Murder on the Marmora (15 page)

TWELVE

T
he Princess Royal and her family had settled into the rhythm of shipboard life but she still guarded her privacy. While she joined her husband and children in their daily walks on deck, she preferred to take most of her meals away from the public gaze. Over a midmorning cup of tea in her cabin, she studied a photograph of Gibraltar. Fife was looking at a second one, taken much closer to the Rock and from a different angle.

“This is even better,” he said, passing it to her.

“Yes,” she agreed, holding the two photographs side by side. “They’re very good. I’m surprised that he got such excellent results in that rain.”

“Herr Lenz is a professional, Louise.”

“He certainly has the right name for a photographer. I should imagine that Herr Lenz spends most of his time staring through a lens.”

“Except that the words are not the same in his language,” he pointed out. “In German, it would be
Linse
, not ‘lens.’ Now, if he’d
be called Herr Kamera, it would be very different.” He chuckled. “I’ve just remembered that appalling pun that your father made on
my
name.”

“You mean, when he called you Alexander the Great?”

“No, my dear. I got used to that particular gibe at school. It was when he created me Duke of Fife. He told that me that henceforth I’d have my own fifedom. I did my best to force a laugh. Even a king must be humored sometimes.” He took the photographs from her. “Well, what do you think?”

“They’re remarkable. So are the others,” she said, indicating the pile beside her. “Whether he’s photographing a person or a landscape, Herr Lenz is clearly an expert.”

“You agree to the request, then?”

“I didn’t say that, Alex.”

“What harm can it do?”

“You know how shy I am of the camera.”

“You’ve no need to be,” he said with an affectionate smile. “The camera loves you. And the girls would appreciate a souvenir like that.”

“I still feel that it’s something of an imposition.”

“I thought you liked the Wilmshursts.”

“I did,” she admitted. “They were a charming couple and so very much in love. That’s why I agreed to dine with them, Alex, but I’m not sure that I want a photographer there as well.”

“Only for a short time. He’d do his work before the meal, then disappear. It’s not much to ask, Louise. After all, the Wilmshursts are on their honeymoon. They want to capture a special memory.”

“It still feels a little intrusive. And it sets a precedent.”

“Precedent?”

“If we agree to be photographed with two passengers, dozens of others will want to follow suit. We’ll be besieged by requests. I couldn’t endure that.”

“You won’t have to,” he promised. “There’s no reason why anyone
else should even know about this arrangement. I’ll make that clear to Lenz. This will be his only chance to point a camera at us.” He tapped a photograph in front of him. “He’s not asking us to stand on the Rock of Gibraltar in the pouring rain. All we have to do is to smile at him for a few seconds in here and that’s it.”

“Let me think it over, Alex.”

“Why the delay?”

“Because I need time to get used to the notion,” she said. “Herr Lenz may be a splendid photographer—as these examples of his work prove—but he’s also the man who tried to take some pictures of us on deck. Mr. Jellings had to stop him.”

“Herr Lenz has apologized for that. He was too impulsive. I don’t think he realized that he needed permission. In any case,” he said, “he’s not the person who’s making the request. It’s Lord Wilmshurst’s son.”

“I know.”

“You were happy enough to have photographs taken on
our
honeymoon.”

“That was different, Alex.”

“Not really,” he argued. “You wanted to immortalize some precious moments on film. That’s all that they want to do, Louise.” He nudged her gently. “Have you forgotten what it was like to be a beautiful young bride?” She smiled and shook her head. “Think of Araminta Wilmshurst and put yourself in her shoes,” he suggested. “Have you got the heart to disappoint her and her husband?”

His wife pondered, but her resistance to the idea was gradually weakening. She recalled the pleasure she had had looking at the wedding photographs in their album and at those taken on their honeymoon. Wonderful memories came flooding back.

“I promised to give Wilmshurst an answer today,” said Fife.

“And all they want is one photograph?”

“Just one, Louise. It will all be over—literally—in a flash.”

“Very well,” she conceded. “Tell them that I agree.”

______

Myra Cathcart was delighted with the confidence her daughter was now showing. Instead of trailing behind her mother all the time, Lilian felt able to go off on her own and talk to various acquaintances they had made. It enabled Myra to have some freedom of her own at last. The irony was that it had come far too late. It was a fine morning but it was still cold and so she wore her fur-collared coat when she went out on deck. Hands tucked inside a fur muff, she made her way to the stern of the ship and gazed wistfully back in the direction of France. She did not hear the footsteps behind her.

“I thought it was you,” Genevieve Masefield said. “I recognized the hat.”

Myra was startled. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You surprised me, Genevieve.”

“I didn’t mean to creep up on you like that.”

“To be honest, I’m glad of the company. It will stop me from brooding.”

“Are you still missing Mr. Dugdale?”

“Very much,” Myra confessed with a sad smile. “He is such a dear man. So different from my husband. Don’t misunderstand me,” she said quickly. “Herbert was a considerate man and we were extremely happy together but he was very provincial. Walter, on the other hand, is a man of the world. Talking to him just opened my eyes.”

“It’s a shame that your daughter didn’t take kindly to him.”

“I don’t blame her for that. Lilian was only trying to protect me. When she heard that he was ill, she felt dreadful at the way she’d behaved toward him.”

“Yes, I know,” said Genevieve. “She told me.”

“Lilian found the whole experience rather sobering.”

“What about you, Myra?”

The older woman sighed. “I’m just left feeling terribly empty,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could have seen him before he went ashore. I wanted to say good-bye to him. Properly.”

“That wasn’t possible, I’m afraid.”

“So the doctor told me. It was such a wrench for me when we left Marseilles. The thought of Walter, lying in hospital in a foreign country, really upset me.”

“He’ll be taken care of,” said Genevieve. “In the circumstances, he could hardly remain on board. I think he’s in the best place.”

“You’re probably right.”

Genevieve felt a pang of conscience. She hated having to deceive her friend but she knew how much more distressing the truth would be for her. The fact that Myra had given her home address to a man she had only just met was significant. Dugdale was more than a casual acquaintance to her. Genevieve wondered how close their friendship really had been.

“At least you were able to spend
some
time together,” she observed.

“Oh, yes, Genevieve. And I treasure every moment.”

“Even though you never really had the chance to be alone with him?”

“But I did,” said Myra. “That was the most wonderful thing of all. Lilian had a bath one morning and I sneaked off to see Walter in the lounge. Yes,” she added guiltily, I know it’s silly for a middle-aged woman to behave like that, and I was wrong to go behind my daughter’s back but …” She gave a shrug. “Walter had asked me to meet him. It gave me such a thrill. I didn’t know I could still have such emotions.”

“There’s no time limit on feelings like those, Myra.”

“So I discovered. But there was a time limit on us. Walter knew that we wouldn’t be left alone for long. That’s why he apologized for rushing things.”

“Rushing things?”

“Yes,” said Myra. “He suggested nothing improper, mind you, but he told me how fond he’d become of me and asked a lot of personal questions that—if it had been anyone else but him—I’d have found rather impertinent. To start with, he wanted my
address so that he could write to me. I gave it to him without hesitation. Then he said that he’d be returning to England next spring and asked if he could visit me in Leicester.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I agreed, naturally.”

“Did he suggest that you spend time alone with him again?”

“Yes, Genevieve. But he knew that it would be difficult with Lilian following me around. Walter said that we should wait until she’d started to relax and enjoy the voyage. He didn’t want to compete for my attention with Lilian.” A warm memory brought a blush to her cheeks. “And he didn’t want us to meet in the lounge again.”

“Why not?”

“It was far too public. He invited me to his cabin.”

Genevieve was surprised. “And you said you’d go?”

“Why not?” asked Myra. “I trusted him implicitly. Oh, I know I was breaking all the social rules and doing something that would have horrified Lilian, but I didn’t have the slightest qualm, Genevieve. I knew that it was the right thing to do.” Her voice darkened. “Just as I knew that it would be the
wrong
thing to do with Herr Lenz.”

“Did he ask you to go to his cabin as well?”

“No, but he tried to inveigle his way into ours. He offered to take photographs of me and I was vain enough to agree at first. I thought the sitting would be in one of the public rooms or even on deck.” She rolled her eyes. “Herr Lenz had other ideas.”

“What did he say when you refused?”

“He was angry,” said Myra. “Herr Lenz is very proud of his work and he felt that he was being snubbed. He blamed Walter. He accused me of letting Walter talk me out of it but that wasn’t the case at all. I simply felt uncomfortable about the whole idea.”

“So did Lilian. I remember how worried she was.”

“She was relieved when I called it off. The problem is,” she
explained, “that Herr Lenz hasn’t given up. He keeps asking me to reconsider. He couldn’t badger me so much when Walter was around to look after me, but I don’t have his protection now. Herr Lenz is becoming a nuisance, Genevieve.”

“I sympathize with you. Unwanted suitors can be very bothersome,” she said, ruefully. “Just remember that there’s safety in numbers. Make sure that Herr Lenz never catches you alone.”

“I will.” She removed a hand from her muff to grasp Genevieve. “Thank you!” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“For what?”

“Listening to me. I’ve been able to get things off my chest.”

“I’m only too pleased to be of help, Myra.”

“Were you shocked by anything I told you? All my friends back in Leicester would be. They’d think I’d taken leave of my senses.”

“I don’t think that,” said Genevieve kindly. “And I wasn’t shocked in the least. I’m just glad to hear that you found a little happiness aboard.”

“It was more than happiness, Genevieve.”

Before she could elaborate, Myra heard her name being called and she turned to see a camera being pointed at her. Karl-Jurgen Lenz had set up his tripod while the two women were talking and he was now ready. Disappearing under a black cloth, he adjusted the focus slightly, then took the photograph. He emerged triumphantly from beneath the cloth and grinned at Myra.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cathcart,” he said. “That was a pleasure for me.”

* * *

Dillman knelt down to study the carpet more closely. He ran his fingertips over it.

“You’ve done a good job, Mr. Kilhendry,” he said. “No sign of blood.”

“Martin Grandage actually came in here to clean the place up. I didn’t want any of the stewards to see those stains on the carpet. They might have started asking questions.”

Dillman stood up. “That was very noble of your deputy.”

“We’re not afraid of dirty work on this ship, Mr. Dillman.”

When Dillman asked for a master key to let himself into the cabin once occupied by Walter Dugdale, the purser decided to accompany him. He wanted to see the detective at work but his curiosity was tempered with disapproval. The detective stared at the floor, trying to remember the exact position in which the victim had been lying. He recalled the sight of the Norfolk jacket, soaked with blood that trickled onto the floor. It was an image he had locked in his mind so that it could be summoned up again.

Brian Kilhendry watched him with growing impatience. “Well?” he said, tapping a foot.

“Would you please stand behind the door?” asked Dillman.

“What?”

“Just for a moment, Mr. Kilhendry. Stand right here.”

He eased the purser into the position behind the door then opened it. He shut it again at once and took a couple of steps into the middle of the cabin. Dillman shook his head then faced Kilhendry.

“That’s not how it was done,” he decided.

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody was hiding behind that door when Mr. Dugdale came in. There isn’t really enough room. Besides,” he said, pointing to the mirror on the far wall, “anyone entering the cabin could see the reflection of someone behind the door. I saw you clearly, Mr. Kilhendry.”

“What if the place had been in darkness?”

“The spill of light from the passageway would still enable me to pick you out.”

“So?”

“The killer was not in here when Mr. Dugdale let himself in.”

“He could have been hiding in the bathroom,” said Kilhendry.

“Hardly. That would have meant the victim was facing him when he came out of the bathroom. Mr. Dugdale was an obliging man but I don’t think that even he would close his eyes while
someone got into the right position to kill him. And we know that the attack didn’t start in the bathroom itself,” he said. “No blood, no sign of a struggle.” He stood on the spot where the victim had fallen. “He was struck from behind and went down here. That leaves us with only one conclusion.”

“And what’s that, Mr. Dillman?”

“He let the attacker into his cabin of his own free will.”

“Unless the man knocked on the door and forced his way in.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” said Dillman. “Mr. Dugdale would have tried to fight him off. At the very least, he’d have put up his arms to defend himself. But there were no bruises on them. Dr. Quaid let me see the body when he’d cleaned it up. The only wounds were on the back of his skull.”