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“For purely practical reasons. A girl can’t inherit the family title. In England, everything has to pass through the male line.”
“How archaic,” said Sam. “And I always thought of the British as being such a civilized race.”
“Not when it comes to primogeniture,” said Giles. The three men rose from their seats as Emma arrived at the table.
“But Mrs. Clifton is chairman of the board of Barrington’s.”
“And we have a queen on the throne. But don’t worry, Sam, we’ll defeat those old reactionaries in the end.”
“Not if my party gets back into power,” said Sebastian.
“When the dinosaurs will be on the roam again,” said Giles, looking at him.
“Who said that?” asked Sam.
“The man who defeated me.”
* * *
Brendan didn’t knock on the door, just turned the handle and slipped inside, looking back as he did so to be sure no one had seen him. He didn’t want to have to explain what a young man from cabin class was doing in an elderly peer’s room at that time of night. Not that anyone would have commented.
“Are we likely to be interrupted?” asked Brendan, once he had closed the door.
“No one will disturb us before seven tomorrow morning, and by then there will be nothing left to disturb.”
“Good,” said Brendan. He dropped on his knees, unlocked the large trunk, pulled open its lid and studied the complex piece of machinery that had taken him over a month to construct. He spent the next half hour checking that there were no loose wires, that every dial was at its correct setting and that the clock started at the flick of a switch. Not until he was satisfied that everything was in perfect working order did he get back off his knees.
“It’s all ready,” he said. “When do you want it activated?”
“Three a.m. And I’ll need thirty minutes to remove all this,” Glenarthur added, touching his double chin, “and still have enough time to get to my other cabin.”
Brendan returned to the trunk and set the timer for three o’clock. “All you have to do is flick the switch just before you leave, and double-check that the second hand is moving.”
“So what can go wrong?”
“If the lilies are still in her cabin, nothing. No one on this corridor, and probably no one on the deck below can hope to survive. There’s six pounds of dynamite embedded in the earth beneath those flowers, far more than we need, but that way we can be sure of collecting our money.”
“Have you got my key?”
“Yes,” said Brendan. “Cabin seven zero six. You’ll find your new passport and ticket under the pillow.”
“Anything else I ought to be worrying about?”
“No. Just make sure the second hand is moving before you leave.”
Glenarthur smiled. “See you back in Belfast. And if we should end up in the same lifeboat, ignore me.”
Brendan nodded, walked across to the door and opened it slowly. He peered out into the corridor. No sign of anyone returning to their cabins from dinner. He walked quickly to the end of the corridor and pushed open a door marked Only to be used in an emergency. He closed the door quietly behind him and walked down the noisy metal steps. He didn’t pass anyone on the staircase. In about five hours’ time, those steps would be crammed with panicking people wondering if the ship had hit an iceberg.
When he reached deck seven, he pushed the emergency door open and checked again. Still no one in sight. He made his way along the narrow corridor and back to his cabin. A few people were returning to their rooms after dinner, but no one showed the slightest interest in him. Over the years, Brendan had turned anonymity into an art form. He unlocked the door of his cabin, and once he was inside collapsed on to the bed, job done. He checked his watch: 9:50 p.m. It was going to be a long wait.
* * *
“Someone slipped into Lord Glenarthur’s cabin just after nine,” said Hartley, “but I haven’t seen him come out yet.”
“It could have been the steward.”
“Unlikely, colonel, because there was a Do not disturb sign on the door, and anyway, whoever it was didn’t knock. In fact, he went in as if it was his own cabin.”
