After the passenger briefing, Francis made his way with Carmen down to Don’s cabin on deck four. The Bostonian couple had not been in the cheapest rooms, down on deck three, but then again, they had not been in the grander suites with balconies up on deck five, and certainly not in the staterooms of deck six.
The old man was in bed, in pyjamas and dressing gown, looking groggy. The sedation Dr Lagip had given him was light, she had told them privately at the Panorama Lounge briefing, so he would be perfectly able to talk. She had dosed him up enough to calm him, that was all.
In daylight, the skin of Don’s face was baggier and more parchmenty than it had seemed in the flattering evening light of the bar. Even with – particularly with – that shiny black hair, he looked his age, and that was something over seventy, Carmen had found out from the passenger records.
‘Don,’ said Carmen, as they stood at the foot of the bed. ‘This is Francis Meadowes, who is trying to help us piece together what happened to Lauren last night.’
The old man took in his visitor, then stared out through his porthole at the empty sea.
‘So what are you?’ he asked, eventually. ‘Some kind of police officer?’
‘No,’ Francis replied gently. ‘For what it’s worth, I write crime novels.’
There was a mirthless gurgle. ‘Crime novels! So, because you can construct a plot, you think you can untangle this real-life horror, do you?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Francis looked over at Carmen, who gave him an encouraging nod. ‘But I was asked to help, by the captain, and the leader of the expedition team, Viktor, so here I am.’
‘And what do they think?’ Don asked. ‘That I threw Lauren overboard in some mad fit of jealousy? They all saw that stupid fight, didn’t they?’
‘I don’t think anyone has any idea what happened,’ Francis replied. ‘We know she was, perhaps, rather inebriated last night …’
‘Rather inebriated.’ Don mimicked Francis’s English accent. ‘She was soused, not to put too fine a point on it. You saw her. Me, I can have a couple of cocktails, bit of wine with dinner, maybe a bourbon or two afterwards. That’s enough. But once Lauren opened the sluices, there was no stopping her. Of course, a ship like this is the very worst place to have brought her. Free booze everywhere, all day long. It’s an alcoholic’s wet dream.’
‘So what do you think happened last night?’ Francis asked.
Don looked over at him, but it was a blank sort of look, filmy, not quite engaging. ‘I have no idea. I guess it’s possible she fell off. But then again …’
‘Then again what?’
‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t see it.’
‘So where were you?’ Francis asked. ‘When it happened?’
‘Here, I guess. I went to bed. After she left the bar, I followed her down. We carried on arguing for a bit. But fighting like that never quite had the appeal for Lauren if there wasn’t an audience. She liked insulting me in public. Telling me I was a useless old man, that only she would look at me now.’
‘And what did you say in private?’
‘I agreed with her. Told her she had a point. Told her, as I always did, that if she didn’t like the situation she could leave. That just made her even angrier.’
‘So you weren’t married?’
For a moment Francis wondered if he’d pushed it too far. There was a powerfully beady glint in the old man’s demeanour; despite the hippyish exterior, you could imagine him putting the fear of God into his employees if he needed to.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘That was at the root of it all, I guess. She didn’t just want big diamonds on her earlobes. She wanted them on her finger too.’
‘And you didn’t want to put one there?’
Don sighed. ‘I’ve been married before. Twice. Maybe it works for some people, but it didn’t for me. I didn’t want to go down that route again. Having a freakin’ sexual partner who’s suddenly telling me how to run my businesses, what to do with my investments. Jesus! I built up my own fortune. I made some bad decisions along the way, but they were my decisions, so I lived with them. I also made some very good decisions.’
‘I see,’ said Francis. ‘Though presumably there is a middle way where you remain in charge of the business and your wife only has a say on the domestic side of things.’
Don laughed. ‘You married?’
‘I was. A long time ago.’ Francis didn’t elaborate.
‘See. In my experience there’s always mission creep. One moment it’s, “Let’s change the carpets in the house,” the next it’s, “Why are we still hanging on to such and such a company?” She was a sharp operator, Lauren, don’t get me wrong. And thorough, too. Boy, was she thorough. She’d double-check everything. That was part of the problem, to be honest.’
‘So was that what you were arguing about last night?’ Francis asked. ‘Business? I heard her talking about “financial decisions” at one point.’
‘Did you?’ Don gave him a sharp look, then turned away.
Francis waited. Best to let him say what he wanted to say, in his own time.
‘She had a thing about charity,’ Don continued, after a pause. ‘She wanted to give my money away all the time. To this or that worthy cause. Orphans of the rainforest. War children of Sudan. Aboriginals of the Australian desert. You name it. I always told her that charity begins at home. And ends at home, too, in my book. I’d say, “But sweetheart, maybe giving money to those little orphans of the rainforest isn’t the best way to help them. Maybe if you give them money the first thing they’ll do is buy a car and drive out of the freakin’ rainforest.” But she never saw it that way. We had it and they didn’t. We had a duty to help.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Francis said. ‘Your argument was about a charity donation?’
‘What I’m saying, young man, is what I just said. And that’s all I’m going to say on that subject.’
From the settled line of his mouth, it clearly was. Next to him, Carmen made a ‘whatever’ face.
‘So after you left the bar last night,’ Francis continued, ‘you came down here, and carried on arguing for a while …’
‘For a while,’ Don repeated.
‘And then what happened?’
‘Lauren went off. Said she was going upstairs for another drink. I didn’t stop her. When she’s in that sort of mood, it’s best just to let her go.’
‘And she didn’t come back?’
‘That was no surprise to me. She would often wander off for half the night, then come back when it suited her. My attitude was to say nothing. Because if I said jack shit that would only provoke her. And we’d be back to: “So what right have you got to control me? When there’s nothing between us.”’
‘So what did you think she got up to when she went off like this?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Didn’t you care?’
‘Of course I cared!’
Don’s tone and his angry look made Francis step back. He glanced over at Carmen, who raised her eyebrows a fraction. Eventually, in his very gentlest tone, he asked, ‘So when did they tell you she’d fallen off the ship?’
Don didn’t answer. For a few long seconds, Francis thought the interview had run its course. Then there was the sound of the old man shifting himself on the pillows and that gravelly voice started up again.
‘One of the expedition staff called me around two thirty,’ he said. ‘Just as the ship was turning. Told me that there was a man overboard situation. That they thought it was Lauren. I got dressed straightaway. Went up on deck seven with my field glasses. It was hopeless. Even if she’d survived the fall, how would we have seen her? It’s a huge ocean. They did their best. Worked out the likely coordinates of where she’d gone over. Hung around till daybreak. But when they came to tell me they were abandoning the search I didn’t put up an objection.’
‘Which one of the expedition staff was that?’ asked Francis. ‘Did they actually knock on your door?’
‘Yeah, I went up with him. That Australian fellow with the beard.’
‘Mike,’ said Carmen.
‘I guess. I’d warned her about this stupid behaviour before. Stumbling around the ship in the night. Drunk. In high heels. “One day you’ll fall off,” I told her. She’d already fallen down a flight of stairs. On this very same ship. When we were in Antarctica last Christmas. Banged her head, but amazingly no more damage was done.’
Yet another pair who had been in Antarctica, Francis thought. ‘So is this what you think?’ he asked. ‘That she fell off?’
‘You think I pushed her?’
‘Maybe somebody else did.’
‘Who? Gregoire. I don’t think so. She was only ever any good to him while she was alive.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Work it out for yourself.’
Francis let him sit in silence for a good half minute or so. Then: ‘She was a bit younger than you, I think,’ he said.
‘You think?’ Don laughed bitterly. ‘Of course she was! That was one of her arguments. “I’m thirty years younger than you, why don’t you marry me? How can you expect me to behave myself, Papita, if you won’t marry me?”’ Don mimicked her voice so well it seemed for a moment as if she were in the room. ‘That’s what she called me. Papita. It means “sugar daddy”. It was a joke when we were younger.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Francis asked. ‘That she was unfaithful?’
‘That bastard,’ Don muttered. ‘You know, they’re not supposed to have any relations whatsoever with the passengers. The staff. On pain of dismissal. And of course, they claim they don’t. But …’
‘You think he did? Gregoire?’
‘You want to know?’
‘Whatever you want to tell me.’
When Don spoke, it was in a quiet, almost defeated voice. ‘The truth is I have no idea. She certainly used him to wind me up. “I’ll go and see Gregoire,” she’d say. And then return hours later. One day I went looking for her. Guess where I found her? In the library, reading a book. So, I don’t know.’ He turned back to look up at Francis. ‘But yes, as I’m sure you noticed, she loved to flirt with him. Publicly. Dancing like that. Although, to be fair, she danced like that with everyone. Except me,’ he added sadly.
‘I see,’ said Francis.
‘OK, yes, that’s what we were arguing about. In the bar and down here. I really thought she had been with him this time. She denied it. But you’re right, there has been history. She’s done it before. With the younger guys. There was a purser, in Australia, when we did a cruise along the Kimberley coast a year or so ago. And a gaucho in Chile, that was on dry land, in the Torres del Paine National Park. It’s always a way of forcing my hand. Marry me, and I’ll never cheat on you again. But why was I to believe that? Once she got her hands on my dough, she could do what she likes …’
‘And if she didn’t fall off?’ Francis asked.
‘If she didn’t fall off – what?’
‘How did she end up going over? It doesn’t sound as if she were suicidal. Unless she was making a gesture to force your hand?’
‘Suicide, no. Not in that way. Even though she was a lush, she loved life too much. Dancing, drinking, spending money, keeping up with her charity projects. I don’t see it. No.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s anyone on the ship you could class … as an enemy of hers? Or of yours?’
Don shook his head. ‘No.’
‘What about friends?’
‘Friends? On here? I guess we’ve made a few. Shipboard buddies. You know the kind of thing. You drink every night and then at the end of the cruise you swap emails and vow you’re going to get together some time, somewhere, God knows where. But you never do. Unless you happen to end up on the same ship again. I quite like it, actually. You can say what you like, knowing you’re unlikely to see those people ever again.’
‘I saw you were quite matey with that Indian fashion designer guy.’
‘Sebastian de Souza. He’s good fun. And talented too. You seen his designs?’
‘No.’
‘Something else. Lauren loved them. And him too. She even bought a couple of things of his. After the last cruise we were on together. In Antarctica.’
When they’d finished with Don, Carmen accompanied Francis to his cabin. They ordered coffee, which Hentie brought in on a lacquered tray, complete with a plate of homemade biscuits. They sat opposite each other in the sunshine that streamed in through the porthole. Francis had switched on his laptop and was checking something on Google. He made a few notes in his floppy black Smythson notebook, then looked up and smiled at his companion.
‘Doing some research?’ she asked.
‘Yes, this and that.’
‘Share?’
‘If it ever becomes relevant.’ He had been checking out the ship’s itinerary over the last eight months, but he wasn’t going to tell Carmen that; not yet anyway. There hadn’t been just one cruise to Antarctica last autumn, he’d discovered, but several back to back. Two included the Falkland Islands on the itinerary, the others not; the last had been over Christmas and New Year. ‘I guess we should talk to Gregoire next,’ he said, meeting her eye. ‘Him and then the engineer who saw Lauren fall.’
‘Yes. Though the captain did say—’
‘I know. I really can’t see why we shouldn’t wake him, though. He’s an important part of the jigsaw.’
‘What the captain says goes, I’m afraid. His word is law. But let’s definitely talk to Gregoire, even though I’m guessing he’ll deny that anything happened between them. As Don said, he’d lose his job if anyone could prove something had gone on.’
‘What d’you think?’
‘Actually, unlikely. He’s ambitious, that man. I mean, it’s fun, in the evenings, for him to flirt with the wives and partners, particularly the younger ones. But I don’t think he’d ever get involved. If he wants some recreation, there’s opportunities for him below stairs …’
‘You know about someone?’ Francis asked.
‘No. I don’t take a huge interest in all that kind of thing. But, yes, it happens …’
‘Surely you must have some idea of what’s going on? There’s presumably a crew bar. Gossip.’
‘I’m not really one of the gossipers, mate. Got my work cut out helping Viktor make sure the expeditions run smoothly.’
Carmen made a call on the cabin phone and fifteen minutes later the handsome hotel director was with them. And he was handsome, Francis thought, with his wavy blond hair and classic chiselled features. His eyes were an appropriate sea-blue; his nose just the perfect size for his face; his lips thin enough to give him a slight sexy meanness, without looking sinister; his jaw strong, without being lantern. He was fit and muscly, without looking like some gym freak. His stomach was washboard flat. The corny French accent could only help. For all his alleged flirtation, was he actually gay? He looked almost too perfect to be heterosexual.
He sat before them on the little sunny couch and seemed quite happy to answer Francis’s questions. This was such an extraordinary tragedy, he said. He could ’ardly believe it. Why, only last evening, he had had the honour of a dance with Lauren, after dinner, up in the Panorama Lounge. And she was such a fine dancer, too. With all that Latina passion.
‘Did you ever get the feeling that her partner minded you dancing together?’ Francis asked.
‘Don? But of course ’e didn’t. He loved to sit there with ’is bourbon and see ’er move. With anybody. Not just me. She ’ad a great dance with Sebastian, too, last night.’
‘Why didn’t Don take her out himself?’
‘’E did. Some evenings. But you know, ’e’s older, maybe ’e preferred to watch.’
‘Quite a lot older.’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you think it was a shame that a much younger woman like Lauren was spending her time with someone who could have been her father?’
Gregoire laughed. ‘This is ’ardly an unusual story on the cruise ships. ’Ave you not been on one before?’
‘No,’ said Francis.
‘Carmen will tell you: you get all sorts. And you quickly discover that money creates its own … liaisons.’
‘So you think it really was just money that kept them together?’
‘Life is never that simple, is it? But maybe it brought them together. Maybe it stopped them from parting. But they were fond of each other, too. You could see that, in the way she looked at ’im. But why wouldn’t she like ’im? ’E’s a nice guy. Funny guy. She was fond of ’im. Loved ’im, yes. I would say so.’
‘You know he was jealous of you?’
Gregoire looked taken aback. ‘Of me? Why? Because I ’ad a few dances with her? I don’t think so.’ He looked down at his beautifully polished black shoes, gleaming in the sunshine against the deep blue of the carpet. ‘I was doing my job.’
‘But maybe you were doing your job more assiduously with her than with some of the other wives and partners?’
‘This is unfair. Lauren asked to dance with me. What is the ’otel manager supposed to say to a passenger, a regular passenger, one who ’as sailed with Golden Adventurer before and may very likely come again? “No”? I don’t think my bosses would be very ’appy if that was my reaction. Would they, Carmen?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Of course it was my pleasure to dance with ’er, just as it was my pleasure to dance with Mrs Forbes-Arl-ee, who is in ’er eighties and cannot move so easily across the floor.’
‘And you had one of those pleasurable dances with Lauren last night?’
‘As you know.’
‘And then?’
‘I had a quick drink with them, ’er and Don, and Mr Sebastian and some others, and then I went back to my office.’
‘So you weren’t there when Lauren and Don started rowing?’ asked Francis.
‘No.’
‘Did you become aware, during the course of the rest of the evening, that she and Don had had a noisy – and public – argument in the bar?’
‘No.’
‘About you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes.’ Gregoire turned sideways to look at Carmen. ‘Carmen, I told the captain I am ’appy to help in this matter. But some of these questions are too personal. There was nothing between me and Lauren.’ He shook his head petulantly and looked back at Francis. ‘Really nothing.’
‘Don thought there was,’ said Francis.
Gregoire shrugged. ‘’E can think what he likes. I’m afraid ’e is a jealous old man. As I know to my cost, it’s a type.’
‘You’re not married, are you, Gregoire?’
‘No.’
‘May I ask: d’you have a partner?’
‘Please, this is my private life. What are you trying to suggest?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Francis. ‘I don’t mean to be intrusive, I was just trying to get a picture. Not so much of what you wanted, but of what Lauren’s expectations might have been.’
‘Lauren’s expectations were that she enjoyed my company. Particularly on the dance floor. There was nothing more to it than that.’
‘Thank you,’ said Francis, clasping his hands together and smiling at him in a final sort of way.
‘Is that all?’ Gregoire said.
Francis looked over at Carmen for confirmation. ‘For the moment, yes. By the way,’ he added, as the hotel director got up to go, ‘I enjoyed your little show the other evening. With the Togoan forest creatures, dancing in the mist. Beautiful.’
‘Ah, well.’ Gregoire shrugged and smiled. ‘It is a bit of fun. The guests love it, as you saw.’
‘Tell me. Do you have to get the dry ice in the port you’re in, Lomé or wherever, or does it keep?’
Gregoire looked puzzled, as if wondering where this question was leading. ‘It doesn’t keep for long, so we just get it sometimes when we can. For shows like that one. Or to reduce the mosquitos. And sometimes the doctor is using it, to keep the snakebite antivenoms cool out on expeditions.’
‘To reduce the mosquitoes? How d’you mean?’
‘It’s a bit of fun, really. Those nasty little insects think that the sublimated carbon dioxide, that mist, is ’uman breath, so they cluster round it. So you can ’ave a champagne bucket full of dry ice to one side of the bar, it is like a ’undred people breathing out at the same time. And so, if we are in port, we can make sure that there are no mosquitos during cocktail hour.’
‘Well, well. I had no idea.’
‘All part of the service, as they say.’ Gregoire grinned. ‘This top-end luxury, it is a serious business.’
‘Interestingly cagey about his private life,’ Francis said, when he’d gone. ‘Perhaps he is gay.’
‘It’s not a vibe I get from him.’
‘So he flirts with you too?’
‘No, it’s just the way he is. Maybe he’s one of those ones who has a woman in every port. And another back home in France as well. But him being cagey, as you put it, is fair enough. He doesn’t know you. You’re not an official detective. He’s not under oath. Why should he talk?’
‘Why indeed?’ Francis agreed. ‘So what did you think? That there had been something between him and Lauren?’
‘I don’t know. Initially I thought not. But when you asked him about the argument, he lost patience, didn’t he? As if maybe something had been going on.’
‘It was quite a strong reaction for someone who has nothing to hide.’
‘Why did you ask about the dry ice?’ Carmen asked.
‘I was just intrigued,’ Francis fibbed. ‘At the lengths they go to to give the guests a good time. But that’s fascinating about the mosquitoes. Did you know that?’
‘It’s not something I get involved in, mate. All that health and hygiene stuff. Leo deals with that side of things. If the doctor doesn’t come out on an expedition, he’s always the one who looks after the antivenoms.’
‘Which get taken out every time?’
‘Of course. Can you imagine? If a guest did get bitten by a snake, way out in the jungle, and there was no antivenom available. Oh my God!’ Carmen shook her head. ‘Some of these snakes can finish you off in a matter of minutes. We take it all pretty seriously, mate, I can tell you.’
‘So what now?’ Francis asked. ‘The engineer?’
‘If we can. I’ll need to check with the captain …’
‘I really think we should talk to him as soon as possible.’
Carmen nodded. She would have to go up to the bridge, she said; she didn’t think she was likely to persuade the captain over the phone. But when she returned, ten minutes later, it was with a thumbs down and a grimace. ‘As I thought,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He’s not going to let us wake him.’
‘Why not, exactly?’
‘The man was up all night. The captain wants him fresh for his next shift. He doesn’t think there’s any urgency about the interview. As he says, he’s not going anywhere.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Francis, though he felt uneasy about the refusal. Surely the captain could see that this eyewitness’s evidence was crucial? ‘You don’t think we can change his mind?’
‘’Fraid not.’
From Carmen’s expression, it was clear Francis wasn’t going to get around her loyalty to her boss either. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I suppose it might be worth talking to the others Don and Lauren were friendly with. The fashion designer and his boyfriend, for starters.’