Two days and nights of sailing passed. Each night Clara and Bella ensured their cabin doors were braced shut by furniture in case the intruder returned, and Clara slept with the revolver on her bedside table. But there was no repeat performance. There was also no response from the chamber maids who had been tipped to report any sightings of Rupert Pilkerton. Mealtimes were spent with the archaeologists, and Clara was grateful that they did not persist in interrogating her about the mummy – nor her reason for sailing to Egypt. Jack Danskin had managed to persuade the head steward to seat him at a table right next to them and quickly ingratiated himself. They appeared charmed by his rakish humour. Clara did her best to remain polite.
As the cruise ship sailed south towards the tropics, the weather grew gradually warmer and Clara and Bella unpacked their summer frocks and hats. The days were spent reading on sun loungers and playing games of quoits. Bella persevered with the Poirot book but was easily wooed away by Rudy Werner. The couple strolled around the deck, teamed up for tennis and sipped cocktails together at sunset.
‘He’s a smashing bloke,’ Bella confided in Clara. ‘He’s a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t matter. Pick ’em young, keep ’em fresh, as me granny would say!’ Bella threw back her head and laughed.
Clara chuckled. ‘Are you planning on keeping him?’
Bella just smiled. ‘Early days, Miss Vale, early days.’
Clara wondered if Bella would tell him that she was, in fact, married. It wasn’t well known, but Bella, whose married name was Plumber, had thought she’d been widowed at the end of the Great War. But then her sister spotted her supposedly late husband alive and well in Carlisle, living with another woman. Bella confronted him, gave him hell, then refused to give him a divorce. She had told Clara she would only do so when it suited her, not him. And in the ten years since it had not suited her. She reverted to her maiden name, Cuddy, and carried on as if she were a single woman. Clara wondered if the holiday romance might change things. For now, though, professionally speaking, it was useful for Bella to have an ‘in’ with the Germans. Bella had already found out, for instance, that Dr Stein had to force his way into the current expedition. The Americans and French had been all too keen to go ahead on their own. Although Germany had once been a big player in Egypt, and some of the greatest finds, such as the bust of Nefertiti, had made their way to Berlin, they had been sidelined since losing the war. Rudy, according to Bella, was philosophical about it, but Stein was bitter. Clara filed that piece of information away. It might prove useful in her investigation.
As the Olympic sailed into Funchal harbour, for its first stop of the cruise, Bella and Clara joined the other passengers on deck. The capital of Madeira was a beautiful town, with the mountains rising steeply behind the houses, which clung to its skirts like children to a mother’s apron. The houses were low-slung double-storey homes with whitewashed walls, painted shutters and red tiled roofs. Above the town, the lush volcanic mountainside had been regimented into terraces where vineyards were planted.
As the cruise ship dropped anchor it was surrounded by a swarm of little boats, manned by locals hoping to sell their wares to the passengers on board. Clara smiled at the suntanned young men shouting and vying for the attention of the tourists lining the deckrail, but she was quite sure there would be just as many flowers, lace tablecloths and woven baskets on shore.
Clara was looking forward to a day on land. Although she hadn’t been seasick, and the ship was far from pokey, she was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic. She hoped to lose herself in the alleyways of Funchal, or perhaps wander through a vineyard and taste some Madeiran wine. Bella was soon joined by Rudy Werner, so Clara hung back, not wanting to be a third wheel in the holiday romance. She didn’t mind. She would be quite happy on her own. However, as she moved towards the gangplank she was joined by Larry Winter – carrying a suitcase. Larry had reminded everyone at breakfast that morning that he would be leaving the ship in Madeira.
‘It’s been swell getting to know you, Miss Vale,’ he said, looking dashingly handsome in his Oxford bags, white linen shirt and striped blazer.
‘And you, Lieutenant Winter,’ replied Clara. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again in Cairo. How long will it take you to get there?’
‘I’m hoping for three days, if the weather stays clear. The Puss Moth – that’s the airplane I’m picking up – has a range of seven hundred miles with a modified fuel tank. It goes at a cracking 125 miles an hour so I can do that in five or so hours. I’ll have fuel stops at Casablanca then Algiers, Malta and Crete before I get to Cairo. So if all goes well, with daytime flying only, I could be there by Monday evening! Tuesday or Wednesday if there are any hitches.’
Clara smiled wistfully at the pilot. ‘I wish I could get there by Monday evening. I’ve got another eight days on the ship.’
Larry gave her a curious look. ‘Aren’t you enjoying the cruise? Are you struggling to find your sea legs?’
‘No, no,’ said Clara. ‘It’s not that. The ship is perfectly comfortable and I’m feeling fine, health wise, it’s just that I’m itching to get to Cairo. I’ve heard so much about it that I want to see it for myself.’
He released a contented sigh. ‘Oh, I don’t blame you. Your Cook’s guide just scratches the surface! There’s so much to see. And there is nothing – and I mean nothing, Miss Vale – that compares with seeing the pyramids from the air.’
‘Oh, I wish I could!’
He stopped and turned to her, his blue eyes meeting hers in earnest. ‘What if you could?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ he said, pushing his boater hat away from his forehead, ‘why don’t you come with me? The Puss Moth has room for two – three at a push – and I could do with the company.’
Clara was so surprised at his proposal that she threw back her head and lost her straw sun hat. He caught it before it fell into the water.
He offered it to her, chagrined. ‘My apologies, Miss Vale. On reflection it was not very gentlemanly of me to suggest a lady accompany me on her own. Of course, there is room for Miss Cuddy, too – as long as she doesn’t mind squeezing in with the luggage.’
Clara cast a glance at the tall, big-boned frame of her assistant, walking side by side with Herr Werner, and she wondered how she would take to being ‘squeezed in with the luggage’. No, that wouldn’t do. If they were to go with Larry Winter it would be she who would have to squeeze in. If they were to go? Clara caught herself. Was she really considering it? But why not? She could get to Cairo an entire week early, return the jewels, get started on her investigation into the identity of the mummy, and get a head start on Jack Danskin! She had been wondering how she was going to manage with him on her tail every step of the way. But if she were to leave him here … Ha! I can imagine his face when he finds out. He’ll be livid!
She placed her sun hat firmly on her head and smiled up at Larry Winter. ‘I’m sure you are the perfect gentleman, Lieutenant Winter, and I should be delighted to take you up on your offer.’
Larry’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You will? Oh, that’s swell!’
‘Can you wait for me for half an hour?’ she asked.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He grinned. ‘I sure can.’
‘Thank you. And would you mind not mentioning anything to Mr Danskin, please. Or anyone, for that matter. I’ll speak to the chief steward so he doesn’t think I’ve been abducted or left behind in Madeira, but I’d otherwise prefer my departure to go unannounced.’
He raised a curious brow. ‘May I ask why?’
She shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I like to keep my business my business. Will that be a problem?’
He smiled. ‘Not at all. A woman of mystery. I like that. I’ll see you in half an hour.’
‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ asked Bella, when Clara caught up with her and asked for a private word out of Rudy’s earshot.
‘I’ll keep my revolver to hand,’ said Clara. ‘Besides, there’ll be two of us.’
‘No, not him,’ said Bella, ‘I’m sure you’ll handle him. It’s the flying piece of tin I’m worried about!’
‘Oh that …’ Clara shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. It’s a new aeroplane – with the most modern engineering – and Lieutenant Winter is by all accounts a very experienced pilot.’
Bella shook her head, firmly. ‘But people still die in aeroplane crashes. All the time. Wasn’t there a crash in England just before Christmas? Everyone died, Miss Vale, everyone!’
Clara frowned. She remembered the incident; it had been all over the papers. A flight from London to Amsterdam. If she recalled correctly, one person had survived.
‘Not everyone died, Bella.’
‘But most did!’ said Bella, sticking to her guns. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Miss Vale.’
Clara sighed. She would have pointed out that people died on ships too. That the sister of the very ship they were on was the infamous Titanic, but she felt it would just aggravate Bella further.
‘I still think we should go,’ she said. ‘We’ll be able to get the jump on Jack Danskin and a head start on the investigation.’
Bella frowned. ‘Oh, Miss Vale, I really don’t want to. But if you insist …’
Clara could see the fear in Bella’s eyes and was touched by her willingness to overcome it for the sake of her employer. ‘No, Bella,’ she said, ‘I don’t insist. I can go on my own. You continue by ship and I’ll meet you there. Besides, come to think of it, this could work even better to our advantage. You can keep an eye on the archaeologists. It’s still possible that one – or more – of them might be involved in all this. And we haven’t yet found out who it was who broke into my cabin. So,’ she said, patting Bella on the shoulder, ‘you stay with the ship and I’ll go by plane. And we’ll meet in Cairo on camel back.’
Bella’s eyes widened. ‘Camel back?’
Clara laughed. ‘Only joking, Bella. But it is a bit like Around the World in Eighty Days, isn’t it?’
Bella gave her a blank stare.
Clara chuckled. ‘Right you are, then. I’ll meet you off the ship in eight days’ time. Stay safe, Bella.’
Bella sighed. ‘You too, Miss Vale.’
Clara, carrying her hat box while Larry carried her suitcase, was relieved to see that the de Havilland Puss Moth D.80 did not look anything like the flying tin can that Bella had suggested. It was brand spanking new, without a scratch on its bright blue fuselage. The white propeller and wing sparkled in the Madeiran sunshine while the red leather interior looked roomier than Clara had expected. Larry told her it was a prototype, the first off the production line. The model would only be coming onto the commercial market in a few months’ time. Like Gibraltar, there was no official aerodrome in Madeira, but Larry had arranged for his new acquisition to be delivered to a makeshift airfield, owned by an amateur aviation enthusiast whom Larry had met at an air show. Larry dealt with the paperwork and then helped Clara into the two-man cockpit. He had suggested she change out of her summer frock into her warm winter clothes. ‘And you should wear a coat,’ he advised, ‘and a hat and scarf if you have them too. It can get very cold up there.’
Clara looked ‘up there’ at the near-cloudless sky and imagined them flying. She was relieved to realise her primary emotion was excitement, not fear.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked as he strapped her into the seat behind him. Clara was surprised at the orientation, having expected something like a motor car, with seats side by side, but she took it all in her stride.
‘Oh yes!’ she said, her voice tinged with excitement.
Clara struggled to find the words to describe how she felt as the aeroplane sped down the alarmingly short makeshift runway ending abruptly at a cliff edge over the ocean, where for one horrible moment she imagined them plunging into the depths. But no! With a powerful thrust, the Puss Moth surged into the air, climbing, climbing, climbing as Clara held her breath, feeling the gravitational force thrusting her back into her seat as the aircraft accelerated and rose to its cruising altitude. Clara knew the science behind it, and she closed her eyes as graphs and equations spun in her mind. Seeing the numbers, the vectors and trajectories calmed her and she let out a long exhale. When she finally opened her eyes she saw Larry looking at her over his shoulder.
‘Are you all right, Miss Vale?’
She nodded and smiled. ‘I am now. That was … that was … well … that was the most remarkable thing I’ve ever experienced.’
He grinned. ‘I know. Hard to find words, isn’t it?’
She nodded and looked out of the window to see, thousands of feet below them, the swirling beach-trimmed outline of Madeira melt into endless ocean.
‘Well, relax and enjoy the ride,’ said Larry, turning back to monitor the controls. ‘Next stop, Casablanca!’