. . I guess . . . no one apart from . . . Nilsson.”
It was not a reassuring thought. We looked at each other for a long time, Ben’s eyes reflecting the uncomfortable questions that were suddenly churning inside me.
“But he was with me,” I said at last. “When it was taken.”
“The whole time?”
“Well . . . more or less . . . No, wait, there was a gap. I ate breakfast. And I spoke to Tina.”
“So he could have taken it.”
“Yes,” I said slowly. “He could.” Had he been the one in my cabin? Was that how he had known about my medication, and the advice not to mix them with alcohol?
“Look,” Ben said at last. “I think you should go and see Richard Bullmer.”
“Lord Bullmer?”
“Yes. Like I said, I played poker with him last night and he seems like a decent bloke. And there’s no sense in messing around with Nilsson—Bullmer is where the buck stops. My dad always used to say, if you’ve got a complaint, go straight to the top.”
“This is hardly a customer services issue, Ben.”
“Regardless. But this Nilsson guy—it doesn’t look good for him, does it? And if there’s anyone on this boat who can hold Nilsson accountable, it’s Bullmer.”
“But will he? Hold him accountable, I mean? He’s got as much motive as Nilsson for hushing this up. More, in fact. Like you say, this has got the potential to play out very badly for him, Ben. If this gets out, the Aurora’s future will be very shaky. Who the hell wants to pay tens of thousands of pounds for a luxury trip on a boat where a girl died?”
“I bet there’s a niche market,” Ben said, with a slightly twisted smile. I shuddered. “Look, it can’t hurt to go and see him,” he persisted. “At least we know where he was all last night, which is more than we can say for Nilsson.”
“You’re sure none of the people you were with left the cabin?”
“Absolutely sure. We were in the Jenssens’ suite—there’s only one door and I was sat facing it all night. People got up and went to the loo and stuff, but they all used the bathroom in the cabin suite. Chloe sat and read for a while and then went into the bedroom next door—there’s no exit from that except through the main room of the suite. No one left until four at the earliest. You can rule out all four men, plus Chloe.”
I frowned, ticking off passengers on my fingers.
“So that’s . . . you, Bullmer . . . Archer . . . Lars, and Chloe. Which leaves Cole, Tina, Alexander, Owen White, and Lady Bullmer. Plus the staff.”
“Lady Bullmer?” Ben raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s stretching it.”
“What?” I said defensively. “Maybe she’s not as ill as she looks.”
“Yup, that’s right, she’s faked four years of recurrent cancer and grueling chemo and radiotherapy just to provide an alibi for the murder of a strange girl.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic. I was just making the point.”
“I think the passengers are a red herring, though,” Ben said. “You can’t get away from the fact that you and Nilsson were the only people who knew about that mascara. If he didn’t take it, he must have told the person who did.”
“Well . . .” I said, and then stopped. An uneasy feeling, not unlike guilt, was trickling down the back of my neck.
“What?”
“I—I was trying to think. When Nilsson took me round the staff. I can’t absolutely remember . . . I could have mentioned it.”
“Jesus, Lo,” Ben said. He stared at me. “Did you? Or didn’t you? It kind of matters.”
“I know that,” I said peevishly. The boat heaved up and down a wave, and the feeling of nausea swept over me again, the half-digested pancakes shifting uneasily in my gut. I tried to think back to the conversations below decks, but it was hard to remember, I’d been so hungover, so distracted by the claustrophobic artificial light of those narrow, windowless cabins. I shut my eyes, feeling the sofa lurch and tilt beneath me, and tried to think back to the staff canteen and the pleasant, scrubbed faces of the girls tipped up towards me. What the hell had I said?
“I can’t remember,” I said at last. “I really can’t. But I could have mentioned it. I don’t think I did, but I can’t absolutely say that I didn’t.”
“Bollocks. Well, that widens things out considerably.”