To Catch A Storm

by Warren Slingsby

  She got the feeling that man from the morning loved being on the boat and was showing off to passers by. Each time girls walked past, they became louder. They laughed more. Became more animated. Cheese balls. The decks of most of the other yachts were empty. She guessed he worked for Zhestakova who was away and he’d invited his friends over to show off to them.

  After an hour more drinking and chatting, they left the boat. Janet paid up and left a tip for the very helpful waiter and followed the three men at a distance. The three went to a pose-y restaurant so Janet went to the bar across the street and once again sat outside so she could keep an eye on what was going on. They would be at least an hour if they were eating so she could, if she wanted, go to the boat and see if she could get on and have a look. They were looking at oversized menus.

  Was this a window? She weighed the situation up. Zhestakova didn’t appear to be about. This other man was about to eat a meal. She could have a very quick look around if she was brave. So, was she brave? Actually, she was. This was exactly the sort of thing she seemed to enjoy now. Taking a risk in order to make a huge gain. Only this time the gain would be for her, not for some nameless faceless organisation or individual. Was this the gin? The large gin? Very possibly.

  Down at the port, things were quiet. At the yacht, there was a gang plank for access, but it was gated. She could see no one on the yacht and no one on either of the boats next to the Still Waters. She walked past and it seemed there were very few boats with people on. She went out wider from the water’s edge and doubled back. She was wearing dark clothing, so hopefully would be a subtle presence. Where there were people on yachts, they had one thing in common. They looked like they belonged. They looked comfortable. Relaxed. If she was going to do this, she had to look the same. She had to adopt that same comfortable, ‘I belong here’ look. She thought about arriving in Edinburgh at the hotel in the Lamborghini and the feeling of power and belonging that gave her as people stared at her and ‘her’ car. She needed to get back into that mind set. She lifted her head, pushed her shoulders back and slowed her pace down so she didn’t look like she was on a mission. She walked along the quayside once more and as she reached the Still Waters, she hopped over the small gate looking confident and as if she just couldn’t be bothered to unlock the little gate. She walked onto the low deck at the back. There was an open living area here with tables on both sides of the deck with built in seating. She walked straight through past the two tables. There were stairs to go up a deck or down. She went down. Stepping as quietly as possible but trying to not look like she was tip toeing. The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end and she felt hot and sick. Blood was rushing through her head and she could hear it fizzing in her ears. At the bottom of the stairs was a door which she was sure would be closed and locked but it was ajar. Inside the room was dark. She peered through the gap but the room was empty. This was a large living room with two extremely long and low sofas facing each other with equally low coffee tables in the middle. There were other occasional tables and pieces of furniture around the room. In the corner stood a gold grand piano with a gigantic candelabra on top. It proudly read

  S T E I N W A Y

  across its front panel. Everything was so ostentatious that the gold grand piano didn’t look at all out of place. She couldn’t work out how the grand piano would have got in. It seemed huge. They must have built the boat around it. There were paintings on either wall behind the sofas but both were modern looking. Certainly not Rembrandt style paintings. At the end of the room was another door. She walked quickly to that internally commenting she was not here to do ‘Through The Keyhole’, she was here to find a piece of art. No actually, she was here to test a theory out. Nothing more.

  At the next door, there was a corridor with several doors leading off it. She walked tentatively down the corridor but was pretty sure there were no people in the rooms, certainly not on this level. There were no lights on and the only light was from ambient lighting streaming through the small side windows. The first room on the left was a kind of study. She walked in. It was very dark but she could make out a large heavy looking wooden desk with a high lacquer top. There was an old picture in here. It could have been a Renoir maybe. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t an expert but it certainly wasn’t the picture she was looking for. She’d been on the boat for about 5 minutes now and was getting nervous, she hadn’t planned to be on for too long. She quickly swept the other rooms on this level. There was no sign. She was a little disoriented. Not sure if there was another deck below this one or how many were above it. The yacht towered above her when she was on the dock, so she guessed quite a few. There were more steps at the end of the corridor to access lower and upper levels. She went down and found four bedrooms, all of which had what she classed as modern art paintings above the beds. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she wiped it away with her hand. Gross. That’s never happened before she assured herself. She wasn’t sure about checking on the upper decks as they were more open with bigger windows. She went back up to the level with the grand piano and went to the study once more. This was the room with the painting that most closely matched the painting she was searching for.

  “Is someone there?” someone called out. “Alex? Emma?” Slight Russian accent Janet thought.

  She dropped to a crouch momentarily. “Fuck!” She readied herself to run or hide. She waited a moment more and then went to the door to try to listen. It couldn’t be the man who was on the boat before as he was just sitting down to a meal unless he’d forgotten something. This sounded like an older man’s voice though. She heard ice clinking into glasses, cans opening and bottles pouring. Now two people were speaking in English, one with the Russian undertone. She guessed that was Nicolay. He was with another man. She realised she was breathing very heavily and calmed herself down. Once her breathing slowed a little, she was able to hear them more clearly. It sounded like they were talking about mines in Africa and enriching processes. The man who she guessed as being Nicolay was talking loudly and the other man too quietly for her to hear what he was saying. Just having half the conversation was making it difficult to get fully what they were discussing. Cigar or cigarette smoke drifted into the living area and down towards the study. She told herself she had to be brave and walked down the corridor to the living area, she could just see their silhouettes in the outside seating area. There were indeed two people. Nicolay, the man with the Russian accent was standing and walking around gesticulating and the other man sat at one of the tables. So now they were blocking her planned exit route. She’d need to find another way off this yacht. Then she saw the standing man coming toward the entrance to the inside area and she moved quickly back to the study and dived in. She stood behind the door. No good. She heard footsteps that were at the far end of the living area on the decked wooden floor. They were getting louder. She went to the desk, pulled the chair to the side slightly and dropped into the footwell. The footsteps grew louder and louder until they were at the study and then they changed to soft steps as he entered the carpeted study. She was blind now, staring into the desk’s kick panel. Controlling her breathing, so she made no noise. Well if he came to sit at the desk, she was screwed. She could see the silhouette of his feet standing at the other side of the desk now under the kick board and he went through some papers above her head. Then he walked away from the desk to her right and she heard an odd clicking sound and then a brushing noise and then a light came on sweeping into the study. More shuffling of papers. Then steps as he moved back to the door and then hard steps on the decked wood corridor once more.

  “Alex!” he shouted, this time with an angry tone.

  She poked her head out a fraction to look where the light was coming from and saw the book shelf that had taken up the end of the study was pulled open and a room inside was lit up with another desk’s lamp. On the side wall, she could see a very large golden picture frame. She studied it for a second but could not quite see what it framed from
this angle. Then peered further around at the book shelf. The right hand section of the shelves was hinged. One book was leaning out at an angle. It was a big thick book with a hard brown cover.

  She tucked her head back in. The footsteps came back in. He was back in the other room rooting through drawers and the light abruptly went back out and he left muttering something in Russian. The footsteps petered out as he walked away. He was muttering angrily in Russian (she guessed). Alex’s name was used several times. She had no idea what he was saying, but there was no doubt he was extremely annoyed with Alex.

  After a few seconds, she came out and examined the book which was now back in place on the bookshelf. She felt it and it would not slide outward from the other books but would pivot. Once again, she could hear the two men talking at the other end of the yacht. She pulled on the book and it moved backward to a 45° angle with a subtle click, then she pulled on the shelf and it swung outwards. The space inside was another study with another desk. In fact, the inner study could have been exactly the same as the outer study. She couldn't be sure, but on first glance it was. The difference was, on the side wall was hung the Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Huge. Beautiful. She stared in shock trying to take it all in. So what did she do now? Just grab it off the wall and get it off the boat somehow? She flicked her phone onto torch and stared at the painting with the flash. It was bewitching. The detail. The colours, even though much of the painting was dark and it was set at night in a storm (obviously), it was mesmerising. It was far too big for this small study. It was meant for a museum or gallery or some large space. The people on the boat were all either pre-occupied with the figure in blue (supposedly Jesus) or trying desperately to sail the boat safely through the storm. And then there was the curious man smack bang in the middle of the picture with a pink beret staring back out at Janet. Some said this was Rembrandt who had painted himself into the picture and hung on for dear life. In front of Rembrandt was someone vomiting over the side of the boat. It reminded her how sick she felt in her stomach. Like there was a hot brick in there just curdling everything she had eaten the last day or so.

  “I bet you didn’t expect your masterpiece to end up in a secret room hidden from public view did you?” she quietly asked Rembrandt. He looked confounded by the news. The painting was signed on the top of the boat’s rudder - Rembrandt and dated 1633. Suddenly she was filled with a sense that this was so unjust. This amazing piece of art was stuck here in this room for the benefit of one person when the whole world should be able to see this. And then the boat in the painting started to move toward her and her feet shifted involuntary forward to steady herself. What the hell was happening? She was so mesmerised by Rembrandt’s work that she was starting to feel the pitch of the waves in the sea of Galilee. A sudden loud, guttural roar brought her back into the real world; it was the yacht that was moving. The idiot was the taking the damn thing out. But it was the middle of the night. She left the secret room and closed the book shelf door back in and the large brown book snapped back into place. She moved down the corridor towards the front of the yacht. They were moving gently through the port passing other boats on either side.

  “Bloody hell.” she whispered at herself. “You should have cut this shorter.” She went back down the corridor to the living area and was astonished to see the silhouettes of Nicolay and the other man still there. Just drinking and smoking away. So if they were there, then who the hell was driving the boat? Was driving even the right word? She went toward the front to the other set of steps and crept up there staying as low as she could but she couldn’t see anyone. She went up another level and then she could see a young man who was indeed driving. She had not seen this man before. Probably another of his employees. She went back down the stairs. Janet needed to figure out where she could hide if need be. The bedrooms had wardrobes which would be big enough to get into. Hopefully she wouldn’t need that. She had pretty much free reign of the boat for the time being.

  After half an hour, the boat slowed down until it came to a complete stop. It now gently bobbed up and down on the calm sea. The man who had been driving shouted something in Russian to Nicolay who shouted something back and then continued to drink and smoke. The moon shone down and reflected off the sea almost blindingly. Well what now? She certainly couldn’t get the painting off the boat now. After a few minutes a klaxon sounded from off to the left and a yacht was approaching them. Then not thirty seconds later, another deeper klaxon and another larger yacht approaching from the other direction. Slowly the two boats pulled up alongside so they were almost touching. They seemed to be about two miles out at sea but not from Nice, they were positioned not far from some smaller coastal town. The lights twinkled in the distance in the moon-lit night.

  From the bedroom, she could see a gang plank being pushed across to join the Still Waters to the flanking boat. Then deep bass beats kicked in above. Was that Swedish House Mafia? Surely, that wasn’t Nicolay’s playlist. She scooted across to the other side of the boat where the other boat had pulled up alongside and leggy women were being helped across another gangplank. She pulled back from the growing party to the smallest bedroom. She could hear people walking above her. Heels on hardwood floors. This was no longer a quiet boat. This was now becoming a very busy boat. She decided she had two choices here. Firstly, she could hide somewhere quiet and hope it all went away or secondly go and join in the party. Letting off steam seemed like a good option at this moment in time. She was hardly dressed for a party though.

  She searched through the wardrobes in the lower bedrooms and underwent a five minute makeover grabbing a pair of black satin leggings and a white silky blouse. Then a pair of bright blue high heels from the bottom of the wardrobe. Manolo Blahniks of course. There was some random make up in the en suite shower room, so she topped up with blusher and eye shadow, then slicked her hair with water and gel. By the look of what she had seen, the party would be full of leggy, scantily clad women hoping to bag themselves a millionaire. Well she didn’t need to worry about that. She’d already bagged her millionaire and his cash. This was different. She wasn’t totally sure what this was. A game. An adventure. Or did she want this? This yacht? This type of money? All of the above? Possibly…

  It was almost midnight now, people were coming through the living area to access the bathroom. She realised she’d been holding it in for quite a while and queued outside the loo just as a girl had gone in. Before long another girl was queueing with her and introduced herself as Alva. She was incredible looking and spoke with lazy Scandinavian accent. She told Janet she passed herself off as Swedish nowadays, but she was actually from just over the water in Riga, Latvia. She was supermodel beautiful with huge hair and high cheekbones; straight from a hairspray advert, dressed not dissimilarly to Janet with a silky blouse which she had pulled off the shoulder on one side. Her denim shorts were so skimpy and Janet would have killed for the gold, high heeled pixie boots.

  “Which boat were you on?” Alva asked her with an inquisitive but friendly smile.

  THIRTEEN

  Two hundred and twenty four days after

  Slightly startled, “Do you know, I can’t remember, they all look the same to me.” laughing, trying hard to sound comfortable and relaxed but knowing it wasn’t happening. She took a second to compose. ‘Think Lamborghini girl’ she told herself and pushed her shoulders back. “What about you? Are you a yacht type?” she asked Alva deflecting the attention from herself.

  “Not really. More of a car girl to be honest. But I’m not your typical girl.”

  At that point, the door to the bathroom opened and the previous occupant left, smiling at the pair of them. “Do you mind if I join?” Alva asked.

  Janet thought for half a second, then nodded with a mischievous smirk. She reminded herself that this other woman was probably quite drunk even though she didn’t particularly sound it. She would need to play catch up.

  “So who you with?” Keep asking questions Janet told
herself, that way she won’t have as much time to question you.

  “I’m with a girlfriend. I’ll introduce you to her. Although she’s after some rich douche bag like she’s on heat. It’s painful. I probably won’t see her again tonight. She does this a lot. ”

  “Who is it she’s after?”

  “Oh, God only knows, but believe me, he’s no looker. Just one of the yacht set that she loves to go out with. I’m glad I’ve met you. I need a dancing partner.” She did a little shimmy as she flushed the loo. “You dance?”

  “Love to but I’m gonna need to catch up on a few drinks first as I’ve not had much to drink and it feels kind of like everyone else is drunk already.” She hadn’t noticed but Alva had a large glass of white wine in her hand. She poured half into a fresh upturned glass which was standing next to the sink and handed it to Janet.

  “Here you go!”

  They finished up and washed, then Alva re-applied some makeup.

  Alva led the way to where an impromptu drinks table had been set up complete with two bar staff.

  “Two large white wines.” Janet said to the younger and hotter of the two bar men finishing up her half glass of wine. They turned to face the party which now filled the two outside rear decks of the Still Waters as well as the rear decks of the two yachts which now made up the flotilla bobbing up and down gently alongside one another. It was a little disconcerting but it kind of added to the excitement.