Second Sitting

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘Si,’ he said, light dawning. ‘You very sick passenger?’

  ‘Yes, very sick passenger.’

  Whatever Dr Mallory said eventually convinced the official. He did a lot of nodding. Then he made another call, asking for permission for the transfer.

  ‘You will wear lifejacket and jump,’ he said. ‘Boat no wait. One, two, jump.’

  I would have agreed to anything. ‘One, two, jump,’ I repeated, nodding.

  I was helped down into the launch and it began the short journey to reach the Countess. She was ahead of us, already on course. The pilot’s job was over.

  The transfer was, as always, this amazing split-second timing. I had watched it many times. The launch slowed alongside, the pilot appeared at a water-level door, and as nonchalantly as stepping on to an escalator, stepped across the waves and on to the small bobbing deck.

  Now, I had to do the same, in the opposite direction. The time had come. Omigod.

  Seventeen - At Sea

  There was an audience of several hundred passengers hanging over the rails, watching my inelegant late arrival on the Countess. They were armed with camcorders and cameras. Word had gone round. This was live entertainment, no rehearsal.

  My hair was caked with salt and sand, the sarong clinging to my legs, wearing one sandal and a plastic bag. And on top of my wet swimsuit I was strapped into a cumbersome lifejacket. I was the last word in cruise line elegance.

  I had one card in my favour. A tomboy childhood had me climbing in and out of trees before I could even tie my shoelaces. Surely I could time a single leap?

  The pilot’s launch neared the ship. The Countess looked bigger than ever from below and the doorway in her hull, so small and distant. The pilot was already waiting as the ship was now clear of land and rocks and his job over. He waited until the deck of the launch was level with the doorway and stepped over. He was short and jaunty, a peaked cap set on thick grey hair.

  A lurch of waves sent the launch bobbing back out of reach. The helmsman put the launch into reverse and backed it closer to the towering hull of the Countess.

  ‘I will help you,’ the pilot said, reassuringly. What a nice man. He put his hand under my elbow. ‘When I say, go now, senorita. You go. Trust me.’

  I was terrified despite all the tree climbing. This was totally different. Vast, dark-blue choppy sea below, huge ship above. I could be crushed to death. My fear showed in my eyes. I felt sick, scared witless.

  ‘You will be safe,’ he said, patting my arm. ‘Go now.’

  I leaped.

  Two sturdy seamen caught me by the arms and hauled me aboard. I fell against them with relief. The rubber floor of the Countess felt firm and solid despite the movement. One of them was stripping off the lifejacket and, casually leaning out, at the right moment handed it back to the pilot.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, gracias,’ I called out, still shaking. Politeness surfaced. Everything else was blurred.

  A cheer went up from passengers on the upper decks, ragged but enthusiastic. The show was over. They could go and get changed for dinner now.

  ‘Adios,’ the harbour crew waved, grinning. They’d have a tale to tell tonight in the local bars. ‘Adios.’

  ‘Adios,’ I waved. ‘Gracias.’

  I was way down in the depths, among all the food storage areas. Thousands of tons of vegetables, crates and crates of beer and wine, millions of eggs. The statistics were always awesome. Dr Samuel Mallory was sauntering towards me. He couldn’t keep the smug grin off his face.

  ‘Well, well, how’s my sick passenger?’ he asked, tapping his forehead.

  ‘Is that what you told him?’ I was furious.

  ‘So it worked, didn’t it?’

  I started marching along the narrow corridor. There must be a way out, some stairs or a service lift. I had to find a bathroom soon and it wasn’t only to wash my hair.

  ‘Wrong way,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

  It was humbling, having to follow the damned man but I suppose he had helped to get me back on-board. I should be grateful but I wasn’t particularly.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, gathering a shred of dignity in my damp clothes. ‘I need a bathroom.’

  ‘No problem, lady. I know of a nice private one you can use.’

  I was past caring where he took me. Up in a service lift, along a corridor, out on deck for some metres, then inside and along another corridor. He unlocked the door to a cabin. ‘Feel free,’ he said, indicating the bathroom.

  It was his cabin. Dark wood panelling, large bunk bed, shelves of books everywhere, desk, a real window. Not a lot of space.

  I was looking at jars of aftershave, hair cream, razors on the counter, a navy towelling robe behind the bathroom door. I didn’t trawl through his possessions. I was too pleased to be in a proper bathroom to care where I was.

  ‘Have a shower if you want,’ he called out. ‘I’m making you a hot drink.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ I said, swamped with relief. I could have cried.

  I was standing under a warm shower, floppy shower curtain closed, when the door opened and a cup of tea arrived on the counter beside the wash basin. It looked and smelt marvellous.

  ‘Sugar in the saucer,’ he said. ‘One paracetamol tablet in foil bubble. I noticed that your sandal is broken and you’re limping. Have you got any cuts on your foot?’

  ‘A few,’ I said. ‘It was rough going.’

  ‘I’ll take a look at them when you come out. Can’t be too careful.’

  ‘I haven’t any clothes.’

  I heard a sort of resigned exasperation. ‘I have seen a naked woman before, Casey, though I admit it was a long time ago in my student days. Put on the robe from behind the door.’

  When I came out, I was feeling clean and much better. I needed to change and fast unless Susan had decided to deputize for me at the first show. She would seize the opportunity. It was a tribute to the legendary Neil Diamond tonight.

  Samuel pulled a couple of armchairs towards the desk. ‘Put your foot up,’ he said. He had a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton wool. He poked at my cuts and grazes. Soon he was putting on plasters without asking if I was allergic to the adhesive.

  ‘You’ll live,’ he said, moving my foot off the chair. ‘Would you like some more tea?’

  ‘Thank you, but no, I have to go. It was lovely.’

  ‘Do you know where you are?’

  ‘On the bridge. Hallowed ground.’

  He nodded. ‘Superior accommodation, as you see. Return the robe when convenient please. I’m rather fond of it.’

  ‘Sorry to have wasted so much of your time,’ I said, rising to go and tightening the robe belt.

  ‘Not at all. In fact, it was quite productive. While I was waiting to cheer on your arrival, I found one lost hospital nightie hanging over a hot-air vent. Wash day probably.’

  ‘So she’s still on board?’

  ‘Down in the depths, it seems.’

  ‘We’ll never find her.’

  ‘Do we want to?’

  ‘There’s no answer to that.’

  That was a point. We had no real idea if she could cast any light on the death of her father. She might not even know that her father had died. But she might give us some clues as to why.

  I gathered up his towelling robe and departed. I could find my way back, peeping into the Princess Lounge as I passed. Susan had taken over as MC for the first show and was parading around the stage in an emerald green outfit that made her look like a parrot. I shrank back from the darkened doorway to the theatre and hurried down to my cabin.

  It was basic. It was short on space. But I was glad to see the familiarity. My hair was drying nicely. My foot didn’t hurt so much. I needed to wear something gorgeous to lift my morale. Something really stunning. I put on a sequin-trimmed white tunic top and camisole with matching flared trousers, silver hip belt and glittering flip-flops. All from M & S. No overdraft needed for this outfit.

  This was my r
ecently jumped-on-board from the pilot’s boat, laid-back heroic look. Understated, of course. I tied up my unruly hair with the seed bracelets I had bought from the market vendors. It worked in a weird way.

  Circulating that evening was easy. Everyone wanted to know what had happened. Had I fallen asleep? Had I swum too far? I kept near to the truth but word went round that I had found an injured dog on the slippery rock steps and had to get it back to the grateful owner. How a dog came into the scenario, I had no idea.

  Table two, second sitting, was half empty. I took a spare place and everyone seemed pleased to see me, greeting me with enthusiasm. There were several unaccompanied women and a new couple who disliked their former table companions and had asked to be moved anywhere.

  ‘The jinx is only on men, you see,’ one spritely widow confided. ‘Would you like some wine, dear? This is a very refreshing white. The wine steward recommended it.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Thank you. I need refreshing.’

  The food, of course, was out of this world and served with class. Goodbye Officers’ Mess. I had some superb seafood concoction served in a tiny shell-shaped dish, floating in melting goat’s cheese. The soup was parsnip and orange with coriander which was out of this world for taste buds. I demolished a slice of pheasant breast with mangetout and then I had to be going. Time to sign off Neil Diamond before the parrot burst her dress.

  There was a short, sharp explosion. I shot to the floor and crouched there, quivering, among the table legs and dropped napkins.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ The old ladies peered down. ‘It was one of the party balloons bursting. You know, somebody’s birthday. It’s always somebody’s birthday every night.’

  The waiters were already singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ not far away, standing grouped round the victim’s table.

  I nodded and scrambled back into my chair. ‘Just practising,’ I said. ‘To see how fast I could hit the floor.’

  ‘Oh, what fun,’ they said. ‘We’ll all do it next time.’

  I was beginning to like these old ladies. They were wonderful. My sort of people. I finished off the pheasant, dabbed my mouth and stood up. ‘I have to go,’ I said. ‘Back to work.’

  ‘Do come again, dear,’ they chorused, all smiles. ‘We love having you. Wonderful about the dog. You deserve a medal.’

  Don’t prick me when it you pin it on, please.

  I was hurrying to the Princess Lounge theatre when I caught sight of Dr Mallory in his immaculate evening gear. He was looking so good, my heart stopped. I had to take a second breath. I suppose he knew it.

  ‘How’s the dying dog?’ he asked.

  ‘How’s the very sick passenger?’ I snapped back.

  ‘Improving. You’ve cleaned up neat.’ he said, an experienced eye sweeping over my white outfit. I refused to add a smile.

  ‘It was the aftershave,’ I said.

  ‘Meet you in the Galaxy bar after the last show? I hear the music is going to be particularly good tonight.’

  ‘I may join the queue of lonely females at your side, but on the other hand, I may not.’

  ‘I’ll save you a place at the head.’

  It was as well that I turned up at the theatre in time to whip up the applause for the show. Susan had taken a turn for the worse, no doubt brought on by bilious dress, and was soaking her forehead with wet tissues. I swept on stage and was surprised to be greeted with enthusiastic clapping. Heroic leap or dying dog?

  ‘Hasn’t this been a fabulous show?’ I said. ‘Let’s show our appreciation for the legendary Neil Diamond and our great Countess Show Company.’

  Everybody clapped fervently. ‘Now there’s lots happening this evening,’ I went on, using the hand mike. ‘The popular quiz night upstairs, a good film on at the cinema. It may be your lucky night at the casino or perhaps you’ll be on deck to watch the stars as the Countess steams through the Caribbean on her way to Curaçao in the Dutch Antilles. Whatever you decide to do, have a wonderful evening.’

  The audience trooped out good-humouredly to seek further pleasures. The stewardesses descended on the tables to clear up before the dance band and the ballroom dancers arrived. It was a never-ending programme of entertainment and events. No one was allowed to be bored.

  ‘Ah, Casey, I’ve been looking for you all day.’ It was Estelle. I could recognize that voice three decks off. ‘The flowers in my cabin have died. They didn’t last long. They must have been on their last legs.’

  ‘I assure you they were fresh,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you had the heating on too high?’

  ‘No way. I’ve been frozen for days.’

  For frozen, read fiddling with the dials, not knowing what she was doing.

  ‘I’ll ask the florist to replace your flowers,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you. I think I deserve fresh flowers every day,’ she added, sweeping away on the arm of a bemused, white-haired eighty-year-old in an ancient dinner jacket. I hoped he could afford her. It wasn’t my job to protect passengers from predators.

  I made my rounds of the bars and lounges, fending off any doggy-type questions or jokes. There were a few woof-woofs from a merry group of revellers at a bar. My day was nearly over. I was dead tired. But I would say goodnight to Samuel and thank him for treating the cuts on my foot. And, I suppose, saving my dignity with the offer of his bathroom.

  He was surrounded by a throng of colourful butterflies. They swarmed on the honey of his looks. Even he looked a fraction disconcerted by all the attention. He caught sight of me between a bare bronzed shoulder and a heaving bosom, and came straight over, murmuring apologies.

  ‘Thank goodness, a saintly vision in white. Save me, save me from the ravaging mob. I am being eaten alive and smothered by seven different perfumes. Give me air.’

  ‘I thought you liked all the attention,’ I said. ‘You can’t help being so handsome and popular.’

  ‘I enjoyed talking to women,’ he admitted. ‘But preferably, one or two at a time. This was mob violence. I swear if you had not arrived, they would have been tearing my clothes off.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate. I came to thank you for fixing my foot and to say goodnight. It doesn’t hurt so much now.’

  ‘How about a glass of wine before you turn in?’

  I shook my head. ‘Too tired. I want to sleep.’

  ‘How about some star gazing? The fresh air will help you sleep.’

  Those light grey eyes were compelling. He was weaving his magic on me. I would certainly not be taken in by his charm or join the harem. I was a tough, career woman, immune to handsome men.

  ‘A few minutes then,’ I said.

  We went up on deck and walked around. Cordoned-off areas were being washed and hosed down. Work never stopped. The crew looked at me and grinned. It would be all round the lower decks in twenty minutes that I was walking alone with the gorgeous doctor. I smiled sweetly.

  ‘Don’t think that I have brought you up here for a romantic dalliance,’ said Samuel, as we leaned against a rail watching the phosphoresce on the dark waves and the swift passage of the ship. She always made up time at night. She was like a greyhound let off her leash at nightfall, leaping forward.

  ‘No dalliance? I am disappointed. There was I, pinning my hopes on a little dalliance.’

  ‘I want to talk to you without anyone overhearing.’

  ‘This gets more and more intriguing. I sense a Jane Austen-type proposal coming on. Down on your knees, sir.’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense, Casey. The man overboard? Remember him?’

  I sobered immediately. ‘Of course, I remember him. The jovial Nigel Garten. How could I forget?’

  ‘He didn’t drown. He was hit on the head before he entered the water. A pretty nasty abrasion, something quite large and heavy. He was murdered. The third murder?’

  All the magic of the darkened sky seemed to vanish. A chill wind suddenly whipped round my shoulders. Banshees of drowned people were rising from the depths. I heard a hundr
ed screaming voices, crying out to be saved. I loved the sea, I loved the endless waves and the glorious blue colours, but they held a hidden sorrow in their depths beyond my ability to ignore.

  Samuel turned my head towards his shoulder and patted my hair awkwardly. He wasn’t used to patting grieving women.

  ‘Don’t cry, Casey,’ he said. ‘This is real life. This is how it happens.’

  Eighteen - At Sea

  The missing DJ mystified me. I didn’t feel like drawing a line under his name and putting the matter away to moulder in a file. There were too many weird things going on and he was one of them.

  I hurried down deck and got the keys to Darin Jack’s cabin. It had not been cleared since it would not be needed for a replacement DJ. Hardly worth flying anyone out to spin a few discs. I’d found volunteers to run the late-night disco. We were halfway through the cruise, almost on our way back to Southampton. There were a few more ports of call and the Panama Canal.

  The cabin was a typical male mess. Give or take a few exceptions. Dr Samuel Mallory didn’t live in a chaos of dirty underwear and towels, crushed cans, crumpled crisp packs, chocolate bars. The doctor’s cabin was more the chaos of disturbed sleep, overwork, monumental paperwork.

  I didn’t really know why I was there or what I was looking for. Maybe I was looking for his cruise papers or a crew card. But it was more than that. I put on some protective gloves and began sweeping everything into a bin bag, regardless. They say there is trace evidence on everything. There’s a book called Every Contact Leaves a Trace. If he was connected to any of the three mysterious deaths, then let CSI find it.

  There was nothing in the way of personal documents. No passport or money or keys. He’d taken those with him. He’d left a few clothes behind but they were cheap and nasty. They got bundled into a different bag.

  The cabin had been cleared now and looked better for the clean out. I’d suggest to Richard Norton that it was locked up and not cleaned until Southampton police had seen it and given their permission. If he was a hunted man, then there might be some piece of evidence around that none of us understood or could recognize.