Love You Dead

53 Monday 2 March

Rollo had gone to play a rubber of bridge with the couple who had been witnesses at their marriage, earlier. Kind of a strange way to spend the start of their honeymoon, she’d thought, and he’d offered to cancel, but she had insisted. He couldn’t let them down and ruin their game, not after they’d been so sweet.

He promised to be back by six for champagne, then a romantic wedding-night dinner à deux. She’d told him not to hurry, she was happy for him.

And she had work to do.

Luck was really going with her. Ever since she had changed her appearance all those years ago, luck had gone with her. It seemed she just had to think lucky to be lucky. Klein had been a hiccup along the way. She was now back on a roll. Even before setting foot on the ship she had been planning Rollo’s demise. The discovery that the ship’s captain was licensed to carry out marriages recognized in English law, and her plan to seduce Rowley into marrying her, had worked so brilliantly. No one would suspect a loved-up bride of just a few days of killing her husband. And the location was perfect, given to her on a plate, with plenty of dangerous creatures in addition to crocodiles.

She was thirty-six and her body clock was ticking ever faster. She had very few years left to achieve her dream of a lifestyle to match that of her old school friend, Emira. Enough money to buy one of those villas on Lake Como, to have all the other luxuries she could ever want, to have a man she really loved and to bring up her own family. This opportunity with such a deadly combination of elements might take years to occur again. It was too good to miss — she had to grasp the moment.

Carpe diem!

The ship was rolling a little in a heavy swell. The captain had warned them in his 9 a.m. address that it would be a little rough for a few hours, and to make sure everyone held the handrails on the stairs. She walked unsteadily across to the door, opened it and peered out into the corridor. Rollo was forgetful and had a habit of returning to the cabin minutes after he had left, for his glasses, his phone, his wallet or his insulin pen. But all she could see was a liveried butler delivering drinks on a silver tray to another cabin.

She closed the door and locked it. Then she went to the fridge where she kept the freezer pack that, she had told Rollo, contained the drops she needed for her dry eyes, and where his insulin pens were stored. Inside was a tiny rubber-stoppered vial of amber-coloured crystals she had brought with her, from a small stash she kept in her freezer at home. It lay among the sachets of eye drops that she did not need. She removed it and one of his grey Lantus twenty-four-hour pens, and placed both items on the dressing table.

Next, from a compartment inside her handbag, she took out the hypodermic syringe, a small bottle of sterile water and surgical gloves from the kit she always travelled with. She liked to be prepared, never knowing when an opportunity might present itself, although she’d had a feeling from the start, with Rollo, that the cruise might provide too good an opportunity to miss. And with his rocky health, she wanted to do it sooner rather than later — which might be too late. Happily, events were panning out much faster than she had expected. With luck, this would more than make up for all those precious months she had wasted with Walt Klein.

For protection she snapped on the gloves and firstly rehydrated the vial of freeze-dried crystals with the sterile water. She had studied the way Rollo took his insulin, by screwing a fresh needle into the base of his throwaway insulin pen. Whilst the crystals were dissolving, she took the empty syringe and pressed the needle against the base of the pen, pushing it firmly and carefully up inside. Then, glancing nervously at the door, she withdrew the plunger, drawing out the clear insulin until the pen was empty. She went over to the washbasin and, pressing the plunger firmly, squirted the insulin down the plughole, breathing in its distinct, clinical reek.

Her hands were trembling, she realized. Again she looked at the door. Don’t come back, please don’t come back.

Then there was a knock.

Shit!

She looked down in panic, wondering where to hide everything. ‘Hello?’ she called out.

‘Canapés!’ a sing-song voice replied. Their regular afternoon delivery of caviar, smoked salmon and prawns, with a glass of champagne, that Rollo had ordered for them.

Relief surged through her. ‘Can you come back later, please. Half an hour?’

‘No problem! Sorry to disturb you!’

Shaking, she returned to her task. She picked up the vial and the syringe and carefully drew up the rehydrated venom, watching carefully, hoping to hell she had not miscalculated. Then she smiled. Perfect! The pen’s clear-plastic barrel was full and the faint yellow tinge was barely discernible!

She marked the pen, to be sure she could identify it, with three careful scratches from her nail scissors, then placed it with her eye drops back in the opaque freezer pack and put it back in the fridge. Picking up the syringe and the empty vial, she stepped out onto their secluded balcony, in the warm late-afternoon sunshine, leaned over the rail and carefully looked around for anyone who might notice her, but there was no one about. Then she tossed the syringe and vial overboard into the deep blue ocean.

Returning to the cabin, she checked carefully that she hadn’t left any evidence. Then she unlocked the door, showered, washed her hair, put on her make-up and perfume, and slipped into the black lace underwear and camisole she’d bought especially for this trip. She picked up the novel that she was reading, and lay back on the bed to wait for her husband of just a few hours to return.