The Ex-Husband

by Hamilton, Karen

  ‘No. I just . . . like being with you.’

  ‘You’ll get me sacked.’

  ‘For what?’ he says in a challenging tone.

  ‘I have an idea,’ I say, ignoring his question.

  It’s not a good idea, it really isn’t. I’m in enough trouble as it is but there’s something so irresistible about the forbidden. There just is.

  ‘Fancy a movie?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure,’ he says, a smile creeping over his face.

  If he’s the mystery tormentor and is going to harm me, where better than in the dark? Forewarned feels safer than an unexpected stealth attack.

  Half an hour later, the rocking and the swaying feel worse, but I am cocooned in the darkness, sitting beside Harrison watching a James Bond movie.

  ‘Did you know that you can stay in the villa where Ian Fleming wrote about James Bond in Jamaica?’ he says. ‘I looked it up. It has its own private beach and you have your own dedicated butler and resident staff, a bit like on here, but even more exclusive. It sounds like pure heaven. The pictures of the building and grounds are like a film set. It’s a dream of mine to stay there one day but I would have to be a lot richer than I am now.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Do you wish you were wealthier?’

  ‘I will have to marry a rich woman,’ he laughs.

  ‘That rules me out then.’

  He looks as if he has something to say, but then refocuses on the screen, his face lit up by the flickering images. He looks so harmless.

  We are plunged into light as the closing credits roll.

  ‘Charlotte?’ Thomas’s voice calls out. ‘A word, please? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  ‘I’ll catch you another time,’ I say to Harrison.

  I step out into the corridor, blinking from the light.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘He wanted to watch a movie,’ I said. ‘I was the last person standing. Everyone else had taken to their beds. What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Just be careful,’ he says. ‘Harrison doesn’t think sometimes.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Just keep your distance. Like you’ve been asked.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I say.

  Annoyed at his attitude, I wait until he walks upstairs before I go down to knock on Mariella’s door under the pretext that I am checking on everyone to see if they are all right.

  She opens the door and doesn’t seem surprised to see me.

  ‘Do you need any sea-sickness pills?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m fine. The yacht crew have already given me some.’

  ‘Excellent. May I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She stands back to let me walk past her. I sit down and look around her suite. She is untidy; clothes are strewn everywhere.

  ‘Tea? Coffee? Champagne?’ she asks.

  I notice that there is already a half-empty bottle of champagne on the side, along with a glass.

  ‘Go on, I’ll join you.’

  ‘I know it’s a mess,’ she says. ‘But it’s my first time away from the children – properly away. They had school and are flying to the villa in Barbados with my husband, so it’s not long until I see them. My husband and I . . .’ She trails off.

  ‘I’m not going to say anything,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to say that I saw you with the captain.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate your discretion. It’s very complicated, truly it is. Tim could lose his job if our relationship became common knowledge. Plus, there’s all sorts of problems it would cause for my family if my husband found out.’

  ‘It’s honestly none of my business,’ I say. True. ‘But if I’ve figured it out, what about the rest of the crew?’

  ‘Tim and I are discreet,’ she says.

  Not that discreet, I want to say.

  ‘I’m hardly without my secrets myself,’ I say. ‘Harrison and I had a fling years ago, but he’s asked me to keep it quiet.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  I see her taking it in, mulling over what type of position it puts her in, friendship-with-Josephine-wise. I believe it puts us on a more level playing field, which makes what I’m about to do next much easier.

  ‘Yes, water under the bridge. Thing is,’ I say, taking a sip of too-warm champagne, ‘I’m in a bit of a difficult situation.’

  ‘Yes?’ She sounds guarded, afraid of what I’m going to ask.

  ‘I would love to know a little more about Thomas. And of course, it goes without saying, it goes no further . . .’

  She hesitates.

  ‘I’m not asking for deep, dark secrets,’ I say. ‘Nothing untoward. I just wondered how long he has been working for Josephine?’

  ‘Oh, gosh, I don’t know. Years. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m wondering how much influence he has over her, to be honest. The reason being is because I’m hoping to get more work from Thomas in future, and I really can’t figure out what makes him tick. He seems a little intense at times.’

  ‘Let’s see . . .’ Mariella says. ‘He seems very loyal. He’s good at being around when you need him, then disappearing when you don’t.’

  ‘What have the other people who have worked with him been like?’

  ‘Oh, they vary a great deal,’ she says. ‘Not everyone lasts long. He has another assistant who normally accompanies him, but she was unavailable for this trip.’

  ‘He’s a hard taskmaster,’ I say.

  I’m about to start probing some more, seeing if I can get her to open up a bit more about Harrison, Josephine and some of the others, but we are interrupted by Annie, one of the villa staff, bringing in an iPad for Mariella ‘to say hello to the children’.

  Annie exchanges pleasantries with the children’s other nanny at home before blowing kisses at the screen and handing the tablet over to Mariella.

  I stand up to leave, my legs feeling slightly wobbly despite the storm having blown over. As I walk towards the door, I see a photo in a frame. It’s Mariella, with a man and four children, all grinning, on board the very same superyacht in Monaco that Sam and I visited. I frown to myself and look closer. The man, Mariella’s husband, is Sam’s friend, Owen.

  He is my biggest link to Sam yet, my strongest clue that Sam is alive and somehow behind all of this. Not only were they friends, they went back a long way. Owen is wealthy enough to hire whomever he wants, especially if Sam persuaded him. It means that any one of the crew could be watching me. I feel more vulnerable and watched than ever.

  Mariella waves me goodbye, clearly eager for me to leave.

  I smile back, shutting the door behind me, my mind almost blown.

  It is blown even more when, in my room, the towel art is not a cute animal or sea creature. At first it’s hard to figure it out, but as I study it in detail I realise that it is two towels shaped in the distinct outline of a skull. It has two dark seashells for the eyes and several smaller ones to make up its grinning black teeth.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Now

  Day Five

  Itinerary: Day trip. Fantasy Island (note, not official name). All guests and relevant staff.

  Seven days to Barbados . . .

  Pride dictates that I do my job well. Thomas asks if I can help him out, come up with something fresh and original. I have booked a day on an Island of Fun with its own water theme park. There are fresh and seawater pools, lagoons and waterfalls set among lush gardens for the guests who are looking for something more sedate, and thrillingly steep slides for those who are looking for something more.

  This ticks off practically everything on the collective wishlist. Even Thomas is impressed.

  ‘I’ve never even heard of this place, how did you find out about it?’

  ‘Contacts,’ I say, secretively.

  Mariella, aided by Tim, in truth.

  The wooden railings on the private jetty are decorated with orchids and ribbons. I rip several peta
ls off at random when no one is watching and scatter them into the sea. Beneath coconut palms, we are offered ice-cold towels from silver trays and coconuts with straws for the water. I cradle mine and enjoy the feeling of being away from the yacht. It juts out of the sea like a rock. Impressive as it is, it can’t compare to a cruise ship, where it really is possible to hide away.

  The lagoons are heaven. Cool water sprays off the waterfalls as we are shown to our personal cabanas for the day. I booked individual ones for the entire party, including Lucy, Thomas and the villa staff. I sold it to Thomas as a ‘bonding and thank you’ day, which he in turn sold to Josephine, no doubt, encouraged by Mariella. Either way, it doesn’t matter because it’s win–win. Everyone is happy.

  I order coffee and fruit and share maps of the layout of the slides and island. The villa staff immediately head off for one of the most thrilling slides, one of which has a vertical drop and another transparent one that shoots through a shark tank.

  Once the guests are settled, I walk around on my own and explore. Immediately beyond the sanctuary of the lagoon, it is already busy. Two cruise ships have docked on the other side of the island and the place is heaving with children and teenagers. Only to be expected, but the shrieks and piped music is peace-shattering.

  Upon my return, everyone, apart from Charles, Alicia and Sebastian, who are lying on loungers and reading newspapers, has gone exploring. I pull the curtains around my cabana and sit back, enjoying being off-stage, with no one watching, no one needing attention, and get to work.

  I sift through messages and emails on my tablet. There is one from George, Sam’s father. I click on it with trepidation. George doesn’t believe that Sam would simply disappear and put us through this. He wants to arrange a memorial. I don’t reply. A memorial would add fuel to the idea that Sam is dead and until I know otherwise, I choose to believe that he is alive, that he has a plan and knows exactly what he is doing. There is no other viable option at the moment but to wait this all out.

  Feeling less inhibited than I do on board with my online searches, because there are so many other guests on the island that I don’t think my searches will stand out, I check out what everyone has written and updated online. Garth: nothing. Gina: pictures of sunsets and sunrises. Harrison and Josephine: aerial pictures from their helicopter ride. Mariella is longing to see her children. Norma: pictures from the beach in Grand Turk; ditto most of the others.

  I search for pictures of Mariella’s husband, who, according to her, is with the children and heading for the villa in Barbados. So, Owen is not with Sam, then. There is no mention of her husband’s shady past, only of his multiple charitable donations and fundraising efforts for environmentally friendly companies. The man I met with Sam made no mention of a family. There were no photographs on board his yacht, only silent employees who excelled at fading into the background. I think back to conversations between him and Sam, trying to figure out if we went there for a reason other than a holiday. Nothing stands out, other than their shared history, which could be loyalty enough if Sam was desperate for his help.

  Eventually, I emerge from behind the curtains, determined to find the most deserted pool possible for a decent swim. However, the first person I see is Daniel. I fall into step alongside him. It’s time to have a chat, perhaps get a feel for if he would be able to help me.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine.’ He smiles.

  ‘I didn’t realise that Mariella and her husband own The Cleobella. Have you worked for him before?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I met him once, on a different yacht. I’m curious as to how many yachts one person needs.’

  Daniel laughs. ‘It’s not about need.’

  ‘I get that.’

  ‘How’s it going for you?’

  ‘Fine, except . . .’ I hesitate.

  Daniel doesn’t bite. We stop by the slide with a vertical drop and watch as the horrified and delighted swimmers emerge from the pool, only to rush off to queue up and do it all again.

  ‘I had kind of a stalker before I left home,’ I say.

  ‘A kind of a stalker?’

  ‘Someone threatened me. Someone who has issues with my ex. Honestly, I think they may have followed me here.’

  ‘Here?’ He glances around.

  ‘On the yacht. Or, someone is being paid or encouraged by them to feed back information about me.’

  ‘What evidence do you have?’

  ‘Messages. The last one said they were watching me.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean that they are, although it’s always best to take threats seriously. Did you speak to the police or anyone about it back home?’

  ‘No. It’s hard to talk about it because my ex was . . . complicated and I wasn’t sure if the threats were real at first. Now, it’s just a feeling that I’m being watched.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out,’ he says. ‘Keep all the messages, they may be able to be traced. You can come and get me any time if you’re concerned. Likely as not, they’ll get fed up and move on if it really is your ex, rather than you, they have a beef with. Although, I must say, it’s not really my area of expertise. Mine is more terrorism.’

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ I say with a smile, wondering if I’ve given away too much.

  It feels nice to unburden my worries, just a little. Until I reach Barbados and see JJ, I have to keep my fear bottled up.

  ‘Fancy a go?’ he says, pointing to the slide.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go on,’ he says. ‘I’ll go if you do.’

  I look up to see Lucy. She clambers out of the pool. It’s strange to see her with wet hair and no make-up. I’m so used to seeing her looking immaculate.

  ‘Going to give it a go?’ Lucy says. ‘Or what about the shark one? I’m going to do that next.’

  ‘I don’t like the thought of it,’ I say.

  ‘Feel the fear,’ says Daniel. ‘It’s part of the fun.’

  The three of us walk around to the shark slide, which has the biggest queue. Ahead of us is Thomas, one of the villa chefs and Annie. Further ahead are Josephine, Harrison, Gina and Garth. There is no sign of Mariella. I wonder if she has snuck back to the yacht under some pretext to see Tim while the boat is quieter than usual?

  As we get to the top of the queue, I hear the screams. I want to change my mind but I force myself to keep going. There are ten people in front, then eight, then seven.

  ‘I don’t want to do it,’ I say. ‘I’m walking back down. I’ll take pictures of both of you.’

  Six people, five, four.

  ‘No,’ says Daniel. ‘You’ll regret it. You go first, we’ll all be right behind you.’

  It is my turn and before I have time to talk myself out of it any further, I sit down and I feel a hand on my back before the world drops and I am falling. Specks of dark flash by before I plunge into the pool and feel the sting of water up my nose. I want to get out. Although I know there are no sharks in the landing pool, that they are safely away behind glass, it’s messing with my brain. As I’m about to surface, blinding pain hits as someone crashes into my back, winding me. I struggle to catch my breath.

  I focus on the surface and half walk, half swim to the edge. I pull myself out and sit, feeling dazed.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I see a blur of concerned faces.

  ‘Someone crashed into me,’ I say.

  ‘Probably a kid,’ says Thomas. ‘It happened to me earlier. Do you want a glass of water?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime. I’ll head back to the lagoon and arrange lunch.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ says Lucy. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  I walk with her to the locker area while she gets her towel and her bag. She hands me a spare towel and I wrap it around myself. I have the beginnings of a headache.

  The day is a huge success. But not for me because nothing feels like an accident any more. The smallest thing has meaning. And what if I�
��m wrong about everything? What if someone doesn’t just want blood money, what if this isn’t about Sam? What if it’s about me?

  I am grateful to get back on board The Cleobella. In the bathroom, I lock the door but I still can’t relax. I watch the handle, expecting it to suddenly move downwards like a scene in a horror movie. My headache eases after my shower and I sit on my bed, a towel wrapped around me.

  ‘Do you think,’ I say to Lucy, ‘that it’s really necessary to have our beds turned down every night? And cleaned every day? It seems too many people to have in and out of our cabin; I’d rather relax and leave stuff lying about.’

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ she says. ‘You have someone to clean and tidy up after you, someone to replenish the fruit bowl, give you fresh towels, make sure that you don’t have to put up with slimy, disintegrating pieces of soap all over the basin and you want to opt out? No way! It’s not as if anyone is going to steal anything! Unless you are hiding the crown jewels or something?’

  ‘It just makes me feel uneasy, all the lack of privacy.’

  ‘But you must be used to it, surely? And it’s so much better than on the ships?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘I think we need to make the most of every moment. I’m bored with my clothes. Can I borrow something of yours? You can borrow something of mine too, if you like. Look.’ She pulls a sunshine-yellow dress off a hanger. ‘This would suit you. I could do your make-up.’

  ‘Sure, why not? Help yourself, but not the sapphire dress. I’m saving that for the engagement party.’

  ‘I’ve had my eye on the red one, anyway,’ she says. ‘The shimmery one.’

  I sit down on the dressing-table stool, facing away from the mirror, and close my eyes as Lucy brushes my lids with eyeshadow and my cheeks with blusher.

  ‘Right, mascara next,’ she says. ‘Keep still.’

  As she starts on my left eye, she pauses. ‘I’ve a confession.’

  ‘What?’ I open my eyes. So this is what this free make-up session is all about: her guilty conscience.

  ‘I don’t think it will matter, she promised not to say anything. I swore that there was nothing going on between you and Harrison.’