The Woman in Cabin 10(54)

There was a glass screen halfway along the deck, and when I slipped round it, there they were—Lars, Chloe, Richard Bullmer, and Cole, seated around the edge of the most enormous Jacuzzi I’d ever seen. It must have been eight or ten feet across, and they were leaning back against the sides, with just their shoulders and heads showing, the steam rising so densely from the bubbling water that it was hard for a moment to see who was in there.

“Miss Blacklock!” Richard Bullmer called heartily, his voice carrying easily above the roaring of the jets. “Have you recovered from last night?”

He stuck out a tanned, muscular arm, steaming and goose-bumped in the cold air, and I shook his dripping hand and then wrapped my arms back around myself, feeling the warmth of his grip fade immediately and the chill of the wind on my now-damp hands.

“Come for a dip?” Chloe asked with a laugh, waving an inviting hand at the rolling cauldron of bubbles.

“Thanks”—I shook my head, trying not to shudder—“but it’s a bit cold.”

“It’s warmer in here, I can tell you!” Bullmer gave a wink. “Hot Jacuzzi, cold shower”—he indicated an open-sided shower to one side of the Jacuzzi, a vast rainwater shower rose poised above the tray. There was no temperature control, just a steel push button with a blue center, and the sight made me shudder involuntarily—“and then straight into the sauna,” he finished, jerking a thumb at a wooden cabin tucked behind the glass screen. Craning my head round I could see a glass door streaming with condensation, and through the trickling runnels, the red glow of a brazier. “Then rinse and repeat as many times as your heart can stand it.”

“It’s not really my cup of tea,” I said awkwardly.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Cole said. He grinned, showing his pointed incisors. “I have to say, jumping out of the sauna into the cold shower was a pretty incredible experience. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

I flinched.

“Thanks, but I think I won’t.”

“Suit yourself.” Chloe smiled. She stretched out a languorous arm, dripping water onto Cole’s camera, which was resting on the floor below, and picked up a frosted glass of champagne from a little table placed alongside the tub.

“Look . . .” I took my courage in both hands and spoke directly to Lord Bullmer, trying to ignore the watching, interested faces of the others. “Lord Bullmer—”

“Call me Richard,” he interrupted. I bit my lip and nodded, trying to keep my thoughts in order.

“Richard, I was hoping to talk to you about something, but I’m not sure if now is the right time. Could I come and see you later, in your cabin?”

“Why wait?” Bullmer shrugged. “One thing I’ve learned in business—now almost always is the right time. What feels like prudence is almost invariably cowardice—and someone else gets in there before you.”

“Well . . .” I said, and then stopped, unsure what to do. I really didn’t want to speak in front of the others. The “someone gets there before you” part certainly wasn’t reassuring.

“Have a glass of something,” Bullmer said. He pressed a button on the rim of the Jacuzzi and a girl appeared silently out of nowhere. It was Ulla.

“Yes, sir?” she said politely.

“Champagne, for Miss Blacklock.”

“Certainly, sir.” She melted away.

I took a deep breath. There was no alternative. No one could divert the boat except Bullmer, and if I didn’t do this now, I might never get the chance. Better to speak up, even with an audience, than risk . . . I pushed that thought away.

I opened my mouth. Stop digging hissed the voice inside my head, but I forced myself to speak.

“Lord Bullmer—”

“Richard.”

“Richard, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to your head of security, Johann Nilsson. Have you seen him today?”

“Nilsson? No.” Richard Bullmer frowned. “He reports to the captain, not to me. Why do you ask?”

“Well . . .” I began. But I was interrupted by Ulla appearing at my elbow with a tray, on which was a champagne glass and a bottle in a holder full of ice.

“Um, thanks,” I said uncertainly. I wasn’t sure I wanted to drink right now—not after Nilsson’s biting comments earlier, and on top of the hangover from last night—and it seemed an incongruous accompaniment to what I was about to say. But I felt again the impossibility of my position—I was Bullmer’s guest, and Velocity’s representative, and I was supposed to be impressing all these people with my professionalism and dazzling them with my charm, and instead I was about to hurl the very worst of all possible accusations at his staff and guests. The least I could do was to accept his champagne with good grace.

I took the glass, sipping tentatively at it as I tried to get my thoughts in order. It was sour and made me shiver, and I almost pulled a face before realizing how rude that would appear to Bullmer.

“I— This is difficult.”

“Nilsson,” Bullmer prompted. “You were asking if I’d spoken to him.”

“Yes. Well, last night I had to phone him. I . . . I heard noises, coming from the cabin next to mine. Number ten,” I said, and then stopped.