Maybe the residue of stripping clung to me like cheap perfume. Talking to Hamish had made my skin crawl and I doubted he’d told me anything useful. Only one thing stuck in my mind. What had he meant by back in the days when everyone was still alive? Was he just talking about Isabella, or other people who’d died? I kept an eye on Victoria, but couldn’t get near her; she was surrounded by people, constantly getting her photo taken and still being trailed by the two-man documentary team. Still, she’d been sipping champagne for over an hour and no woman’s bladder was an island. She’d have to go sometime. I ate more canapés, avoided her husband, and bided my time. Just before nine everyone gathered on the deck to watch the start of the fireworks, and I noticed Victoria slip away. I followed her downstairs to the lower deck where the toilets were located, close to the rear of the boat, and waited outside, pretending to inspect a black and white photograph of an olden-days showgirl.
