The Pleasure Cruise Mystery (3 page)

“You'd be the last person to give her the opportunity, Ricky. The petticoat's an obsession with you.”

“Most emphatically. I give it its correct status in a world of misplaced values. The only people who think that there's anything more important than woman are either scientists or lunatics, and it's damned hard to differentiate between them. Do you think that this lady who has already roused your interest is married?”

“Yes, I saw her left hand.”

“A wedding ring's not unimpeachable evidence; nowadays it frequently extends rather than circumscribes freedom.”

“She may be a widow. She's travelling alone. I saw her talking to the married couple in the next cabin. The Colvins are friends or relatives. Mrs. Colvin's her sister, I should say; they're very much alike.”

“So Colvin's their name. More natural curiosity on your part, Ricky?”

“Yes. I looked at the label on an exactly similar trunk to Mrs. Mesado's that was finally dumped in their cabin.”

“You're devilishly interested in your fellow passengers.”

“I see no other way of entering into the charming social life of the ‘Mars.' We must all get matey. Lands of sunshine, mystery and romance are only verbal flummery in connection with a pleasure cruise.”

“You've seen Mrs. Mesado at close quarters?”

“I saw her back view when she was chatting with the Colvins in their cabin. She and Mrs. Colvin have the same proud carriage of the head and there's a marked similarity in their fuselage. Of course they're not to be compared with my Argentine maid.”

“You always preferred the Latin type.”

“Always; the Nordic's a calculating barbarian.”

“What's the male Colvin like?”

“Short stature, ginger hair, rufous eyed, rubicund. Looks as if he had been suckled on beer but will now drink anything from Schnapps to Tarragona. I passed the time of day with him, and he has a forced heartiness that's almost ecclesiastical. He's a lanigerous gent—the kind that wears Harris tweeds, a woolly jumper and superabundant stockings, May be a good fellow, but his chin's in the wrong quarter and his mouth's a bit medusal. I like his wife better.”

“She's fair like her sister?”

“I don't know about her sister, but Mrs. Colvin's almost platinum. Soft-eyed and sweet-mouthed, self-sacrifice will be a pleasure rather than a virtue with her. I should say Colvin trades on her complacency. Ah, there's the bugle for lunch! Come on, Algernon, I yearn for a little nutriment.”

Algernon Vereker took a last glance at the beautiful wide sweep of the grey estuary, every detail softened by an exquisite silvery haze, and accompanied Ricardo down the companion to the dining saloon.

After lunch, which Ricardo asserted was the best he had eaten since he was paid for his last serial six months previously, the two men wandered up to the lounge where coffee was served. After coffee Vereker became absorbed in Miss Sackville-West's
Edwardians
, which he had borrowed from the library.

“This was worth the two bob deposit, Ricky,” he remarked at length to his companion, who had sunk into the depths of an armchair beside him. A faint snore was Ricardo's only reply, and noticing that he was fast asleep Vereker rose and wandered out on to the main promenade deck. On the north side of the river the “Mars” was passing a gigantic oil station with its gleaming silver tanks, and some time afterwards a bluish-grey mist swallowed up the coastline and all around seemed limitless ocean. Accustomed to a considerable amount of exercise, Vereker joined in the usual steady pacing round the promenade deck. He noticed the dark, beautiful Argentine of Ricardo's fancy and her mother, a shrivelled, desiccated edition of the daughter. They were lounging in deck chairs, wrapped in rugs and in earnest conversation with a swarthy fellow countryman who gave Vereker an impression of being all eyes, a mobile moustache and a large diamond ring. Later he passed on his round a man and woman whom he at once recognised from Ricardo's description as Mr. and Mrs. Colvin. They were walking arm in arm, and Colvin's red face seemed unduly serious and preoccupied. They were conversing in undertones, and from the expression on Mrs. Colvin's soft features the subject was evidently distasteful to her. From the passengers Vereker's thoughts reverted to his own personal affairs. He was engrossed in them when his attention was attracted by a spasmodic hooting on the starboard. It was the warning siren of the Girdler Light. He ceased walking and leaned over the rails, gazing at the ship with idle curiosity, when he was joined by Ricardo.

“Damned thing woke me up,” said Manuel. “Sounds like a cow with milk fever. I was dreaming I was back at Chalk Farm, where my landlady used to keen periodically for her sons lost in the Irish rebellion. What's the book?”

“The Edwardians
. Have you read it?”

“Yes. Jolly good, but I'm now wandering wearily through the Crystal Palace of fiction built by John Galsworthy. To change the subject, it's time for tea in the garden lounge and I'm going to get busy with my future playmates.”

“I'm going to dump this book in my cabin, Ricky, and will join you in the lounge for tea,” said Vereker and, leaving his friend, lightly ascended the companion to the upper promenade deck. As he passed along the alleyway to his cabin, No. 88, a woman swiftly emerged from No. 90 and hurried into No. 89. She was still dressed in her shepherd's tartan tweed suit, and one glance at her figure informed Vereker that she was Mrs. Mesado. She seemed eager to avoid meeting a fellow passenger and disappeared without giving him an opportunity for close observation. On returning to the garden lounge he found Ricardo sitting at the same table as the Argentine lady and her mother, talking volubly over tea to the daughter, who, evidently amused by his light chatter, took every opportunity of displaying a dazzlingly beautiful mouthful of teeth. Vereker chose a seat in a secluded corner of the lounge and was joined at his table by a Scotsman called Ferguson, whose conversation was a questionnaire as to his views on the modern conception of God. Tiring at length of this examination, Vereker lit a cigarette, excused himself and sauntered out on to the deck once more. He felt idle and a trifle bored and began to wonder why he had allowed Ricardo to persuade him into entering on this adventure. Of course the lands of “mystery, sunshine and romance” were ahead, but at the moment they appeared insufferably remote. He glanced at his watch. It was half-past five. Suddenly a commotion among the travellers attracted his attention. He joined the eagerly chattering throng to discover that Gris Nez had suddenly thrust its impressive mass through the haze. Later in the evening a blast from the “Mars's” siren called attention to the approach of a pilot boat from Boulogne. The white, red and green stars of her lights were reflected in twisted beauty on the sombre ripple of the sea. The simplicity of the dark outline of the boat and the brilliance of the colours awakened his artistic appreciation.

“Nice little subject for a decorative poster,” he thought.

The pilot boat sheered off and the lights of Boulogne swam into view, a diadem of ruby, gold and emerald on the swiftly darkening sky. Away on the port side the lighthouse on Gris Nez exploded intermittently with dazzling radiance. At length Vereker went below to dress, and as he passed Mrs. Mesado's cabin door, which was partly open, he caught a glimpse of her putting the final touches to her toilet assisted by her maid. She was wearing a pale blue georgette evening gown, and beneath her neatly trimmed hair there glittered on the white nape of her neck the emerald butterfly clasp of a fine necklace of diamonds. She had evidently dressed for dinner. While he was tying a black evening tie Ricardo, who had already changed, sauntered into his cabin smoking a cigarette with lazy self-satisfaction.

“How do I look in borrowed plumes, Algernon? Aubrey's guzzle garments fit me to a nicety. He was out when I called at his flat in Clarges Street. I persuaded his valet that I had Aubrey's authority to take them. Wrote him a letter of condolence immediately I got on board. They're really too good to return, and in any case Aubrey can afford another suit. Also tried on his deck shoes, but they were miles too big. Aubrey would be a tall man if he hadn't so much turned up to make feet. He's a bit lacking upstairs; balance of Nature I suppose. I had to hump round to Buhl's in the Arcade and make a costly investment which depleted me considerably.”

“I see you've already made the acquaintance of the dark lady?”

“Bit of luck, wasn't it? Got off the mark as if I were being chased by a man with a writ. She's a Miss Penteado. Saw her and her mother having tea together and pounced on the psychological moment, whatever that may mean. Some fool with a preposterous diamond ring tried to intermeddle, but I outflanked him and put him in a conversational barbed wire enclosure with the mother. He finally wriggled free looking a beaten man, and afterwards I met him at the bar standing our neighbour Colvin innumerable cocktails. Managed to bullock in discreetly and get treated. Thinking it was safe I generously offered a return. It was an error of judgment. I hadn't reckoned on Colvin. Dias, the chappie crouching behind the diamond, refused. Colvin said he never drank more than one cocktail but graciously expressed a desire for a large whisky and soda. He remarked that he was feeling cold. I succumbed gallantly but wished him in a very warm place. From their conversation when I came over the horizon I should say they weren't strangers to one another. I don't like the look of Dias; he's an untidy bit of sculpture.”

“I saw the Colvins on deck this afternoon. His wife's a good-looker, but I wasn't too favourably impressed by him,” remarked Vereker.

“In my opinion, he's not a bad sort on the whole, Algernon. Suffers from a common form of throat trouble; the only remedy is alcohol. I'd be a martyr to it myself, but my pocket keeps it fairly well in check. See anything of Mrs. Mesado?”

“She had just finished dressing for dinner when I passed her cabin. She has her maid with her.”

“I know. I met the maid in the fairway just now. She's a pirate's prize. Has wet lips and swings her hips imperially. Her eyes are a misfit; they're distrustful and tell you that man alone is vile. I stepped aside like a courtier to let her pass and smiled appreciatively. I was declined without thanks and crept into your shelter feeling thoroughly unbuttoned. Still, I'm not defeated. I must live romantically, and it's either Mrs. Mesado's maid or the dark lady from Buenos Aires. I shall have to toss up and decide some time tonight. The dark lady is an heiress to untold wealth, and I'm afraid it gives her a cynical bias against disinterested flirtation. She thinks every admirer is making a knight's move on her fortune, while the maid fears you are making a frontal attack on her virtue.”

“Come along, Ricky, I'm ready.”

“About time too. I'm feeling in the mood for a Trimalchian feast.”

The orchestra were playing the first few bars of Lincke's waltz, “Venus on Earth”; the dining saloon was swiftly filling up with a vivacious and well-dressed throng of passengers; the air was humming with the noise of their movement and talk, the clatter of crockery, the clink of silver; every now and then the joyous pop of a wine cork came to the surface of this murmurous tide of sound; waiters hurried to and fro or bent attentively to take their orders; the wine steward, wearing his chain and key of office, moved with the dignity of a mayor; the
maitre d'hôtel
sauntered about, keeping deftly clear of his staff, a prandial commander-in-chief, his dark eye taking in every detail of his well planned campaign. Ricardo was critically studying the menu. Vereker was gazing interestedly at the little groups of people that moved together to their tables and then suddenly sank out of his sight into their seats.

“Yes,
consommé printanier royale
sounds a good foundation, and then
suprême de barbue à l'anglaise
to follow,” said Manuel with gusto to himself. Turning to Vereker he exclaimed, “By Jove, Algernon, eating's a great game played in moderation. I wish you'd attend to business instead of gazing yearningly at the beautiful feminine back at the next table. Your chit for a bottle of wine wouldn't be out of order.”

“Being lazy and ignorant, I'll leave you to conduct the meal, Ricky. I'll follow your lead. What on earth are
paupiettes
of Dover Sole?”

“God alone knows, but don't ask Him. They'll be Dover sole anyhow, and that's good enough to take a running jump at. Ah, there's Miss Penteado just come in. That claret-coloured gown shows off her dark beauty to perfection. What art—only one large ruby ring!”

Vereker glanced towards the entrance to the dining saloon and saw Miss Penteado, accompanied by her mother and the gentleman with the conspicuous diamond ring, moving leisurely to her table. A moment later a figure in pale blue georgette followed.

“There's Mrs. Mesado, Algernon!” exclaimed Ricardo in an eager whisper. “Beautiful but marmoreal. Still, with a breath of romance she might come to life. I prescribe Heidsieck when you've got past the prologue and first chapters with her. She's positively lit up with diamonds; her necklace would keep me in luxury for the rest of my life. She has joined the Colvins. Damn this table; we're a million light years away from them. If she's not a widow she ought to be for the duration of the cruise. It's not fair for such a lovely creature to entrench herself behind her marriage lines.”

“What are you choosing to follow the fish?” asked Vereker, not deeply interested in the doings of Mrs. Mesado and her companions.

“
Chapon de France rôti
, my lad, and then
crêpes au citron
, devilled sardines on toast, coffee and an orange curaçao with a nip of old brandy. I reckon that's fairly sound architecture.”

“Order the same for me, Ricky. And what on earth are you going to do with yourself after dinner? I'm bored with this cruise already; there's absolutely nothing to do!”