The Woman in Cabin 10

I turned back to Owen White with a sigh, though I was not sure whether it was a sigh of relief for Hanni, or resignation at my own reluctance to deal with unpleasant people, even for the sake of my career.

Owen, by contrast, seemed reassuringly harmless, though I realized, as I looked covertly at his profile in the reflection of the darkened, foggy window, that I had no real idea whether he would be of use to Velocity or not. Ben had said he was an investor, but White had kept himself to himself so much this voyage that I had no clear impression of what he actually did. Perhaps he would be the perfect angel investor for the group, if Velocity’s owner ever decided to go into some more profitable area. In any case, I had no desire to go across to the other side of the room.

“So, um,” I began awkwardly, “I feel slightly like we haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Laura Blacklock. I’m a travel journalist.”

“Owen White,” he said simply, but there was no sense of dismissal in his tone, I got the impression that he was just a man of few words. He held out his hand, and I shook it clumsily with my left, which was holding a petit four, but seemed better than my right, which was holding a hot cup of coffee.

“So what brings you to the Aurora, Mr. White?”

“I work for an investment group,” he said, and took a long sip of his coffee. “Bullmer was, I think, hoping I’d recommend the Aurora as an investment opportunity.”

“But . . . from what you were saying to Tina, that won’t be the case?” I said cautiously, wondering if it was bad manners to admit overhearing, though I could hardly have helped it. He nodded, not seeming offended.

“That’s so. I must admit, it’s not really my area, but I was flattered to be asked and too venal to pass up the chance of a free trip. As I was saying to Tina, it’s a shame Solberg couldn’t make it.”

“He was supposed to have cabin ten, wasn’t he?” I asked. Owen White nodded. It occurred to me suddenly that I had no real idea of who the missing Solberg was, or why he hadn’t come. “Did you—I mean, do you know him? Solberg, I mean?”

“Yes, fairly well. We’re in the same area. He’s based in Norway, while my head office is back in London, but it’s a small world that we operate in. One gets to know all one’s competitors. It must be the same in travel journalism, I imagine.” He smiled as he popped a petit four in his mouth, and I smiled back, acknowledging the truth of his remark.

“So, if this is more his cup of tea, why didn’t he come?” I asked.

Owen White said nothing, and for a moment I wondered if I’d gone too far, been too bold with my questioning, but then he swallowed and I realized he was simply having trouble with his petit four.

“There was a break-in,” he said around a mouthful of bits of nut, and swallowed again, trying to clear his mouth. “At his house, I believe. His passport was taken, but I think that was only part of the reason he didn’t come—his wife and children were home, from what I understand, and were rather shaken up. And say what you will about Scandinavian businesses . . .” He paused again and swallowed, heroically this time. “They do understand the importance of putting family first. Dear me, I advise you not to try this nougat unless you have very good teeth, I think I may have loosened a filling.”

“Not the nougat!” I heard over my shoulder, as I was trying to process what I had just heard and piece this revelation together with my own break-in. I turned to see Alexander bearing down on us both. “Owen, please tell me you haven’t.”

“I did.” Owen took a gulp of coffee and swilled it around his mouth, wincing slightly. “To my regret.”

“The stuff should carry a dental health warning at the very least. You”—he pointed at me—“an investigative report is what’s needed. Velocity’s no-punches-pulled exposé of Richard Bullmer’s shady links with the cosmetic dentistry industry. What with that and the other incident, I should think future guests of this cruise liner will find it very hard to get health insurance, don’t you?”

“Other incident?” I said sharply, trying to remember what I’d told Alexander. I was sure I hadn’t mentioned the full story of the accident to him. Had Lars related the conversation in the hot tub? “What other incident are you talking about?”

“Why,” Alexander said, his eyes opened almost theatrically wide, “Cole’s hand. Of course. What were you thinking of?”

After coffee, the group began to break up—Owen disappearing quietly without a good-bye, and Lars taking a loud leave with a joke about Chloe. Bullmer was still nowhere to be seen, nor was Anne.

“Come for a snifter of something in the bar?” Tina said to me as I placed my empty cup on a side table. “Alexander’s going to have a tinkle on the baby grand in there.”

“I—I’m not sure,” I said. I was still pondering what Owen White had told me over coffee about Solberg’s break-in. What did it mean? “I might turn in.”

“Ben?” Tina purred. He looked at me.

“Lo? Want me to walk you back to your cabin?”

“No need, I’m fine,” I said, and turned to go. I was almost at the door when I felt a hand catch at my wrist and turned. It was Ben.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Ben.” I glanced behind him at the other guests, laughing and chatting obliviously as the stewards cleared up around them. “Let’s not do this here. Nothing’s going on.”

“Then why were you acting so weird all through dinner? You saw me saving you a chair and you deliberately ignored me.”

“Nothing’s going on.” There was a painful pressure in my temples, as if the anger I’d been suppressing all night was taking its toll.

“I don’t believe you. Come on, Lo, spit it out.”

“You lied to me.” It burst out in a furious whisper, before I could consider the wisdom of the accusation. Ben looked taken aback.

“What? No, I didn’t!”

“Really?” I hissed. “So you never left the cabin when everyone was playing poker?”

“No!” It was his turn to glance over his shoulder now at the other guests. Tina was looking across at us, and he turned back, lowering his voice. “No, I didn’t— Oh, no, wait, I did go and get my wallet. But that wasn’t a lie—not really.”

“Not a lie? You told me categorically no one left that cabin. And then I find out from Cole not only that you did leave, but anyone else could have left, too, while you weren’t there.”

“But that’s different,” he muttered. “I left, God, I don’t know when, but it was early in the evening. It wasn’t round the time you were talking about.”

“So why lie about it?”

“It wasn’t a lie! I just didn’t think. Jesus, Lo—”

But I didn’t let him finish. I pulled my wrist out of his grip and hurried away, through the doors and into the corridor, leaving him gaping after me.

I was so busy thinking about Ben that as I rounded the corner near the upper-deck toilet, I almost tripped over Anne Bullmer. She was leaning back against the wall as if steeling herself for something, although whether to return to the party, or make her way back to her cabin, I wasn’t sure. She looked extremely tired, her face gray, the shadows around her eyes darker than ever.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I gasped, and then, thinking of the bruise on her collarbone, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She smiled, the fine skin around her mouth crinkling, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m fine, I’m just very tired. Sometimes . . .” She swallowed, and her voice cracked for a moment, something in the cut-glass English accent slipping. “Sometimes it all just seems too much—d’you know what I mean? Such a performance.”

“I do,” I said sympathetically.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to bed,” she said, and I nodded and turned to make my own way back aft, down the flight of stairs that led to the rear set of cabins.