Page 3 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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‘Too many frills and ruffles, and golden things!’ Lucrezia’s nose wrinkled in disapproval. ‘No person of taste could design such a room! And the colours! So insipid!’
Suppressing a sigh, Cecile lowered herself onto the apricot velvet-upholstered chaise and settled her hands within her lap. ‘Truly, it reminds me of the Hôtel Ritz in Paris. The curtains are most certainly of the same style. It’s really very grand, and so spacious.’
The latter would certainly be the case once Lucrezia’s baggage had been unpacked. At present, it occupied the majority of the floor space in the sitting room of her suite.
Lucrezia pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. She eyed the offending curtains with repugnance. ‘If they were plain silk, perhaps I could bear them, but with so many flowers, and this—’
She flicked contemptuously at the drapery’s elaborate fringing. ‘I do not know the word, but thisornamento. It is too horrible!’
‘A little more ornate than necessary, perhaps…’ Cecile summoned a placatory smile. ‘But see how well appointed the suite is, Lucrezia. The bedroom has its own place for washing, while this little salon is quite large enough for us to sit comfortably.’
She looked longingly at the tea service set upon the table. ‘You’re only fatigued; in need of rest and refreshment.’
Cecile certainly felt that way herself.
She was eager to retire to her own suite next door, furnished in an identical colour-scheme, but there would be no napping until Lucrezia was placated.
‘Let me pour you a cup.’ Cecile inclined her head towards the plate of iced fancies beside the tea pot. ‘And these look delicious. It would be a shame not to enjoy them.’
‘You are kindness, always,cara.’ Approaching, Lucrezia cupped Cecile’s cheek. ‘And patient with my capricious ways, as only the true friend can be.’
The crew member who’d delivered the tea cleared his throat. ‘If all is good, senhoras…?’
Cecile had quite forgotten he was there. She’d already tipped him but his exit had likely been hampered by Lucrezia sweeping about the room, making those clicking noises of hers. Now, her look of dissatisfaction alighted on the steward.
‘Are all the rooms the same?’
The steward’s brows knitted as he taxed his knowledge of English. ‘Yes, all: bed, table, chairs. All the best.’ He took two side-steps towards the door.
‘But thiscolore rivoltante?’ Lucrezia intercepted him.
The steward held up his hands in supplication. ‘This, andverde—the green, you say. But, this is nice, yes, for the senhoras?’
‘Green?’ Lucrezia shot out her hand to rest upon the wall, mere inches from the man’s head, preventing his escape. ‘There is a green room close by?’
Warily, the steward nodded.
‘Then everything is easy. You will move my bags to a green room.’ Lucrezia made a flurrying motion with her fingers to wing him on his way.
She turned back to Cecile. ‘Apologies for my fuss,cara. You see how bold we must be to ensure our comfort.’
Cecile endeavoured to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘Lucrezia, do come and sit down, and let the man return to his duties.’
‘But, of course,piccola.’ Lucrezia lifted the lid on the heavy silver pot, peering at the leaves within.
‘But, senhora!’ The steward wrung his hands, his tone pleading. ‘All rooms have guests. Stay here, yes? Is comfortable. Is beautiful.’
Lucrezia let the lid clang shut. In three strides, she was facing the unfortunate man, berating him this time in a fierce torrent of Italian.
Cecile watched, agog, as Lucrezia pulled open the door and propelled the steward backward. With a cry of dismay, he stumbled over the lipped threshold, losing his balance, ending sprawled on the deck outside.
Horrified, Cecile leapt to help him. She was used to Lucrezia’s capriciousness and eccentricity but never had she seen her display such rudeness.
However, before she’d reached the doorway, a tall figure appeared, silhouetted against the sinking sun.
The voice that spoke was butter-rich, the vowels drawn out like melted caramel. ’Whoa there. You’ve taken a real spill, fella.’
