“Is that not the expression? Ara and ara, rest and relaxion?”
“Oh!” I blushed. “Rest and relaxation. Yes, of course. Sorry—like I said, I’m so tired . . .” I was edging towards the door, my skin suddenly crawling at the thought of the unseen eyes that could be watching our conversation. At least in my cabin I could be sure of being alone.
“Enjoy your rest!”
“I will,” I said. I turned to go—and walked slap into a bleary-eyed Ben Howard.
“Blacklock!”
“Howard.”
“Last night . . .” he said awkwardly. I shook my head. I wasn’t about to have this conversation in front of the softly spoken Bjorn, who was smiling at the opposite side of the room.
“Let’s not go there,” I said curtly. “We were both drunk. Have you only just woken up?”
“Yeah.” He stifled a huge yawn. “After I left your cabin I bumped into Archer and we ended up playing poker with Lars and Richard Bullmer until stupid o’clock.”
“Oh.” I chewed my lip. “What time did you get to bed?”
“Christ knows. Four-ish, I think.”
“Only because . . .” I started. And then stopped. Nilsson did not believe me. I was getting to the point where I barely believed myself. But Ben . . . He would believe me—right?
I thought back to our time together, to how it ended . . . Suddenly I wasn’t so sure.
“Never mind,” I said shortly. “I’ll tell you later. Have your breakfast.”
“Are you all right?” he said as I turned to go. “You look terrible.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“No, I just mean—you look like you’ve barely slept.”
“I didn’t.” I was trying not to snap, but anxiety and exhaustion were making me more abrupt than I meant. Then, as the boat lurched over another wave, “I’m finding this sea a bit rough.”
“Yeah? I’m lucky, I never get seasick.” There was an irritating touch of smugness in his voice and I resisted the urge to snap back something short and sharp. “Never mind, we’ll be in Trondheim early tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” My voice must have betrayed my dismay, for he looked at me sharply.
“Yes. Why, what’s the matter?”
“I thought—I imagined, today . . .” I trailed off. He shrugged.
“It’s a long way, you know.”
“Never mind.” I needed to get back to my room, think this through—try to work out what I had and hadn’t seen. “I’m going to go back to my room—have a lie-down.”
“Sure. See you later, Blacklock,” Ben said. His tone was light. But his eyes, as he watched me walk away, were worried.
I thought I was heading for the stairs to the lower deck, but I must have taken a wrong turn because I ended up in the library—a tiny paneled version of a country-house library, complete with green-shaded reading lamps and tiered shelving, re-created on a miniature scale.
I sighed, and tried to work out where I’d gone wrong, and if there was a quicker route back than retracing my steps and facing Ben again. It seemed impossible to get lost on such a small boat, but there was something very confusing about the way the rooms were fitted together, like a locking puzzle designed to squeeze out every inch of empty space, and navigating the maze was made more complicated by the way the boat’s movement messed with my sense of direction.
It didn’t help that, unlike a ferry, there were no floor plans or maps, and minimal signage—I supposed to help the impression that this was a private home that you just happened to share with a load of rich people.
There were two exits, and more or less at random, I opened the door to the deck. At least outside I could be certain which way I was facing, relative to the direction of travel. As I stepped outside, feeling the wind buffet my face, I heard a hoarse, nicotine-soaked voice from behind me.
“Darling, it’s a miracle you’re standing! How are you this morning?”
I turned. It was Tina, standing beneath a curved glass smoking shelter, a cigarette between her fingers. She took a long drag.
“Little bit the worse for wear?”
I suppressed the urge to turn and flee. I was supposed to be networking. I couldn’t let a self-inflicted hangover get in the way of that. I attempted a smile, hoping it was convincing.
“A bit. I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Well, I was rather impressed by the amount you put away,” she said, with a slightly mocking smile. “As my old boss told me when I started at the Express back in the days of the really long lunch, if you can outdrink your interviewee, you’re on your way to your first scoop.”