The Riverboat Mystery

by Faith Martin

  There, she quickly set about making celery sauce, along with some egg and potato cutlets, an asparagus dip, and a French bean and endive salad. To supplement the snack (Jenny had never been able to think of a cold lunch as anything but) she made some cheese straws and mini frittatas. To go with it, she baked some milk loaves, as well as some wholemeal baps. All in all, a nice way to spend the morning.

  It was just as well, perhaps, that she hadn’t stayed on the deck, for in the main salon, David and Dorothy Leigh were not particularly happy bunnies.

  David restlessly tossed a copy of The Times onto the table, and glanced uneasily over his shoulder. It was the result of a guilty conscience, he supposed, but he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that he was always being watched. As if the others had somehow been able to pick up on his dark thoughts and had taken to keeping an eye on him, perpetually on the lookout for any tell-tale signs of imminent criminal behaviour.

  But in spite of his fears, Lucas, Gabriel and his wife were all still on the port deck, playing their silly game of quoits and taking no notice of him whatsoever.

  David’s hand went automatically to his breast pocket and then just as quickly moved away again. But it was proving impossible to ignore the simple, square piece of folded paper he kept there. He could have sworn he could feel it scraping his skin and, even more alarmingly, that it was creating a warmer patch over his heart. It was all psychosomatic, of course. That, and a severe case of the jitters. In fact, he felt physically sick whenever he contemplated what was to come, and as a consequence was desperately seeking some sort of distraction to keep his mind off it.

  He sighed heavily and then frowned as Dorothy’s fair head turned alertly at the sound. The eyes that met his were the colour of jade, and at that precise moment, cloudy with worry.

  ‘Are you all right, David?’ she asked anxiously, for about the fifth time that morning.

  David Leigh forced himself to smile happily. ‘I’m perfectly fine. I don’t know why you keep asking. Naturally, I’d be a lot happier if you didn’t flirt with that silly creature, Olney.’

  He had to make a concerted effort not to swear roundly at the mere mention of the man’s name, but he’d never thought it possible that a human being could hate so much. He’d certainly never thought that he, David Leigh, would have such a capacity for rage. He’d always thought of himself as a modest, fairly normal sort of man.

  Funny how you never really knew yourself.

  Dorothy flushed. ‘I’m not flirting with him,’ she denied vehemently, feeling more and more sensitive on this matter. Ever since they’d come on board, Gabriel had been making a perfect nuisance of himself. ‘It’s just that no matter what I say, he twists it around, making it sound . . . oh, I don’t know. Smutty somehow.’ She nodded her bright head briefly in satisfaction. ‘Yes, that’s the word exactly. Smutty.’ She produced the word with a triumphant but disgusted sigh.

  David snorted. ‘The man’s an animal — no, worse than that. He’s a joke.’ Once again he bit back the more ugly expletive he’d have liked to use, and forced himself to relax.

  His hand lifted to check, once again, that the square piece of writing paper was still safely ensconced in his pocket. Then he suddenly realized that his wife was watching, and quickly carried on the movement upwards, determinedly lifting his hand past his chest to go on to rub the back of his neck. It was not a wholly disguising move, for his nape did indeed feel hardened with knots, and his back fairly ached with tension. He’d be glad when this was all over with. He only wished he had a more definite plan.

  ‘Have you noticed the way he’s been acting?’ he fumed. Like a man with a bad tooth who felt compelled to keep biting down on it, he couldn’t seem to keep off the subject of his simmering rage. ‘Buttonholing poor old Captain Lester, demanding to know how everything works, and then having the damned cheek to ask Lucas about the boat’s running costs and so forth. None of his damned business, if you ask me. I could tell Lucas didn’t like it.’ David scowled at the newspaper, unaware that his wife was becoming ever more agitated. ‘And he keeps running his hand across the deck rails, almost patting the damned thing! Anyone would think that he owned the Stillwater Swan. He was all but caressing that brass bell Lucas has had fixed on the outer wall to the bridge.’

  Dorothy watched her husband, her eyes darkening anxiously. ‘You look tired, sweetheart,’ she said softly. ‘You shouldn’t work so hard. I know it’s all these extra clients you’re taking on, and I know we could do with the extra money. But you’re wearing yourself down to a frazzle — it’s no wonder things are getting on your nerves a bit.’ She moved to stand behind him, running her fingers gently through his hair. ‘You know you’ll make partner one day,’ she coaxed, ever the sweet, perfect wife. ‘Old Soames will . . .’ She paused delicately, searching for the right words that didn’t sound too mercenary, then gave a soft sigh. ‘Well, he is getting on a bit, and Archie Pringle and old Mr Ford both know that they need new blood.’

  David sighed angrily. ‘It’s not that,’ he said, then could have kicked himself. If Dotty thought it was the pressures of work getting to him, why on earth hadn’t he let her go on thinking it? Instead he’d opened his mouth before thinking. If that was an example of how he was going to carry on, he was probably going to get caught. And then what would happen to Dotty and the baby?

  ‘Damn that man!’ he suddenly burst out, slamming one fist into the palm of his other hand, and feeling the shock of it tingle all the way up his arm.

  Dorothy jumped back instinctively at the hard ‘whack,’ and her lower lip began to tremble. She moved around to stand in front of him, needing to see his face.

  ‘It’s all about him, isn’t it?’ she said, her voice tiny. ‘Gabriel Olney.’

  For just over a month now, David had stiffened whenever the other man’s name was mentioned. And she couldn’t understand why. Olney had been a client of her husband’s firm of solicitors for years, and David hadn’t seemed to mind before.

  At those quiet, almost whispered words, David shot a quick look up at her that thoroughly alarmed his wife.

  Dorothy stared down at him for a moment in utter amazement, which quickly turned to a sickly kind of fear. For a moment, she thought, dazed, David had looked, well, almost afraid.

  But why? Unless . . . She crouched down in front of him with a quick, subtle agility that took her husband’s breath away. In spite of her ethereal appearance, Dorothy Leigh was, in fact, a very fit young woman. She’d been a walker for all her life, and still enjoyed taking Josie, their collie, for five-mile rambles. She’d always had a hearty appetite, and she was, as her doctor had robustly reassured her, absolutely in top shape. No need to cut out the walks — in fact, the GP had told her, exercise was good for her in her condition. When told that she was going on a cruise and would like to take the opportunity for a long swim, he’d happily agreed that it was a good idea, just so long as she didn’t strain herself.

  Now, Dorothy bent lithely down by her husband’s side, anxiously reaching out for his hands that were fluttering in a rather distressing and aimless sort of way in his lap.

  ‘David,’ she said firmly, but her lower lip was still trembling. ‘Darling, it’s all right. That ridiculous old man means nothing to me — nothing at all. Just because he keeps ogling me all the time, and dropping his awful hints and things, it doesn’t mean that I find him in the least little bit attractive!’

  She dropped her pretty silver head onto her husband’s lap, just missing the half-astounded, half-impatient look he gave her.

  David stared down at her bent head thoughtfully and then absently began to stroke her hair. Of course he didn’t believe for one instant that Dotty, his loyal, devoted Dotty, felt anything at all for that odious bastard. Once again, she had misinterpreted his feelings. But this time, he didn’t disabuse her of the fact.

  If she thought it was all down to simple jealousy, so much the better. It would keep her safe. She must never learn the truth, for if
she did, and suspected something after it was all over, that he had actually . . . He shuddered suddenly, causing Dorothy to clasp his hand so hard it turned his fingers numb. No, ignorance was the best thing for her, David reasoned to himself.

  So he sighed, and tried to ignore the piece of paper burning a hole in his chest, and turned his feverish mind once more to working out a plan.

  A really good, first-class plan.

  ‘I just can’t stand to see him touch you, that’s all,’ he murmured absently. His voice lent a certain, convincing hardness, since he also happened to be speaking the truth. David hated everything Olney did. He hated the way he walked. The way he talked. The way he stroked that moustache of his.

  He hated the way he continued to breathe.

  Dorothy lifted her head, and her lovely green eyes were misty now. ‘Oh, David, you know I love you more than anyone or anything else in the world. More than my own life, in fact. Even . . .’ She touched her still-flat belly tentatively. ‘Even more than our baby.’

  David looked down into her trusting, adoring eyes, and groaned. ‘Oh, Dot! I couldn’t bear to lose you,’ he said, and meant it. Dotty was the only thing that had been keeping him sane.

  Ever since that research he’d done for General Wainwright. Ever since he’d learned what Olney had done.

  ‘I think I’d die if you left me,’ he added, but his mind was once again on the piece of paper in his pocket. And the plan. He simply had to think of a really good plan. And he didn’t have much more time in which to do it, either.

  *

  Jasmine Olney lost the game of quoits with such skill that neither Lucas nor her husband could possibly have guessed at it. She had changed into a pair of white shorts that showed off her tanned legs to perfection, and wore a scarlet top that contrasted wonderfully with her short cap of dark hair.

  Lucas could see why old Olney had married her. Not too young to make him look ridiculous, but stylish enough to grace any man’s life. Pity she was such a little man-eater. He watched her with unambiguous lasciviousness as she laughed and stood with her hands on her hips. She was panting a little too hard for it to be genuine, which of course drew attention to her firm breasts, and she waved a hand in front of her face.

  ‘Phew, it’s warm. I think I’ll leave you two men to battle it out,’ she said, reaching for a long glass of the cook’s homemade, delicious lemonade and rattling the ice cubes thoughtfully. It could do with a drop of gin, Jasmine mused, but knew better than to indulge.

  Gabby could be such an old-fashioned sod when it came to drinking in the mornings.

  ‘Are you up for it then, Lucas?’ Gabriel asked, and eyed the deck thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you could set up quite a few things out here. Bowls, even?’ He was rather partial to bowls.

  Jasmine looked at the greedy glitter in her husband’s eye and smiled grimly. She knew exactly what his little game was, of course. But she would spike that, make no mistake about it. She flapped her hands in front of her face again, making a great show of it, and said petulantly, ‘It really is hot. I think I’ll go upstairs and take a shower.’ She smiled vaguely in their direction and left, confident that neither man thought her departure in any way contrived.

  But she might have thought differently if she’d glanced back casually over her shoulder and seen the way her husband watched her go, his dark eyes glimmering with amused malice. But she was too self-absorbed to do so, and thus went blithely on.

  On the rail, the macaw also watched her go, and then flew across the deck to land on a round white-and-orange lifesaver. It began to nonchalantly preen itself.

  ‘Bugger me, Gab, old son, but I envy you that wife of yours,’ Lucas said jovially. He was in a good mood. He was always willing to be generous to his guests when the Stillwater Swan was gliding across the water.

  Gabriel Olney merely grunted.

  Jasmine went straight to the stairs, genuinely glad to be out of the heat, and walked swiftly to their room.

  Lucas had the master suite, of course, facing the prow, but she was quite happy with the bedroom they’d been allotted, which looked out over the port and rear of the boat. Once inside, however, she abandoned all thoughts of ablutions and walked instead to the chair by her husband’s side of the bed.

  He had changed into casual clothes for the deck games, and she went straight to the navy blue jacket that he had, typically, arranged with an almost obsessive neatness over the back of the chair. Her hand slipped into the breast pocket and removed the wallet. She ignored the large wad of paper money, and instead rooted through the side pockets, with all the concentration of a pig hunting out truffles. She gave a slight gasp of triumph as she withdrew a stiff piece of paper. It was obviously a cheque, and as she opened it, her eye fell to the written-in amount and she gasped once more. Louder this time.

  The sum, as she had suspected, was almost large enough to wipe out their entire savings. Or, to be strictly accurate, Gabby’s entire savings, since Jasmine hadn’t a bean to her name.

  She had married Gabby solely for his money, of course, and the lifestyle of ease and plenty that came with it. He had married her to have an attractive wife and a bedmate whenever he felt the urge. It had been, as far as she was concerned, a perfect arrangement.

  Trust Gabby to try and renege on it.

  She’d suspected the way his mind had been working for some time now, ever since Lucas Finch had first invited them onto the paddle steamer last year. Gabby’s eyes had simply lit up at the sight of it.

  Jasmine took the cheque firmly between her fingers and tore it in half, then put the pieces together and tore again. She dropped the four fragments of paper into the pretty copper wastepaper bin nestled neatly under the side table and nodded.

  She jumped as a slow handclap started up behind her, and spun around, her face a picture of fury and angst at the sight of her husband.

  ‘Well done, m’dear,’ Gabriel Olney said, and brought the mocking applause to an end. ‘Unfortunately, I can easily write out another one.’

  Jasmine bit her lip furiously.

  ‘And, needless to say,’ Gabriel continued, looking eminently amused, ‘I will do so.’

  Jasmine tossed her head back. She was not defeated yet — not by a long shot. ‘Lucas will never sell to you. You know he won’t. You can wave twenty cheques under his nose and carry on doing it until your grasping, greedy little fingers fall off.’

  Gabriel smiled, somewhat grimly. ‘And that’s just where you’re wrong for once. Oh, he’ll sell all right.’

  There was something so confident in her husband’s tone that Jasmine felt a small trickle of fear shiver down her back.

  ‘Hah!’ she snorted with a bravado that she hoped didn’t sound as false as it felt. ‘He told you flat out the last time — I heard him. The Stillwater Swan is not for sale.’

  Gabriel smiled and inclined his head. He was enjoying this game. ‘So he did. But—’ his smile widened ‘—that was then, and this is now. Things have a way of changing. And this time, I think he’ll have a change of heart.’

  Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Just why did you go up to London last month?’ she asked suddenly, her voice sharp.

  Gabriel laughed. He had to hand it to Jasmine, she was as smart as a whip. ‘I told you. Just to visit my club.’

  Which was, in a way, strictly true. He had gone to the Regiment Club, a club whose membership — as its name suggested — consisted entirely of retired officers of the British army. What he hadn’t told her was what he had gone to find out. And succeeded in finding out, beyond even his wildest dreams.

  Jasmine narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not going to let you waste all our money on this floating heap, Gabby,’ she warned, her voice lowering ominously. Her dark eyes flashed, reminding her husband of a tigress he’d once seen in London Zoo, pacing furiously in her enclosure and watching the human visitors with repressed feline fury. She had looked at him just as Jasmine looked at him now. He glanced at her hands, almost expecting her elegantly
painted red nails to turn into sharp claws. She was such a cat. She looked like one, and she had the morals of one. An alleycat!

  ‘My dear Jasmine, you can’t possibly stop me from spending my money,’ he stressed insultingly, ‘in any way that I want.’

  Jasmine stamped her foot. It was a ridiculous habit, she knew, and one left over from her rather spoilt childhood, but she had never managed to break it. ‘I’m warning you, Gabby,’ she said, her voice lowering to a hiss. ‘I need that money. I like buying clothes and jewellery. I like going to Ascot, and Stratford for the Shakespeare. I like taking holidays in France and the Caribbean, and I won’t give it all up just so that you can go and play captain.’

  Gabriel smiled. ‘I don’t intend to “play” at all. Once the Swan is mine, I intend to learn to navigate her and overhaul her myself. No namby-pamby crew for me. This is a man’s boat. It needs a man who can appreciate her, nuts and bolts and all. Lucas is no man. He just plays at being her master. He doesn’t deserve a queen like this.’

  He laughed openly at the look of chagrin that crossed his wife’s face. ‘What’s the matter, Jasmine?’ he scoffed softly, his voice becoming deliberately cruel now. ‘Afraid that that young lad of yours will leave you if you can no longer afford to keep him in the manner to which you’ve allowed him to become accustomed? After all, there are plenty of other women around who can afford to buy him fancy watches and little runabouts, aren’t there?’

  Jasmine felt the breath leave her lungs in a quick ‘whoosh.’ She hadn’t realized Gabby knew about Matthew. ‘You . . . you . . .’ she spluttered, and then couldn’t think of anything suitably scathing to tack onto the end of it.

  Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. ‘It’s your own fault, Jasmine,’ he said at last, his face settling into a harsh, unyielding mask. ‘You reneged on our agreement first. There was nothing in our “understanding” that allowed you to be unfaithful. I never agreed to being made a laughing stock!’ he all but roared. ‘If the good life wasn’t good enough for you, then you’ve got no one else to blame now that I’m taking it all away again.’