‘And what would husband number two ideally be like?’ she asked.
‘The opposite of Sam.’
The words flew out of my mouth. I waited for guilt or regret to take over at my impulsive urge to tell the truth for once, but it didn’t happen.
‘Sam aside, I’m curious as to why you are working on this ship,’ she said, before quickly adding, ‘Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good butler. You’d be surprised how many aren’t. It’s an underestimated skill to be in the right place, at the right time, when a guest needs something, yet discreetly disappear when they want to be left alone. What did you do before?’
‘Sam is pretty much the only reason I’m working here. It’s practically impossible to get work as a couple,’ I say. ‘Let alone be on the same ship at the same time, and on top of that, to get any decent length of time off together. So, if I want to be with Sam, then I take the jobs I can. I was a travel agent before.’
‘And is it worth it? How long do you plan to continue this lifestyle, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘I don’t know for how much longer,’ I said truthfully. ‘Did you work?’
‘Mostly volunteer work, fundraising, hospitals, helping out at the children’s school when they were younger.’
‘I volunteered at some local dog kennels for a short while. I loved it.’
So true. And, in that moment, I wondered if I hadn’t met Sam, if I hadn’t developed my expensive tastes, would I perhaps have settled down and been content with the ordinary things in life? Yet, still, despite the self-awareness, I knew that there was no going back. The ship to a more simple life had most definitely sailed.
But suddenly, my pleasant evenings with Alexandra came to an abrupt end. There had been no advance warning that she was tiring of me.
‘I’m going to the theatre,’ she told me one evening. ‘Then the casino.’
The following day she was busy, and the day after that. Sam and I had yet to agree on a target and time was slipping by.
We docked in Falmouth. I had been given extra work duties because another butler had sprained his ankle. Sam didn’t seem concerned.
‘I’m taking Alexandra for lunch,’ he said, naming a restaur- ant with stunning views of the ocean.
Double betrayal hit. Sam and Alexandra. I felt sick, right down deep inside my stomach.
‘I said no,’ I told him. ‘She’s not right.’
Sam ignored me. I followed him out onto the deserted deck towards the bow. Most of the passengers had already disembarked.
‘I said no!’
I felt fiercely protective of her.
Sam pushed me away and I slapped him around the face, not caring that we were out on deck, not caring if anyone saw. He pushed me against the railings, deliberately and slowly, so as not to make it obvious what he was doing. He then held my head down so that I was staring into the sea. I thought of Colin as I focused on the waves lapping against the sides of the ship so far below. I wondered what my final thoughts would be if Sam ever decided to get rid of me in a way that made it look like an accident.
‘Without me,’ he said in my ear, ‘you’re nothing. Don’t forget that. You don’t get to change the rules. You don’t get to decide. I don’t want to partner with someone who isn’t fun any more. Someone who’s lost her edge.’
My ears stung as he tugged the earrings out of them. Rubies. He put them in his pocket.
‘I’ve been too generous,’ he said. ‘You demand too much. You’re sucking the life out of me.’
As I watched him walk away, I knew I couldn’t pretend any more. My stomach was permanently in knots. Sleep wouldn’t come easily; food lodged in my throat.
But how could I tell him I wanted to leave while we were trapped on board together? And when? I had been in denial for too long. It was time to come up with some plans of my own. So I began preparing for the end.
TWENTY-TWO
Now
I have under two weeks to find out who thinks I deserve to die unless I come up with a fortune as we travel from island to island, port to port. Sam might be waiting for me in Barbados – at JJ’s house – having hidden away on his friend’s superyacht to make it there. If I can hold on until then, I believe I will find answers.
Meanwhile I am stuck on board this yacht wrapping gifts on behalf of Thomas when what I really need to be doing is finding out who is behind the threats. And why. Every time fresh fear rises, every time I look out at the vast horizon, the same questions go around in my head. Why is someone so certain that I have a secret million pounds stashed away?
I wrap the presents as quickly as I can. Once I finish tying ribbon around the gifts, I break for lunch.
Out on the pool deck, Lucy is sitting on a purple yoga mat in the shade.
Garth is lifting free weights. His biceps bulge. He places them down, waves hello and takes a long sip of water, tipping his head back.
At the bar, Arabella and Sebastian are sipping cocktails. I take a seat at one of the smaller tables, shaded from the sun.
‘Water? Cocktail? Fruit platter? Chicken or seafood salad?’ asks a smiley crew member. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a neat ponytail. She is barefoot, her toes painted crimson.
This normal day-in-paradise scene feels surreal, given my situation.
‘Water, please. And I’ll take a chicken salad.’
Lucy rolls up her yoga mat and comes over to join me.
‘How was your first morning working with Thomas?’
‘Interesting,’ I say. ‘How was yours?’
‘Fairly quiet. Josephine and Alicia came in for a mother-and-daughter pampering session, but they only wanted manicures.’
My chicken salad and water is placed on the table in front of us by the same smiley crew member.
‘What can I get for you?’ she asks Lucy, listing all the options.
While Lucy mulls over her reply, I take the opportunity to ask, ‘How long have you worked on this yacht?’
I intend to speak to everyone on this vessel and get the measure of them.
‘It’s my second season. I love it. Some days I have to pinch myself that this is what I’m being paid to do.’
‘Sounds amazing. Do you know all the crew you’re working with?’
‘Some better than others,’ she smiles. ‘I’ve worked with the captain before. And my boyfriend is one of the chefs.’
Another doomed away-at-sea romance, I think, unkindly. After Sam, it’s hard to believe in love any more.
Lucy selects the same salad as me. As soon as we’re alone again, I turn to her.
‘Can I talk to you about something, please?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’m being stalked. I think they might be watching me now.’
‘Really? Oh my God, how horrible. They would have to be a pretty determined stalker,’ she says. ‘We’re in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. How do you know?’
‘They are determined. Last night there was a note on my pillow.’
‘Someone was in our cabin? Jesus. Do you think it’s Harrison?’
‘No.’
‘It’s a terrifying thought. We should report it to Daniel or the captain.’
Before I can reply, Thomas approaches us. ‘Nice to see you’re hard at work.’
‘It’s my lunch break,’ I say.
‘We’re discussing something personal,’ says Lucy. ‘Charlotte’s ex is missing, and she’s concerned that—’
I shoot Lucy a warning look.
She mouths ‘What?’ at me.
He sighs. ‘Well, I imagine I have a duty of care legally to ask if you’re all right and tell you that I’m here if you need me, but really, I hope this isn’t going to interfere with your work?’
‘No. Anyway, it would be a police matter,’ says Lucy.
Thomas looks concerned.
‘Sounds serious. Now you’re going to have to tell me,’ he says. ‘If there’s anything dodgy going on, I need to know about it.’
‘H
e’s off the scene. There’s nothing much to tell.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ he says. He looks at his watch. ‘Don’t forget that you’re expected back at work as soon as you’ve finished lunch.’
‘Please don’t say anything,’ I say to Lucy, as Thomas walks away.
‘Sure, I understand. My lips are sealed. But I’m always here if you need me.’
I order an iced coffee before I head back to the conference room.
Thomas is already tapping away on his laptop as I push open the door. The air conditioning feels too cold after being out on deck. He says a brief ‘hello’ before he continues typing away.
I sit opposite him and open up an email from Mariella, listing all the quiz questions and requirements for Gina and Garth’s joint hen and stag quiz.
What did Gina want to pursue as a career when she was ten?
How did she and Garth meet?
Garth has equally dull questions. I add in some questions of my own to liven things up before hand-writing them all onto small sheets of paper, rolling them up into mini-scrolls and tying them with red ribbon, as requested. Anyone could do this.
I open my laptop and get my teeth into some real work. There is a polite knock on the door before it opens. A crew member requests that Thomas meets Josephine out on the pool deck. He straightens up from his chair without hesitation.
‘Back in five,’ he says to me. ‘No shirking.’
He leaves his laptop open. I stand up, ostensibly to stretch my legs, but I just can’t resist. Rows of spreadsheet figures. I click, tap and scroll. Expenses. The cost of the extra flowers for the engagement party on the penultimate night alone is illuminating. I should have charged double my fee.
Recruitment. And there I am. He wrote notes after our initial meeting: Well-presented, professional, experienced, enthusiastic, no luxury yachting experience, eager – too eager?! Check references. Unfamiliar names, presumably other candidates’ details, are listed.
I click on his laptop history.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Thomas strides into the room and closes his laptop.
Shit.
‘I was just looking to see if you had updated the itinerary. I overheard Josephine say that she was keen to add Aruba to the list of ports if it was possible.’ True. ‘Sorry, I had no right to look without permission. It won’t happen again.’
‘Do you know how many people would die for a job like this?’
‘I said I’m sorry.’
My apology doesn’t appear to placate Thomas.
I sense him watching me as I do everything he asks: I book tickets for botanical gardens, email horse-riding stables, check out cable-car timetables and match up the dress sizes to the guests for the available fancy-dress costumes. I unwrap new leather handbags from their packaging. Yet, no matter what task I’m doing, I can’t fully concentrate. I keep glancing up. Outside the porthole is nothing but blue sea and blue sky.
We finish mid-afternoon. Lucy is taking a siesta; our cabin is dark. I change into my bikini and pull on a dress. On the pool deck, three women are sunbathing. One is Alicia, the other two are villa staff. I select a lounger as far away from anyone as possible, slide my bag beneath it, remove my glasses and ease myself into the water. It’s more of a plunge pool, not large enough to complete many lengths, but it feels nice to wash off the day after being stuck in a freezing office with Thomas. I lean against the edge and put my arms out to catch some rays. I close my eyes.
I am aware of chatter, discussions about how to dress for dinner. I hear them leave, their voices disappearing inside. By the time I emerge from the water, I am alone. I dry myself before reaching down for my bag. Panic hits. It’s not there. I can’t see properly. I feel around. Nothing. That bag contains everything. I walk over to the bar area where I can see someone polishing wine glasses.
‘Excuse me.’ I hesitate. How best to word it? ‘Do you know if anyone has tidied away my bag? I left it under the sun lounger over there.’ I point.
‘I’ll come and help you look for it,’ he says. ‘I’ve only just got here. You are the only person I have seen so far.’
He walks back with me to the loungers and starts looking beneath them.
‘Is this it?’ he says, holding up my bag.
Relief.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You must have put it beneath a different bed. It’s easy enough to do.’
I put on my glasses and sink down onto a lounger to check the contents of my bag. All there. Thing is, I know where I put it. And then it dawns. Someone wants to mess with my mind.
The man who found my bag returns with a kind smile and a glass of water that he obviously thinks I need, but I don’t see friendliness and good service. Instead, I see a stranger or an old contact of Sam’s. I see someone who could have rummaged through my bag and then lied about it.
Yet, if I keep calm and think straight, it could also be an opportunity.
‘I used to work on cruise ships and I’m wondering, have you worked on yachts for long?’ I ask him.
‘Seven years.’
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘You must enjoy it.’
I used to hate it when people said things like that to me when I worked on ships.
‘Sure beats working for a living.’
‘I can imagine. Have you always worked on smaller yachts or did you ever work on cruise ships?’
He laughs. ‘I wouldn’t call this yacht small,’ he says. ‘Usually I work on smaller ones. But to answer your question – no, I’ve never worked on bigger liners. Too big. Too impersonal.’
‘What about the other crew on here?’ I ask. ‘Do they have cruise-ship backgrounds?’
‘No idea. You’ll have to ask them. I think one of the chefs may have at some point, but again, maybe not. I meet so many people . . .’ He shrugs.
‘Any chance you could show me around? I’m curious.’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’ll have to check with the captain first. Wait here.’
He returns after a minute or two.
‘Follow me,’ he says. ‘I’m Jon, by the way.’
‘Charlotte.’
Although I’m familiar with the guest layout: the gym, the cinema room, the sauna and the lounges, we pass through doors I hadn’t spotted before, including one that states: Crew Access Only. I like walking through it. It feels forbidden and it also makes me feel more at home, more at ease with my role. We walk along a narrow corridor that opens out into a dining area. Five people, four of whom I recognise, sit at a table. Two are wearing crisp, white uniform shorts, sipping from mugs, and the others are in casual clothes.
They hide their surprise, make an effort to say cheery ‘hellos’ but I appreciate that they must feel a little put out that Jon has invaded their sanctuary with a visitor. I wouldn’t have liked it.
‘Hi,’ I say with a smile. ‘Sorry for the interruption. I won’t stay long.’
Jon indicates that I should sit down near the end of the table. The cramped conditions are in complete contrast to the space on the other side of the door. On the wall is a large map and various rules, safety regulations and reminders.
‘Charlotte used to work on cruise ships,’ Jon says.
They look utterly disinterested.
‘I’m working on this trip,’ I say, stating the obvious as some of them have already had to deal with my various requests for scissors, Blu Tack, needle and thread, black marker pens, spare buttons, additions to fancy-dress costumes and other miscellaneous bits and pieces. ‘Sometimes it feels a bit strange, like I’m neither one thing nor the other. I was curious when chatting with Jon about whether I would have worked with any of you in the past or if we had mutual friends. Small world and all that.’ I pause. ‘Sorry. That’s an annoying question.’
I sense a collective thawing towards me.
‘Actually,’ one of the guys says, ‘I did do a season, but it was years ago and I don’t remember anyone in particular. Did you have someon
e in mind?’
‘Sam. Sam Young. A croupier.’ As I say his name, I study all their faces for even a flicker of recognition. There is none. ‘It’s a huge, massive, long shot,’ I say.
Everyone shakes their heads politely.
‘No, doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘Didn’t really come across any of the casino staff.’
‘Are you all permanent crew on this yacht?’ I ask.
‘Pretty much,’ says one man. ‘People come and go, depend- ing on seasons and requirements, but on the whole, we’re a team.’
‘Who is the owner?’ I ask.
I haven’t been able to find that out.
‘He’s rarely on board,’ says Jon. ‘Although his wife often is. Most yacht owners, even the wealthiest, charter out their boats. It costs a daily fortune to keep one running and they barely use it. It’s like a new toy at first, they invite all their friends and family, sometimes separately, if you know what I mean? Some of the things I’ve seen on board are pretty unbelievable and shocking. Not on this yacht though,’ he quickly adds, ‘but then the excitement appears to wear off and the time between their visits gets longer. Once, we all sailed to the south of France, but then the owner changed his mind, he wanted to go to the US Virgin Islands instead, so we sailed back again. This isn’t even the only yacht he owns.’
One of the women throws him a look as if to warn him against speaking out against their employers, past, present or future. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
Jon takes the hint and stands up.
‘I’ll introduce you to the captain before we head back. He’s given permission for me to take you onto the bridge.’
‘Sure,’ I say.
There are mumbles of ‘thanks’ and ‘goodbye’ before we walk out, past a galley, where one of the chefs – Jack, apparently – says a curt hello.
‘Actually,’ I say, once we are out of earshot, ‘before the bridge, would you be able to show me around the rest while it’s quiet and most people are working? I’m curious how it compares to cruise-ship living.’
The Ex-Husband Page 16