The long table in the oval dining room looked beautiful. Blue-green hydrangeas were banked in low silver tubs down the center of the table, the wall sconces shed a perfect pinkish light, and candles flickered everywhere. Stewards waited to serve us, and champagne and wines cooled in crystal buckets.
Rosalia came in with Hector and Magdalena, followed by Reg Blunt. Only Diane and Davis Farrell were still missing.
Montana had planned the seating and everyone milled around peering at the place cards, looking to see who was next to them. Montana and I were at the head of the table, with Reg and Diane, who hurried in after us, at the other end. Next to Montana was Rosalia, then Charlie Clement, Ginny, and the empty chair for the missing Davis. Then came Filomena and Brandon. On Reg’s left was Texas, then Dopplemann, Bordelaise, Magdalena, and Hector. I thought it unfortunate that we were a man short and had had to place two girls together, and also that poor Bordelaise had drawn Dopplemann.
Diane arrived and stood, posing in the doorway long enough for us all to notice her, the grieving widow in black chiffon. Her red hair was upswept, her long, smooth neck was wrapped in a thin strand of very sparkly diamonds, and she wore matching diamond earrings. I had to admit she looked lovely in a hard sort of way. Her face tightened though when she found she was seated next to Reg, who was already downing a bottle of Kronenbourg beer.
“Thought I’d be the last one to show up for dinner,” Reg said jovially to Diane, getting to his feet. “I was running in low gear after that plane journey. Haven’t flown much, y’know, and I’m not that good a traveler. Anyhow, not unless it’s in style, like this. This boat is grand, isn’t it?” He smiled at us. “Lady Hardwick’ll keep me company, won’t you, luv?” He gave Diane a friendly nudge. “We go back a bit, Lady Hardwick and me, y’know. Bob used to bring her up to Sneadley when they were still just courtin’. And that’s some time ago now, isn’t it, lass? A few years under the old bridge now, I’d say.”
Diane flinched, then proceeded to ignore him.
Waiters wafted napkins over our laps and poured pink champagne. Amuses bouches, as Bob liked to call them, were served. And still Davis Farrell had not joined us. I wondered worriedly if he’d opted out and decided to go home tomorrow.
Filomena was not missing Davis. She’d latched on to Brandon van Zelder in a torrent of Italian-accented English, speaking so softly he had to bend his head closer to hers, which of course was exactly what she’d intended.
Ginny did not look happy. She had turned pointedly away from Charlie and was staring forlornly at Davis’s empty seat. She had no one to talk to and heaven knows Ginny loved to talk. Sitting next to Dopplemann, Bordelaise rolled her eyes helplessly at me.
Across the table, Hector asked Charlie what he did for a living, which earned him a dismissive glance and the curt reply that he was in the entertainment business. Tension crackled like lightning and I wondered uneasily how we were going to make it through the next five days.
Davis Farrell finally arrived with the first course. He’d cleaned up a bit for dinner in a good jacket and an expensive blue shirt, and despite the ponytail suddenly looked every inch the successful Wall Street man. Apologizing, he explained that he’d had a phone call from New York that had to be dealt with right away. “They’re not used to me not being there,” he added.
“Who’s not?” Ginny asked as he took the seat next to her. She was surprised when he told her about the young immigrants who were his clients.
“Funny, I thought everybody here was going to be rich and successful,” she said.
“How do you know I’m not?”
She eyed him up and down. “The jacket’s okay. It’s the beard and the ponytail that give the wrong impression.”
Davis laughed, then he asked where she was from and they fell into a conversation about Sneadley and the Ram’s Head.
Bordelaise was giving it a good try with Dopplemann. “How was your flight, Herr Dopplemann?” I heard her say.
He glanced sideways at her and the light reflected strangely off his thick lenses. “I found it adequate and fast, despite the great security that now prevails,” he said.
Bordelaise took a deep breath. He was hard going
Out of the blue Dopplemann said, “I like your hair, Fräulein Maguire. It is very blond, very”—he seemed to hunt for the word he wanted—“very charming.”
Accepting his clumsy compliment, Bordelaise gave him her sunniest smile and told him to call her Bordelaise.
Rosalia was telling Charlie Clement about her hearing problem, saying she hoped he would excuse her if she didn’t grasp what he said right away. She spoke halting English and Charlie looked impatient, but then he seemed to have cultivated impatience, made it part of his persona as a means of putting other people on the defensive, forcing them to talk faster, act hurriedly. Not Rosalia, though. She asked what Charlie thought of the yacht, then went on to say how good it was of “Roberto” Hardwick to treat his old friends to such a wonderful cruise. Charlie harrumphed a bit and said vaguely he guessed so. And that was that.
Raising surprised eyebrows, Rosalia smiled across the table at Hector, asking him in Spanish how he was doing. He smoothed back his too-long hair, shined like spit-and-polished army boots, stroked his mustache, and said aloofly he was fine.
Obviously it was my turn to say something. “Hector, I’ve heard so much about the Finca de los Pastores and how beautiful it is. It must be wonderful living there.”
He inclined his head graciously. “Indeed, Señorita, I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
“Oh please, call me Daisy,” I said, then drew him out until he began to tell me about the hotel.
Dinner was served, a lobster salad followed by individual beef Wellingtons. We’d ordered the kind of good old-fashioned food Bob would have enjoyed. Wines were poured, conversation stumbled on and the tension grew. There was cheese and salad and a half dozen desserts and with them we served a special champagne, Pol Roger’s Cuvée Winston Churchill.
Montana had barely spoken to me all night. Now he whispered it was time for the toast. Ringing his fork against a glass he asked for silence. “Daisy has something she wants to say to you all.”
He glanced expectantly up at me as I got to my feet. I had a little speech planned but I cleared my throat nervously, looking around the table at the guests.
“First I want to bid you welcome on Bob’s behalf. You know by now he chose you all specially, he wanted all of you together for a final celebration of his life. Actually, ‘I want them all to have a damned good time,’ was what he said. But there’s something else you might want to think about. He believed that by bringing you together you might take another look at how he personally affected your lives. If you did, he said you might surprise yourselves.”
They looked back at me. Charlie’s face was noncommittal and an ironic smile lifted one corner of Davis’s mouth. Diane looked angry, Filomena puzzled. Ignoring the champagne, Dopplemann continued to sip his Bordeaux, staring deep into his glass as though he might find an answer in there. Rosalia, understanding from Montana what I had said, was the only one to comment.
“Roberto was always a wise man,” she said quietly.
“He was,” I agreed. “And now we’ll drink to him in Winston Churchill’s favorite champagne, which is why it was named after him. Churchill was also Bob’s hero, ‘A man amongst men,’ he called him, ‘a lion-heart.’ Bob wished he could be like him, and in so many ways—courage, integrity, strength—he was.” I lifted my glass. “So let us drink to Sir Robert Waldo Hardwick, a wise man and a good friend to us all.”
“Here, here.” Reg was the first to raise his glass, followed by sullen murmurs of “To Bob.”
Diane’s face had closed into a mask. Now she glared at Filomena. “The Italian should not be here. She’s nothing but a whore.”
“Dio mio.” Filomena was on her feet. “How dare you call me that! Bob left you because you were such a bitch and now I see it’s true. Bob told me himself that you didn’t deserve his name and that I did. It was me he loved, not you … I was the one who made him happy.”
An embarrassed silence fell. Around us the stewards began to clear the dishes.
“We’ll see how much he cared when the will is read,” Diane hissed back. “Then you’ll find where old mistresses end up. In the garbage can. Don’t forget I was his wife— ”
I said quickly, “Please, Diane, Filomena, this is meant to be a civilized dinner. Bob wanted us all to have a good time.”
“Since we’re on the subject of the will, might I ask exactly why we are all here?” Charlie, who had continued to drink Jack Daniel’s, said. “I’m not sure any of us could have been called Bob’s friends. For instance, that man.” He pointed at Dopplemann. “My God, he looks like a farm laborer. Nobody has heard of him for years. Why on earth would Bob invite him?” He stared at Dopplemann as though he was an insect under his microscope. “Come on, Herr Dopplemann,” he said, “tell us how you knew the great Sir Robert Hardwick. What’s your real story, eh?”
“Stop it, Clement,” Montana ordered. But Dopplemann had shriveled under Charlie’s attack, curling over his wineglass, head bowed. After a moment he muttered something, then he got up and walked out.
Montana went after him. He grabbed him by the shoulder but Dopplemann shrugged him off and continued on his way. Montana watched him worriedly, then came back to the table.
“I think that’s about enough for tonight,” he said coldly. “Diane, you were invited because you are Bob’s ex-wife. I don’t know what, if anything, he’s left you in his will, but I’m asking you to be civil for his sake. As for you, Clement, if you don’t want to be on this voyage you can leave tomorrow. We’ll be in Saint-Tropez around seven; the choice is yours. But I’m warning you, any more insulting behavior and I will personally have you removed. Have I made myself clear?”
“Who the hell are you, telling me what I can and cannot do?” Charlie pushed back his chair and followed Dopplemann out the door. “Fuck you all,” we heard him say as he left.
I glanced at my stunned guests. Then Diane got up and without a word flounced off.
Filomena’s eyes followed her. “It’s true I was Bob’s mistress,” she said, “but we loved each other, truly we did. And I’m sad he’s dead.” She turned piteous eyes on Brandon. “How could Diane say such bad things?” Giant tears rolled down her cheeks and Brandon pulled a silk handkerchief from his top pocket and began to mop them.
“It’s all right. No damage done,” he said comfortingly.
Horrified, my eyes met Montana’s. “I think we’d better call it a night,” he said. “Hopefully tomorrow will be better.”
“Jeez,” Bordelaise whispered. “I’m heading for the bar! And I certainly hope Charlie and Diane won’t be there.”
“I’m worried about Dopplemann,” Montana said after they’d gone. “I’d better go look for him. I’ll meet you in the bar later.”
“Poor Dopplemann,” Bordelaise said as we nursed a goodnight glass of champagne. “That Charlie is a real bastard, I knew it the moment I saw him. Men like that usually have something to hide, trust me.”
Several of the young officers showed up to socialize, and Bordelaise was in her element. Melvyn played “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” and Texas sang along in a husky smoldering voice that left them rapt. Even Filomena, recovered from her tears, smiled bravely, sitting very close to Brandon.
Fifteen minutes later, Montana showed up. “There’s no sign of Dopplemann,” he said worriedly. “I had the steward check and he’s not in his cabin. I also checked the decks, no sign of him there. I’m hoping Clement didn’t goad him into doing something stupid.”
Realizing what he meant, Bordelaise and I stared at him, horrified.
“You never know with a man like that,” Montana said. “He’s capable of anything. I’m going to have to tell Captain Anders.” He called over one of the young officers and they went off together. Minutes later the yacht started to slow down; then it made a half circle and began slowly to retrace its path.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “He really thinks Dopplemann might have jumped.”
There was a few seconds’ silence while everyone gathered their wits, then we all ran onto the deck. Hanging over the rail, we searched the blue-black sea, now illuminated by a glaring light. The side of the lower deck lifted hydraulically, the tenders were put out and the officers began their search.
“Oh, no,” Filomena moaned. “It’s that dreadful man’s fault…. But that little Dopplemann is so strange.”
“It’ll be all right,” I said, trying to sound positive while still looking for a body in the water.
“Don’t bet on it,” Bordelaise said. “A man like that, humiliated in public …”
The rest of the crew were combing each deck, searching every room. The barman said Dopplemann had ordered another bottle of the Haut-Brion. He’d thought he must be taking it to his room, and Montana said he didn’t believe he’d kill himself when there was still a full bottle of good wine to be drunk.
Searchlights played over the water, turning it a rather pretty milky blue. Looking at it, I thought it might not be a bad way for the killer to go.
Everyone except Charlie and Diane was on deck, peering over the rail. The wind blew the women’s evening dresses against their bodies and in the half-light they looked like a beautiful carved frieze: hair blown back, faces uptilted. Reg and Davis, Brandon and Hector stood watching and waiting.
“Surely Clement’s insult wasn’t enough to send a man to his death,” Reg said. “Clement was obviously pissed out of his mind and everybody knows men say things they shouldn’t when they’re like that.”
Hector paced the deck, back and forth, back and forth, and Texas, Filomena and Bordelaise huddled silently together.
Montana had returned to the lower deck. The giant steel fuel tanks gleamed under the lights and the throb of the yacht’s engines sent small shudders through the ship. Over the noise he caught another sound; a buzzing, like a hacksaw on wood. Ducking around the tanks he followed it to its source.
Dopplemann lay sprawled on his back, the empty wine bottle still clutched in his hand. He was passed out and snoring.
Montana informed Captain Anders, the medical officer was summoned and Montana went back up on deck to tell the others.
The panic was over, but not the fear. The guests slowly drifted off to their rooms, relieved that they didn’t have a dead body on their hands and that the cruise would continue and the will would still be read on Capri.