Peter Lovesey - The False Inspector Dew

'So I have two portholes,' said Lydia. That will be nice. Which side of the ship are we?'

'Port side, madam. This is D Deck, also known as the Upper Deck. The first class dining saloon is through the door at the end of the corridor and straight ahead. Shall I open one of the portholes?'

Thank you. What time is it now?'

'About half past eleven, madam. Luncheon is served at one o'clock.'

'I won't bother with lunch. I'll unpack my things and have a quiet hour with the newspaper. Kindly see that I'm not disturbed.' She found a shilling and gave it to the boy.

Left alone, she went to the porthole he had opened and peered out, but all she could see was the tip of one of the cranes on the quayside. The room seemed extraordinarily high in the ship's side. She had not been prepared for the hugeness of the Mauretania. She turned from the porthole and saw that her cabin trunk had been brought in and left beside the chest of drawers. That was one worry removed.

All told, it was not a bad place to pass five days in. She inspected the bathroom. It was on the small side, but beautifully finished in white marble. In the main cabin she had the chest of drawers, an armchair, dressing-table, washstand, writing desk and small round table with a vase of fresh roses. The bed felt comfortable enough. The side away from the wall had a wooden board to box the occupant in when the ship was rolling.

There was still half an hour to sailing time.

She was determined not to feel lonely. This was the start of a great adventure. It would be ridiculous to get morbid now. She unlocked the trunk and started to take out the lovely new things she had bought to wear on the voyage.

'You know, this wouldn't be allowed in New York,' Paul told Poppy as they sat together in the smoking room sipping sherry.

'Ladies in the smoking room?' said Poppy. 'Blimey, I thought we was old-fashioned.'

'No. This.' He held up the sherry glass. 'Prohibition. On the way over, we weren't allowed to touch a drop until the ship was past the twelve mile limit. Then you should have seen the rush for the bar.'

Poppy giggled. 'I always thought you Yankees went on British ships because the food was better.'

'Now you know. Imagine five days at sea on a dry ship like the Leviathan: Suddenly Paul's attention was caught by someone on another table. 'What do you know? There's Barbara and her people again.'

This was not good news for Poppy. She had a job to do before she left the ship. She needed Paul to herself. 'Take no notice. They haven't seen us.'

'I could buy them a drink. It was kind of embarrassing seeing them on the pier. Do you want another one, Poppy?'

'I've got a headache. There's too much smoke in here. Let's go up on deck.'

'As you wish. I'll ask Barbara to come along too. Poor kid — who wants to be stuck with their parents?'

Poppy swore to herself as Paul went over to the Cordells. The plan had gone so well up to now. She only wanted a few more minutes with the bloke. After that, Barbara could eat him for lunch if she wanted.

She stood a yard or two back from their table. Barbara's mother was saying, 'Go on, dear. You don't want to stay with us. You young people have much more in common.'

Barbara got to her feet without looking too pleased about it. Paul walked between them.

'Let's go up and see the Verandah Cafe,' suggested Poppy.

'I thought you weren't feeling so good,' said Paul.

'I'll be all right. There's dancing up there.'

'How do you know?' asked Barbara.

Poppy knew because Jack had told her when they had first talked about this in his handsome house by Hyde Park. Jack knew all there was to know about the Mauretania. He had a plan showing every room on every deck. He had a passenger list with Paul Westerfield's name on it. She told them, 'I heard some geezer talking about it.'

The Verandah was modelled on the Orangerie at Hampton Court. Its vast windows and glass roof made it the one public room on the ship without artificial light. There were large potted palms and hanging baskets of bright flowers. There were wicker chairs set at small tables. There was a square of floor where couples were shuffling to the music of a concertina.

'Come on, Paul,' said Poppy. 'Aren't you going to ask one of us to dance?'

Paul looked uncomfortable, but Barbara said, 'Go on, you two. There isn't much time. I'll just sit here and watch you.' Although she said it with good grace, she still looked as if she wished her mother had not thrust her forward. She could neither walk away nor stay and watch with any dignity. She sat at an empty table on the fringe of the dance square and watched Paul and Poppy expressionlessly.

Poppy let Paul take her slowly round the square. As they turned in one corner she caught a glimpse of slicked-back, honey-coloured hair. Jack was there as arranged, ready for the pick-up. Poppy really did feel ill now, for every step they took was being scrutinised by Barbara. It would be idiotic to try to make the dip while she was there. Poppy knew what was possible in the art of picking pockets. It was always a risk. On this small floor, under Barbara's gimlet eyes, it was futile. She would need to think of something else.

Over the sound of the concertina came a more strident resonance.

'Too bad,' said Paul. 'That's the visitors' gong, I guess.'

Poppy pressed her hips against his and gave an extra wriggle. Paul responded.

'I could stow away.'

'In my cabin, huh?' He grinned.

'Why not? I wouldn't take up much room.'

'They always find stowaways. They'd pretty damn soon find you, Poppy. Curly blonde hairs.'

She gave a sly smile. 'They wouldn't show up like chestnut brown. Why should I leave you to her?'

'Barbara is just a friend from my college days.'

'She doesn't think so. Anyway, what would happen to me if I was caught? Would I have to scrub the decks?'

The music stopped. There was a boy in the room now, beating a gong and shouting, 'All ashore that's going ashore!'

This was becoming a nightmare for Poppy. As they turned to walk back to the table, she glanced towards Jack. His face was masklike. She pursed her lips to try to convey her predicament. There was not a glimmer of comprehension from Jack. It was more searing than a blaze of anger.

The concertina player had finished and was taking a bow.

'I'm going to say goodbye right here,' Barbara said to Poppy.

'Paul will want to see you off, and I really must go to my cabin and unpack before lunch. It's been fun, hasn't it? 'Bye, Poppy.'

Poppy was so grateful that she almost kissed her. She watched Barbara leave, and said to Paul, 'Darling, we've still got ten minutes at least. Let's say goodbye in private.'

As they passed Jack's table, she avoided his eyes. But she let him know with a nod that the job was still on.

In second class stateroom 377 Alma heard the gong. Her shoulders gave a tremor. She tried to make it seem that she was shifting her position in the chair.

'There's really no need to be nervous,' said Walter in the voice he used with all his patients. It's going to work, I assure you. Nobody questioned my identity when I showed the passport on the boat train. I am Walter Dew. And nobody will think you are anyone else but Mrs Lydia Baranov. They have no reason to question it, my dear.'

'Of course.' She tried to give him a confident smile. 'Mine is the easy part.'

He smiled back, a genuine, easy smile. 'Mine is not difficult. It won't be the first time I've administered chloroform. The only problem with anaesthesia is the danger of harming the patient. In this case it doesn't apply.'

'She won't suffer, will she?'

'Not at all. It will be over very swiftly.'