The Wives, page 19
Should she go on deck to wave Daniel’s body off? Maybe take one of the white pillowcases with her and wave it as the launch pulled away? Get stuck into the role of grieving widow she’d need to display later? Not so much for her friends who wouldn’t be so easily fooled, but for the security officer and any other official who might think it necessary to speak to her.
A glance in a mirror told her she wouldn’t have to act too much. The sleepless night and the strain of the last couple of days were writ large on her face, making her look haggard and wretched. Too damn wretched to stand on deck waving a white flag of surrender.
Back in the cabin, she reached for her phone and wrote a message to her friends.
Would love if you could all come to see me this morning. Maybe after breakfast. Same deck, further towards the bow, cabin number 1261.
There was no point in telling them it was the Grand Duchess suite; they’d find that out for themselves when they arrived.
It was only six. Her friends were early risers – apart from Michele perhaps – but they were unlikely to arrive before nine. She had hours to make herself somewhat presentable.
In the dressing room, she opened the case Emilio had packed for her. The list she’d given him had been vague and random. Apart from underwear, she’d asked for dark clothes. He’d taken her literally. Unfortunately, her dark clothes were mostly cocktail dresses, and dressier blouses and trousers. The dresses were of the tight-fitting, low-cut variety that Daniel had preferred. It was almost tempting to pull one on. She smiled when she imagined the security officer’s face if she opened the door in such a revealing outfit. More merry widow than grieving one. Until she knew what the post-mortem revealed, it was unwise to look as if she was revelling in Daniel’s departure.
Luckily, Emilio hadn’t stinted on what he’d brought, so she was able to cobble together a decent outfit, layering a semi-transparent chiffon black shirt over a black T-shirt, and teaming them with matching trousers. With her skin so unnaturally pale, she looked like Morticia Addams. The thought put the Addams Family theme tune into her head. She was humming it and even clicking her fingers as she went to the main door to disable the do not disturb notice.
Too restless to read, or to concentrate on TV, she made herself a cup of tea and took it out onto the balcony. But when she sat, her eyes drifting over the view, it was a motor boat on the way to the harbour that caught her attention. Was Daniel’s body inside? The thought made her stand so abruptly that tea sloshed from the cup. Brushing the spillage from her leg with a hand, she returned to the cabin. The next hour was spent with the same inability to settle and she gasped in relief when she heard the doorbell. Relief, then worry. She checked her watch. Only eight. Too early for her friends, too soon for the security officer.
Emilio, she guessed, opening the door. And she was right.
‘Good morning, madam,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to clear away, and to fetch you whatever you would like for breakfast.’ He didn’t seem to be a man who needed to wait for a reply. Or an invitation. He stepped forward, assuming, rightly as it happened, that Natasha would move aside to allow him to enter. She could have shut the door in his face but he’d been helpful and kind, in his rather reserved, distant way. Anyway, the remains of the food he’d brought the previous evening was an unappetising mess on the table. It wouldn’t bother her friends, but she wanted to give the security officer a good impression from the start. To show that Natasha was a woman who liked a certain standard of living, a woman for whom chaos was an abomination.
Not a woman who would kill her husband.
46
NATASHA
With a difficult day stretching ahead of her, it seemed sensible to eat something. Natasha asked Emilio to bring her some toast. ‘A couple of slices, with marmalade and butter. Nothing else.’ She laid heavy emphasis on the last two words.
‘As you wish.’
There was a coffee machine, of course. An all-singing, all-dancing one that took her a few minutes to figure out. It was spluttering out deliciously aromatic coffee by the time Emilio returned.
‘Perfect, thank you,’ she said as he put a toast rack on the table along with a small dish of marmalade and another of butter. Before she could stop him, he’d turned to pour her coffee into the waiting cup. It seemed rude to tell him she was capable of doing it herself, so she sat and waited till he brought it across, waiting a moment longer as he opened the fridge and took out the jug of milk.
He peered into it suspiciously. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to lift it to his nose to sniff. He didn’t, merely saying, ‘I’ll bring a fresh jug of milk when I come again.’
‘Thank you. If you’d bring a large one please, I have friends coming later.’ Now please go away.
Perhaps he read her mind, because he gave one of his jerky little bows before turning and walking away. He didn’t leave though; he went into the bedroom. She heard him moving about. No doubt picking up the abandoned cushions and pillows and returning them to their proper place.
It was a few minutes before she heard the distinct sound of the main door being opened and the gentle click as it shut. Only then did she relax. The coffee was good, the toast slathered in butter and marmalade probably was too, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat more than a couple of mouthfuls before giving up.
She made another coffee and took it out onto the balcony. Even with a light sea breeze blowing, it was warm. She pulled a chair into the shade and sat with the cup clasped between her hands, sipping occasionally as she stared through the rail to the shore. At that moment, somewhere over in the city, someone was cutting into Daniel’s body. Looking for his secrets.
They’d find some. No doubt about it.
Secrets. If she’d never discovered his, if Barbara hadn’t seen fit to spill the beans, would she feel differently now, would she be sincerely grieving? She really wasn’t sure. The woman she’d once been would never have been happily married to a man for whom truth was an optional extra. She’d known his business dealings were shady; she’d stupidly assumed his dealings with her weren’t. His money had offered a lifebelt of safety that had dragged her from the world she knew, one that had become frightening and uncertain. It was why she’d married him, but once more she considered the conundrum – why had he married her? She’d never asked, and now she’d never know.
Daniel had died with his secrets intact. Now it was up to Natasha to ensure the secrets of his death were kept too.
47
THE WIVES
Michele woke with a groan. They’d drunk a bottle of champagne in their cabin before heading down to the very swish French restaurant for dinner, choosing it because it was the one restaurant her friends had said they weren’t interested in trying. They had an excellent meal, accompanied by a very nice bottle of red wine and followed by a brandy. Or was it two? She laid a hand across her forehead. Actually, it might have been three. No wonder her head was thumping.
Don was snoring gently. She turned to look at him, smiling when she saw that the lines of stress were already beginning to fade. Never again. She’d take a more active part in his business, do their accounts herself. If there was any fallout from Daniel’s shady dealings, she’d absorb it, confess she’d taken on more than she was capable of, play the fool, accept whatever was handed out.
She reached for her mobile, squinted to read the message from Natasha then dropped her phone onto the bed with another groan. They had to go, of course, had to be there for their friend. But, bloody hell, it was going to be tough to maintain a sad demeanour for any length of time. Barbara, she guessed, would be sorrowful enough for all of them. Tracy Ann? There was a puzzle. There was no mistaking the look of relief on her face the previous day. Maybe Michele would try to get her in a quiet corner later, see if she could probe that rather self-contained shell of hers and prise out some information.
She raised herself up on an elbow to stare down at her sleeping husband. Perhaps it would be better to set Don on her; he’d proven that he was more observant than she’d given him credit for.
Observant, but he’d not seen everything.
Tracy Ann stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed a finger over the bruise on her shoulder. It was tender to touch, almost painful when she lifted her arm. In all their years together, the ones before they were married, the ones after, Blake had never once hurt her. Not even accidentally. She’d have described him as a gentle, sensitive man. Yet, there was no denying that his fingers had dug into her flesh. Deliberately. Painfully.
Her head drooped as her eyes filled. The marks both Blake and Daniel had left on her body were one thing, the heavy weight on her heart another. What to do for the best? She didn’t know. That Blake was suspicious was blindingly obvious. Would it be better if he knew the truth? She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing a tear out to career down her cheek when she thought of the video Daniel had made. How ugly and sordid it had been. How utterly depraved she’d appeared to be.
And now, what would happen to it? Daniel had said he’d uploaded it to his laptop. Would Natasha find it? If only Tracy Ann had been brave enough to confess the whole episode to her instead of leaving it at that stupid kiss, the almost innocent beginning to that lewd chapter in her life. She could have told her then; she couldn’t now. Couldn’t speak ill of the dead. So even in death, Daniel wins.
If Natasha found the video, would she be angry enough to send it to Blake? Tracy Ann didn’t know. At one time, she’d have thought not, but her friend had changed over the last couple of years. She’d become harder, more brittle, and then she’d married that scheming, manipulative little shit.
And now he was dead. And Tracy Ann was scared that Blake might… just might… have had something to do with it.
Barbara refused to go down to any of the restaurants for dinner. ‘You go if you want,’ she told Ralph. ‘Give Don a shout, see if you can tag along with them. I saw you chatting with him the other night.’ Making more of an effort than he ever did with his wife these days.
‘We need to get something to eat.’
To keep their strength up for all the fun and games. For the dancing. For the vigorous sex life they had. She wanted to spit it all out, to offload all the venom she had stored up for months. If she started, it would ooze out in a cankerous mass of spite and resentment. And she wasn’t sure it would ever stop. She ran a hand over her face, wiping the anger away. When she looked up, there was only defeat in her eyes. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Ralph looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I’ll pop down to the buffet. If you like, I could bring you back something.’
He was being kind. In the rather distracted way he’d been since he’d retired. As if it was all too much of an effort. As if his wife didn’t warrant more than the bare minimum.
‘I don’t want anything.’ Her voice now sharp, cutting, almost vicious. She didn’t look to see if he was upset by her tone, afraid she’d feel guilty if he did, or feel even more miserable if he didn’t.
She waited until she heard the click of the cabin door shutting behind him before getting to her feet. On the balcony, the setting sun was casting a glow on the coastline. Barbara leaned on the rail and watched as the light faded, focusing on the changing colours, refusing to give space to any of the thoughts that were demanding attention.
As darkness descended, beads of light began to appear along the coast and randomly out at sea. That’s when Daniel forced himself back into her head. It was apt. He’d been a light in her dark days. He was gone. She’d try to get help when they returned home. For her, and for Ralph. And maybe their relationship was salvageable. Maybe. But that light, that magic that Daniel had brought into her life, it was gone, and she desperately missed it.
She hadn’t lied to Ralph; she wasn’t hungry, but she was weary. Back in the cabin, she switched on the do not disturb sign and did the minimum ablutions before pulling on a cotton nightdress and crawling into bed. She was asleep before Ralph returned.
A solid night’s sleep gave her little solace. Nor did the early-morning message on her phone from Natasha. Almost a summons. Barbara’s first thought was to ignore it, her second to castigate herself for being such a cow. This was her best friend. She’d lost her husband. The role of grieving wife was hers. Barbara would paste on her old-reliable face and go to offer her support.
She’d commiserate with the friend who was married to Daniel, ignore Tracy Ann, the woman he’d been having an affair with, the one he’d chosen over her, and try to remember the light he’d brought into her life.
She’d try to forget how much, at the end, she’d hated him.
48
NATASHA
Natasha was still restless. A minute sitting on the sofa was as much as she could bear, then she was up, pacing the floor. She stood a few minutes out on the balcony watching the coastline, eyes straining for any sign of a motorboat heading their direction, one that might bring news to change everything.
Wishing she’d told her friends to come immediately, she picked up and dropped her mobile in a regular cycle of indecision. The arrival of Emilio to clear away the breakfast offered limited diversion. He’d already proven not to be a great conversationalist but whereas before she’d have commented on the weather or on whatever excursion they’d planned for the day, now there was nothing she could say. Unless she was to comment that she hoped they were using sharp knives when they cut through Daniel’s skin, fat, and muscle.
Emilio had brought fresh milk and clean cups. He put everything away and tidied up without a word. He unnerved her and she was glad when he’d finished.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, madam?’
She wondered if, like the doctor, he suspected she had something to do with her husband’s death. Or if he’d resented having to clean up the mess she’d left behind. The one Daniel had created with his death. ‘No, there’s nothing, thank you.’
When he’d gone, she picked up her mobile again. Almost nine. Her friends would be here soon. They’d be here for her. Despite everything. Despite Tracy Ann’s inappropriate kiss, Barbara’s silly crush, and whatever was going on with Michele. They would be there for her now that she needed them so badly.
When the doorbell rang, she almost cried out with relief and hurried to answer it. And there they were, her friends and their husbands, huddled together in the narrow corridor that was filled with their cries of disbelief, of sympathy, hands and arms, hugs and kisses, until Natasha was laughing in relief, and crying in sorrow. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said, pulling away and waving them inside. ‘As you can see, they’ve been good to me.’
It was Michele who vocalised what Natasha guessed the rest were thinking, her loudly voiced, ‘Bloody hell!’ making everyone smile and breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Natasha led them towards the lounge area. ‘Wouldn’t Daniel have loved this? He’d have been cock of the walk.’ She turned, forcing herself to smile. ‘Would anyone like coffee, or tea?’ Just as if this was a social event and she was lady of the manor. She caught the strange looks her friends were exchanging, and laughed. A brittle, sad sound. ‘Nothing prepares you for how to behave when a partner dies. It looks like I’m falling back on the coping strategy I used as a nurse. Be professional, but slightly distant.’
‘You don’t need to do that now,’ Michele said, putting an arm around her and leading her to a seat. ‘We’re here for you. Sit down, talk to us.’
Natasha allowed herself to be pushed down onto the sofa. She felt all their eyes on her, searching, probing. Should she cry? Howl? If she wanted, she could put on a good act. After all, she’d seen the reality of devastated sorrow often enough. It wouldn’t be too hard to give a reasonable facsimile of grief. She would have done, if there was even a small part of her that felt Daniel deserved it. There wasn’t. Not a tiny bit. Not an atom.
Ever since the phone call to his brother, things had been slotting into place. Michele’s dagger looks every time she looked at Daniel, Tracy Ann’s confession, Barbara’s obsession. Her friends were decent people. Natasha had known them a long time. Only one thing could have made them behave as they had done. Daniel. In the last few hours, it had dawned on her. She’d brought a viper into their friendship group.
‘They’re doing the post-mortem this morning,’ she said. ‘Hopefully, we’ll soon have a cause of death. Then the ship can return to its itinerary.’
‘It’s nothing contagious obviously.’
Natasha looked at Tracy Ann. The woman who’d admitted to kissing Daniel. Who’d looked very cosy beside him in the hot tub. Her face was set in lines of regret. Were they as fake as Natasha’s, or did she genuinely miss him? Had he been an escape from her abusive marriage, or the cause of it? ‘Obviously,’ she said, looking her directly in the eye. ‘Or you’d have caught whatever it was.’ She regretted her words when she saw the quick look of shock slide across Tracy Ann’s face, her eyes flitting to Blake and away as quickly. Damage control, Natasha was good at that. She waved a hand around the room. ‘You’d all have caught it. We were together nearly every day. We were in the bus together on the way back from that damn lunch.’ She shook her head. ‘It’ll be something he ate. You know the way he liked to try just about anything.’
Nods all around in agreement. Silence settled over them. A heavy weight of it that none appeared to either want or know how to break. Natasha had no idea how soon the security officer would arrive. It seemed suddenly important that she spoke to her friends before she did. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked once, then got to her feet. ‘Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you think I could have some time alone with my girlfriends?’
