Cate nodded. Once they left the marina, Catwalk II was no longer a floating luxury hotel but a proper boat which had to obey the laws of the sea. She helped herself to a bottle of ice-cold water from the fridge in the salon and set to work.
At around eight, Marcus made an appearance in the galley and began to cook breakfast. Pretty soon the irresistible smell of frying bacon wafted out to the decks and Cate suddenly realised that she was ravenous. Ten minutes later, she and Bill sat cross-legged on the top deck in companionable silence, munching their way through a huge fried breakfast, all washed down with a large mug of tea.
Through the railings, Cate could see shoals of tiny silvery fish darting in and out of mooring ropes and knobbly brown strands of seaweed. The sky was already a deep unbroken blue and the dew that had formed overnight had burned off from even the shaded areas of the deck.
‘It’s going to be a hot one,’ said Bill, putting his plate to one side.
Bill smiled at her and suddenly Cate felt a surge of contentment. Yesterday’s events seemed like a dream, as if they had happened to another person.
Wendy came on deck, clutching a mug of coffee. ‘Great dancing last night, Bill,’ she grinned wickedly. ‘Amazing shapes. But did you have to tread on all my toes?’
‘Typical Yarpie, always blaming someone else for their misfortune,’ said Bill good-humouredly. ‘It’s just the same with cricket.’
Wendy rolled her eyes at Cate who grinned at them both. Bill and Wendy were such a good match, she thought, but of course neither of them realised it. Maybe one day.
At ten a.m. precisely, with no sign of life from Nancy, Jules or Lulu, Bill fired up the engines once more, and with immaculate precision the huge boat began to edge out of its mooring.
It was an agonisingly slow process and it had to be. Six million pounds’ worth of yacht, with another six million moored on either side, meant that one false move, one tiny scratch or dent, could cost the insurers a small fortune and probably Bill his job. But Bill knew what he was doing and soon the boat had safely left her neighbours and was nosing away from the ancient harbour and out to sea.
Cate was just texting Arthur their code when she heard a voice close by. ‘Look behind you.’ Marcus had come to join her up on the bow, a white baseball cap tipped over his eyes and a mug of tea in his hand.
‘Cate, I’ve passed on to Henri all the information you discovered yesterday. Let’s just say that what you told us has helped us to fit together a few more pieces of the puzzle.’ Marcus was speaking quietly and urgently.
‘There’s more. The group we had under surveillance – the thugs who put Andrei in a coma – chartered a helicopter first thing this morning. And guess what?’ He didn’t wait for an answer but continued grim-faced. ‘That same helicopter landed in a hotel garden in St Tropez just over thirty minutes ago. Make no mistake, we aren’t headed to St Tropez purely for pleasure. Someone on the Catwalk II has a spot of business to do as well. The question is, who?’
‘Nancy,’ said Cate immediately. ‘It’s her boat and she calls the shots.’
‘She’s the obvious one,’ agreed Marcus. ‘But let’s keep an open mind. Anyone could have put the idea into her head last night. Anyone.’
‘You want me to find out who.’ It was a statement from Cate, not a question.
‘Thanks, Cate.’ Marcus sounded relieved. ‘I know you’ve done so much already but you’re just not going to arouse suspicion in the way I will. And let’s face it – you’re a natural.’
Cate cringed and pulled a face. She loathed being buttered up.
‘OK, OK,’ said Marcus, reading her expression with uncanny accuracy. ‘Well, you are a natural, but let’s be honest, I want you to do a job for me that I just can’t do.’
‘That’s better,’ said Cate, grinning.
‘I’m stuck on the boat preparing food for tomorrow. Nancy and Tass have got a stack of friends coming on board for the day. But with any luck, you’ll be free to go ashore once we’ve arrived,’ Marcus carried on in a low voice. ‘If I get a chance, I’ll get back and search her room again. You must try to keep an eye on who wants to rush off the boat and find out where they’re headed. Don’t discount anyone, but keep an especially close eye on Nancy.’
Marcus’s tone suddenly changed. ‘Next time, if you want a cup of tea you’ll have to come and get it yourself,’ Marcus said, laughing. ‘Worth coming up here for the view.’ He nodded to Bill who had suddenly appeared just a few metres away from Cate. How long had he been standing there?
Cate suddenly laughed to herself. Bill spying on them? Lovely Aussie Bill, working for the bad guys? Not likely. She was getting paranoid.
Two hours later, with Nancy still showing no sign of emerging from her suite, the rumble from the engines slowed and quietened. Catwalk II was heading into St Tropez harbour.
Cate had heard and read so much about this beautiful French port – had even seen photographs and paintings – but nothing could have prepared her for her first sight of the town in real life.
Unlike Antibes, there was no fort perched high on a hill, no grim stone walls, not even an enclosed marina to block the view. Instead, the curved harbour came to meet the open sea, revealing pastel pink, green and beige buildings that stood red-tiled against a searing blue sky.
Then, as Catwalk II edged closer, Cate could see the prows of the gleaming yachts that were crammed, rear end first, into every centimetre along the wooden-fronted harbour.
Between the yachts and the tall, elegant buildings which huddled together around the open harbour, lay the cobbled quayside, where restaurants and bars spilled out almost down to the water’s edge. Soft top sports cars – Bentleys, Lamborghinis and the odd, lowly Porsche – were parked, presumably whilst their owners enjoyed a few hours wandering between the cafés and the shops.
Just as Cate was wondering if Nancy would ever emerge to enjoy the sights, she made her entrance into the salon.
As usual, Nancy looked amazing. Her lime and orange summer dress was cut on the bias and flounced out from the bodice into a tulip skirt. The matching head band with tails drifting down her back would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but on Nancy, with her height and figure, she simply looked as if she had stepped out of a Sixties film.
Only the diamond-studded phone clamped to her ear spoilt the illusion, not helped by the fact that she was barking down it in her all too familiar Essex accent.
‘Pierre, you are a god . . . no, you are a god.’ Nancy was clearly in full charm mode. ‘We’ll be with you by one, I promise, promise, promise, promise and can I please, please, please, darling, have that table under the big tree right by the beach. You know the one.’ There was silence. ‘Pierre, darling, I love that table, you know I do.’ There was another silence. ‘Franc who? What movie? God, that was years ago. I wasn’t even born then. Can’t you move them? Tell him I’ll buy him champagne, give him an autograph, a kiss, whatever.’ There was a pause, then Nancy played her final card. ‘Tass is meeting me there and you know how he loves that table.’ Another silence and then a scream of delight. ‘Pierre, I adore you more than my mother, I swear it. Half an hour and we’ll be moored up. I can’t wait to give you the biggest kiss ever.’ Nancy shut her phone, heaved a sigh of relief and threw her arms around the nearest person, who happened to be an astonished Cate. ‘We’re in!’ she said. ‘That Pierre, he never can resist me.’
‘Le Ricochet?’ Lulu asked Nancy.
Nancy nodded, her eyes shining.
Half an hour later, the boat was out of the harbour and rounding the coastline into Pampelonne Beach. One hundred metres out from land, the sea resembled a massive floating parking lot as at least thirty large yachts, many of them dwarfing Catwalk II, jostled for room to drop an anchor.
Most of them had helipads, all carried jet skis and had speed boats moored up alongside them. As they sailed slowly alongside one particularly huge yacht, Cate spotted two men on the top deck playing tennis on what looked like a fu
ll-sized court. She shook her head. This really was beyond awesome.
Suddenly the Catwalk II engines slammed into reverse thrust, the boat slowed gradually to a standstill and then Cate heard a rattle from far beneath her as the ten tonne anchor plummeted on its hefty chain down onto the sea bed below them.
With the engines cut for the first time in three hours, there was an overwhelming sense of peace and silence, broken only by the sound of waves splashing gently onto the hull of the boat and the hum of chat and laughter coming from the shoreline.
Cate saw a small, deep lilac speedboat, nosing its way out from the beach pontoon towards the Catwalk II. Pierre had obviously been keeping an eye out for them. Nancy appeared on the middle deck, applying last-minute lipstick and smelling of expensive perfume, trailed by Jules and Lulu who were both dressed in white linen, so bright that it hurt Cate’s eyes just to look at them.
‘Cate, you’re coming with us,’ Nancy said, much to Cate’s surprise. ‘I want a lovely, big table full of happy, smiling people.’ She stuck her head through into the inner deck where Bill was now chatting and joking with Wendy. ‘You too, guys,’ she said.
‘OK,’ said Bill, coming back outside, ‘but I’ll take our own boat just in case there are any problems and I have to come back to Catwalk II quickly. I’ll follow you to the restaurant.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ Nancy wasn’t interested in the details.
Lulu, standing behind her, turned to Cate and looked her up and down. ‘You look like a cleaning lady,’ she said with her usual charm. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to know it, but Le Ricochet happens to be one of the most exclusive restaurants in the entire world. People wait for months just to get a table. You’ve got two minutes to go and make yourself look respectable.’
Bullying always made Cate want to fight back and this time was no exception. She would show Lulu. Back in her cabin she leapt into the shower for thirty seconds to freshen up then, whilst she dried, opened her tiny wardrobe, scanned it and quickly settled on a pair of lemon capri pants and her one expensive top, a short asymmetrical Jil Sander kaftan that Monique had passed on to her.
She quickly undid her ponytail and stuck her head upside down to brush out her thick blond hair. She just had time for a quick flick of mascara, a slick of her favourite pink lip-gloss and a squirt of perfume and to grab her rucksack, then she was running back up to the deck just as the tender from Le Ricochet came alongside the Catwalk II.
‘You look lovely, Cate,’ said Wendy, cool and elegant in a three-quarter-length baby blue kaftan.
‘Sure does,’ said Marcus, who had just appeared. Even Nancy gave her an appreciative nod, although predictably Lulu shot her a filthy look.
Who cares? thought Cate. I’m getting used to your little ways and they don’t bother me any more, you miserable old bag. She giggled to herself as the small group, headed by Nancy, stepped one by one from the rear of the large yacht into the little boat.
‘Welcome aboard.’ The boatman seemed genuinely delighted to see them, greeting them with smiles and hand kisses as they boarded his vessel.
As she looked over towards the fast approaching beach, Cate shivered, part in excitement and part in fear. She had crossed a boundary now, from interested bystander to a player in an increasingly sinister investigation. The next few hours could see her world changed forever.
CHAPTER 9
Clearly Nancy could hardly contain her excitement, craning her neck and even jumping up from her seat to try to get a better view ahead. Finally, she could bear it no longer.
‘Will Pierre be there to meet me?’ she asked the boatman. ‘Does he know I’m here?’
Cate cringed with embarrassment, but either the boatman had impeccable manners, or he had heard it all a thousand times before. ‘Madame Nancy,’ he said smoothly, ‘Pierre is beside himself with excitement at your coming. It is an honour. See, here he is on the pontoon.’
Cate looked at a tall, middle-aged man who was standing on the wooden jetty which was now just metres away from them. His thick, dark hair was turning grey, but his body looked fit and toned and even from this distance you could see he had an air of supreme confidence. This was a man in charge of his kingdom.
He stood still until the tender came alongside and then strode over to extend a hand to Nancy as she jumped, dangerously quickly, from the boat onto the pontoon.
‘Darling Pierre,’ she shrieked, throwing her arms around his neck and depositing lipstick kisses all over his tanned face. ‘It’s been too long. You’re looking so gorgeous, there should be a law against it. I am just so, so, so, so excited to see you.’
Cate watched in admiration as, with precise charm and politeness, Pierre allowed himself to be embraced for just the right length of time before extracting himself gently and without causing any offence.
‘Welcome to you all,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Le Ricochet. Your table is waiting.’ And with that, the group was whisked onto the hot beach, up past the sunbathing customers and through a low wooden gate into the restaurant garden.
The place was breathtaking in its simplicity. Tables, some for two, some for twenty, all covered in pure white and deep blue tablecloths were dotted around underneath olive and eucalyptus trees. Each of the tables was set, immaculate glassware shining and silver cutlery gleaming. Above the tables, fairy lights were strung from the trees and, in the far corner of the garden, a woman was playing gentle jazz on the piano. It was utterly perfect and Cate, who had seen some fabulous places in her time, thought she had never been anywhere so beautiful in her life.
Many of the tables were already filling up with wealthy middle-aged couples, large beautifully turned-out family groups and, of course, those who were clearly in the throes of romance. As Cate looked around, she suddenly got the extraordinary sensation that she knew many of the lunch guests. She corrected herself hastily. She didn’t actually know them. It was just that she had seen them so many times, on TV and in newspapers and magazines, that they felt as familiar to her as her own family.
The first celebrity she spotted was a very leathery, very lecherous former Italian Prime Minister. True to form he was surrounded by a gaggle of nubile girls not much older than Cate, one of whom was feeding him a strawberry.
Over in the far corner sat a well-known golfer with his teenage sons and latest wife being entertained by a very lively BBC sports commentator who was clearly doing most of the talking. Across from him a former British cabinet minister only had eyes for a young Hollywood actress who was laughing uproariously at all his jokes. Cate passed by a larger table and realised it held six members of the past and present England football team. They were drinking sparkling mineral water, playing on their PSPs and somehow finding them more exciting than the persistent attentions of a group of stunning French girls who were giggling on the table next to them.
If she was impressed by her fellow celebrities, Nancy wasn’t about to show it. In any case, she had an entrance to make. Following Pierre to her table, she sailed through the garden, pushing out her chest and wiggling her hips as she went, now and again stopping to give someone she knew a wave, or if they were really lucky, a kiss. PSPs were dropped, and even the aged Italian lothario suddenly ignored the pouting beauties at his table.
Pierre led them to what was undoubtedly the best table in the restaurant. Set right by the low fence that separated the beach from the garden, it was shaded by a gently rustling orange tree and had a spectacular view out over the bay and to the boats beyond.
Waiting for them was Tass, who, as Nancy strutted towards him, was looking rather like the cat who had got the cream. A very hungry-looking Mikey was chewing glumly on breadsticks and Ahmed was as morose as ever.
‘Good table, Nancy,’ said Tass, as she sashayed into the seat next to him and leant over for a long lingering kiss before helping herself to the stuffed olives on his plate. ‘But do we really need to be joined by your entire staff?’
‘Oh, darling,’ said Nancy, sounding not at all put
out. ‘If you want this table you have to have a large group. Everyone knows that. Pierre won’t put a table for two here, not even for me.’ She smiled brightly around the table. ‘Wendy, you order, babe. Fish, pasta, whatever.’
Cate was sure that she saw Pierre wince. ‘Nancy,’ he said suavely. ‘I must go and oversee the kitchen. I’ll send Jacques over to you and I’ll be back to see you in an instant.’
The group devoured the antipasti, which was followed by the catch of the day – a huge plate of salt-encrusted roasted snapper set in a small sea of sparkling prawns – followed by fresh paw paws, mango, strawberries and blueberries with a delicate vanilla and Cointreau flavoured cream.
The feast finally over, the group began a hot debate on whether or not to move to the sun loungers on the beach.
‘You guys make up your minds,’ said Bill, getting up from the table. ‘In the meantime, I’ve got some errands to do in the town – bits for the engines, that sort of thing. I’ll love ya and leave ya.’ And with that, he strode off.
Cate tried to look casual but inside her heart was racing. Was anyone else going to make their excuses and leave? Was Bill really off on an innocent errand, or was he up to something more sinister? She looked around the table. Nancy, Tass and Wendy, followed by the two bodyguards, were already starting to make their way down to the beach to settle on the sun loungers. Clearly they weren’t going anywhere else anytime soon. And Lulu? Cate watched as she moved to a small chair in the shade of a tree, took out a book from her handbag and started reading. It looked like she too had little intention of moving for the rest of the afternoon, or was that just for show? But just as Marcus had suggested might happen, someone was leaving the group. And that someone was Bill. She had to make a decision fast.
‘I’ve never been to St Tropez before,’ said Cate. ‘I think I might pop off and explore a little if that’s OK.’
Wendy nodded vaguely at her over her shoulder but no one else in the party seemed to care either way.
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