One by one, people gathered for a formal dinner. At one table were Professor Longworth, Yvonne, Celia and Brenda. At the table next to theirs Alvirah and Willy, Devon Michaelson, Ted Cavanaugh and Anna DeMille were seated. Conversation at both tables was limited and awkward.
“Acupuncture is wonderful,” Alvirah was telling Cavanaugh. “I don’t know what I’d do without it. Sometimes when I fall asleep, I dream I’m having those little needles stuck in me. And I always wake up feeling better.”
“I can understand that,” Ted told her. “My mother goes for acupuncture to her arthritic hip, and she says it does her a world of good.”
“Oh, your mother has arthritis?” Alvirah exclaimed. “Is she Irish?”
“Her maiden name was Maureen Byrnes. And my father is half-Irish.”
“The reason I ask,” Alvirah said, “is that arthritis is believed to be an Irish disease. My theory is that our Irish ancestors were out in the cold and the rain gathering peat for their fires. The dampness seeped into their DNA.”
Ted laughed. He acknowledged to himself that he found Alvirah both interesting and refreshing.
Anna DeMille did not like to be left out of a conversation for long. “I saw you had a drink with Celia Kilbride,” she told Ted, “and you attended her presentation. I think she’s a very good speaker, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” Ted said quietly.
Willy listened to the conversation as his hand went restlessly to his pocket where the Cleopatra necklace was being kept. He was glad not to get into the discussion about acupuncture. Alvirah was always urging him to get it for his back pain. And it was uncomfortable to hear that an obviously smart guy like Ted Cavanaugh had a relative who used it.
Devon Michaelson had been listening with little interest, but then he saw Gregory Morrison walking about, visiting from table to table. Probably telling everybody they have nothing to worry about, he thought.
His attention shifted to the table nearest them. There were only four people there now. He could see that the conversation was stilted. None of them looked happy to be there. Then he noticed that Morrison was on his way to Longworth’s table. He bristled at the sight of him, then acknowledged to himself that he did not easily accept criticism.
Devon strained to hear what was being said, but he could barely pick up a word. An additional diversion was the fact that Anna DeMille had placed her hand over his and was asking him in a tender voice, “Are you feeling better today, Devon dear?”
Gregory Morrison was fully aware that the chairs had been spaced farther apart to make it less obvious that two people were missing from the table he was approaching. Lady Haywood and Roger Pearson, the jerk who had fallen overboard. Neither was a great loss to the human race as far as he was concerned. It seemed appropriate, however, to offer his sympathy to Pearson’s widow, who hardly looked devastated by her loss. He knew crocodile tears when he saw them. He took comfort from the fact that his ship could not be held responsible for the loss of someone who had been stupid enough to sit on the railing. After a few words to Yvonne, he put his hand on Brenda’s shoulder. “I understand that you were Lady Haywood’s trusted companion of twenty years,” he said. And I wonder if you killed her, he added silently to himself.
Brenda’s eyes became moist. “They were the best twenty years of my life,” she said simply. “I’ll miss her forever.”
She must have been left some money by Lady Haywood, Morrison thought. I wonder how much.
“Mr. Morrison,” Brenda said, “in addition to the missing Cleopatra necklace, Lady Em brought a lot of expensive jewelry on this cruise. My understanding is that it was on the floor near her bed when they found her. Are you taking steps to assure that nothing happens to it?”
“I am sure that the Captain and our security chief are following all appropriate procedures.”
Morrison turned away from the table. He saw that Devon Michaelson, Interpol’s Dick Tracy, was at the next table, and steered around it. He spread his charm at other tables, then went back to his seat next to the Captain.
“They all appear to have gotten over the unfortunate incidents,” he told Fairfax, then turned his attention to the smoked salmon on the plate in front of him.