Murder at the Castle (2 page)

John gulped down his drink and wished he had another as he waited for Delia to finish hers. But the bar had become very busy, and though both Delia and John tried (for different reasons) to catch the steward's eye, he didn't return to their end of the room.

John was suddenly sick of the game. ‘Let's go and eat, Delia. I'm hungry.'

She looked at him in irritated surprise. ‘I am not. You may go if you wish.'

‘I do wish. And I wish you to come with me.'

He could see her thoughts chasing across her face. A frown, then a pout, then the angelic smile.
Shall I make a scene? Perhaps not in so public a place. I will wheedle, instead. But no, that is his iron face. I will do as he wishes. For now.

He laughed in genuine amusement and took her arm. ‘Never, never take up poker, my darling wife.'

That was met with blank incomprehension.

The evening proceeded as planned. As Delia had planned, at least. She came, she was seen, she conquered. They had no sooner been seated at their table for two than the steward reappeared. ‘I am so sorry, sir, for the mistake. The Captain invites you and your lady to dine with him.'

John would have liked to beg off. He had a fixed dislike of ‘social' meals, preferring to eat in peace. But Delia was already on her feet and following the steward, her face alight with satisfaction. It was another rung on the ladder.

The meal was indeed a social occasion, and Delia made the most of it. She was brilliant at this sort of thing. She made every man at the table, even including her husband, feel he was a bit wittier than usual, a bit better-looking. Somehow, with subtle lifts of her eyebrows and little private smiles, she even managed to keep the women from being jealous. They were made to feel part of a minor conspiracy, we-girls-together, and quite clever to have landed men so dashing, yet so easily manipulated.

After dinner they went up to the ballroom, and again Delia sparkled. She danced every dance with one partner after another, the staid waltzes and two-steps as well as the Latin numbers that the orchestra played, John was sure, especially for her.

John wasn't a dancer. He sat watching her, her lovely head held high, her body as proud and taut as a flamenco dancer's, her face aglow as she moved through the intricate steps. She exuded excitement, sexuality, animal passion.

I am not the right man for her
, he thought, sunk in something like despair.
I can never make her happy. I should never have married her. I'm not old, but around her I feel old. Old and stodgy.

As she danced she began to hum, and finally to sing quietly. She manoeuvred close to the orchestra, without letting her partner know she was leading him. She sang a little louder. The conductor heard her. With a broad smile he brought the rumba to a premature end and pulled the microphone closer to him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very fine singer in our midst. Come here, my dear.'

With a shy smile, Delia apologized to her partner and approached the conductor.

‘What is your name, lovely lady?'

‘Delia Lopez, sir.'

‘I hope you will consent to sing for us, Delia. Your voice is as beautiful as you are.'

‘Well . . . if you would like me to sing . . .'

The men in the audience applauded enthusiastically.

‘Then do you know “Granada”?'

The orchestra knew ‘Granada'. It is a song meant for a man, but most of the audience didn't know that, and certainly Delia's dramatic mezzo voice suited it well. She sang in the original Spanish, and when she had finished the delighted audience demanded more. She obliged.

What seemed to John like hours later, the orchestra finally stopped playing and she came back to the table, breathless and exhilarated. ‘They will not play any more, those boring men. What shall we do now?'

John roused himself. He had been nearly asleep. ‘We go to bed. It's nearly two, and we made a very early start this morning.'

She stamped her foot. ‘I do not want to go to bed! I am not sleepy. I want to sing some more, but I am thirsty.'

‘Delia, the bar is closed. The orchestra is finished for the night. Come to bed.'

The room was clearing, but several people lingered, a few of them eager to talk to Delia, to congratulate her on her performance. One young man who had partnered her for several dances spoke now, in an American accent. ‘I'd be glad to take you for a walk around the decks, ma'am, if your husband doesn't mind. It sure is a beautiful night, and the stars are something to see out here in the middle of nowhere.'

Delia smiled beguilingly up at John. ‘Please, John? It will be only for a moment. Do you mind?'

Anger rose in John for a moment. It was all an act, of course, Delia's sweet submission put on for the boy's benefit. Then his anger fled. The boy, he thought. I think of him as a boy. He must be just about Delia's age. Children, both of them.

He smiled and kissed Delia's perfect cheek. ‘Stay as long as you like, darling. It is indeed a beautiful night.'

He went back to the stateroom, crawled wearily into the supremely comfortable bed, and prepared for a long night. He tried to read, but after lying for half an hour without turning a page, he gave up, turned off the light, and simply waited.

The sky and the sea had taken on their pearly pre-dawn hues before Delia crept back into the cabin and John could at last sleep.

The next day they arrived at their first port of call, Santorini. They had docked long before Delia awoke, and she was cross when John brought her coffee.

‘Always you wake me before I am ready! I do not want to get up. I am sleepy!'

‘We're at Santorini, darling. I didn't want you to miss it. We're here only through the afternoon, you know.'

‘What does one do at this place?'

‘It's not so much a place to do as to see. There really are the most beautiful churches, all white outside, with blue domes, and ancient mosaics inside, icons, you know, and the views all over the island . . .'

He had lost her, he could see. She turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

‘Later. Perhaps.'

He poured the coffee away, made sure he had his passport and camera, and gently closed the door behind him.

The island was as beautiful as he remembered from past visits. He found a taverna a bit off the beaten track that wasn't overrun with tourists, and had a tiny cup of coffee so dark and strong it furred the tongue, and a pastry with nuts and honey. He sat thinking until the place became crowded and his seat was needed.

Wandering aimlessly, he found himself in front of the most famous of Santorini's many churches, Panagia Episkopi. He paused, and then went inside.

He got back to the ship just in time; he had wandered farther than he had realized. Delia was not in the stateroom, so after a quick shower he went looking for her. He found her in the bar, surrounded by men. She was flirting, laughing, singing a phrase or two now and then.

She was having a wonderful time. John stayed at the edge of the room for a moment, and then quietly went back to the room and ordered a whisky and soda. He was sitting nursing it when Delia opened the door to their sitting room.

‘There you are, John! You were away all day. Did you have a good time?' Delia whisked into the room and began to pull off her bright orange blouse.

‘Sit down for a moment, Delia. We have plenty of time to dress for dinner.'

‘But it is tonight the Captain's cocktail party, and I must look wonderful!'

‘Please sit down.'

There it was again, his iron face. She shrugged and flounced down into a plush armchair, swinging one bare foot impatiently.

‘Delia, why did you marry me?'

The foot stopped. ‘What do you mean?'

‘What I say. I want to know why you married me. You don't care about the things that interest me. You find me boring. You prefer the company of younger men. I don't blame you for any of these things, but I would like to know why you wanted me.'

‘Because I wanted to be your wife, of course!'

‘Yes, you wanted to be my wife. You pursued me. I didn't see it at the time, but I do now. Don't lose your temper, my dear. It's true and we both know it's true, so there's no point in making a scene about it.'

He had never talked to her like this before. She didn't like it, and she didn't know how to cope with it. Naked honesty was not her way of dealing with him. Her foot started swinging again.

‘I would like an answer, Delia.' And then suddenly he knew. ‘It was the music, wasn't it? Your real passion. Not me, the music.'

‘All right! Yes!' She sprang to her feet. ‘You are a famous conductor. I was an unknown singer. Now the world begins to know me. I am good, and I get better all the time. This you have helped me do!'

He had not thought the pain would be so great. He had thought she had killed his love for her. It was a moment before he could say, very gently and quietly, ‘Do you want a divorce, my dear? Now that I've given you the start you wanted?'

‘Divorce! No! Not ever! It would make a scandal! And besides . . .' She stopped abruptly.

‘Ah.' He paused again, until he had his voice under control. ‘I see. I am your security. You don't make enough money yet to support yourself, at least not . . .' He made a gesture that took in their luxurious surroundings.

‘You married me! You made promises. Now you wish to break your promises, to throw me out on the street?' She stamped her foot. ‘Never will I allow you to do this!'

John struggled to remain calm. ‘I will not throw you out on the street. I will, and I do, ask you to remember that you, too, made some promises.'

‘I have been faithful to you! Do not dare to accuse me—'

He held up his hand and, amazingly, she stopped in mid-tantrum. ‘Technically, perhaps, you have been faithful to me. In every other way you have shown me, and everyone else, how little you care for me.' Again he struggled for control. ‘Delia, we made a bad bargain, you and I. I believed I could bring you to love me. You believed you could endure me for the sake of what you wanted: wealth and fame. We were both wrong.'

He waited for her to speak. She was silent.

‘I made a decision this afternoon, Delia. We can't go on this way. I don't care for divorce, but if you wanted one, I was prepared to give it to you. Since you don't, there is another solution. It is best if we live separately. When we get home, I will take steps to set up a legal separation.'

She opened her mouth, her colour rising. Again he held up his hand, and again she subsided.

‘I will make sure you have enough to live comfortably. Not, perhaps, as comfortably as we have been living, but well enough. You will soon earn enough to make up the difference, and we will both be much happier living apart.' He stood. ‘Now, we won't talk about it any more tonight. Go and get dressed for the Captain's party, my dear, and enjoy yourself.'

Without a word she turned and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

T
hey avoided each other at the Captain's party. It was not the sort of entertainment that John enjoyed. He knew no one on board, except Delia, and she was, as usual, the centre of an admiring crowd of men. John sat at a distant table, sipping at a very pale drink made with inferior whisky, and heartily wished this ill-conceived voyage were over.

‘Who is that girl, anyway?' A middle-aged woman garbed in unflattering sequins sat down at the table. American by accent, she was in a belligerent mood.

She is my wife.
John didn't say it. ‘I believe she is a singer of some fame.'

‘Hmph! A hussy, that's what she is. And if that's an old-fashioned word, it's the right one, anyway. Every young man on the boat's buzzing around her like bees to honey.'

‘She is very beautiful,' said John neutrally.

‘Beautiful is as— What was
that
?'

A hard shudder rattled the room. John's glass slid off the table and crashed to the floor. The string quartet in the corner, inaudible until now over the party babble, continued with a few wavering chords and then stopped playing.

A man in uniform stepped up to the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has asked me to make his apologies. He has gone to the bridge to see what is the matter. Though it's unlikely in the extreme that there is any danger, he asks you all to remain calm, return to your cabins, and wait for further instructions. I'm sorry to say that dinner may be slightly delayed, but please help yourself to more hors d'oeuvres on your way out of the room.'

That light-hearted remark did much to allay the passengers' fears. There was a good deal of ‘But what's happened?' and general grumbling, but John's trained ear didn't pick up the rising note that would indicate panic.

The woman who had spoken to him about Delia had vanished, presumably back to her cabin as requested. John looked around for Delia, but couldn't find her in the crowd that was heading for the rapidly emptying hors d'oeuvre tables and then for the doors.

He hesitated, then headed for the stairs. Delia was not easily frightened, and she could make her way back to the stateroom without him. He only hoped she had the sense to take the stairs. The lifts were going to be in heavy use.

As he passed them, however, he saw that stewards were directing everyone to the stairs. ‘A precaution, ladies and gentlemen, only a precaution. In case the electrical service might be temporarily interrupted.'

John felt the first pang of unease. Under what circumstances might the electrical service be interrupted? A fire?

Nonsense. Something untoward had probably happened in the engine room. A misbehaving engine might very well make a shudder like that, and since the engines presumably generated the electricity, they might have to shut it off for a moment or two.

He went up a few steps and then turned to take another look around for Delia. Ah, there she was! She was still in the ballroom, still surrounded by admirers. They were shepherding her toward the stairs. She seemed reluctant to go. He waved to try to catch her attention, but she was laughing and talking and didn't see him.