“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.”

I looked at her through the haze of smoke. Office gossip was that she had made her way up the corporate ladder by treading on the backs of more young women than you could count, and then, once she was through the glass ceiling, pulling the ladder up behind her. I remembered Rowan once saying, Tina is one of those women who thinks every bit of estrogen in the boardroom is a threat to her own existence.

But somehow, I couldn’t quite square her remarks with the woman standing in front of me. I knew at least one ex-colleague who said she owed Tina her career, and as I looked at her now, her heavily made-up eyes laughing at me, I thought about what it must have been like to be a female journalist in that generation, clawing your way up through the ranks of the old-boys’ network. It was hard enough now. Maybe it wasn’t Tina’s fault she couldn’t take every other woman in the office with her.

“Come here, darling, I’ll let you into a little secret,” she said, and beckoned me over, her rings chinking on her skeletal fingers. “Hair of the dog, followed by a long, slow screw.”

There was only one possible response that didn’t start with eeeeeeww, and that was a noncommittal silence. Tina gave her throaty, nicotine-soaked laugh again.

“I’ve shocked you.”

“Not really. It’s just—you know—we’re a little short on candidates.”

“I thought you and that sexy little Ben Howard were looking rather friendly last night . . .” she drawled. I repressed a shudder.

“Ben and I were together, years back,” I said firmly. “And I’ve got no desire to go back there.”

“Very sensible, darling.” She patted my arm, her rings clinking against my skin. “As the Afghans say, a man may never bathe in the same lake twice.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to this.

“What’s your name again?” she said abruptly. “Louise, was it?”

“Lo. It’s short for Laura, actually.”

“Nice to meet you, Lo. And you’re with Rowan at Velocity, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I said. “I’m a features writer.” And then, surprising myself, “But I’m hoping to cover her maternity leave while she’s off. It’s partly why I got this trip, I think. They wanted to test the waters. See how I did.”

Although if this was a test, I was well on my way to failing it. Accusing my hosts of covering up a death was definitely not what Velocity had had in mind.

Tina drew on her cigarette again, and then spat out a thread of tobacco and looked at me appraisingly.

“Lot of responsibility, that role. But it’s good that you want a step up. And what will you do when she gets back?”

I opened my mouth to reply—and then stopped. What would I do? Go back to my old job? I was just wondering how to answer when she spoke.

“Give me a call sometime, when we’re back in the office. I’m always on the lookout for freelancers, particularly savvy little things with a bit of ambition.”

“I’m on a staff contract,” I said regretfully. I appreciated it was a compliment, and I didn’t want to throw it back at her, but I was pretty sure my noncompete clause wouldn’t let me moonlight.

“Suit yourself,” Tina said with a shrug. The boat lurched as she spoke, and she staggered against the metal rail. “Blast, my ciggie’s gone out. You don’t have a light, do you, sweetie? I left mine in the lounge.”

“I don’t smoke,” I said.

“Damn it.” She flicked the end over the rail and we both watched as it was snatched by the wind and whisked out of sight, gone before it even hit the churning water. I really should have given her my card, or at the very least started subtly pumping her about the Vernean’s plans for future issues and how far she’d got in buttering up Lord Bullmer. It was what Rowan would have done. Ben would probably have scored a freelance contract by now, and sod the noncompete stuff.