The Wives, page 18
A harmless flirtation.
That’s all it was.
A Band-Aid for a wounded life. A drug to take away the pain, to lift her out of the doldrums, to give her days some meaning. Only when it was too late, only when he’d burrowed under her skin, did she realise she’d become obsessed with him.
Looking back, she could see the truth. It hadn’t needed much encouragement for the desperately sad, incredibly stupid, terribly disloyal woman she’d been to fall completely under his spell. Not in love. She understood that now. Despite everything, Ralph was the only man she’d ever loved. But love was one thing, lust something else entirely.
Releasing her grip on the rail, she sat on the lounge chair and swung her feet up. The warm breeze coming off the sea tickled her bare legs and made her smile. A brief twist of her lips. She shut her eyes. It was easy to see now what had happened. Daniel had been an aberration. Under the temporary bandage of her obsession, nothing had healed. Ralph was still in a deep funk; she was still feeling… What? A failure for never having pursued her own goals? Was that it? Did she resent Ralph for the decision she’d made all those years before? Resent him for having suddenly become so old, for dragging her with him?
Daniel – yesterday, she’d hated him with a passion as strong as her obsession had been. Now, she missed him. The way he’d made her feel young and alive. She missed him but she was relieved… No, more, she was glad he was gone.
More especially since she’d seen Ralph look at her oddly when they’d gone to Daniel and Natasha’s over-the-top penthouse for the pre-dinner drinks.
In the beginning, she’d been discreet; recently, she hadn’t bothered.
Ralph might have been in a bad place but he was a long way from being stupid. She guessed he was suspicious. He might even believe she’d been unfaithful.
In her head, she had. She’d fucked Daniel’s brains out.
Only in her head. But Ralph didn’t know that.
There’d be a post-mortem. She guessed Zanzibar City would be their next stop and it’d be done there. If they found something suspicious, would all eyes be turned on his friends?
Even dead, was Daniel going to continue to cause them problems?
43
NATASHA
Natasha sent a WhatsApp message to her friends to tell them she was doing okay. If they were surprised she hadn’t included her new cabin number, none of them said. Perhaps they understood that she needed time to herself. Time to process Daniel’s death.
The fridge held half and full-size bottles of white wine and champagne. It seemed wrong to open the latter, but she did, the pop of the cork ridiculously loud in the silent suite. She took the bottle and a glass onto the balcony. Process Daniel’s death. As if shock was the overriding factor. It was there, of course; how could she not be shocked by his death? But it wasn’t the emotion that was sizzling through her. She poured a glass of champagne and raised it in a toast. ‘To being a rich widow.’ Because it was still relief she felt mostly. No more worries over that damn prenup, or how she was going to deal with a man she should never have married.
Through the doors, she could hear the distinct sound of a phone ringing. It might be the security officer wanting to speak to her. It was tempting to ignore it, but if she did, they might be concerned and come to see her in person instead.
Taking another sip of the champagne, she topped up the glass before heading inside.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Captain Alvarez, Mrs Vickery-Orme. I wanted to extend my deepest condolences on the death of your husband and to assure you that we’ll do everything in our power to assist you. Is everything in the suite to your satisfaction?’
She wondered if he’d be shocked at her plan to work her way through all the booze the suite offered, and that she was currently drinking champagne. As if she was celebrating. Which she was, wasn’t she? Not Daniel’s death – or at least not completely – but her freedom. ‘Yes, thank you, Captain, it’s fine. Your crew have been very helpful.’
‘Good, good.’ There was silence for a moment before he continued in a more sombre tone of voice. ‘We expect to arrive in Zanzibar City very early tomorrow morning. I’ve contacted the authorities there. We plan to arrange for your husband’s removal as soon as possible after we drop anchor. We hope you understand.’
‘I understand completely, Captain. I’ve already said my goodbyes. The sooner we find out the cause of death, the better. Anything that would expedite that is fine by me.’
‘We appreciate your co-operation, Mrs Vickery-Orme. If there’s anything I or my crew can do for you, please let me know. Emilio has been told to take good care of you.’
‘I was told the security officer wanted to speak to me.’
‘Ah yes. Ms Valentine, our head of security, has decided that it would be best to have that conversation after we get the initial post-mortem results.’
‘I see.’ And Natasha did. The security officer was waiting to see if she was her husband’s murderer, or the wife of a victim of happenstance. It made sense but it was unsettling having to wait.
‘We have asked the authorities to have the post-mortem done as a matter of urgency so we expect a preliminary report by mid-morning.’ A heavy sigh floated down the line. ‘It may not be sufficient to allay their fears but we have to keep hopeful.’
Natasha understood the captain’s dilemma. Unless the authorities were satisfied, they would refuse permission for passengers to disembark anywhere in Zanzibar, and the ship’s itinerary would be shot to hell.
Proof that Daniel didn’t die of any contagious infection would be good news for the captain, but as soon as that was ruled out, as it was bound to be, the authorities would be considering the alternatives. That Daniel had acquired some strange and fast-acting fatal disease, or that he’d been murdered.
Murdered.
It was down to what they could prove.
Natasha wasn’t sure what that could be.
44
NATASHA
Natasha swirled the champagne in the glass before she lifted it to her mouth and emptied it in one long gulp. The bubbles made her choke, cough, then snort. Better, she decided, to get the phone calls out of the way before she drank any more.
A message would have been so much easier. One she could cut and paste and send to all. It was tempting but impossible.
It was early afternoon in the UK, a good time to catch her busy mother. She was understandably horrified when Natasha gave her a condensed and sanitised version of Daniel’s death. ‘My poor darling. What an awful shock. When are you coming home? We can meet you at the airport. I assume your insurance will cover repatriating poor Daniel and flying you home early.’
It was so typical of her mother to jump straight to the practicalities that Natasha had to smile. ‘Cruise insurance is particularly high for that very reason. The captain has been very helpful too and of course I have my friends around me.’ Her mother didn’t need to know that Natasha hadn’t seen them that day. Nor did she need to know there was some doubt about the cause of death. She certainly wasn’t planning on telling her that the doctor suspected she had something to do with it. ‘They have to do the post-mortem here. Some legal requirement.’ Her mother was big into dotting every i and crossing every t; she’d appreciate the need to follow protocol.
‘So when it’s done, you’ll get home, yes?’
‘Of course.’ Actually, Natasha had no idea what she was going to do. She supposed she’d be expected to travel back with Daniel’s body, wearing widow’s weeds and an expression of intense sorrow. She wasn’t royalty; she hadn’t packed a black outfit just in case. And she wasn’t sure she could do any kind of sorrow.
Daniel had been her escape from a career she’d grown to hate. She’d used him as an easy way out, but how could she have predicted that he’d have had his own agenda?
Because now that he was gone, her thoughts seemed clearer and she decided he had to have done. Something more than the convenience of having an attractive woman on his arm, and available sex. He hadn’t had to marry her for either. So why had he? She should have demanded an explanation as soon as she’d heard about the vasectomy. Now she was left with a mystery she’d never be able to solve.
She spoke to her mother for a few minutes more, reassuring her that she was being well-supported and promising to keep her updated.
When she hung up, she slumped back on the sofa. One call down. She needed another glass of champagne before making any more. Maybe the alcohol would loosen her thoughts. It might even allow her to feel something more appropriate than relief. Daniel might have lied, and he hadn’t loved her any more than she’d loved him, but they’d had good times.
The alcohol was making her maudlin. Putting the glass down, she picked up her phone and rang a business associate of Daniel’s, giving him a much-shortened version of what had happened.
Then there was only the mother and brother. He answered on the first ring. ‘Ben Vickery-Orme.’
‘Hi, Ben, it’s Natasha.’ When there was no comment, she added, ‘Daniel’s wife.’ Late wife, to be exact. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news. Daniel and I are on a cruise.’ Oddly, although she hated euphemisms, when it came to it, she couldn’t bring herself to use the blunt he died. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you but he passed away yesterday.’ She knew the brothers weren’t close. Couldn’t stand one another, according to Daniel, but she was still taken aback when a gruff laugh rolled down the line.
‘His sins caught up with him at last, have they?’
Natasha held a hand to her forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand—’
‘Was he murdered by one of the many, many people he pissed off over the years?’
The brothers weren’t close, Daniel had said. He hadn’t elaborated, hadn’t said his brother hated him. But it was there in the savagery of those words. She’d like to have told Ben that his brother had been killed in a terrible accident or had died from cholera or any one of a range of exotic diseases. She didn’t think he’d care that his brother had had a dreadful death. From the sound of it, he might even have been glad. ‘They’re not sure of the cause of death as yet,’ she said in answer to his question. ‘There’ll be a post-mortem tomorrow. Then his body will be sent home where we’ll have a funeral—’
‘You can stop right there.’ The voice was harsh, unapologetic. ‘I’ll save you the cost of another phone call; I won’t be going. It might be tempting to be there, simply to make sure they bury the bastard deeply, or burn him at a high enough temperature, but I’ll take your word for it. Believe me, the world is now a better place.’
Natasha wanted to ask what Daniel had done to have caused his brother to hate him so much. She knew him to be a liar, a man of questionable morals. Was there worse to hear about this man she’d married? Perhaps she was better off not knowing. ‘I haven’t spoken to your mother yet.’
There was a hiss down the phone and when Ben spoke again, his voice was softer, calmer, as if all the anger had leaked away on the ebb of that sound. ‘Leave that to me, please. It’s not the kind of news a parent should hear over the phone. She only lives a couple of hours away; I’ll go and give her news that will sadden her at least. You might think me cruel for not offering my condolences, but to be honest, you sound like a nice person; I think you’ve had a lucky escape.’
What was she supposed to reply to that? Nothing it seemed. ‘Right, well thank you for letting me know. Goodbye now.’
He cut the connection.
She sat in silence until the ring of the doorbell startled her. Dark thoughts had been consuming her. Daniel’s sins, hers, those of her friends, all marching through her head in hobnailed boots, making it ache. She looked towards the cabin door as if it was mysteriously going to open and a hoard of police burst through to question her. A silly thought. The captain had been clear: they were waiting for the results of the post-mortem before proceeding.
Seconds later, before she’d decided what to do, the ring was followed by a soft rat-a-tat-tat.
It couldn’t be her friends; they didn’t yet know her cabin number. Maybe the doctor, returning to apologise for being such a shit. On that hopeful thought, she crossed to answer the summons, surprised to find Emilio standing there. He was holding a tray of something she knew she hadn’t ordered in one hand, a small cruise-line logoed holdall hanging from the other.
‘Madam must eat,’ he said simply, brushing past her. He laid the tray on the dining table and removed the linen cloth that covered an array of food. ‘I took the liberty of choosing a selection of canapés and finger food. Small bites, easy to eat.’
Natasha wanted to tell him to take the food and go. That she was happy with the drinks that were so freely available. But he was looking so sympathetically at her, so kindly, and the selection he’d brought looked so appetising, that she smiled and nodded. ‘That was very kind. Thank you.’
‘I also have those items you requested from your cabin.’ He lifted the bag he was holding. ‘Would madam like me to unpack for her?’
Having no recollection of what she’d asked for apart from underwear, she hastily shook her head. ‘No, thank you, you can drop it in the dressing room and I’ll manage from there.’
‘As you wish.’ He inclined his head and without another word, did exactly as she asked.
Once the cabin door had clicked shut after him, Natasha took the bottle of champagne from the fridge and sat drinking it as she nibbled on the food.
Checking her phone, she saw several messages from her friends, all saying variations of the same thing. Are you okay?
Perhaps she should take a selfie of her drinking and eating to send to them to prove she was doing more than okay. To prove she was doing bloody marvellously. And she might have done if she hadn’t started to cry big, noisy sobs that seemed to echo around the stupid, over-the-top suite. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. Perhaps for the marriage and the future she’d painted in bright, cheery colours. Fake from the beginning. How very stupid she’d been.
Finally, she dried her eyes with the linen napkin and sent a WhatsApp message to alleviate their concerns.
I’m doing okay. Need tonight to get my thoughts in order.
She switched her phone off. Determined not to be interrupted again, she crossed to the door and pressed the button to display do not disturb outside. Back on the sofa, she emptied the bottle of champagne into her glass, then relaxed back against the cushions.
Tomorrow… maybe they’d find out what had killed Daniel.
It was a worrying thought. There may be others, like the doctor, who’d point the finger of suspicion straight at her. Natasha would have to pin on her professional mask again and lie her way to safety.
45
NATASHA
Natasha wasn’t a big drinker and she was exhausted. Despite worrying about what might happen the following day, she rested her head on the back of the comfortable sofa and fell into a heavy sleep. When she awoke, the room was in partial darkness, nightlights glowing from the base of the long console opposite. They were enough to light her way from the room, insufficient to do much else. She sat for a moment, relaxing into the slight sway of the ship, wondering if she should simply stay there till the morning. It was a deeper rocking movement that drove her to stand and investigate.
Out on the balcony, the air was fresh without being cold. The sea was definitely rougher, the white horses, visible from the light of the ship, bigger than before. Maybe a storm was coming. Daniel had wished for one, she remembered suddenly. He wasn’t expecting to have caused one.
A sudden chill made her shiver. With a last glance over the railing, she headed back inside. It made more sense to go to the bedroom, try to get back to sleep.
After a quick visit to the bathroom where she stripped off her clothes and threw them into the corner, she pushed open the door to the bedroom. Normally, someone would have turned down the covers and switched on the light, but not that night thanks to her request to be left alone. She felt along the wall hoping to find a light switch, muttering in frustration when there was nothing.
In seconds, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, finding shades of grey in the blank space ahead. Making out the shape of the bed, she walked carefully towards it, hands extended uselessly. When a light came on without warning, she squealed in surprise and twisted around, but there was nobody there. What had she expected? The ghost of Daniel, dripping in shit, searching for whomever had ended his charmed life so soon? When the light went out, throwing her once again into darkness, fear scurried through her. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who was to die on that cruise. A step backwards and the light came on again. By the time the deafening sound of her heart thumping had faded, she’d realised what was happening. Her movement was triggering sensor lights built into the base of the bedside table.
Before she was plunged into darkness, she found the main light switches and flicked them on. The bed was dressed with cushions and a throw, all of which she gathered and dropped on a chair in the corner. Then, naked, she slid between the sheets and prayed for sleep to come.
It did, eventually, but instead of the blank escape she’d experienced lying on the sofa, her slumber was coloured with hideous visions of Daniel in the last hours of his life, but in her dreams, instead of faecal matter, it was writhing snakes that were slithering from every orifice. No amount of twisting and turning helped to escape the image and she finally gave up. Grabbing a robe from the bathroom, she went back to the lounge, switched on the TV, and channel surfed until dawn, filling her head with anything she could find rather than dwell on the past or consider what the next few hours might bring.
At first light, she stepped out onto the balcony and watched as signs of life appeared: small fishing boats, container ships, motor boats. The distant shoreline gradually took a more solid form as they neared Zanzibar City. Natasha knew from reading the ship’s itinerary that they could dock in the city itself but it seemed the authorities weren’t taking any risks. Only minutes after dropping anchor, a motor boat approached, growing larger before vanishing to the port side of the ship.
