went to get his wallet.” My mouth was suddenly dry as he continued, “Why d’you want to know?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I tried to force a smile, and changed the subject before he could pin me down for an answer. “How are the photos?”
“Take a look if you like,” he said, tossing the camera across with such casualness that I gasped, and nearly dropped it. “Press the play button on the back and you can scroll through them. I’ll send you a print of any you like.”
I began to work my way through the pictures, going back in time through the voyage, past moody shots of clouds and wheeling gulls, past the poker game last night, pictures of Bullmer laughing and scooping Ben’s chips towards him, and Lars groaning as he laid down a pair of twos to Ben’s three fives. One, from last night, almost took my breath away. It was a photo of Chloe, taken from very close. Her eyes had just flicked towards the camera. You could see the tiny hairs on her cheek, golden in the lamplight, and the smile that just tugged at the corner of her mouth, and there was something so intimate and so tender about the shot that I felt like an intruder even looking at it. My gaze went to Chloe, almost inadvertently, wondering about her and Cole, and she looked up.
“What is it? Found one of me?”
I shook my head and hastily flicked on to the next picture before she had time to look over my shoulder at the little screen. The next one was of myself, the shot that Cole had taken last night that had caught me unawares and caused me to spill my coffee. He had snapped me as I flung my head up in alarm, and the look in my eyes made me flinch.
I pressed the button to continue.
The others were just more of the ship . . . one of Tina on deck looking piercingly at the camera, her eyes like a raptor’s, one of Ben carrying an oversize rucksack up the gangway. I was reminded again of Cole’s enormous trunk. What was in it? Photographic equipment, he’d said, but all I’d seen him use so far was this one point-and-click.
And then I was past the pictures of the ship and into some society party. I was about to hand the camera back when my heart seemed to stutter in my chest and I froze. The screen was displaying a picture of a man eating a canapé.
“Who’s he?” Chloe said over my shoulder. And then, “Wait, isn’t that Alexander Belhomme in the background, talking to Archer?”
It was. But it wasn’t Alexander or Archer I was looking at.
It was the waitress holding the tray of canapés.
She had her face turned half away from the camera and her dark hair was falling out of its clip, across her cheek.
But I was almost certain—almost completely certain—that she was the woman in cabin 10.
- CHAPTER 18 -
I handed the camera back carefully, my heart thumping, wondering whether to say anything. This was proof—irrefutable proof—that Cole, Archer, and Alexander had been in the same room as the woman I’d seen. Should I ask Cole if he knew her?
I sat in an agony of indecision as he switched off his camera and began packing it away.
Fuck. Fuck. Should I say something?
I had no idea what to do. It was possible Cole didn’t realize the significance of the picture he’d taken. The girl was half out of the shot, the focus was on some other person completely, a man I’d never met.
If Cole had something to hide, I’d be incredibly foolish to flag what I’d just seen. He’d deny it, and then he’d probably delete the picture.
On the other hand, it was very likely he had no idea who the girl was and might be willing to let me have the image. But if I raised the issue now, in front of Chloe, and with who knew who else possibly listening . . .
I thought of the way Bjorn had appeared from behind the paneling at breakfast and I involuntarily looked over my shoulder. The last thing I wanted was for this picture to go the way of the mascara. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. If I did decide to confront Cole, I should do it in private. The photo had been safe on Cole’s camera up until now; it would be safe a little longer.