The Woman in Cabin 10 - Ruth Ware Page 0,40

the roughness of the healing scar on my cheek, and the pressure headache that was beginning to build. “Look, I’m not sure—”

“Let’s press on and speak to Eva,” Nilsson said firmly. And he turned and led the way along the corridor towards yet another set of stairs.

The ship heaved itself up another crest, and down in the trough, and I swallowed against the gush of spit in my mouth and felt the cold clamminess of sweat on my spine, beneath my shirt. For a moment I almost considered ducking back to my cabin. It wasn’t only my head—I had work to do—I still had to finish reading the press pack, and I needed to make a start on the piece Rowan would be expecting when I got back. I was horribly conscious that Ben, Tina, Alexander, and all the others were probably already making notes, filing pieces, googling Bullmer, and sorting out press shots.

But then I steeled myself. If I wanted Nilsson to take me seriously I had to go through with this. And as much as I wanted to climb the ladder at Velocity, some things were more important.

We found Eva in the spa reception, which was a beautiful, tranquil room on the upper deck, almost all glass, with long curtains that floated in the cool breeze from the open door. The glass walls looked out onto the deck, the light almost searingly bright after the beige warren of dimly lit rooms below decks.

A striking dark-haired woman in her forties with wide gold hoops in her ears looked up as Nilsson and I entered.

“Johann!” she said pleasantly. “What can I do for you? And this must be . . . ?”

“Lo Blacklock,” I said, holding out my hand. I felt instantly better out of the claustrophobic confines of the staff quarters, the clammy nausea retreating in the sea breeze.

“Good morning, Ms. Blacklock,” she said, smiling. I shook her hand, her grip firm, her fingers bony but strong. Her English was astonishingly good—almost as good as the girl in the cabin’s had been, but it wasn’t her. She was much too old, her carefully moisturized skin still betraying that slight weathering of a complexion that had seen a little too much sun. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was looking for someone, and the girls below decks suggested it might be you, but it’s not.”

“Miss Blacklock saw a woman last night,” Nilsson put in. “In the cabin next to hers. She was in her twenties, with long dark hair and pale skin. Miss Blacklock heard some noises that made her concerned, and we were trying to ascertain if it was a member of staff.”

“I’m afraid it wasn’t me,” Eva said, but quite kindly. There was no trace of the slightly tribal defensiveness the girls downstairs had betrayed. She gave a little laugh. “If I’m being honest, it’s a long time since I was in my twenties. Have you spoken to the stewardesses? Hanni and Birgitta both have dark hair and are around that age. And so does Ulla.”

“Yes, we’ve spoken to them,” Nilsson said. “And we’re on our way to see Ulla now.”

“She’s not in any trouble,” I said. “The woman, I mean. I’m worried for her. If you can think of anyone it might be . . .”

“I’m sorry not to be able to help,” Eva said. She spoke directly to me, and she did look sorry, the most genuinely concerned of any of the people I had spoken to so far. There was a little frown between her beautifully plucked brows. “I really am. If I hear anything . . .”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Thanks, Eva,” Nilsson repeated, and turned to go.

“You’re welcome,” Eva said. She walked us to the door. “I look forward to seeing you later, Ms. Blacklock.”

“Later?”

“At eleven a.m. It is the ladies’ spa experience—in your press schedule?”

“Thanks,” I said. “See you then.” And as I turned to leave I thought, guiltily, of the unread pages of the press pack back in my cabin, and wondered what else I might have missed.

We left the spa via the exit to the deck, and as the door swung back, it was wrenched out of my hand by the strong breeze, banging sharply against a rubber stand put there for the purpose. Nilsson closed it behind me, and I moved to the ship’s rail, shivering in the wind.

“Are you cold?” Nilsson shouted, above the roar of the wind and the noise of the engines. I

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