by Julie Caplin
‘No problem. I’ll send Max to cover for you and my chef can sort any food out. Next?’
With a laugh, Maddie said, ‘Don’t you think I ought to check with my boat?’
‘I reckon, after Simon’s behaviour this morning, the least Douglas can do is give you the time off,’ interjected Nick. She smiled gratefully at him and when he returned her smile Maddie’s stomach did a weird little flip.
They stopped for coffee at half past one.
Maddie’s hand ached as she put down her pencil. Bill had spread the completed sheets of A3 paper around the saloon and now he was wandering past each one, tilting his head, frowning and muttering. As soon as they’d got down to work, a very different man had emerged. Focused, driven and exacting. He spoke with sharp staccato demands, clear and concise instructions and no-nonsense observations.
Now she sat on the edge of her seat, tension gripping her shoulders, her mouth dry as she awaited his verdict. Every now and then he’d lean forward, as if checking a tiny detail, and then step back, narrowing his eyes.
Maddie felt wrung out but at the same time slightly exhilarated. It had taken a while to capture the style he was after at first but once she’d done that the rest was easy.
‘You’re real good, Maddie.’ Bill held up the large sheet of A3 paper, a slow satisfied smile spreading over his face. ‘Real good. This is exceptional work.’
Nick, who’d sat in the shade setting up her new phone for her and patiently waiting like a faithful Labrador, peered at the sketches, shooting Maddie a look filled with respect.
She shrugged, colouring quickly. ‘Thank you, but you did most of the work.’
‘Now you’re just being modest.’
Her blush deepened. ‘Well, you made it … so fascinating. You had a very clear vision. Is this how you see a film? In your head?’
‘Yeah, I see it real clear, way before I start, but I gotta make other people see it the same way before they bankroll the project. But you, little lady, have got it down pat. This is really good work. Better than Benson, and do you know he charges a coupla hundred dollars an hour.
‘What do you do in England?’ She’d already explained to him that this was her first and probably her last job as crew.
‘Do?’
‘For work?’
‘I think they call it resting. I’m between jobs.’
‘Jeez, please don’t tell me you’re an actress.’
Maddie burst out laughing. ‘Not even close. I just finished my degree. I was a late starter. Mature student.’ She lifted her head and looked Bill right in the eye. ‘What I’d really like is to be an artist. But I need to earn money as well.’
‘You should go for it. You can certainly draw.’
Maddie gave him a perfunctory smile. To be an artist you needed to be different. Proper artists went to art college but there was no way she could afford another three years of education. Two years into her History of Art degree, she’d realised that, much as she loved art, she wanted to create her own. But it could be a hobby and she’d have to be content with that.
‘And you get up at five every morning?’ asked Bill.
Nick nodded. ‘Pretty much. There’s always something to do.’
Maddie was tidying up the storyboard sketches, half listening to Bill skilfully drawing Nick out. It appeared he had a fascination for sheep farming and was asking Nick lots of intelligent questions which, to Maddie’s surprise, Nick answered with real passion and enthusiasm. Whenever the subject had come up on the boat, Nick had seemed reluctant to talk about his life but, over the last hour, he’d told stories of rescuing sheep from the deep snowdrifts and lambing in the spring, describing a way of life in tune with the seasons. Maddie was charmed by this open, man-to-man discussion.
‘Jeepers, Bill!’ Max burst onto the deck, shaking his head. ‘You owe me.’
Maddie bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you.’
‘What?’ asked Bill.
Max caught Maddie’s eye and shuddered. ‘I have never seen a cabin that bad in my entire life. I coulda done with a Hazmat suit.’
‘That chick sure has a lot of clothes,’ said Max. ‘And a shedload of blonde hair … shed being operative, man.’ As he spoke he pulled a long golden strand from the sleeve of his polo shirt.
‘Thanks for covering for me. I really appreciate it.’
‘No sweat,’ said Max with a good-natured grin, waving away her thanks. ‘I always wanted to see one of those gulets. Nice inside. And Ivan was very hospitable, showed me all over.
‘Hey, these are real good.’ He came to stand in front of Maddie’s work.
‘Yeah, I’m thinking about keeping her. Sending you to take her place,’ drawled Bill, with a mischievous wink at Maddie.
Max dropped to his knees, clasping his hands out in front of him. ‘Please, God, no.’
Maddie laughed. ‘You get used to it.’
‘You are a better person than I am,’ said Max. ‘I’d never get used to that.’
‘Talking of which. I do need to go back.’
‘There’s no hurry. Ivan says to tell you they’re all going out for dinner. So you don’t need to rush back.’
‘Excellent,’ said Bill. ‘Time to finish this last one off and if you like you can have a swim on deck. Excuse me, I got calls to make. The States is open for business. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just ask Max here.’
Bill left, scooping up his three phones, all of which had started ringing in the last hour and he’d ignored.
‘What exactly does Bill do?’ asked Nick, watching the retreating figure.
Max grinned. ‘You really have no idea, do you. That’s why he likes you guys so much. Most people are hangers-on. Want something or are impressed by him.’
‘Is he famous?’ asked Nick.
‘Oh God, should we know him?’ Maddie cringed and looked at Nick.
‘You’ll have heard of the films he’s worked on. He’s a director and producer.’ Max reeled off a list of films that not only had Maddie heard of; she’d seen several of them with her brother Brendan at the local multiplex. ‘William Randall.’
Maddie looked at Nick and together they burst out laughing.
Chapter 18
Excitement shimmered in the air the next morning, that fraught, barely contained buzz like children about to go on a school trip. Everyone was looking forward to the novelty of spending some time with some new faces. Maddie had certainly enjoyed a day away from all the guests yesterday. Rather confusingly, Nick had moved into a new category, not quite guest and not quite friend. On Bill’s boat they’d felt like friends and allies but as soon as they’d come back to the Avanturista they’d fallen into an uneasy silence, as if both knew that the lines had blurred but neither knew on which side they stood.
‘Morning, Maddie, how are you feeling after your mishap?’ asked Douglas, sporting smart light-weight cotton trousers and a Ralph Lauren short-sleeved shirt with its familiar polo logo on the pocket. With his Ray-Ban sunglasses tucked in his pocket, his thinning hair brushed and staying put for once, he looked every inch the successful City trader.
‘Fine. It was just a bit of shock. The people who rescued me were being ultra-cautious, which was very kind of them.’
‘Least they could do, when they caused the accident,’ snorted Douglas in a loud voice.
Next to him, Simon shifted in his seat. Maddie shot him a quick narrow-eyed glance.
‘I’m not sure kind had a lot to do with it,’ he said in response to Douglas’s comment. ‘Not when they cut across us like that.’ He met her eyes with breathtaking guileless innocence.
That was the story he was telling, was it?
‘You up to driving us into Hvar for lunchtime, Maddie? Get back on the horse and all that,’ asked Douglas. ‘Although I don’t want to cause you any stress. Do say if you’re not feeling up to it.’
‘I think I’ll be fine, thank you, Douglas,’ she replied, refusing t
o look at Simon as she headed down to the galley to finish the last bit of tidying up after breakfast.
‘Simon!’ The sneak attack, bundling her into his cabin as she opened the door to clean it, startled her.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, no thanks to you.’ Her eyes flashed.
‘I know, I know. I was a macho idiot. I nearly had heart failure when I saw you go over the side.’
‘And that stopped you coming back for me?’ Maddie thrust out her hip, wincing slightly at the movement, and planted both hands on her waist.
‘I tried to … but the bozo twins on the boat caught up with me, gave me a proper lecture and insisted they’d get you and take you to their doctor.’ Simon’s hard done by expression didn’t dent Maddie’s anger.
‘And what’s this about them causing the accident?’ she asked, her words quick and fast.
‘Maddie, sweetheart. It was the only way I could cover up for the fact I was driving. I didn’t want you to lose your job.’
‘Big of you.’
‘You’re mad at me.’ He put his arms around her, pressing his body closer than she was comfortable with. ‘How can I make it up to you? I was an idiot. I apologise. Let me take you out to dinner.’
‘No, thank you.’ She pushed him off.
‘You really are mad, aren’t you?’ Simon took a step back, a hint of wonder in his voice.
‘Of course I’m mad.’ What the hell was wrong with him?
‘Sorry, I’m used to fake temper tantrums from Cory and Tara. I’m not used to real emotion. You look rather magnificent.’
‘Don’t talk bollocks. You drove like a maniac. Wouldn’t listen when I told you to stop and now you’re blaming someone else.’
‘Doesn’t sound great, does it?’ Simon sucked in a breath. ‘And you’re not going to let me off the hook, are you? That’s what I like about you. You’ve got integrity.’ He leaned forward and stroked her cheek. ‘I’ve never met a woman like you.’ His voice dropped to an admiring husky whisper which sounded completely fake. ‘You’re incredible. Shall I go out there and tell them what an arse I was and that I caused the accident? Tell Ivan I insisted on driving the boat and that you tried to stop me.’
‘You can save your breath,’ she said, moving away from him to the other side of the bed on the pretext of straightening the sheets. ‘It’s done now. There’s no point in stirring up trouble. No one needs to know that I wasn’t driving the boat.’
‘Forgive me?’ His eyes danced in what she imagined he thought was a charming way. Actually, he looked like a conniving prat and those blue, blue eyes looked sly.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Not sure I have much choice. Let’s just agree not to mention it again.’
‘Ah, Maddie. You’re still mad at me.’
‘Simon, I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to be mad at you.’ She tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm. ‘Let’s just draw a line under it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.’
Tara was actually in her cabin when Maddie walked in to clean it. She looked up from the mirror where she was applying her lipstick.
‘Do you want me to come back later?’ asked Maddie, drooping a little at the sight of the usual cyclone-has-just-swept-through destruction.
‘No, you can carry on,’ said Tara, barely sparing her a glance.
Maddie would normally start in the bedroom and collect up all the clothes from the bed to make it, but with Tara using the chair there was nowhere to put them, so she opted to start with the bathroom.
The rancid smell made her stomach turn. Tara had been sick again, and recently.
Maddie looked back through the bathroom door and in the same moment Tara looked into the mirror. Their eyes met in the reflection. Guilt and unexpected vulnerability tinged the other woman’s expression.
Somehow, talking to Tara’s reflection rather than face on seemed to make it easier.
‘Tara … are you … OK? It just seems … well, you’ve been quite sick. I’ve got some seasickness tablets if you’d like them.’
Tara blushed. A full on ruddy, red-faced flush and a marked contrast to her usual delicate appearance.
‘Or is it something else?’ Maddie halted. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not my business but … are you OK?’
Tara’s shoulders slumped a little and she closed her eyes as if in pain. For a moment Maddie was reminded of a small vulnerable child trying to hide.
‘I’m OK,’ she whispered, opening her eyes but looking down at the dressing table rather than in the mirror.
‘There are people who can help, you know,’ said Maddie gently, aware of the other woman’s stillness.
Tara shuddered and then lifted her head, her eyes bleak in the mirror. ‘Who?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know how to stop.’
‘A doctor?’ suggested Maddie.
Tara bit her lip. ‘It’s … it’s …’
‘Making that first step?’ asked Maddie.
Tara nodded and was about to say something when Cory burst into the room, looking immaculate in a white playsuit.
‘Tara, have you borrowed my Stella McCartney top? I can’t find it anywhere.’
‘No,’ she said, lifting her head in haughty response. ‘Have you asked the cabin girl if she’s seen it? Maybe she moved it. At least you don’t need to worry about her borrowing anything, not like that chambermaid at London Fashion Week.’ Tara shot Maddie an unkind smile.
Maddie pursed her lips, ignored them both and turned back to cleaning the bathroom sink. So much for trying to help.
Chapter 19
Nick smoothed the fabric of his shorts, resisting the temptation to put his hands in his pockets, which apparently made him look like a schoolboy. He picked up his bottle of beer, his palm clammy despite the condensation on the side of the glass. The beer was window-dressing; he’d never felt less like drinking it as he stood on the magnificent balcony commanding an incredible view of the sea and a secluded bay below. It was only his second since they’d arrived two hours ago. For some reason his stomach was doing death-defying loop the loops. Foolish to be so nervous. Like Maddie said, all these people peed the same way.
A wry smile touched his lips. Lucky her, back on the boat, having it all to herself.
‘Nicky darling, there you are. Come and be sociable.’ Tara grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the thick of things on the terrace below. His stomach protested at the quick movement.
‘Tara, sweetie. Not seen you in ages.’ Air kisses. Lots of air kisses, thought Nick. What was it with air kisses?
‘And who is this gorgeous creature?’ an artful voice asked. The question came from a woman wearing a purple turban. Nick rearranged his face into what he hoped was a smile, all the while trying not to stare at the turban, which put him in mind of Aladdin. Her tanned liver-spotted hands almost dazzled him as she waved them in his face, the pudgy fingers puffed up around the rings on every finger. He’d never seen so many diamonds in one place.
‘This is Nicky, my boyfriend. Nicky, this is Arabella Pennistone-Smythe.’
He swapped his beer to his other hand, about to shake her hand, but the woman swooped in with a waft of acidic perfume that made his eyes water and mwahed him on either cheek.
‘And what do you do, gorgeous young man?’ She fluttered lashes as thick as spider’s legs at him, which he stared at with repellent fascination, imagining them walking off by themselves. ‘Did I see you in last month’s Harper’s Bazaar?’ Her coy smile held a touch of something cold and reptilian.
‘He’s a landowner,’ said Tara a little too quickly. ‘Owns vast swathes in Northumberland. Beautiful country.’ He frowned at the unexpectedly plummy tone to her voice as well as at his newly inflated status. Vast swathes was somewhat of an exaggeration. ‘Do you know it?’
‘No,’ brayed the woman. ‘Know North Yorkshire well. The Cavendish estate. Part of the Devonshire’s estates. They own Chatsworth as well. Although I’ve not been there since Debs d
ied in 2014. Know the family, do you?’
‘Course I do. I haven’t seen Will for ages. Or Celina.’
‘They’re all fine. Did you know Hugo Heyward-Lonsdale’s gone into property development?’
Nick had quickly realised that he didn’t need to join in any of these conversations. As his stomach rolled again, he realised Tara was holding court for both of them. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, even though they were standing under the shade of a big white sail suspended across half of the terrace. The buzz of the chatter around them receded momentarily and then came back louder than ever.
‘Nicky darling.’ Tara poked at him, her fingers pecking at his forearm with sharp jabs like a little bird. ‘Are you listening?’
‘Sorry.’ It took him a good second or two to focus.
‘Bella wanted to know what you think of the party.’ Tara lowered her voice. ‘We’re thinking it’s a bit trashy. I mean, Cristal champagne on tap is just showing off. They should be serving a vintage Dom Pérignon.’
Thankfully the opinionated Arabella beat him to an answer.
‘Well, sweetie, far be it for me to say that, but Oscar Ellingham hasn’t an ounce of taste. That’s what happens when you marry new money. He refused to send the boys to Harrow.’
An unwelcome sensation gripped his jaw. His mouth went dry and his stomach rose and rolled. Oh, God, he needed to find a bathroom.
Wiping his mouth and splashing cold water on his face made him feel a hell of a lot better. He still looked a little pale but hopefully whatever had upset his stomach was out. The throbbing headache was probably just tension. Straightening, he looked in the mirror. He’d do, even though the last thing he wanted to do was go back to the fray. There was a distinct newborn lamb wobbliness to his knees.
A pinch of homesickness plucked at his heart and he swallowed, thinking of the quiet calm of the fell, the occasional bleat of the lambs. He’d never felt further from home in his life. What was he doing here? He put his hand on the washbasin to steady himself as a wave of light-headedness swamped him.