'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
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.
6
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.'
Ever since that evening on Richmond Terrace when they had thought of this way of making Lydia vanish without trace, Alma had become aware of a change in Walter. He was not so diffident. There was more confidence and more purpose in his manner. He smiled more. The prospect of being free from Lydia had made a different man of him.
She picked up her bag. 'I made these sandwiches for you, as you won't get any lunch.'
'That was thoughtful.' He took the packet and unwrapped it. 'Lettuce and tomato. You couldn't have made a better choice.'
She took out another packet. 'There's chocolate cake as well.'
'My favourite. Did you make it?'
'I needed to occupy my mind. It's silly. I don't know why I'm so nervous when you can keep so calm.'
'It's a matter of training and procedure. I know exactly what I have to do. These are excellent. Would you like one?'
She shook her head, it will be difficult enough trying to find an appetite for lunch.'
Walter gave a slight shrug, if you can't face a full meal, order something light. Don't let those waiters intimidate you. They are there to serve you, remember, not to spy on you. But you'd better not lose any weight or those new clothes Lydia bought won't fit you.'
Alma managed a smile in gratitude for his attempt to induce her to think beyond the next hour. 'I brought a few things of my own in that bag you carried for me, and there's a needle and thread in case I have to make some adjustments, but I think my size is probably the same as hers.'
'I don't expect your taste is. She always liked flamboyant things. She liked to look theatrical. By the way, my dear — the dress you're wearing is ideal — certain to be noticed.'
Alma thanked him. She had picked out the most colourful day dress she owned, a short-sleeved one in red and white georgette. She had a white straw hat with a red band to match. She said, 'The beads were my leaving present from Mrs Maxwell at the shop.'
'They're most attractive. What reason did you finally give for leaving?'
