by Dawn Brookes
An announcement came over the microphone to invite quizzers to collect quiz answer sheets from the assistant cruise director. The cruise director sat at the bar, so Rachel asked Marjorie to keep listening in to the band’s conversation while she went over. After picking up one of the sheets and a pen from another crew member, Rachel made her way to the bar and ordered a drink she didn’t need.
Gordon was slumped up against the bar on a bar stool, wearing a navy blue suit and a badge with his name and title displayed. His mouth smiled at her from beneath pained brown eyes, causing her heart to go out to him. The poor man had just lost his brother and had to continue performing his duty as director of entertainment for thousands of passengers seeking a good time. It was a big ask.
“Hello,” she said. “We haven’t met, but I’m Rachel, a friend of Sarah Bradshaw, one of the nurses.”
“Gordon, I’m the new cruise director. Are you enjoying your cruise, Rachel?”
“So far, yes. Thank you.” She thought about whether to broach the subject of his brother, but decided against it. She didn’t want to upset him in a public lounge.
The assistant cruise director tapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, Gordon, I need to get to the ballroom. Here’s the list.”
“Excuse me, Miss – hopefully we’ll meet again.”
Gordon took a deep breath and stoically made his way over to the microphone. Rachel went back to re-join Marjorie as the quiz was about to start.
They spent the next hour writing down answers to quiz questions, doing reasonably well, but not nearly as well as some of the teams who appeared to take the whole thing too seriously. The tribute band weren’t taking part in the quiz, and at times became too raucous, causing passengers around them to hush them and attracting a scowl from Gordon. After being told off by an elderly gentleman nearby for the third time, the band and their hangers-on sauntered out of the lounge, still chatting loudly.
The winning team received prizes of a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Gordon acquitted himself well considering the pressure he must have been under, and came across as a natural entertainer. Following the conclusion of the quiz, pens were returned, and Gordon hastily marched out of the lounge.
“Did you glean anything from the brother?” Marjorie asked.
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject – not the right time or place. I did introduce myself as Sarah’s friend. He looked pained, but something in his look bothered me. It was more angry pain than sad pain.”
“There are many stages of grief and anger is one of them.” Marjorie’s voice trailed off and Rachel suspected she was referring to her own grief over the loss of her husband.
“You’re right,” Rachel said. “Did you pick up anything from the band’s conversation?”
“Not really – they spoke a lot of drivel about girls, nightclubs and songs. Not a mention of the dead man. They don’t appear or sound in the least bit sad. I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing any stages of grief among that lot. The only one that did seem out of sorts was the bass guitarist, who strikes me as a gentle giant – quietly spoken and not given to the verbal diarrhoea of the others.”
“Perhaps he’s the one we need to try to speak to,” said Rachel.
“Agreed; he might even have a touch of sensitivity. Oh, the other thing I picked up is a new band member will be joining them tomorrow in Estonia. He’s apparently not really new, more an old band member that had a fall out with someone – we can probably guess who – and is happy to help them out now.”
“Good work, Marjorie. You have an eye for this sleuthing malarkey – now what say we go and get some lunch?”
“Yes please,” Marjorie replied happily, seeming pleased with the compliment.
Chapter 8
The well-stocked buffet sported a dedicated theme each day as well as offering foods from around the world. Rachel and Marjorie filled their trays and ate outside. Afterwards, they made their way to the lido deck. They chose a table revealing a good view of the stage, but away from the giant overhead loudspeakers.
The deck was buzzing with activity along with happy splashes from the sparkling blue pools where children and adults vied for space. The Jacuzzi was being commandeered by a group of middle-aged women whose eyes fired daggers at a young couple daring to attempt entry. Meaty aromas from the grill bar on the next deck up wafted down to where they sat.
Rachel surveyed the rest of her surroundings. White peppery clouds formed overhead, but the sun was winning the battle thus far and the temperature had risen to a pleasant twenty-three degrees. The shouts and laughter from the pools and sun loungers surrounding them drowned out any sound of the sea waves that rocked the ship gently to and fro.
Shortly after they arrived, a game of water volleyball started up in the main pool. The teams consisted of officers versus crew with Gordon, the cruise director, providing a running commentary via a microphone. Among the officers playing was Alex, the junior doctor, and Rachel recognised Jason, Sarah’s beau. The deputy captain and chief engineer also played in the officers’ team. Gordon introduced the crew team that included two male dancers from the on-board dance troupe, an electrician and a maintenance engineer. Waverley was nowhere to be seen, but he didn’t strike her as the pool game type.
“Here they come,” said Marjorie, pointing towards the tribute band lugging heavy equipment up to the stage in preparation for their show. They seemed more subdued than usual, quietly going about their setup.
Perhaps they have been warned to behave.
After unpacking equipment and putting it in place, the men sat on the edge of the stage to watch the tail end of the volleyball game. The crew beat the officers by a considerable margin and Rachel wondered whether it could be a setup as a team building boost. The passengers applauded vigorously before filing back into the pool themselves and continuing with their own entertainment. Jason spoke to Gordon for a short time while the band tuned their instruments to suit the open air surroundings.
“I wonder what Jason’s speaking to Gordon about?”
“By the way he’s just patted him on the shoulder, I would say he’s offering his condolences,” said Marjorie. “Here’s a waiter, Rachel, would you like a drink?”
They ordered mocktails and scrutinised the band closely. “This is frustrating,” said Rachel. “We need to get to meet them somehow – it’s alright watching, but we need to speak to them.”
“Consider it done, my dear. They will be joining us after their show.”
“What? Why – how?” Rachel stared open-mouthed.
“I spoke to their agent while you phoned Sarah after lunch and told him you were a huge Queen fan and that I am thinking of hiring them for your birthday later in the year. I told him I needed you to meet them to make sure they would be suitable and that we would be attending this performance to check them out. I used my title during the introduction, of course – it does come in handy occasionally!”
Rachel gawped, shaking her head admiringly. “Lady Marjorie Snellthorpe, you have to be the most sharp-witted and devious woman I’ve ever met. I would never have thought of that.”
“Decades of experience as the wife of an international businessman do come with some knowledge of how things work. Titles and money still go a long way, you know.” Marjorie sniggered and the glint in her eye belied the piercingly sharp mind that accompanied it. A usually humble and unassuming woman, Marjorie rarely brought attention to her wealth or her title, but in this instance, Rachel was pleased she’d used both to full advantage.
“As long as they don’t ask me too many questions about Queen or the game’s up. Way before my time! My knowledge is limited to what I’ve read and what my father told me.”
“I’m sure you’ll ad lib marvellously. Anyway, they don’t seem the enquiring type.”
They laughed and enjoyed their drinks while waiting for the show to finish. Rachel felt glad when the band concluded as she reluctantly conceded they were not nearly as entertaini
ng without the late Dominic Venables.
Jimmy, the manager, suddenly appeared at the side of the stage during the final song of the session. Mute applause followed from passengers who were not bathing or swimming in the pools as the lead guitarist and stand-in lead singer stormed off the stage and disappeared. Rachel observed Jimmy gather the rest of the band together after they had packed up their kit and escort them over to Rachel and Marjorie’s table.
Marjorie stood, shook Jimmy’s hand and introduced him to Rachel. Still battling with his gum from this morning, or perhaps having taken on a new piece, he shook Rachel’s hand too.
“Ello, good to meet ya, Rachel. These are my boys, Dalton Delacruz aka John Deacon and Ray Lynch aka Roger Taylor. Nick’s just gone to collect something from his room.”
“No ’e’s not,” said Ray. “’E’s got the ’ump cos no-one paid ’im much attention. I told ’im people just like a bit of background music, but you know ’ow ’e is. Mardy if ’e finks people ain’t listening to ’im.”
“I see, well, how do you do? I am Lady Marjorie Snellthorpe.” Emphasis on lady, Rachel noticed. “And this is my granddaughter Rachel, who appreciated your performance.”
The boys, as Jimmy had called them, grinned from ear to ear at this last part and nodded a greeting. They exchanged cursory looks as if not knowing what to do next.
“Please take a seat, gentlemen. Can I order you some drinks? You must be thirsty after that riveting performance.”
Ray and Jimmy’s enthusiasm went up a notch as Marjorie caught the attention of a waiter and ordered beers for the men and lemonade for herself and Rachel.
“I told the boys you might want us to do a gig for Rachel’s birfday,” said Jimmy. “You like Queen, then, do ya?” He glanced briefly at Rachel, but thankfully didn’t wait for an answer, instead continuing to address Marjorie. “Can’t say they were my cup o’ tea, but the boys do a good job. As I said, Lady Snellforpe, they don’t come cheap.”
“Quite,” said Marjorie. “Money isn’t the issue here, but I would like to know more about who it is I’m hiring. I will need to meet, erm, Nick did you say? And the other band member – the one you mentioned the other night, Rachel. I think you said there were four?”
Rachel admired the way Marjorie had cut straight to the chase and dispensed with the blarney.
“Yes, a Freddie Mercury lookalike – a great singer,” said Rachel on cue.
Nick arrived and caught the last part of the conversation. “Well, he won’t be coming. Didn’t you hear? He ended up in the drink. Singing with the angels now, or more than likely down there—” He pointed to the ground, smirking.
“Oh dear, how frightful! That must have been a terrible shock.” Marjorie feigned horror.
“It must be hard for you to go on, I’m amazed you managed to sing so cheerfully,” added Rachel beginning to enjoy the role play.
“To be honest, luv, he wasn’t that good, and a right pain in the bum,” said Nick dismissively, shrugging as he launched himself into a chair and lolled back casually.
“Creative temperament, you know the type,” interjected Jimmy, chewing ever harder on his gum. His jaws tightened as they worked overtime, causing his saggy jowls to wobble in rhythm.
“I can’t say that I do,” said Marjorie. “What happened to the poor man?”
Cleverly, Rachel thought, Marjorie addressed her question to Dalton. Despite this, Nick answered while Dalton looked down at his shoes.
“No-one knows, he apparently fell overboard and hit his bonce. The doctors tried to save him, but he died in hospital in Copenhagen.”
“That security geezer don’t fink ’e fell. ’E finks ’e got pushed,” said Ray, the drummer.
“Why would anyone want to push him overboard?” pressed Rachel before Jimmy could change the subject.
“Loads of reasons, luv,” said Nick who looked her up and down appreciatively before continuing. “He always got someone’s back up, argumentative plonker. If he wasn’t arguing with someone, he would be seducing someone’s bird.”
“Now, now, Nick. Let’s not speak ill of the dead,” said Jimmy, chewing even more vigorously.
“But surely he wouldn’t have had time to meet any women on board this ship to steal? We’ve only been at sea a few days.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Ray. “Dom worked fast and furious. As well as stealing birds, ’e always fell out with Nick ’ere. They ’ad a blazing row the night before ’e died.”
“What are you implying?” Nick’s face reddened and he looked ready to explode. “I didn’t kill him. You had just as much reason to give him one after what he did to you and Jade.”
Rachel inwardly smiled as this was all going to plan. The more they argued, the more they revealed and possible motives sprang to light.
“His brother had just as much reason to do him in.” Dalton spoke so quietly the others didn’t hear him as they continued to talk over each other, but Rachel heard.
“What makes you say that?” she prodded as he stared at his shoes again. He looked unsure, but she gave him one of her sweetest smiles, causing him to look up.
“Dom was knocking off his wife.”
The men had quietened for a moment and caught Dalton’s revelation.
“Whose wife?” asked Jimmy.
“Gordon’s,” answered Dalton.
Looks of genuine astonishment filled their faces. “You’re kidding – no way,” said Nick, open-mouthed. “That’s the lowest of the low. How come you knew and we didn’t? Are you making stuff up again?”
“Dalton’s got a vivid imagination,” interjected Jimmy. “Sometimes ’e’s prone to embellishing the truf.”
“No I’m not, I saw them. I took a walk in the early hours, the day he was killed. They were by the crew pool kissing in the shadows. I only noticed them cos a huge wave caused the ship to lurch. I caught them in a shaft of moonlight. I remember thinking the gleaming light could have been a spotlight on stage. They didn’t notice me, though, too hard at it.”
“Where was Gordon?” asked Ray.
“Working – I bumped into him soon after, heading out towards the pool, so I scarpered.”
“Nice story, Dalton, but I saw Dom go to bed at one after I’d had my head glued. He was in no state to go prancing around the crew pool, I can tell you.”
Dalton shook his head, tightened his lips and sulked, staring down at his shoes again.
Undeterred, Nick continued. “It could just as well have been Jimmy here. Hardly best buddies, were you?”
Jimmy looked decidedly uncomfortable about this revelation and the jaw burst into overdrive. If it had been a helicopter, he would have taken off. After chewing the gum into submission, he glared at Nick before looking at Marjorie pleadingly.
“Now, about this gig, ladies.” He had clearly had enough of the direction the conversation had taken and was keen to get it back to its original purpose. “We will be back to being a band of four tomorrow, we’ve got an old band mate joining us in Tallinn, flown over specially.”
“Yeah, and it’s a good job he wasn’t on board or he would have been the prime suspect,” Nick threw in while facing off with Jimmy, clearly annoyed at being cut off in his prime.
Marjorie didn’t pursue the subject and managed to defer her decision, dissipating the testosterone build up.
“We will need to meet again when your new man has settled in. We will attend a performance or two, and if Rachel likes what she sees, we will speak further. If I do hire you, it will be worth your while.” The hint of generous remuneration caused Jimmy’s eyes to light up. “There will be many wealthy guests at Rachel’s party who could well follow up with invitations of their own. We are always looking for good acts for our circle of friends in London, not to mention the wealthy businessmen we entertain from all over the world.”
Rachel knew she was being honest about everything, except a desire to hire this unruly bunch.
The men pushed their chairs back and rose to
leave. Jimmy shook Marjorie’s hand, obviously thinking they had the deal in the bag.
While Jimmy ingratiated himself sickeningly with Marjorie, Rachel spotted Waverley on the far side of the pool, scowling at them.
Whoops.
The group left and Marjorie looked triumphant.
“Wasn’t that enlightening?”
“Yes, but look who’s heading our way,” said Rachel, inclining her head. Waverley was now marching towards them, having waited for the band to leave, and his face said it all. Clearly exasperated, he was struggling to keep his body language relaxed, but the red neck gave him away, as did the cough.
“Good afternoon, ladies. May I join you?” he said, smiling at a few passengers as they passed by.
“Chief Waverley, what a pleasant surprise,” said Marjorie.
“We are just about to meet Sarah for afternoon tea in Creams,” said Rachel. “Why don’t you join us there?” She gave him enough eye contact to tell him they had information to share, but in a more private setting.
He got it immediately. Coughing, he replied, “I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
Chapter 9
“If I see one more guy from that stag do, I’m going to jump overboard.” Bernard flopped down on a chair in Gwen’s office and let out a deep sigh. “Why couldn’t they settle for a night out in Cardiff? No, obviously not good enough, so they decide to terrorise medical staff on a cruise ship. Well, I’ve had enough of them.”
“It’s not only us they’re bothering,” said Graham. “Those poor cheerleaders are sick of them too, not to mention the security team.”
“Come on, you two bah humbugs. We were all young once,” said Gwen.
“I was never that young,” laughed Graham. “And I wouldn’t have been able to afford a cruise for a stag do either.”
