I strolled over to the rail and gazed down at the port. Myrtle was not the biggest yacht this time, right next to her was a far bigger piece owned by a Russian oligarch and another one, an expedition yacht, owned by a Silicon Valley mogul.
She was still the most friendly.
"Which one would you pick?"
I turned around. An American stood behind me. He was tall and blond and very attractive. He smiled and held out a glass to me.
"Gin Tonic?"
"Sorry, no, I have to drive."
"Too bad. Are you here for the races?"
"The races? The regatta, you mean. Yes."
"Are you a sailing fan?"
"Not a fan really, but I like it well enough."
"I see. Are you Swedish?"
"No, do I sound Swedish to you? I'm German."
"You don't sound German to me, you sound English, but you don't look English."
"Well, I have an English mother."
He took a step closer. "So, which one's your favourite? If you could pick a yacht, which one would you like to own?"
I shrugged.
"You're not very happy, are you? I saw you from across the dance floor standing here all by yourself. I thought you might need some cheering up."
"No, I'm just a little tired."
"For the fun of it. Which one's your fav? I like boats a lot and I could probably tell you everything about the biggies down their and their owners too."
You know me, dear readers… here was a source of information!
"I like the old one best."
"The Myrtle?"
"Yes. She's friendly and round. The other boats are all alike, you can't tell one from the other."
"I beg to differ, I can tell one from the other. Many yacht buyers want to own a ship with the exterior you see down there, it's what they believe a motor yacht should look like. Very few are open to experimental yachts. They are out there though, you should look them up on the internet. Now the Myrtle's a special case. She's the last of the Zanetti yachts. Some weapons trader had her on the dry and in rugs for forty years. It was like a miracle when she went up for sale. She looked terrible."
"Did you actually see her then?"
"Yes. She look like noah's arc. Full of dust."
I eyed him up from the side. "How come you saw her?"
"Well, I'm a yacht designer and—"
"And your name is Gus."
"What? Wow. How did you know? Wait. Are you here with Ryan?"
I nodded.
"Really! Wow. Wow! This is awkward. Is he here?"
"No. He's not. But when you see a helicopter it's most likely him. He had to go to New York yesterday."
"Is that right? Man, he's so overdoing it. Did he leave you here all on your own?"
"No, I'm with Laetitia."
"That's his sister, right? I never met her."
"She's over there at the table with the Aussies."
"They won the cup here last year."
"Aha."
"Wow, again, sorry for hitting on you, honestly. You looked so forlorn and I thought, maybe… never mind."
"I take it as a compliment."
Laetitia suddenly stood next to me. "I let you out of my sight for one second and here you are, betraying the family with this attractive stranger! Hi, I'm Laetitia. This is my brother's girlfriend, I must advise you."
"We already established this. Hi, I'm Gus, I'm a friend of Ryan's."
"Gus the yacht designer?"
"Guilty as charged."
"Will you come watch the races with us tomorrow? On Myrtle?"
"It's the general idea, yes."
"Cool. — Oh look, Jude! There's the chopper!"
I darted around and saw the helicopter touching down on its perch.
"I believe this means we're going to drive down to the marina at four-hundred mph," Laetitia snickered. "He lets her drive the Bugatti, you see."
"Wow."
"We don't have to go yet," I said. I did not want to seem too eager.
"Keep'em keen," Gus agreed.
"He's keen enough," Laetitia yawned. "I'm tired anyway, Jude, I wouldn't mind calling it a night."
"Well…"
"Isn't she cute? They're very cute. You won't believe your eyes, Gus."
"The anticipation is almost killing me. I leave you ladies and I see you tomorrow on board of the Myrtle."
"Bye, bye!"
"Bye, Gus."
"He's kind of hot…" Laetitia judged when we had boarded the Bug. "But too much like Kyle. These yachting boys are all the same in the end. I think I want an older man now. Someone who loves me more than I love him and who's grateful I want to be with him. He'll have to be rich too."
"Why?"
"Because I'm always afraid they only date me for the money."
"I see."
Ryan was waiting for me on the stern deck. "There's a self-portrait by Tamara de Lempicka. It's called 'Tamara In The Green Bugatti'. The next time it's up for sale, I'll buy it for you. Even if my Bugatti's black."
I got out of the car. Laetitia had already gone inside.
"I know it. It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful."
"Take me to bed, please."
"What do you think I'm here for?"
Eleven
"For Christ's sake, it's unnatural, you're almost forty! Are you hanging on a viagra drip?" Laetitia sat down at the breakfast table.
"I'm not. Forty."
"Who's the man in cabin three?"
"Jacob Weinberg. He's my asset manager."
"Why's he here?"
"Because he has to do something for me and I want to look over his shoulder while he does it. A far better question is, why are you still here? Aren't you supposed to go off to Berlin?"
"I'll go tomorrow, they're not at home yet."
"They're on Sylt," I explained.
"The beach polo place?"
"Yes."
"I wish I were gone, honestly, I can think of better things than listening to the two of you tearing down the walls. Why are the cabins not sound proof?"
"It wouldn't have been possible with the old materials. Anyway, I did not buy this ship to host my family but to host myself. What happened to your sleeping pills?"
"I tried with only one but it didn't work. So I listened in. Poor Mr. Weinberg, to work while his boss is munching his blonde houri next door."
"He makes ten-million dollars a year, he's not poor at all."
"Maybe you should date him, Laetitia," I suggested.
"Is he handsome?"
Ryan put down his coffee cup, visibly annoyed. "No, but he's very good at his job and, it may surprise you to hear, he's also your asset manager, dear sister mine."
"Gosh. I never knew. — Hey, what's going on down there?"
Somebody shouted. I stood up and turned around to see what was going on at the jetty below us. As always, we were berthed in a restricted area but some tourist must have overlooked or ignored the sign. Somehow he must have slipped the watchmen by the gate. He was busily taking photographs of the Supernova, the four-hundred feet long Russian yacht moored alongside Myrtle. One of the Supernova's security personnel was shouting at him but he did not react. The regatta was in full swing and music and sponsor information echoed from the venue's loudspeakers.
The American yacht's security had also become aware of the intruder. When he turned to take a picture of the Bijou X, they addressed him via their own speakers.
"Sir, we must ask you to step away from the vessel."
He did not react. He probably spoke no English.
"Si allontani dalla nave!" came the command in Italian. Still, no reaction. He was completely focused on his camera. Our own strong-arms, in this case Sean and Philipp, sauntered across the lower aft deck, waiting for the tourist's next move. If he came too close to Myrtle, they would make themselves known as well.
I saw the Russians lowering their gangway. The Supernova had far more bodyguards than we had. Four o
f them stood ready to disembark.
The tourist was a stocky man of maybe sixty with a full-beard and a sunhat. He wore sandals and socks with it. Sandals and socks? This could mean only one thing. It was my cue.
"Hallo! He! Sie dürfen hier nicht fotografieren! Gehen Sie hinter die Schranke zurück!" I called out to him in German, telling him he was not allowed to take pictures and that he should move back behind the boom.
"Wie bitte? Ich kann Sie so schlecht verstehen!"
A German tourists, I had known it. He said he could not understand what I had said.
"Hauen Sie ab!" I yelled. Get lost!
It was not the most polite way of saying it but four Russian paramilitaries were on their way to him. He looked around, beheld them and realised too late they were coming for him.
"No photos?" He held out a hand and began to disable his camera when one of the Russians tore it from his hands and tossed it into the water.
"He! Meine Kamera!"
"No!" I shrieked.
Another Russian grabbed him by the arms from behind. They lifted him up and carried him off the pier.
"Ryan, they can't just destroy the man's property, someone must call the police!"
"Calm down, darling, they're doing their jobs." Ryan and Laetitia had watched the scene with me.
"What did you say?"
"They're authorised to protect the vessel. Gregory has three children on board. Imagine the man was a kidnapper or a terrorist."
"He was an elderly tourist! He could have been my dad."
"If you had a child and twelve billion pounds, would you let strangers get this close to your boat, taking a hundred photographs? There have even been pirate attacks in the Bay of Naples. He might have been spying for them. Seriously, I'd ask our lads to do just the same."
"You would? Good to know." I felt downright nauseous.
Who did these people think they were and what did they think they could do to other people? The worst thing was, they really could do it, they could buy the permission, they could pay the lawyers, pay the fees, pay, pay, pay.
"I'm not hungry anymore." I walked away from the others and down the stairs to the cabin deck. I went into my own little refuge and locked the door. Nobody came after me.
I sat down on my bed and looked out of the half opened window. Right next to me was the Supernova and another half opened window. A stunningly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties stood in it with a baby in her arms. She saw me and waved.
"Hi, I'm Irina!"
"I'm Jude."
"Sorry about what happened there, I saw you were upset." Her English was excellent, with only a slight tinge of Eastern Europe.
"Yes… I didn't think it was right how your security handled the situation."
"I agree. But they are what they are, ex-military. We have been so worried recently. They are on alert. My husband, he's not a fan of certain developments at home. We live in London, not Moscow. They overreact. But with the children here, Gregory has ordered tight measures. I don't understand why the man could get past the guards by the pier. There should be controls. We pay so much for it, just to be left in peace." She looked stressed and tired.
"I understand."
The baby started to cry.
"Sorry, I have to feed her. It was nice to meet you, Jude."
"Bye."
She closed the window and disappeared.
I wondered, if I was her, how would I feel? Married to a man rich beyond belief who was involved in politics, if I was the mother of three little children, in a place where organised crime was not unheard of?
I could not imagine it.
In my world, there was no imminent danger of kidnappings or piracy. As a child I had been taught not to go with strangers and not to accept anything from them either. We once had burglars trying to break into my parents' house. They were met by the two Great Danes we used to have then, Bobby and Mausi, and ran away faster than their feet could carry them. We never had expensive cars or valuable paintings at home and we did not own any jewellery.
In this world, in Ryan's world, things were different. Myrtle looked harmless enough and even though we only had four real security guards who worked in shifts, Myrtle had guns aboard and not too few, enough for the entire crew and passengers, if need be. Ryan had a safe by his bed which would open to his thumb print and there was a pistol in it. Since it had not been possible to secure the cabins one by one for the same reasons it had not been possible to make them sound proof, the entire cabin deck could be locked down with steel curtains within four seconds
How would I feel if it really were me? Because right now, it was not. I was on a holiday in a world which had nothing to do with myself, I did not identify with it at all. But if I stayed with Ryan I would have to come to terms with this reality, would I not?
I thought of him as he had been the night before. He had fallen asleep with his head had resting on my chest and he had held on to me in his slumber. It had brought tears of happiness to my eyes. Two weeks are a short time when you first get to know somebody, but two weeks of living together on a boat were a different thing. During our nine days without having sex, we had actually got to know each other quite well, as humans, not as lovers. The rhythms, the gestures, the little things, you know, how does he hold a cup, how does he type an email, how does he talk to his employees, when does he go to bed, what does he look like when he sneezes. It had been our own private laboratory. Now, I somehow felt our world had been broken up by the outside. By the lifestyle and the people. I wanted to go back into isolation with him, be alone with him and look at him the whole day long, make love to him whenever and wherever I wanted, without anybody listening in or working next door.
I stood up and left my cabin.
I found Laetitia by the pool reading the Vogue. "Where's Ryan?"
"At the bow, I think, watching the race."
"Thanks."
I made my way around the boat and found him standing at the utmost tip, where the rails came together in a peak.
I climbed over the ropes and rings and walked up to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He was wearing the white t-shirt he had worn on our harbour cruise with Heidi, on the day we had first made love. I inhaled his scent. "Can we go somewhere? Only the two of us? I want you all to myself."
"Gus should be here in half an hour."
"Afterwards?"
"Yes. — Buttercup, I also did not think it was right how they did it, but they had to do it, do you understand?"
"Yes. I think I do. Let's not talk about it, please, and stand still because I have to nuzzle you for a while."
"Go ahead."
Gus came and went. He proved to be pleasant company. I was happy to see there was at least one sensible person in Ryan's life.
There was Jacob Weinberg too, of course, but he was more of a walking calculator crossed with a retriever who ran back and forth from his cabin to the deck, carrying documents.
In his hands, not in his muzzle.
At 2.30 pm, Ryan had the crew lower a tiny speedboat into the water and we started on our excursion, heading west. I relaxed as soon as we left the loud marina behind.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Surprise…"
I yawned. "How long is Jacob going to stay?"
"Only until tomorrow. Once he's gone and Titia's gone we'll be on our own again and I'm going to take you so hard the boat is going to fall apart."
"Poor Myrtle! — Were we so loud last night?"
"You were…"
I smiled. "You had me in a deadly grip"
His right hand left the wheel and settled between my legs. "Like this?"
"It was more all-encompassing. Shouldn't you have both hands on the wheel?"
"I'll manage."
We were met by several boats on our way to wherever we were going.
"Ah, the grotto gang is going home," Ryan declared, clearly satisfied.
"The who?"
"We're going to a special place
. Normally it's a tourist trap, but we're still in the off season. At this time of year they don't bother to stay after the peak time. The sailors are only interested in the regatta and they won't come here anyway. I had counted on it. The sea conditions are good, so we can go in."
"In where?"
"You'll see."
He directed the boat towards a rock and turned off the engine. He had brought oars and he rowed towards an opening, no larger than six feet.
"Duck your head."
"Are you sure we can go in there?"
"Yes, yes. Duck your head."
I ducked and closed my eyes.
"Are we through yet?"
"Yes, you can come up."
I opened my eyes.
We were in a large cave and the water surrounding us was illuminated by a magical blue light. It was also reflected from the rocks above us.
"Welcome to the Grotta Azzurra."
I gaped. I had never seen anything as beautiful as this in my entire life. For a moment I thought I was in a dream.
"There's another opening further down in the rock through which the sunlight enters and makes the water glow. We can swim in it too, if you like."
"Yes…" I breathed.
We eased ourselves into the water. It was soothing and calm. I held on to Ryan and we kissed for long time. When a little wave interrupted us, he smiled in that earth shattering way of his, threw his head back and howled like a wolf. It echoed from the walls.
I laughed and swam a few feet away from him to paddle about and inspect the cave.
"Do you know who you look like?" he asked.
"Charlize Theron? Scarlett Johansson? Brigitte Bardot?"
"Smurfette."
"What?" I fumed in mock rage. "I'll never let you near my blue grotto again!"
"I think you will."
"Never!"
"Yes. You will. Right now."
We returned to Myrtle shortly before dinner.
"When are we going to leave Capri?" I asked when we entered the marina.
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