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WE ARRIVED BACK ON the Aurora late in the evening of the third day. There were still fifteen hours till departure, but we didn’t want to risk anything – not with eight thousand miles between us and home - and we were fond of the breakfasts.
You might think since we’d fallen head over heels with the Falklands, we’d want to prolong our sojourn to the last possible moment. Well, yes and no. Since we’d already decided we were going to spend the rest of our lives there, a few measly hours didn’t amount to much, not when you factored bacon, eggs and rolled oats into the equation.
We had a form of sex whose precise name I can’t remember and slept soundly till my alarm went off, then we shuffled into the shower and shampooed and shaved and deodorised. Ashanta went to the dressing table to plough her hair and I lay on the bed with a copy of The Economist I’d filched from the deckchair suite.
“I don’t feel very well,” she said.
I looked up. “In what way?”
She blew a packet of air.
“Come and sit on the bed,” I said.
“Maybe it was something I ate.”
“Maybe it’s seasickness. Belated.”
She sat next to me and stroked my hair. “You go to breakfast. I’ll be okay if I just stay stock still. No, don’t kiss me, it might be catching.”
I knew her well enough not to argue. I had to find Dr Tomlinson. Damned if I was going to let her suffer. The air outside the cabin smelt sweet and even more so when I got on deck. Literally, I mean, not figuratively. There was nothing sweet about Ashanta being ill.
The ship was almost vacant. The last excursions weren’t due back till eleven. The dining room had replaced its usual buffet service with a handful of waiters, and even the cleaners were few and far between.
Dr Tomlinson’s ‘surgery’ was an open-fronted cabin in the middle of the port side of the ship. Its large single-paned windows were made of toughened glass, and it was painted turquoise with a discreet red cross on a white background at eye-level on the door. There were never any queues for the simple reason that, when it was anything even vaguely serious, he only did house visits. If he was out, you wrote your name in a notepad and he called within thirty minutes. I found him sitting on his revolving chair behind his desk, reading Aeroplane Magazine and eating a Snickers. He swallowed and touched the edges of his mouth with the tip of his index finger.
“I understand you’re engaged,” he said.
“We’re married now. Three days.”
“Gosh.” He recovered and shook my hand. “I haven’t been off the ship. I don’t hear as much news as I might like. Hearty congratulations.”
“Thank you. Ashanta is feeling ill. Would you mind coming to see her?”
He put what was left of his chocolate bar in his desk drawer. “Sure.”
“I mean, finish your Snickers.”
“Diarrhoea and sickness?”
“I haven’t asked her yet. I came straight to get you.”
“I’ll come right away. You’d better go ahead and check she’s decent.”
He could have ensured she was dressed just by knocking on the door, but I suppose he wanted shot of me while he finished his Snickers. I went straight back to our cabin.
When I threw the door open, there was such an overpowering stench I almost retched. I guess, in retrospect, that was why the air had smelt so sweet when I exited. I must have grown accustomed to it overnight. Fish. Ashanta lay on the bed. She was looking at a grey patch about half a centimetre in diameter just above her left breast.
I left the door open. “Ashanta I - ”
“Hugo, look at this.”
She held her blouse up to her neck. A grey circle about half a centimetre in diameter. I did as she said and inspected it. Close up, it wasn’t grey at all. It was silver, as bright as if someone had inserted a new ten pence under her skin. I put my finger on it and sniffed it. It was definitely where the smell was coming from.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“No.”
“You said that as if you weren’t sure.”
“It’s like the reverse.”
“What? Pleasurable?”
“Not in a kinky way. You’re right, though. It stinks.”
There was a knock at the door. Dr Tomlinson. He had one of those medical bags you see doctors carrying in old films, all scuffed leather and misshapen. He looked troubled but not like he was fazed by the smell.
Ashanta sat up. “I’m fine. There’s no need for this.”
“Do you mind if I examine you?” he said.
“I can tell you where the smell’s coming from,” she said.
“Can I see it?”
Ashanta shot a glance at me and pulled up her blouse again.
He took off his jacket, got out a magnifying glass and looked at the patch from seven different angles. Each time he hummed and wrote something in a notebook from out of his jacket pocket. His attitude was sombre. You’d think whatever was the matter was fatal the way he tightened his lips and turned the corners of his mouth towards the floor. Maybe it was.
“So what is it?” I asked after about five minutes.
“I – I’m not certain.”
“But you must have a theory,” Ashanta said. “You looked like you knew what to expect when I said I could tell you about the smell.”
“Ah, yes.”
Anyone could tell he was about to prevaricate. He swapped his body-weight from one foot to the other and pulled a non-existent piece of fluff off his shirt sleeve.
“Would it help if I left?” I said. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, I mean.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Ashanta said. “Doctor Tomlinson, Hugo and I are married.”
“I heard. Congratulations, yes.”
“So I’m not going to keep secrets from him. Cut to the chase. Just tell me what’s wrong with me.”
“I’ll be frank. It may be cancer.”
“Cancer? Oh my God.”
She sat up so hard she almost jerked off the bed. I’m not sure what I did. I’m pretty sure my mouth popped open in response to what felt like a thump in the chest. I remember lots of air going up my nose.
“I’m just saying ‘may be’,” he said. “Worst case scenario, of course. I’ll have to run some tests before we know for sure.”
“What else could it be?”
“Some sort of skin condition maybe. I’m not a dermatologist. It’s a good job we haven’t left the Falklands. King Edward the Seventh Memorial Hospital should give us an answer. I’ll take a blood sample now and we’ll have it analysed as a matter of priority.”
“How soon is ‘priority’?” Ashanta said.
He took a disposable syringe in a plastic wrapper out of his bag. “They’re pretty good. Before midday probably. Even if it is cancer, it’s certainly not a death sentence.”
“I suppose I’ll have to fly home.”
“Time’s usually of the essence.” He spoke without emotion as he fitted a needle. Ashanta held out her arm. He swabbed her cubital fossa and withdrew a cylinder of blood, then transferred it to a sterile jar and put it in his pocket. “All done. My advice is to rest as long as you feel poorly. Once you start feeling well again, carry on as normal.”
“Why, of course,” she said bitterly.
He took this on the chin. He bowed from the neck like he was in a nineteenth century melodrama and exited in such a rush, he left his jacket behind. Ashanta waited till she was sure he’d gone then started to cry. I got onto the bed and wrapped her in my arms and some blankets.
“He’s lying,” I said.
She looked into my pupils. “That’s the crummiest example of a reassurance anyone’s ever given, boy. Why the hell would he do that?”
“There’s something he’s not telling us. He’s playing for time.”
“Stop it. He’ll be back for his jacket in a minute. I’ve got to pull myself together.”
“Come on, we’ve both watched Casualty and Holby City. How often have you heard a doctor say, ‘I’m not sure what it is, Miss, but while we’re waiting for the test results, why don’t we just assume it’s cancer’? I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m pretty sure he’s not being straight.”
She laughed humourlessly. “Yet another conspiracy theory. You’ve got to admit, we’re pretty imaginative.”
“We were never paranoid at university, either of us. Maybe the reason we’re paranoid here is there’s something to be paranoid about.”
She clutched me tighter. “Are you sorry you married me?”
“Idiot.”
There was a knock at the door. I was reminded of three days ago when I’d answered to find a crewman with a bouquet. None of the questions I’d asked that day had been answered, notwithstanding the story of Celia Soper and her magic cards.
It was Dr Tomlinson. “I, er, did I leave my ... ”
“Your jacket’s on the chair,” Ashanta said.
“Could I ask how you knew Ashanta and I were engaged?” I said. “Did Celia Soper tell you?”
He looked nonplussed. “Celia Soper? No.” He smiled. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“You were in the casino telling everyone who’d listen. You bought drinks for the entire room. In the end, I had to tell the barman to stop serving you both. For your own good, that’s all. When you’ve seen as many cases of alcohol poisoning as I have - ”
“I don’t remember anything about it,” I said.
“Me neither,” Ashanta said. She looked alarmed.
“I’ve been blind drunk before,” I said, “but I’ve never had that.”
He shrugged. “It happens.”
“Is it possible someone ... spiked our drinks?” Ashanta said.
“Apart from the crew and you, everyone on this ship’s over sixty-five. Illegal substances aren’t really up our alley. To say nothing of the consequences of carrying them. If you’ve any, I strongly advise you to tip them overboard at the earliest possible opportunity. For everyone’s sake.”
“We haven’t!”
“Who would spike your drinks?” he said.
“I – I don’t know.”
“Exactly. And neither do I, and I know just about everyone on board in one capacity or another. Please don’t go round saying things like that. You’ll only make yourselves enemies. I believe Captain Mason paid the barman, by the way.”
I turned to Ashanta. “If we were that far out of it, why didn’t we leave our clothes all over the place? Because they were hanging up the next morning. And we must have changed into our night things, because that’s how we woke up.”
“You don’t remember any of that, eh?” Dr Tomlinson said.
“And we managed to get back to our cabin okay,” Ashanta said. “And nothing was broken.”
He tut-tutted. “It’s obvious then. Someone found you, thought you’d be a danger to yourselves and escorted you back to your cabin. They must have helped you both into your jim-jams too. I wouldn’t worry. Probably nothing prurient. Crew, most likely.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll ask around if you like. The Good Samaritan’s almost certain to want some credit. In any case, he or she or they will probably call on you once we’ve set sail. Just wait.”
He donned his jacket and left. Ashanta and I sat in silence for a few moments.
“This was the night before I proposed,” I said. “I can’t remember anything about it.”
She had her fingertips on her temples. “Neither can I.”
“Wait. I ... er, I think we were in the library at one point. I can’t recall what we were doing there.”
“Shit, I don’t even remember that. Why didn’t we wake up with hangovers?”
“I don’t even remember a funny taste in my mouth.”
“This is freaky. I’m not joking, it’s scary. I can’t even remember the early stages. I can’t remember anything at all.”
I blinked slowly, like if I just closed my eyes for a second, everything would come back. But it didn’t. Except for one thing. “Wait a minute. The bin’s been emptied.”
“So?”
“Remember on the morning I proposed? Those empty bottles?”
She gasped.
“It must have been us,” I said.
“But why would we?”
“And that’s how Mason knew. We told him. I actually proposed to you about ten hours earlier than we thought, then we forgot all about it.”
“We were climbing a ladder, remember? We thought we’d dreamed it. You must have proposed to me on a ladder.”
“What ladder? There isn’t a ladder on the Aurora. Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“There must be!”
We were raising our voices now. Obviously, the thought that you’ve had a prolonged blackout is never welcome. In our case, it was made ten times worse by the certainty of having shared it. It meant if it happened again, we couldn’t even protect each other. We were alone. The opposite of being married.
“Why would I propose to you on a ladder?” I said.
“It – it sounds almost as if we’re suffering from a kind of medical amnesia. But that’s got to be rare. And how likely is it that we’d have simultaneous attacks?”
We seemed to realise together that we had to stop arguing. Probably because we were thinking the same thing.
“Captain John Mason,” I said.
She nodded. “Those two bottles. That’s where the spike must have been. But why?”
It didn’t seem to count for much that Ashanta was ill any more. Not against this. We had to find Mason and we had to hear what he had to say for ourselves. We put our shoes on and linked arms. Classic displacement, in retrospect. We were shit-scared about Ashanta’s supposed cancer but we couldn’t do anything about that. So we cast about like two trauma victims for something manageable.
“It smells good out here,” she said when we reached the deck. “If whatever my spot-thingy is doesn’t clear up, we’ll have to request a cabin with a porthole. We can’t be breathing that all the time. It’s foul.”
I didn’t reply because I didn’t want to offend her. But I hoped she wouldn’t forget.
As earlier, the whole boat was virtually deserted. Even the surgery was empty now, and there was no one in the dining room except a single waiter standing to attention with his head slightly bowed. This made it all the easier to hear the three raised voices somewhere ahead of us. One of which belonged to Captain Mason. So imperious was his tone that we hesitated before turning the corner where we knew we’d find him. I pulled Ashanta into the adjacent lounge where the armchairs and board games were.
“What are you doing?” she said as I closed the door gently behind us.
“He’s not going to want to speak to us now. Not in the middle of an argy-bargy.”
We sat down on a leather sofa to wait, but the window was open and, if anything, we could hear the altercation more clearly than ever. There were three of them.
“Of course, we have the authority to impound the Aurora,” voice one said. “But we’d rather not use it.”
“You’d have to get permission from the port authorities,” Mason replied. “There’s no possibility of them granting it. You know that.”
“It depends whether this is a civil or a criminal matter. If the latter, they’ll have no choice.”
“Yes, but we’re all aware that C&B would be shooting itself in the head if it was to trigger a criminal investigation,” Mason said.
“Better than waiting till circumstances force its hand.”
“Alternatively, we can relieve you of command,” voice two said. “Fly another captain in. We’ve got two on standby in Santiago as we speak.”
“Relieve me on what grounds?”
“We’ve been through that already.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You think so?”
“What are their names?”
“David Braddon-Mitchell and Frank Jackson.”
There was a pause. “Put it like this,” Mason said. “We all know you can’t be certain of bringing a successful case or you wouldn’t have had to plant a spy. A high-risk strategy and it’s failed.”
“We won’t know that until he turns up.”
“In the meantime, it’s not my responsibility to find him.”
“A good captain doesn’t ‘lose’ passengers.”
“As I say, he’s your spy.”
“We’re wasting time.”
“Correction, you’re wasting my time. If you wish to proceed with this fiasco, I demand to see the evidence against me as per article 487b of the code of practice.”
“You just happen to know that article by chance, do you?”
“Good day, gentlemen,” Mason said.
“You haven’t heard the last of this. I advise you to pack a suitcase. We’ll be back with the necessary papers after we’ve spoken to harbour master.”
They separated, two sets of footsteps receding into two different distances.
“Shit,” Ashanta whispered.
“Bang goes, ‘Captain Mason, I wonder if you’d mind telling me whether you spiked those bottles you sent over’. I shouldn’t think he’s in the mood for that.”
“What do you think he’s up to?”
I shrugged. “Who do you think the spy was?”
We thought for a minute then we looked at each other and spoke simultaneously. “Carl from the roulette table.”
“It has to be,” Ashanta said. “Who else has disappeared?”
“We won’t know until everyone’s back on board. It could be any number of people, although I admit Carl from the roulette table’s the most obvious candidate as things stand right now.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not as bad as I did.”
I suddenly saw our coming out here to have a word with Mason for what it was: a harmless bit of chicanery, designed to divert us from the fact that Ashanta’s life might be forfeit. That was all that mattered any more. I loved her; she was my wife; I couldn’t bear to live without her.
“How about some breakfast?” I said.
She sighed. “I guess I wouldn’t mind a slice of dry toast, so long as I can eat it on deck. I’d rather not gross the dining room out with essence of dead halibut.”
“If it is cancer, I won’t let you die. Nothing can come between us, no matter what happens. We’ll be together for ever.”
I said these words and I meant them. It wasn’t bravado or me courageously asserting a set of values, like I was Albert Camus or something, in the teeth of an indifferent universe. Rather, I really believed they expressed the truth.
She started to cry again. “They say when something good happens to you, something bad has to balance it.”
“That’s bullshit. Lovers get married every day and they live happily ever after.”
“I - I meant this cruise. Maybe we shouldn’t have won it.”
“Be fair. It hasn’t been that good.”
“Of course it has. We’ve eaten at Captain Mason’s table every night. And Derek, Paul, Colin, Steven, Rita, Edith, Celia? They’ve been nothing but kindness. This has been the best few weeks of my life, and of course it couldn’t continue.”
I smiled. I didn’t think they’d been that good.
But on the other hand, nor could I imagine what made me think such a thing. I didn’t sit there wondering for long however, because suddenly I noticed something very odd happening.
The Aurora was moving.
