Georgina laid her menu down. ‘The truth? In my house, it’s Spam on toast.’
‘ “Eggs bacon sausage and spam; spam sausage and spam; spam spam spam baked beans and spam.” ’ Ruth’s heroic attempt to channel Monty Python.
I buried my head in the menu. ‘I don’t know who either of you two are.’
Christina from Greece was hovering over my left shoulder, prepared to take my order for Belgian waffles with fresh fruit when a voice called out, ‘Oh, look, Cliff. It’s Hannah Ives.’
Still clutching the menu, I turned my head. Liz Rowe was chugging in my direction, followed by her husband. ‘Do you mind if we join you?’ Liz asked, dismissing their server with a wave of her hand.
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Georgina, Ruth, you remember the Rowes, from when we checked in?’
‘It’s a lovely ship, isn’t it?’ Liz said, settling into the chair next to Ruth. ‘One of the loveliest we’ve sailed on, isn’t it, Cliff? They actually have standards for formal night, for one thing. Pity the poor passenger who shows up at dinner wearing blue jeans!’
Cliff grunted, presumably in agreement, and sat down next to his wife. I pictured him dressed in a tuxedo, and decided it’d look good on him. But then, all men look good in tuxedos. When Paul wears his, I want to jump his bones.
Nobody spoke for a moment as Paolo poured coffee all around and Christina took our orders. After Christina headed back to the kitchen, I said, ‘My husband and I sailed on the Queen Mary Two, so I have to confess that it takes a lot to impress us. I’m really enjoying myself so far.’
‘We’re in a good mood today because Cliff won a hundred dollars in the casino last night,’ Liz confided.
Cliff smiled around his coffee cup. ‘Blackjack.’
‘My husband’s a good blackjack player, too,’ I said, picking up my glass of orange juice, ‘but he’s a mathematician and has studied all the odds. The casino holds no attraction for me at all, I’m afraid. I’m much more interested in the hot tub.’ I took a sip of juice, then raised my glass. ‘And the champagne bar.’
‘Do you knit?’ Liz asked.
I stared at her, puzzled by the non sequitur. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Do you knit?’ she repeated. ‘There’s a knitting club that meets at three o’clock every afternoon in the Oracle. Knitting, crochet, needlepoint. I read about it in the daily programme.’
Although the daily programme had been slipped into the notice box mounted just outside our stateroom door the previous evening, I had assigned it to my post-breakfast agenda, so hadn’t gotten around to reading it yet. ‘That sounds dangerous,’ I said. ‘Knit one, purl two, take a sip of champagne, knit one – or was it three? – purl, perhaps another sip.’ I faked a hiccup. ‘Could be interesting.’
‘I’m going to try it out today,’ Liz said. ‘I’m working on a hoodie for my grandson. Would you care to join me?’
Her question took in all three of us, but I was the only knitter in the group. Ruth raised a hand, palm out. ‘Not me. I’ve already signed up for a session of Ashtanga yoga in the fitness center.’
Ruth had graduated from Hatha to Ashtanga, a kind of power yoga, all fast-paced lunges and push-ups. Way too intense for me. ‘Why ever not?’ I said. ‘I brought along a hat I’ve been knitting for my granddaughter. I had visions of lying in a deck chair, knitting, while being served tea and crumpets, but knitting with champagne sounds way more fun.’ I winked. ‘It’ll cut into my hot tub time, of course.’
Chin down, Liz murmured, sotto voce, ‘Don’t look now, but here comes David. What’s his last name, Cliff?’
‘Warren.’
‘He sits with us at dinner,’ Liz continued. ‘He’s a bit odd.’
‘Odd in what way?’ I asked while looking casually over my shoulder to see if I could spot some guy acting strangely.
‘Doesn’t talk much,’ Cliff offered.
‘No, it’s more than that, Cliff. He’s nervous, edgy. Almost like he’s being stalked. And always scribbling in a little notebook he keeps in his breast pocket.’
On Islander, diners were pre-assigned to tables of two, four, six, eight or ten. My sisters and I shared a table for four, so breakfast and lunch were the only opportunities we had to dine with strangers. ‘How many are at your table, Liz?’
‘Four. We also sit with a retired schoolteacher from Washington State, but she and David definitely aren’t travelling together. She’s a hoot, but frankly, we don’t know quite what to make of David.’
Several groups had trooped by our table by then, but I hadn’t noticed anyone who looked particularly nervous or distracted. I kept my voice low. ‘Which one is David?’
Liz jerked her head, indicating a table for six several feet away. ‘Over there. In the blue blazer. Just sitting down.’
David Warren was the only passenger within a hundred nautical miles wearing a sports jacket rather than a polo shirt, so he was easy to spot. Under the jacket, he wore a pale yellow button-down Oxford shirt. When he picked up a menu, a signet ring flashed on the pinky of his left hand. He had a full head of dark hair, streaked with gray, which he combed straight back and kept neatly trimmed around the ears. He looked like a banker, or maybe a stockbroker.
‘What does he do? Did he say?’ I asked.
‘Real estate.’
‘That covers a lot of territory,’ I said.
‘Real estate! Territory!’ Georgina snorted.
I shot her a dirty look. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘I think David deals in commercial properties,’ Cliff said. ‘He mentioned a shopping center.’
‘He’s obviously on his own,’ Liz said. ‘I heard him ask Elda – Elda Homer, that’s the schoolteacher – if she’d be attending the Solo Travelers Lunch today.’
‘A widower, then, looking for love.’ Georgina is an incurable romantic.
Ruth must have been standing behind the door when the Good Fairy handed out the gift of curiosity. ‘None of our business, is it?’ she said, stirring sugar into her coffee.
But soon, it would become very much our business.
We finished our breakfasts and excused ourselves, with me promising to meet Liz later that afternoon in the Oracle, yarn and knitting needles in hand. Back in our stateroom, I extracted the plastic bag that contained my knitting from the drawer where I’d stashed it, then settled down in the chair to read the ship’s schedule, grandly titled The Daily Programme. From the programme I discovered that Islander was travelling in a north-easterly direction; the sun came up at 5.24 a.m.; clocks would be set back one hour overnight; and dinner that night was formal. At 11.00 a.m. there’d be a talk on skincare by a famous, plump-lipped, blemish-free actress I’d never heard of; bingo in the Trident Lounge at 2.00 p.m. and yoga in the fitness center at 3.00 p.m., if you weren’t already taking ballroom dancing lessons from Ted and Lisa. And if I still didn’t have anything to do, a crossword puzzle and a Sudoku had thoughtfully been printed on the back page.
I scanned forward to the evening’s activities. The show that night was a comedian followed by a magic act.
‘Ruth, do you want to go to the show after dinner?’
‘Don’t forget we have that Neptune Club reception,’ Ruth mumbled around a mouth full of toothpaste.
‘Right. It’ll probably be a bit of a bore, but at least the drinks will be free.’
‘Your dance card is getting full, Hannah.’
‘So, what are you going to do today, Ruth, other than twist your body into strange and unnatural positions?’
‘Well, I’m not going to waste my time knitting, that’s for sure.’ She dabbed her lips dry with a towel. ‘Wonder what Georgina feels like doing?’
I tapped quietly on the connecting door in case Julie was still asleep. Georgina opened it almost immediately. ‘What’s up?’