to me. If it hadn’t been for Cole’s chance remark, I would never have known that Ben himself had left the cabin.
But Ben. Ben? Surely not. If I could trust anyone on board this boat it had to be him, right?
I wasn’t sure anymore.
I swallowed the final crust of bread, wiped my fingers on the napkin, and stood, feeling the rock and sway of the boat beneath me. While I’d eaten, a sea mist had crept in, and the room had become darker, so I switched on the light before checking my phone. There was nothing there—nothing from Judah, either. I refreshed, hoping without hope for an e-mail from someone, anyone. I didn’t dare think about Judah—about what his silence meant.
When the CONNECTION FAILED notification came up, I felt a shift in my stomach that was mingled fear and relief. Relief because it meant that perhaps, just perhaps, Judah had been trying to contact me. That his silence didn’t mean what I feared it might.
But fear because the longer the Internet was down, the more I was starting to think that someone was deliberately trying to stop me from accessing the Web. And that was starting to make me feel very worried indeed.
The door to suite 1, Nobel, was the same anonymous white wood as the rest of the cabin doors, but you could tell from the fact that it was by itself in the prow of the boat, with a blank expanse of corridor stretching away behind us, that it must be something pretty special.
I knocked, cautiously. I’m not sure what I expected—Richard Bullmer, or perhaps even a maid, neither would have surprised me. But I was thrown completely when the door opened and Anne Bullmer was standing there.
She had clearly been crying, her dark eyes rimmed with red and circled with deep shadows, and there were traces still on her gaunt cheeks.
I blinked, completely losing the thread of the carefully prepared request I’d rehearsed in my head. Phrases skittered through my mind, each more inappropriate and impossible than the other: Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?
I said none of them, just gulped.
“Yes?” she said, with a touch of defiance. She brought up a corner of her silk robe and wiped at her eyes, and then put her chin up. “Can I help you?”
I swallowed again, and then said, “I, yes, I hope so. I’m sorry for intruding, you must be tired after the spa morning.”
“Not particularly,” she said, rather shortly. I bit my lip. Maybe referring to her illness hadn’t been tactful.
“I was actually hoping to speak to your husband.”
“Richard? He’s busy, I’m afraid. Is it something I can help with?”
“I—I don’t think so,” I said awkwardly, and then wondered whether to make my excuses and leave, or stay and explain. I felt bad disturbing her, but it seemed equally wrong to knock and then leave so abruptly. Part of my discomfort was the tears—pulling me in two directions, to go and leave her to her private grief, to stay and offer comfort. But it was also because I found her gaunt, smooth face so unsettling. She seemed so unassailable in every other way. To see someone like Anne Bullmer, so privileged, with every advantage that money could buy—the latest medicine, the best doctors and treatments available—to see her fighting for her life like this, before our very eyes, was almost unbearable.
I wanted to run away, but that knowledge forced me to stand my ground.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “Perhaps it can wait until later? Can I tell him what it’s about?”
“I . . .” I twisted my fingers together. What could I possibly say? There was no way I was spilling my suspicions to this frail, haunted-looking woman. “I— He promised me an interview,” I said, remembering his throwaway words after dinner. It was kind of half-true, after all. “He told me to come to the cabin this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Her face cleared. “I am sorry. He must have forgotten. I think he’s gone to the hot tub with Lars and a few others. Hopefully you can catch him at dinner.”
I had no intention of waiting that long, but I didn’t say that, just nodded.
“Am I— Will we see you at dinner?” I asked, and cringed at the way I was stumbling over my words. For God’s sake. She’s ill, not a leper. She nodded.
“I hope so. I’m feeling a little better today. I get very tired, but it seems like a capitulation