She could easily be outclassed.

  Samuel appeared at my side. He was in his medical whites and strangely had an after-six shadow on his chin. His beard was very dark. It was a groovy, Brad Pitt look. I liked it. Dishevelled I go for. It must be something from way back. ‘You look
as if you have been up all night,’ I said.

  ‘I have. Two coffees please,’ he waved at a stewardess. She obeyed instantly, still smiling. ‘Mrs Foster. She took an overdose, Temazepam and a handful of aspirins. It shows you should never judge outward appearances. She seemed to be well-balanced and coping with life. But she wasn’t. A steward found her in her stateroom this morning, couldn’t rouse her, sent for me. I’ve been walking her for hours. She’s coming round properly now.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Maybe it was accidental. She could have forgotten she had already taken her sleeping pills. Temazepan’s a sleeping pill, isn’t it? I meant to go and see her,’ I said, appalled. ‘She was on my list.’

  ‘You and your lists. Don’t blame yourself. Listen, Casey, do what your heart says to do now. Forget making lists and follow your heart. It’s always too late tomorrow.’

  The stewardess arrived with the coffees in double-quick time. She glowed with happiness. She obviously adored the doctor. I thought about his words as I stirred my coffee. He was right. It’s always too late tomorrow. I looked at him with renewed interest. He had never struck me as profound before.

  ‘Do the crew ever come to see you?’ I asked without thinking. ‘They do. But I don’t charge them.’

  ‘I’m crew,’ I added without thinking.

  ‘You can come any time. I’d always make a space for you. Feel free, Miss Jones. Bring me all your problems.’ He was smiling, and it was a sweet smile despite the dark stubble. ‘It may be a long and thorough consultation.’

  ‘You need some sleep,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I get very lonely in bed. Have you any suggestions?’

  ‘How about a teddy bear? The shop has some gorgeous ones.’

  ‘I was thinking of something a little softer and warmer than a teddy bear. Besides I’m allergic to acrylic.’

  Samuel was laughing at me, again. But this time I didn’t mind.

  ‘I’ll draw up a list for you,’ I said. ‘There is probably a queue of female passengers, softer and warmer, ready and eager to share your lonely bed.’