The Woman in Cabin 10(39)

“Yes, I did already. Something is not clean?”

“It’s not that. It’s very clean—beautiful, in fact. It’s just that I wondered—did you see a mascara?”

“Mass—?” She shook her head, but not meaning no, her expression was uncomprehending. “What it is?”

“Mascara. For your eyes—like this.” I mimed putting it on, and her face cleared.

“Ah! Yes, I know,” she said, and said something that sounded like toosh do resh. I had no idea if this was Polish for mascara or I put it in the bin, but I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, yes, in a pink-and-green tube. Like—” I pulled out my phone, meaning to google Maybelline, but the Wi-Fi still wasn’t working. “Oh, damn, never mind. But it’s pink and green. Have you seen it?”

“Yes, I see last night when I clean.”

Shit.

“But not this morning?”

“No.” She shook her head, her face troubled. “Is not in bathroom?”

“No.”

“I am sorry. I did not see. I can to ask Karla, stewardess, if possible to, um . . . how say . . . to buy new—”

Her floundering words and worried expression made me realize, suddenly, what this must seem like—a madwoman half-accusing a cleaner of stealing a used mascara. I shook my head, put out my hand to her arm.

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. Please don’t worry.”

“But yes, it matter!”

“No, honestly. It was probably me. I expect I left it in a pocket.”

But I knew the truth. The mascara was gone.


Back in the cabin I double-locked the door and put the chain across, then I picked up the phone, pressed 0, and asked to be put through to Nilsson. There was a long piped-music delay, and a woman who sounded like Camilla Lidman came back on the line.

“Miss Blacklock? Thank you for holding. I’ll put you through.”

There was a click and a crackle, and then a man’s deep voice came on the line.

“Hello?” It was Nilsson. “Johann Nilsson speaking. Can I help you?”

“The mascara is gone,” I said without preamble. There was a pause; I could feel him sorting through his mental filing cabinet of notes. “The mascara,” I said impatiently. “The one I told you about last night—that the woman in cabin ten gave to me. This proves my point, can’t you see?”

“I don’t see—”

“Someone came into my cabin and took it.” I spoke slowly, trying to keep ahold of myself. I had the strange feeling that if I didn’t speak calmly and clearly, I might start screaming down the phone. “Why would they do that, if they didn’t have anything to hide?”

There was a long pause.

“Nilsson?”

“I’ll come and see you,” he said at last. “Are you in your cabin?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be about ten minutes. I’m with the captain, I must finish here, but I will come as soon as possible.”

“Good-bye,” I said, and banged the phone down, more angry than afraid, though I wasn’t sure if it was with myself, or with Nilsson.

I paced the small cabin again, running through the events of last night, the pictures, sounds, fears, crowding my head. The feeling I could not get over was one of violation—someone had been in my room. Someone had taken advantage of the fact that I was busy with Nilsson to come and pick through my belongings and pull out the one piece of evidence that supported my story.

But who had access to a key? Iwona? Karla? Josef?

There was a knock at the door and I turned sharply and went to unlock it. Nilsson stood outside, an uneasy mixture of truculent, ursine, and tired. The dark circles under his eyes were not as big as mine, but they were getting there.

“Someone took the mascara,” I said.

He nodded.

“May I come in?”

I stood back, and he edged past me into the room.

“Can I sit?”

“Please.”

He sat, the sofa protesting gently, and I perched opposite him on the chair from the dressing table. Neither of us spoke. I was waiting for him to begin—perhaps he was doing the same, or simply trying to find the words. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, a delicate gesture that looked oddly comic in such a big man.

“Miss Blacklock—”

“Lo,” I said, firmly. He sighed and began again.

“Lo, then. I have spoken to the captain. None of the staff are missing, we are quite certain of that now. We’ve also spoken to all the staff and none of them saw anything suspicious about that cabin, all of which leads us to the conclusion—”

“Hey,” I interrupted hotly, as if somehow preventing him from saying the words would affect the conclusion he and the captain had come to.

“Miss Blacklock—”

“No. No, you don’t get to do this.”

“Don’t get to do what?”

“Call me ‘Miss Blacklock’ one minute, tell me you respect my concerns and I’m a valued passenger blah blah blah, and then the next minute brush me off like a hysterical female who didn’t see what she saw.”

“I don’t—” he started, but I cut him off, too angry to listen.