The Woman in Cabin 10(22)

“Tell us about yourself, darling,” Tina said suddenly, surprising me by flicking her attention abruptly from Alexander to me. “You work with Rowan, I hear?”

Tina had started at Velocity in the late eighties and had briefly crossed paths with Rowan, who still talked about her and her legendary ferocity.

“That’s right.” I swallowed my mouthful with uncomfortable haste. “I’ve been there about ten years.”

“She must think very highly of you to send you on a trip like this. Quite the coup, I would have thought.”

I shifted in my chair. What could I say in answer to that? Actually, I don’t think there’s any way she would have trusted me with this if she weren’t on a hospital drip?

“I’m very lucky,” I said at last. “It’s a real privilege to be here, and Rowan knows how keen I am to prove myself.”

“Well, enjoy it is my advice.” Tina patted my arm, her rings cool against my skin. “You only live once. Isn’t that what they say?”





- CHAPTER 9 -

We swapped seats twice more, but somehow I never found myself next to Bullmer, and it was not until the coffee was served, and we were free to leave our seats and return to the Lindgren Lounge, that I had the chance to accost him. I was just walking across the room, a cup of coffee in my hand, balancing myself precariously against the shifting of the boat, when a flash went off in my face, and I stumbled, narrowly avoiding drenching myself in coffee. As it was, a few drops spattered the hem of the rented gown and the white sofa next to me.

“Smile,” said a voice in my ear, and I realized the photographer was Cole.

“Shit, you idiot,” I said crossly, and then instantly wanted to kick myself. The last thing I wanted was him reporting my rudeness back to Rowan. I must be drunker than I thought. “Not you,” I said awkwardly, trying to cover my slip. “Me, I meant. The sofa.”

He saw my discomfort and laughed.

“Nice recovery. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell tales on you to your boss. My ego’s not that fragile.”

“I didn’t . . .” I floundered, but it was so uncannily close to what I had been thinking that I couldn’t think how to finish. “I just—”

“Forget about it. Where were you off to in such a hurry anyway? You were striding across the room like a marksman hunting down a lame antelope.”

“I . . .” It felt slightly pathetic to admit it, but my head was throbbing with a mix of tiredness and alcohol, and somehow it seemed easier to tell the truth. “I was hoping to talk to Richard Bullmer. I’ve been trying to speak to him all evening, I just never had the chance.”

“And you were making your move when I wrecked it,” Cole said with a gleam in his eye. He smiled again, and I realized it was his incisors that gave him a slightly wolfish, predatory air. “Well, I can sort that out anyway. Bullmer!”

I cringed as Richard Bullmer turned from his conversation with Lars and looked across.

“Did I hear my name?”

“You did indeed,” Cole said. “Come and speak to this nice girl, make amends for my ambushing her.”

Bullmer laughed, picked up his cup from the arm of the chair next to him, and strolled across. He moved easily, in spite of the slight roll of the ship, and I had the impression of someone who was very physically fit, and probably hard as nails beneath the well-cut suit.

“Richard,” Cole said with a wave of his hand, “this is Lo—Lo, Richard. I surprised her with a candid shot as she was making her move on you, and she spilled her coffee.”

My cheeks flamed red, but Bullmer was shaking his head at Cole.

“You know what I said about being discreet with that thing.” He nodded at the heavy camera slung around Cole’s neck. “Not everyone wants paparazzi shots of themselves at inopportune moments.”

“Ah, they love it,” Cole said easily, showing his teeth in a wide grin. “Gives ’em the proper celebrity experience along with the swanky venue.”

“I mean it,” Richard said, and although he was smiling, his voice no longer sounded amused. “Anne, especially.” He lowered his voice. “You know she’s self-conscious since . . .”

Cole nodded, the laugh dying out of his face.

“Yeah, sure, man. That’s different. But Lo here doesn’t mind, do you, Lo?” He slung an arm around my shoulders, crushing me into him so that my shoulder crunched against his camera, and I tried to smile.

“No,” I said awkwardly. “No, of course not.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bullmer said, and he gave a little wink. It was an odd gesture—the same one I’d noticed before when he spoke to Camilla Lidman—not avuncular, as it might have been, but more as if he were trying to level what he knew to be an intimidatingly uneven playing field. Don’t think of me as an international millionaire, that wink said. I’m just an ordinary approachable guy.

I was just trying to think how to reply, when Owen White tapped him on the shoulder and he turned.

“What can I do for you, Owen?” he said, and before I had a chance to open my mouth, the opportunity was gone.

“I—” I managed as he turned away, and he looked back over his shoulder at me.

“Hey, look, it’s always hard to talk at these things. Why don’t you swing past my cabin tomorrow after the planned activities, and we can chat properly?”