Authors: Peter Lovesey
Nathan spoke again. “She’s not coming to the house.”
“Late in the day,” Lee said, continuing to pour out words.
“It had better not be before noon. We always sleep in after a night shoot, don’t we, my love?”
“I don’t have press in my house,” Nathan said. “Tell her to piss off.”
“She’s not from a newspaper. She’s a freelance showbiz writer.”
“You heard me.”
There was a pause of several uncomfortable seconds. “But I need the publicity,” Lee said. “It’s essential in my work. My fans want to read about me or they won’t buy my music. Why do you think I’ve been busting my ass every night this week? Give me a break, Nathan.”
“Are you going to change out of those stupid clothes, or what?” Nathan plainly wasn’t impressed by his lover’s moving appeal.
“You’re my manager,” Lee tried to remind him. “You should be celebrating when I get the chance of a photo feature. Listen, my love, why don’t we talk about this in the morning?”
“You know where the car is.” Nathan turned his wrist and checked the shiny chunk of metal attached to it, a thing more like a weapon than a timepiece. “You got five minutes. If not, find your own fucking transport.”
His eyes hadn’t returned to Ingeborg in the whole of the exchange. He’d dismissed her.
This couldn’t have got off to a worse start. Trying to contain her anger, she said to Lee, “We’ll work something out. I’ve got your number. I’ll call you.”
She expected Lee to be close to tears. Strangely, she wasn’t. If anything, her eyes had a faint gleam of triumph. Extraordinary, Ingeborg thought. Maybe she got off on treatment like this. Was she one of those women who was switched on by bullying? A willing victim? It might explain why she’d been drawn to such a scumbag in the first place.
“No problem,” the singer said with a smile, and ran down the steps to the saloon where she’d left her clothes.
Nathan turned in the direction of the gangway, closely followed by his two heavies.
Ingeborg wasn’t troubled by being treated as if she didn’t
exist. She knew the criminal class don’t like journalists. If the evening had panned out the way she intended she wouldn’t have met Nathan at all. She’d have gained entrance to his house before he was aware who she was and why she was there.
She had the chance to leave now, but she didn’t. She was interested to see whether Lee would throw on her clothes and dash upstairs in obedience to her less than charming lover, or whether she’d play the pop star again and keep him waiting. If she chose to defy him, would he be true to his word and leave without her? Or was he a softie when it came to the crunch?
Here was an opportunity to get a sense of the real relationship between these two. For her own safety, Ingeborg needed to know she could rely on Lee. That look in the young woman’s eyes after Nathan had played the heavy was deeply unsettling.
She decided to go below and check the First Class Ladies Saloon for herself and presently found herself in a lavishly reconstructed, well-lit and carpeted corridor, with passenger berths at either side. Victorian grandeur was everywhere around her. She could hear voices from the end where the saloon evidently was. She entered the saloon through a gilded arch and took in more luxuriance, the white and gold columns, the arabesque pilasters, the ornate mirrors and the tiered sofas. But she couldn’t see Lee Li. One of the women she’d met on the promenade deck was packing make-up jars and brushes into a case.
Ingeborg asked where Lee was.
“She’s come and gone.”
“I don’t think so. I was on deck a moment ago and she didn’t pass me on the stairs.”
“She left two or three minutes ago—definitely. She was in a hurry.”
“But I would have seen her.”
“That isn’t the only way to the top deck. She could easily have used one of the others.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Don’t ask me, love. She’s in a world of her own. I expect it’s the blood rushing to her head when she’s up there on the wire.”
Ingeborg turned and ran out of the saloon and along the corridor until she found another companionway. At the top of the stairs she found she was on the other side of the funnel on a deserted stretch of the deck. She went to the rail and looked over. Nathan’s two bodyguards were standing beside an expensive-looking black limousine a little apart from the vans that had brought the heavy equipment. Presumably their boss was inside, waiting.
In that case Lee hadn’t been hurrying to order. She was still somewhere aboard the
Great Britain
.
The sensible option was to remain above deck and keep watching the gangway—the only way off the ship. Ingeborg started in that direction and found a few of the TV crew packing up equipment in near darkness. The floodlights had all been turned off and were cooling and the cables were being reeled in. She asked if anyone had seen Lee. They shook their heads. None of them showed any concern. The unpunctual singer wasn’t anybody’s favourite.
Her own first impression of Lee had been positive, probably because she hadn’t had to put up with several days of lateness. She’d thought her charming and easy to get along with, but she couldn’t understand her present behaviour. Baiting her dangerous lover to this extent was asking for trouble.
The car still parked on the dockside told its own slightly different story. Lee appeared to have succeeded in calling Nathan’s bluff.
Ingeborg looked over the rail again and checked that they were still down there fully fifteen minutes after Nathan had threatened to leave without her. One of the minders was rubbing his hands to keep warm.
Her own little Ford Ka was parked at the other end. The sight of it was tempting. She could be home and in bed in under the hour. This had been a long stretch without sleep. But her curiosity wouldn’t allow her to leave.
More lights and cables were humped across the gangway and down to the vans. The dolly track had been lifted and stacked away and so had the cameras. The crew had been swift to dismantle everything. The lateness of the hour made for a slick operation.
A woman’s voice carried to her and for a second she thought the wait was over. Then the last of the make-up and wardrobe people came by. The woman Ingeborg had spoken to in the saloon said, “Are you still waiting for Lee?”
“She doesn’t seem to have left the ship yet.”
“Playing games with her boyfriend, I wouldn’t wonder. Rather her than me. He’s a nasty piece of work, but she has him on a string.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“We all think so, anyway. Goodnight, love.”
Presumably someone would be along soon to close the gangway and secure the ship. Ingeborg was in a dilemma now. Almost everyone had gone ashore—except for Lee. Without the TV lighting, the deck had become a stark, eerie place. Streaks of moonlight were the only illumination. She was tempted to leave, yet strongly suspected one more dramatic scene would be played here, and she would be a fool to miss it.
The sound of an engine being started prompted her to look down at the dockside again. The last of the TV vans was moving off. She watched it head for the gate at the end and disappear from view.
Now only two vehicles remained: her own at the far end and Nathan’s, much closer. She faced a practical difficulty she hadn’t foreseen. When she came off the ship she’d have to pass the black limousine to reach her Ka. But the longer she stayed here, the more suspicious her behaviour was going to appear—as if she was implicated in Lee’s non-appearance.
A car door slammed.
Then someone from down there shone a flashlight beam straight at her. She backed away from the rail.
“She’s up there,” a man’s voice said.
This was getting worse by the minute. They’d mistaken her for Lee.
“Don’t fucking stand there, then, you moron,” she heard Nathan say. “Get after her.”
She didn’t fancy waiting where she was to explain the confusion. The top deck offered nowhere to hide except behind the funnel and the masts, so she made for the nearest companionway and down the stairs and then down another flight to the deck below. It was in darkness.
This would be where the steerage passengers had once been housed. She pressed her hands to the wall and edged sideways until she felt a door handle. One of the cabins? She would never know because it was locked.
Heart pounding, mouth dry, she groped her way further from the stairs, furious with herself for getting into this situation. Here she was, acting the fugitive, trapped in a dark corridor in the bowels of the ship. Stupid and demeaning. She should have stuck to her original plan and left immediately after meeting Nathan.
She still couldn’t decide what the real agenda was. There was clearly more to the relationship between this oddly matched couple than she had been led to believe. What was Lee’s game—to be discovered cowering somewhere and then dragged off the ship and bundled into the car, driven home and punished? Was she sexually aroused by Nathan’s anger? That strange gratified look when he’d blown his top and threatened to leave had had more than a hint of masochism about it. Or was she more assertive than she appeared and deliberately defying him?
A long interval passed and Ingeborg heard nothing. Looking at the situation coolly and sensibly, it’s unlikely they’ll come down here, she told herself. The vast ship was more than three men could search. They would be bound to give up before long. They might even have left already.
She allowed more minutes to go by. Then she retraced her way to the stairs and crept up them, alert at each step for the sound of anyone nearby.
It remained quiet.
At the top of the second flight she paused. Out on deck she would be conspicuous. There wasn’t much light, but the moon’s silver glow would make any movement obvious. If Nathan and his heavies were still about they’d surely expect her to head for the gangway. They could be waiting somewhere near. The smart way to avoid them was surely to come out on the starboard side. She might then outflank them, move a safe distance away and cross to the port side and discover if the car was still down there.
She held her breath and took the first heart-stopping steps out onto the stretch of deck where the filming had taken place. So far, so good. For a short distance she would have the great black funnel between herself and the gangway. After that only a series of skylights projected above deck level. Her movement was more like gliding than striding, a steady progress towards the aft end of the ship. Good thing she wasn’t wearing heels. The smallest sound would have been like drumming on the deck. She was prepared any second to be caught by the flashlight beam. You can’t escape the speed of light.
But her eyes were getting used to the conditions and her confidence was growing with each step. She kept as close as possible to the side at this stage and must have gone thirty yards when she spotted something lashed to one of the posts supporting the rail.
A rope ladder hanging over the side of the ship.
She leaned over the rail, but it was impossible to see how far down the ladder went.
Now she could make an informed guess as to what Lee Li had done. She’d made an escape bid. She wasn’t staying to face Nathan’s wrath. The stupid thug had been lulled into thinking the gangway was the only possible means of quitting the ship. Stupid—or merely guilty of failing to think outside the box? Ingeborg herself had fallen for it.
Maybe, after all, it was understandable.
She peered over the side again. The sturdy ladder of thick,
coarse rope with wooden rungs looked reasonably new. Even so, using it for a descent must have called for strong nerve and agility. The curve of the enormous iron hull meant that she would have been dangling free of the side, further away with each step down. And she couldn’t possibly have seen what was below.
From the other end, near the gangway, came voices. Ingeborg froze. Then, as her heart beat faster, she felt a rush of blood from her head to the pit of her belly. Turning, she saw the flashlight beam being played over the funnel. Nathan and his heavies hadn’t given up. Worse, they were coming in her direction. It only needed a speculative sweep of the flashlight and she’d be caught in its glare.
If she wanted to avoid being caught, she had no option.
She grasped the rail, got her legs over and her feet on a rung of the rope ladder and started descending. Briefly she toyed with the idea of clinging on shortly below the rail where she would be screened from the light. But she guessed they’d soon spot the ladder and point the beam over the side. The only practical option was to keep going, rung by rung, right down.
It wasn’t easy. The ladder was swaying dangerously, and the movement increased the further she went. She didn’t know what she was lowering herself into. They called this a dry dock, so presumably she’d be going right down to where the hull was stabilised in a system of buttressing.
But then she glanced down and saw to her horror that there was water below her. It couldn’t be. She stopped, clung on and looked again in case she was hallucinating.
No. Against all reason she was swaying over a sheet of water. She could see the ripples. The hull’s black immensity was darkly reflected in the moonlight.
This was crazy. The
Great Britain
was in dry dock, laid up for over forty years. The ship hadn’t moved and the sea hadn’t flooded the dock.
She moved down a few more rungs and looked again. She was about six feet from getting her feet wet. Then she realised
that the surface had a strange stillness. The ripples were an effect of the moonlight filtered by clouds.
“Bloody idiot,” she said aloud.
A memory had stirred in her brain of a news report about the ship. A survey in the late 1990s had revealed that the hull was corroding badly in the humid atmosphere of the dock. The owners had come up with a remedy. At the original waterline, sheets of toughened glass were fitted, allowing dehumidifiers to keep the space below at a steady and safe level. The glass was shaped and coloured to look like sea water.
Deeply relieved, she let herself down the remaining rungs and felt her feet come in contact with the firm glass. But it was like stepping on ice. She had some difficulty getting a footing before she allowed her smarting hands to let go of the sides.