Chapter Three
As the ship steamed across the Bay of Biscay and around Gibraltar, Jack and Phryne quickly settled into what had to be termed a halcyon existence.
For a start, no-one died. This was, they both agreed, unusual, but probably a good thing (Alastair Warren would definitely be happy); yet lesser mortals would almost certainly have faded into torpor in the face of such enforced quiet living. Not Jack, though, and certainly not Phryne. They braved Deck Tennis. They plundered the ship's surprisingly well stocked library. They (Phryne said) wowed the crowds with their quickstep after dinner one night. Jack's version of events was more along the lines of not falling over either his own feet or hers, and the crowds were largely oblivious to the whole event; but he couldn't deny that dancing with Phryne was an especial joy.
They also danced in private, and not necessarily on their feet. That was also an especial joy.
Marseilles came, and Jack took Phryne back to the bookshop and the restaurant he had visited on the day she turned up out of the blue, and turned his life from grey to gold. They spent long hours over pastis at a pavement café, looking out for people they knew; then decided that they probably just hadn't met the right people yet.
As a quasi-anniversary, they decided not to dine with the other passengers that night.
They did, however, dine at the Captain's table more than once, and both enjoyed the experience enormously. Captain Hollister proved to be highly intelligent, with a particular love of English literature; he and Phryne spent an entire entrée discussing the symbolism of Alice in Wonderland and what, precisely, would be the issues in trying to play croquet with a flamingo.
So, to the Suez Canal; and the heat set in, in earnest.
On the second night after they reached the Red Sea it was too hot to sleep. By around six, Phryne gave up the battle and slipped on a swimsuit and favourite Chinoiserie robe. Picking up her current novel, she kissed Jack's shoulder blade, and reflected that such a gesture would have had her dragged back to bed only a few weeks since. On this sultry morning, their easy familiarity warranted only a sleepy half-smile and a gentle snore. Bound for the cooler breezes of the lido deck, she closed the door quietly.
Settling herself on a steamer chair in a shady corner, she noticed that there was a similar sufferer already arrived; his method had clearly been to seek the pool itself, where he lay full length on a lightweight surf board. She debated taking a similar approach – trailing ones arms and toes like that in the cool water would be blissful – but decided that the sun was already making its presence felt, and elected for shade.
Within the hour, the poolside was already starting to fill up. One hearty swimmer decided to put in some proper exercise, and pounded up and down the pool, neatly avoiding the supine surfboard occupant.
Lowering her sunglasses for a moment, Phryne considered him again. His shoulders were definitely turning a dark shade of pink, and he was going to be in some pain if he didn't take shelter soon. It would be charitable to go and wake him up, she supposed. It was a pity she was so comfortable …
As if she had put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, Jack appeared in her line of sight.
"Good morning, Mrs Robinson" he said, inclining his head politely.
"Mr Robinson," she responded equally formally. Given that he was also dressed to swim, their society manners were ludicrously inappropriate, but old habits died hard. "Lovely to see you," (she paused to offer another quick dip of the sunglasses in recognition of the vision of manliness before her) "and especially just as I was wondering what to do about helping a suffering fellow passenger."
"Oh?" he enquired. "Anything I can do?"
"As a matter of fact, yes – if your current state of undress is meant to show that you don't mind getting wet? That chap on the surfboard's been asleep for more than an hour, and he's already starting to burn. I think the poor lamb's going to be in pain anyway, but he should definitely be woken up and brought into the shade."
Jack glanced across at the gentleman in question.
"Good idea. Will do." In a couple of paces he was at the poolside, and dove in neatly. Surfacing not far from the sunbather, he swam to his side, and stood to lay a cautious hand on the man's shoulder. Eliciting no response, he moved round to look into the man's face. As Phryne watched, his expression changed suddenly. He looked up at her, and shook his head slightly.
Understanding instantly what had befallen, she jumped up and hurried to find a steward. Quietly, she explained that there was a gentleman in the pool who was very ill, and could in fact have died. The steward's horror was palpable, and he was clearly nonplussed. She told him firmly but quietly to go and find a colleague to fetch the ship's doctor, and then to calmly close the pool area for "cleaning". He stuttered agreement, and hurried off.
Jack, meantime, was pulling the surfboard to the edge of the pool. Phryne strolled over to him, and crouched to speak in low voice.
"Dead?"
"Almost certainly. God knows how. We need to secure the scene. And get the doctor. And the Captain."