‘I thought tonight’s magician …’ began William.

‘Shh,’ said Beth. ‘As you’ve got a far better view of what’s going on than me, you can give me a blow-by-blow account.’

William suppressed a smile, and began taking a closer interest in the Buchanans’ table.

‘It looks to me as if the chairman is having a heated discussion with his former deputy chairman, while the rest of the table is studiously ignoring both of them.’

‘They don’t want to get involved,’ suggested Beth.

‘A shrewd observation.’

‘So what’s the row about?’

‘Not sure. I can only catch the odd word. But don’t despair, James will give me a blow-by-blow account in the morning.’

‘I can’t wait until then,’ said Beth, sounding exasperated. ‘They might all have murdered each other by the time you next meet up with James. I want to know now.’

‘It seems to be something to do with Hamish Buchanan’s drinking habits,’ said William, but he stopped in mid-sentence when Franco reappeared with their main courses. He placed the two Caesar salads in front of his guests as if nothing untoward was happening just a couple of tables away.

‘I presume you’ve seen all this many times before,’ said Beth, looking up at him.

‘Not quite this bad, madam,’ Franco admitted, as he poured them both a glass of white wine.

‘Perhaps it was unwise for the whole family to travel back to New York together,’ suggested Beth, ‘after what took place at last year’s AGM.’

‘James tells me his grandfather insisted on it,’ said William, ‘despite the bad feeling between him and his son Hamish. I suspect it’s no more than background noise to the old man.’

‘I’m only glad I’m not serving on that table this evening,’ said Franco, before placing the wine bottle back in its ice bucket and leaving them.

‘I wish I was,’ said Beth, as she watched Hamish Buchanan take a silver hip flask from an inside pocket and pour the contents into his coffee.

• • •

‘I thought you told me you’d stopped drinking!’ barked the chairman from the top of the table.

‘Indeed I have,’ replied Hamish as he screwed the top back on the flask. ‘This is no more than a mild sedative prescribed by Dr Lockhart to help me sleep, because as you well know, Father, I’m not a good sailor.’

‘The sea is as flat as a pancake tonight,’ retorted the chairman. ‘Not to mention the fact that I’ve spent a fortune on stabilisers to ensure that every passenger is guaranteed a smooth voyage. Once you’re safely tucked up in bed you wouldn’t even know we were at sea.’ Hamish took another sip from his hip flask. ‘I’d like to taste that so-called sedative.’ Fraser held out his hand, as if it were a command, not a request.

‘As you wish, Father,’ said Hamish, who handed the silver flask to his aunt Flora, who in turn passed it up the table to the chairman. Several passengers, including Beth and William, watched as Fraser unscrewed the top, put the flask to his lips and took a long swig. They all waited for an explosion.