Anyone in the know eagerly awaited an invitation to be a guest at his dinner table, or to be at one of his private cocktail parties in his beautiful and roomy suite. The invitations were kept for the crème-de-la-crème guests. Handwritten by the purser, they were slipped under the door of the recipients fortunate enough to make the cut.
None of this was on Captain Fairfax’s mind as he stood on the bridge.
It was no secret that the expense of building and outfitting this extraordinary ship had ended up being nearly double the original projection. For that reason, it had been made clear to him by Gregory Morrison, the owner of Castle Lines, that absolutely no hitch was permissible. The tabloids and social media sites would be hungry for stories about anything that might go wrong on this all-important maiden voyage. They had already seized on the reference to the amenities of the Titanic. In retrospect, it had not been advisable to publicize the ship that way.
He frowned. There was already one indication that they might be sailing into a storm a day and a half out of Southampton.
He looked at his watch. He had an extremely confidential appointment in his quarters. The Interpol agent known to the other passengers as Devon Michaelson had requested a secret meeting.
What could Michaelson possibly want to speak to him about? He had already been told that the so-called “Man with One Thousand Faces” might well be on board.
He turned from the bridge and made his way to his suite. A few moments later there was a tap on the door. He opened it. He had identified Devon Michaelson by knowing he was at the same table as the ambassador’s son, Ted Cavanaugh.
Fairfax extended his hand. “Mr. Michaelson, I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are with us on this ship.”
“I’m glad I am here as well,” Michaelson said courteously. “As I’m sure you know, over the past several weeks the so-called ‘Man with One Thousand Faces’ has been dropping hints on various social media sites suggesting that he would be on this voyage. An hour ago he sent a message that he is on board, enjoying the luxurious surroundings, and stating that he was looking forward to adding to his jewelry collection.”
Fairfax felt his body go rigid. “Is there any chance that someone may be putting out these messages as a joke?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not, sir. They have the ring of truth to them. And it is consistent with his track record. For him it is not enough to just steal what he wants. He derives extra pleasure from dropping hints about what he plans to do, and then poking his finger in the eye of law enforcement as he carries out his plan.”
Fairfax said, “It is worse than I imagined. Mr. Michaelson, I think you can understand how important it is that this voyage must have no hint of scandal. Is there anything that I or my staff can do to help prevent a calamity?”
“I would say only be alert, as I shall be alert,” Michaelson answered.
“Very good advice. Thank you, Mr. Michaelson,” the Captain said as he walked him to the door.
Alone with his thoughts, Fairfax took comfort knowing that an agent was on board. Security Chief John Saunders and his team were very good at their jobs. Saunders had a fine reputation in the business and had served with him on previous Castle Line voyages. The security chief could deal discreetly with unruly passengers. Fairfax was confident that the ship’s employees, from over fifteen countries, had been thoroughly vetted before they were hired. But the challenge posed by an international jewel thief was different.
The realization of what could go wrong weighed heavily on him as he made his way back to the bridge.
18
Like Celia, Yvonne went to the early yoga class. Nothing was more important than maintaining her trim figure and youthful appearance.
Roger had been asleep when she left but was gone when she returned to the suite. Probably chasing after Lady Em and hanging on her every word, Yvonne thought disdainfully.
She showered, ordered a light breakfast, slipped on a sweater and slacks and went to the spa. In advance, she had made appointments for several different types of massages and customized facials. These would be followed by late afternoon makeup sessions.
She was already becoming accustomed to the amenities on the ship. But even so, she was happily surprised by the beautiful appointment rooms and the treatment at the hands of the highly skilled estheticians. It was approaching lunchtime when she settled in a deck chair and was immediately tapped on the shoulder.
“I’m Anna DeMille,” the woman to her left said to introduce herself. “But unfortunately no relation to Cecil B. DeMille. You remember him, of course, and the great story about him? He was directing a battle scene with hundreds of actors and was delighted with the way the scene went. Then he asked the cameraman, ‘Did you get all that?’ And the cameraman answered, ‘Ready when you are, CB.’?” Anna laughed heartily. “Isn’t that a great story about my non-relative?”
Dear God, Yvonne thought, how did I get stuck with this one?
She forced herself to engage in a brief conversation, then stood up. “Nice chatting with you,” she lied.
Seeing her leave, Anna turned to the woman to her right, who looked to be in her early sixties and had just closed her book.
“I’m Anna DeMille,” she said. “This trip is so exciting. I would never be here except that I won the grand prize at my church’s annual raffle. Imagine, an all-expenses-paid trip on the maiden voyage of the Queen Charlotte! I still can’t believe it!”
“Very understandable.”
Anna ignored the chilly tone in the woman’s voice.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Robyn Reeves,” was the crisp reply, as the woman opened the book she had just closed.
Nobody is very talkative this morning, Anna thought. I’ll take a walk and see if Devon is anywhere around. Poor man.
He must feel so alone being here by himself with his wife’s ashes.
19
Yvonne had lunch with her friends Dana Terrace and Valerie Conrad in the small restaurant that was decorated as an English tearoom. They had mutually agreed that their husbands were welcome to make their own plans. The reason was that they wanted to gossip, and what they had to say would be boring to men.
“Hal is on the squash court,” Dana announced.
“So is Clyde,” Valerie said indifferently.
Yvonne did not say anything. There was no doubt Roger was in the casino. She was in secret awe of both Dana and Valerie. They both had the backgrounds that she longed for. Dana was a direct Mayflower descendant. And Valerie’s father was not only well bred, but a successful investor.
Since childhood, she had had one goal in mind: marry well, not just for money, but also for social standing.