The Ex-Husband

by Hamilton, Karen

  ‘Back soon,’ I say to Thomas before he can say anything.

  I stroll barefoot. Sand sticks to my ankles. I watch as my footprints are washed away by the sea. I look back. The crew are clearing up. I see the first group of guests gathering at the water’s edge, waiting to board the tender. I look out at The Cleobella. It easily eclipses the other boats. If I were a holidaymaker, I would look out at the view and wish that I was able to go on board, imagining the type of people who could afford to own or charter such a yacht.

  Back on board, Lucy and I invite two of the villa staff to make up a small room party. It’s like being on a proper holiday. I drink, not caring about tomorrow. I barely remember getting into bed, the room is spinning.

  I wake up. It’s still dark. I can hear Lucy’s breathing as she lets out the odd drunken snore. There’s an almost intangible sense of someone else in our room, watching us – or just me. My eyes feel heavy and awareness dissipates, dreamlike.

  Come daylight, all is as calm as the turquoise ocean beyond the porthole.

  It was just a dream, yet I still can’t get Sam out of my mind. I type him a message, but it doesn’t send. I scroll through my phone, re-reading all his old messages, looking for any clues I missed. There are none. I go through his folders and documents again and stare at old photos and video clips of us in happier times. I keep scrolling until one in particular catches my eye. It’s of me, standing on the upper deck of one of our last ever cruises. I am wearing work trousers and a white shirt. Beside me is Sam, his arm around my shoulders. Who took this photo? It doesn’t look as if either of us knew we were being photographed. And then suddenly it comes to me that there’s something obvious I haven’t yet done: the CCTV footage from the hidden cameras on board this yacht will be able to tell me everything I need to know about the person who is threatening me with harm.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Now

  Day Eight

  Itinerary: Antigua. Guests only.

  Four days to Barbados . . .

  It is raining when we anchor in the harbour in Antigua. Thomas messages me to ask what the back-up plan is. Crap.

  I don’t want to admit that there isn’t one. It was my job to a) check the weather, and b) to have back-up plans. I shut my trusted Caribbean guidebook and hastily go online. Thomas had planned for zip-wiring through the rainforest and some shopping (Arabella, Alicia and Norma are keen to buy souvenirs as part of their holiday traditions). All of which can still go ahead as the rain isn’t heavy. I send Thomas a link to the Museum of Antigua and Barbuda, just in case.

  There’s a rap on my cabin door. Thomas.

  ‘I hate links,’ he says. ‘Don’t ever send me any unless they are vital. It’s lazy. I can look things up myself. You are not employed to merely send links.’

  I can’t argue. He’s right.

  I put in more effort by booking a luxury vehicle and a driver for the day to ferry them around in style.

  I smile and wave as everyone leaves. I love smiling and waving, I feel like royalty. I wait until the tender is out of sight before I ask one of the women working out on the deck if I can speak to the captain.

  She radios him.

  ‘He’s having breakfast,’ she says, ‘but you can go through.’

  I enter through the Crew Access Only door and find Tim eating a large bowl of cereal topped with pineapple, watermelon and papaya.

  ‘Morning,’ I say. ‘Is it possible to take a look at the CCTV from the day before yesterday, please?’

  ‘Not very easily. Is there a security reason why you need to check?’

  I stick as close to the truth as I can.

  ‘Yes and no. I got stuck in the sauna and I thought I heard someone outside while I was calling for help, but no one came.’

  ‘I see.’ He looks at me as if unsure how to respond. ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘The door eventually unlocked.’

  It sounds ridiculous as I say it.

  ‘I’ll have one of the maintenance guys look at it. But I can’t have unauthorised people looking through any recordings.’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘Actually, it’s a bit embarrassing. It’s not just the sauna. I think someone has been in my room. I don’t want to make a fuss in case I’m wrong.’

  ‘You think it’s one of the yacht staff? Has something been stolen?’

  ‘No. But I would feel happier if I could just review the CCTV from the day before yesterday to put my mind at rest.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Daniel,’ he says.

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to him myself to see what can be done to make you feel more at ease.’

  Damn.

  ‘Thank you.’

  It’s hard to hide my disappointment. I am nowhere nearer to an answer. I need to search where I haven’t yet done so. The rooms are cleaned and tidied while everyone is on shore. All entries are logged by individual key fobs, so it is tricky to gain access to others’ rooms.

  ‘There’s one more thing . . . I need to pick up something important from Josephine and Harrison’s room. She’s gone ashore without it. Any chance you could let me in their suite?’

  He looks at me.

  ‘Mariella didn’t think you’d mind,’ I add. ‘She said to ask you.’

  I smiled slightly as I said ‘Mariella’ so that he knows that I know about the two of them. I can only imagine what’s going on in his brain. I don’t feel proud of myself, far from it, but he has put himself in the position by having a secret. That’s the problem with secrets, they weaken your situation and morals in more ways than one. I can sympathise with him. Hopefully what he and Mariella have is worth it.

  He doesn’t look impressed. He stands up abruptly.

  ‘If you’re quick,’ says Tim. ‘But I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Opulent is the word that springs to mind as Tim pushes open the door. So much space. They are both tidy. Books are neatly stacked on their bedside tables. Windows surround the whole room and a separate seating area with sofas, large cushions and a glass coffee table fills one side of the cabin. Fresh envy gnaws. Sam and I were supposed to live like this.

  ‘Are you all right, Charlotte?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’m thinking . . .’

  I’m dying to check the bedside drawers and beneath their pillows, or open the wardrobe. Someone who used to work as a housekeeper in large hotels told me that – and I have no idea if this is true or not – those were the main places where people hid things.

  I go to the desk and make a show of pulling open the drawers.

  ‘Now, where did she say she’d put it?’ I say out loud.

  ‘Will you be much longer?’

  ‘Hopefully not.’

  I scan the contents, looking for something I can take that won’t be missed. Something catches my eye. It is a printed sheet with all my personal details on it: date of birth, Louise’s home address, my passport number, my fake bio. A surge of anger. Josephine has been checking up on me. Is it because of Harrison or a more sinister reason? I have a thing about people who are careless with others’ personal information. Details such as these are worth a small fortune to the wrong people. I take it. She will assume she’s misplaced it.

  ‘I need to get back,’ Tim says. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave now if you can’t find what you’re looking for.’

  ‘This is it,’ I say, holding up the printed sheet. ‘Thank you.’

  But Tim is not the type of man to be manipulated without some push-back.

  ‘I’ll arrange for the boat to take you to shore,’ he says. ‘So that you can deliver the paperwork to Josephine.’

  ‘It’s fine, thank you,’ I reply with my biggest smile. ‘I’ll just snap a picture and send it to her.’

  ‘I would feel happier if I knew you were going to deliver it personally,’ he says, smiling too.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, giving in.

&n
bsp; He speaks in his walkie-talkie, calling for Daniel and also requesting that he and I be taken ashore. I go through the charade of boarding the boat.

  ‘What’s up?’ asks Daniel.

  ‘The CCTV,’ I say. ‘I need to see it. It will help ease my mind that my stalker isn’t on board.’

  ‘Why do you think they are?’

  ‘Too many things have happened for it to be a coincidence. I’m scared.’

  ‘Thing is,’ he says, ‘there’s no CCTV in the guest areas. We had specific instructions that the guests were not to be filmed. They’re on holiday. Josephine, I understand, is very camera-shy.’

  ‘Why didn’t Tim just tell me that?’

  ‘He probably didn’t feel at liberty to say. You aren’t his employer. But, seeing as you’re so concerned, we can get the local police involved,’ he says. ‘It could shake your stalker up a bit if he is around.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  I am alone in this, once again.

  I disembark, Daniel returns on the tender and I go for a walk. It’s not an entirely pointless exercise, though. I see something I wouldn’t have otherwise – Garth and Arabella, having a coffee together in a café, oblivious to me walking past.

  The intricacies of relationships at sea – friends, colleagues, lovers, acquaintances – have always fascinated me. Crew and friends become each other’s family. Cut off from reality, work routines and social time creating the only real structure, intermingled with glimpses of paradise, we existed in a separate world. There was always an unsettling sense, something not feeling quite right, at the beginning of each new season or voyage as new teams were formed, loyalties created and hostilities arose.

  Upon my return to the yacht, there is no sign of Tim. At dusk, the boat lights illuminate the water and it’s the first time that it strikes me as odd that the others aren’t back yet. Half an hour later, I message Thomas.

  Where are you?

  Still out. We’re going to a restaurant for dinner.

  I message Lucy. She doesn’t reply. I stroll up and down the decks and through the empty rooms, turning on lights as I do so.

  I order a pizza and a beer and one of the chefs comes out personally to place it in the pizza oven for me. I order another beer, then another. I feel bad as I can’t do the pizza justice. Living on anxious anticipation has robbed me of my appetite recently. Food sticks in my throat.

  ‘It’s quiet tonight,’ I say to the chef.

  ‘Yeah, it gives us a bit of a rest. Some of the crew have gone ashore. Although, rumour has it that the owner may come on later.’

  ‘The owner? I thought he was meeting everyone in Barbados, at the villa?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ he says. ‘That’s just what I heard. People change their minds all the time.’

  I wonder if someone has tipped him off about Mariella and Tim. I hope not. I kind of want them to get away with it. I take out my iPad and have what feels like a millionth go at working my way through Sam’s files and documents. I sift through more photos of his school years and his travels around the globe. There are many of different women. It shouldn’t hurt by now, yet it does. I still cannot figure out the password to access his encrypted files. It’s freshly frustrating.

  I stand at the railings and look down into the lights reflected on the water.

  Goosebumps prickle my arms as I look around. I am alone on deck. Not even the chef is here. I step back into the shadows.

  I stand, unsure of the best thing to do. I peer over the rail for any sign of the others returning. The harbour feels unusually silent. A boat approaches, but it passes by, aiming for a different yacht.

  The sound of another boat’s engine fills me with relief. I look over the edge as it approaches. It is not the usual tender, but a dinghy. A man, with his back to me, steps out. He is tall, as tall as Sam.

  I rush down the stairs and through the Crew Access Door so that I am not alone. There are no crew members in the general area. Just as I’m about to walk past the galley and up the stairs to the bridge, the power goes off. Pitch black. There are no emergency lights. I trip over what feels like a cardboard box and land on my hands and knees. The noise of my fall, followed by silence, is terrifying. I am alone.

  ‘Hello?’ I call out.

  I sit still on the floor, not sure whether to use my phone torch or not as my eyes try to adjust to the darkness. I think back to my tour of the boat with Jon and reorientate myself. I hear footsteps coming from the bridge. I’m about to call out again when something stops me. I feel my way along the corridor, past the laundry room, which I can recognise by the smell of fresh linen. I inch my palms along the wall, counting down the doors – one, two, three – until I come to what I hope is Jon’s room.

  I open it. I can hear two sets of footsteps now, in the dining area to the left. I shut the door behind me but there is no lock and nowhere to hide. I feel around, climb onto the top bunk and slide myself beneath the duvet to flatten myself against the wall. My heart is thudding so loudly. If anyone enters the room, they will surely hear it.

  The door opens and I have to bite back the urge to scream. I see torchlight through the duvet. I shut my eyes like I haven’t done since I was a small child to ward off monsters. I hear breathing. At first, I think it’s my own but then I realise it’s someone else’s. Blood money, blood money. I hold my breath. Something clatters to the ground.

  ‘Shit.’

  I recognise the voice. It’s Jon, but I am frozen with fear. What if it’s Jon who is after me?

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he says.

  I can hear him fumbling around for whatever it was that he dropped.

  The door shuts. Silence.

  The lights come on and I hear the sound of the engines again. I sit up. I climb down, my legs cramped and aching. I open the door and listen. I hear several voices. Thank God. Feeling a bit ridiculous at my overreaction, I walk down the corridor, hoping to leave without being seen, but as I turn the corner, several faces stare at me. The crew.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asks Tim.

  ‘It went dark. Someone was following me.’

  He looks as though he doesn’t believe me.

  ‘There’s no one on board who shouldn’t be,’ Tim says. ‘We’ve been on the case. I’m afraid that you have no right to be down here.’

  ‘Do you know what happened?’ I ask. ‘There were no emergency lights, nothing. Is this thing safe?’

  No one replies, and I suddenly understand. The power was switched off. Deliberately.

  Back in my cabin, there is a plain white notecard in the jaws of a towel-art crocodile:

  Time is running out, Lola.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Now

  Day Ten

  Itinerary: Diving in St Lucia.

  Forty-Eight Hours to Barbados . . . So excruciatingly close . . . So excruciatingly far . . .

  I search for flights to Barbados from St Lucia. I want off this yacht asap, but there are no seats immediately available to book.

  I am stuck until we hit Barbados. Then I can escape. I flick through my guidebook again as we approach St Lucia in case Thomas expects me to come up with any more Plan Bs. The Diamond Botanical Gardens are listed as a recommended place to explore – a tropical paradise with hummingbirds, underground springs and waterfalls. Unfortunately, I won’t be visiting. Thomas wants me to go shopping to source some particular types of flowers that Gina likes.

  He sends me a list: ginger lily, a lobster claw, there’s even one called a bird of paradise. I’m also to buy souvenirs for the guests to take home because they’re going diving today and won’t have time.

  Before we dock, he comes to my cabin and hands me a credit card.

  ‘This is the one I use for all business expenditure,’ he says. ‘You can use this today for all the purchases so that you don’t have to submit endless receipts. It’ll save us both time and effort.’

  He watches as I place it in my purse.

  ‘Anythin
g else?’ I ask.

  ‘I understand that you had a word with the captain yesterday? Is there anything you want to tell me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I wish you’d come to me first. I would help, you know.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say.

  I am. It’s not long until I see JJ. He should be able to shed some light on what’s been going on with Sam and where he could be.

  ‘Right, well, anyway, I’ve asked Lucy to go with you.’

  We take advantage of the freedom by taking a cab to the largest shopping area. I feel a spree coming on. Temptation beckons in so many places. I can feel the pull of the old me. The thought of the credit card Thomas gave me – free money – is just too much. Lucy and I split up for an hour.

  I ignore the shopping list and instead try on clothes, bangles, necklaces, rings. I buy a penknife as a memento and a long, lilac skirt with my own money. I don’t give in, although I discover that the card lets me withdraw cash, which I could somehow explain away as expenses. I hesitate. I don’t take out the maximum amount, it would be too obvious. I opt for two hundred dollars, an amount I don’t consider greedy.

  I meet up with Lucy for lunch in an outdoor restaurant, both of us ordering crab salads and glasses of white wine. I write a postcard to Lewis. On the front, there’s a picture of St Lucia’s famous landmark, The Pitons, two mountainous volcanic plugs, in front of which is cobalt-blue sea and the lush, rich greens of land.

  Wish you were here. Charlotte. X

  I message JJ.

  Not sure of an exact ETA but see you soon!

  ‘This is the life,’ says Lucy, settling back into her chair and taking a large sip of wine.

  Her cheeks are slightly flushed.

  ‘Kind of,’ I say. ‘It would be better to be here with someone.’

  ‘I’m sorry about Sam,’ she says. ‘I wish you could meet someone nice. He was a fun guy.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘What was his dark side? Drugs or gambling?’

  ‘Well, he was a croupier,’ I say.

  We both laugh.

  ‘Seriously though, you need a bit of good luck. What about James Bond?’