Page 16 of Midnight

Then there was the matter of the showcase. What would happen now? Best-case scenario: Aaron would get in touch via email with a full explanation for his absence and a detailed guide she could follow until they returned to port. It would be up to her to make sure everything went smoothly. She clenched her fists, letting the wind whip her hair and steal away the sob that had risen in her chest. She couldn’t believe he’d abandoned her.

And she was angry. Worried. Afraid.

There had to be more she could do. But what?

She turned away, unable to look at the water any more. Instead, she focused on the crowd of passengers. She knew a few of them already from the dinner party. They weren’t exactly the type she could confide in or commiserate with. She’d have to keep up her professional veneer. But remembering them at least kept her mind from jumping to the worst-case scenarios.

She wasn’t great with people at the best of times. She’d spent most of her career studying and creating financial models in front of a computer screen. Networking didn’t come naturally to her.

That had been what she’d relied on Aaron for. He could sweep her into any group at a party, introduce her, state some interesting fact that would spark a talking point and away he would go – on to the next client or friend who he’d spotted nearby. When he’d come to her work parties, she knew she could leave him in a room with anyone and he would charm them. He had the kind of charisma that drew a crowd, his personality like an oil masterpiece on display for all to enjoy. She was interesting too, but getting to know her required a bit more effort. Her stories had to be excavated like mosaics under soil, and not everyone could be bothered.

‘Why don’t you show other people all the things I love about you?’ he’d asked her once, after they’d collapsed into bed following an overly long dinner party.

She’d rolled over, stroking a lock of his hair off his forehead. ‘I don’t need anyone else to see. As long as you do.’

She spotted the Hughes family walking up on to the deck. Cutler seemed to part the crowd like Mosesthrough a sea of red jackets. He and Ingrid had brought their two young boys aboard too, giving them the adventure of a lifetime. The younger of the two had truly embraced the Antarctica spirit, with penguin stickers decorating his jacket.

She thought she saw Robert Freedman talking the ear off the expedition leader Liam. That would mean Aida was probably nearby too. Even easier to recognize was Delilah – even though her hair was bottle-blond and the last time Olivia had seen her, she’d been a brunette. Her fashion line was known for its bright neon colours, flashy prints and silky fabrics, and she’d accessorized her oversized waterproof jacket with an electric-blue neck scarf. She wasn’t drinking tea; she already had a glass of champagne in hand.

As she scanned the crowd, she locked eyes with a man in a blue crew jacket. He turned away from her almost as soon as she caught his glance, disappearing back inside. But it was enough for her to catch sight of his shaved head. A chill ran down her spine.

It couldn’t have been the same man she’d seen in Ushuaia. She was being paranoid. She was shivering now. She needed to find a warmer jacket, but going back to the cabin would only serve as a reminder that she was alone.

Totally alone.

At that moment the ship’s horn sounded, signalling a goodbye to the mainland. They’d sailed well into the Beagle Channel, the low buildings of Ushuaia disappearing from view.

The trip to Antarctica had begun, and there was nowhere to run.

7

The wind picked up on deck, driving most of the passengers inside. Olivia headed for the ship’s library – where she could access the internet and see if there was that wished-for email from Aaron.

The library was open but empty, tranquil after the busyness of the sail-away party. It was decorated with polished walnut wood panelling and shelf after shelf of books – Antarctic history, geography, travelogues, memoirs and hundreds of novels – mostly the crime and thriller variety. There was a quadrangle of laptops in the middle, the keyboards firmly screwed into the desk – she wondered if that had more to do with the potential for bad weather, as opposed to any worries about thieves on board.

She booted up the computer and on the log-in screen she had the option to pay for two hours of usage for a princely sum. A warning underneath the screen emphasized in bold letters that the signal could drop at any time, so she’d have to be efficient. She plugged in her credit card details and waited, watching the cursor move with almost malignant slowness. Gmail finally opened but in plain text, not loading any of the graphics.

There were a slew of new messages in her inbox. But skimming the names, it was mostly junk; there was not a single message from Aaron.

She double- and triple-checked, making sure she didn’tmiss one between marketing emails from The Outnet and subscription requests from actuarial newsletters.

She groaned in frustration, logged off, stood up from her chair, and the ship pitched forward, making her bump her thighs hard against the desk edge. She cried out, steadying herself against one of the bookshelves. Her shaking fingers closed around a little brass rail designed to stop the books from tumbling off the shelves and on to the floor. The books were protected. But what about her?

They were about to cross one of the most notorious stretches of water on Earth, potentially facing the worst kind of roiling sea. When it came to facing her fear, she really had thrown herself in the deep end, and she wasn’t sure how she would cope. Not without Aaron.

When she was sure she could walk again, she headed back to reception.

There was a different woman behind the desk – younger, with dark curly hair. It was the person who had spoken to the honeymooning couple. Her name tag read ‘Maria Elena’.

‘Excuse me, is Elisabet available?’ Olivia asked. ‘I need her urgently.’

‘She’s just taking a break—’

‘Please.’ Olivia’s throat was so tight, the word came out as barely a croak. Her desperation must’ve been written all over her face, as the woman nodded and disappeared into the office behind.

Elisabet emerged, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth. ‘Did you hear from Mr Hunter-Williams?’

‘Not yet. How long is it until we hit the Drake Passage? I want to get details to Aaron via email, so he can arrange a helicopter to meet the ship. Or maybe anotherboat? Can the captain radio the authorities on shore to let them know to expect him?’