ELENI 7 JUNE
ELENI
Eleni pushed her shades back onto the crown of her head and waited for her eyes to adjust to the fierce South Pacific sun.
The Lusso di Mare shimmered in front of her, glints of sunlight reflecting from its gleaming hull, its dazzling white a striking contrast to the vivid turquoise-blue of the ocean’s surface.
‘Holy shit!’ she blurted, then clamped a hand to her mouth. Remember where you are – and who you’re with.
‘Meets your standards, does it?’ said Rory, giving her a wink.
Eleni grimaced. ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Sorry, I can’t help myself sometimes. This is just … incredible!’
‘Glad to hear it. Nothing’s too good for our top land-buying lady, isn’t that right?’ he said, reaching over to give Eleni a pat on the shoulder.
Eleni dug out her phone and, giggling like a schoolgirl, started snapping photos.
Running along the superyacht’s pearl white hull was a sleek, champagne-gold strip at the waterline, which tapered off at the front – the bow.
It had four decks – the lower one sitting below the ocean’s surface, then three above it, all the same pure white with gold trim.
She glanced at her five companions for the next few days – the people she’d be casually hanging out on a superyacht with – in addition to her husband, Nick.
With just under two hundred employees at Ashworth, she didn’t know the others – except Rory – that well.
Eleni barely socialized with her colleagues – she hardly saw her actual friends these days, not for lack of trying. There was just never a good time.
Rory wiped the sweat from his balding temples and waved the collar of his salmon pink polo shirt back and forth in the fierce heat.
He was smiling from ear to ear and trying to catch everyone else’s eyes, bursting with pride.
His company had paid for this – he’d made this happen. The hero of the day.
Talia, his wife, stood next to him, right hand resting in the crook of Rory’s elbow, Gucci sunglasses covering half her face, long black hair set in bouncy curls that settled around her shoulders.
She wore an elegant cream jumpsuit that Eleni couldn’t believe had just survived a twenty-hour journey, even in business class.
At Eleni’s murmur of profanity, Talia had lifted her shades and raised her eyebrows in her direction; there was a slight scrunch to her nose.
Inwardly, Eleni reprimanded herself. She really didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Talia; her plans for this week involved getting as close to both her boss and his wife as she possibly could.
Champagne-infused evenings, relaxed chit-chat, the opportunity to all get to know each other better – she couldn’t botch things up by allowing her messy internal monologue to reach Rory’s and Talia’s ears.
Eleni’s colleague Sam, who’d also won a place, stood a little way from the others, one hand stroking his neat brown beard, the other shoved into the pocket of his combat shorts.
Turning to face her, his bright blue eyes caught Eleni’s and he grinned: ‘Well, I’m with you, Eleni,’ he said. ‘This yacht is deadly.’
Eleni laughed. Sam seemed all right, from what she knew of him – they usually had a chat when they were in the office on the same days, catching up about clients over coffee.
He was a considerate guy – always taking an interest in how Eleni was, how work was going.
Sam and Nick had a laugh on the flight over, too – mainly sports related.
He was alone: the only colleague from Ashworth here without a plus one.
Eleni was curious as to whether there was a backstory to that, but hadn’t found the right time to ask.
Then there was their third winner, Lucy – quiet, socially awkward, mousey-haired Lucy, here with her equally quiet and awkward-seeming partner Mark, who stood about a foot taller than his girlfriend. ‘Yes, it’s very nice,’ she said flatly. Jesus, could she sound any less enthusiastic?
Eleni had to be honest: she was baffled when she learned Lucy had won a place – she’d only started at Ashworth that year, and she worked in the finance department, in data analysis.
Usually, it was the people like them – Sam in residential sales, Eleni in land acquisitions – who got the visible success it took to win the bonus.
But Lucy was a whizz with numbers: apparently her scrutiny was quietly making – and saving – the company millions.
Eleni watched as Lucy twiddled with her wavy brown hair, bobbing up and down on her heels.
Does she even want to be here? Then she started as a hand landed on her shoulder – she’d almost forgotten Nick was standing next to her.
As she looked up at his chiselled, handsome face, his olive skin glowing in the sun, and into his deep-set, dark eyes, she felt the familiar rush of breathless adrenaline.
‘This is something else, Els. Can’t believe we’re about to get on that boat,’ he murmured. ‘Some proper time, me and you – it’ll be just like the old days, before the kids.’
Eleni could only nod in reply. If it was just like the old days – a return to the time before her children, and her demanding career, and the daily grind of her life – she could be her old self again, maybe.
She wondered whether the old Eleni was waiting there patiently, ready to rise up from under the surface – bubbly, enthusiastic, full of wonder. I like that idea.
From the yacht, a tall, muscular woman in her fifties with chin-length blonde hair waved to the group, beckoning them up the sleek white and gold ramp leading to the boat’s main deck.
Perhaps this was a stewardess, ready to greet them.
They strolled towards the yacht, Nick’s hand in Eleni’s.
Rory and Talia headed up the gangway first, then Sam; Nick and Eleni followed, with Lucy and Mark at the rear.
A crew of seven people – three men and four women – was lined up under the awning covering the outside space, waiting for them in neatly pressed white shirts and trousers with golden stripes pinned to the shoulders.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ said the woman who’d waved to them; she was standing at the front of the line. ‘I’m Captain Sophie Taylor.’
Captain? Eleni caught herself before she let her snap judgement form any further – she hadn’t been expecting a female captain, but then – why on earth not?
There were plenty of women in male-dominated industries – she was one of them herself; the property development field remained robustly led by straight white men, even now.
She chuckled – if anything, having a female captain made sense.
Rory had probably sought her out intentionally as part of his focus on equality and diversity.
She could just imagine him: Equal opportunities are at the heart of the business.
Inclusion is our top value here at Ashworth …
‘Welcome to the Lusso di Mare,’ said Captain Taylor.
Her accent was Australian – or maybe New Zealand, Eleni wasn’t quite sure.
‘I’m delighted that you’re here to join me for our cruise of the Society Islands.
Are you all happy to remove your shoes before you step onto the deck, please?
’ The group did as she asked, placing their shoes in a tidy row next to the entrance ramp.
‘Thank you. We stay barefoot on the yacht to protect the floor out here, and the interior,’ explained the captain.
‘Now, let me introduce you to the crew who’ll be taking care of you and keeping you all safe for the next few days. ’
The guests turned towards the crew, Rory making his way down the line first – naturally – introducing himself, with Talia behind him. Eleni went next.
‘I’m Brett, the first officer on board,’ said the broad, smooth-looking man standing first in line next to the captain, holding out a hand for her to shake. He was in his late twenties, clean-shaven, with a crew cut, the whitest teeth Eleni had ever seen, and an American accent.
Next in the row was a woman who looked younger than Eleni – late twenties, maybe – very pretty, with a freckled button nose and reddish-brown hair in a tight ponytail – who shook her hand warmly as she reached her along the line of crew.
‘Welcome aboard, Eleni!’ she said. She already knows my name … how cool is that? We’re all VIPs for the week. ‘I’m Michaela, your chief stewardess on board the Lusso di Mare.’ Eleni detected a hint of Essex in her inflection.
‘Here, these are for you.’ Michaela placed a lei of white flowers around Eleni’s neck, then reached to the tray that the woman standing next to her was holding, and pressed a cool glass of champagne into her hands.
‘Thank you so much,’ Eleni beamed. ‘I’m so excited to be here.
’ She took a long sip, savouring the fizz of bubbles on her tongue.
Next came Michaela’s second stewardess – a young, petite, olive-skinned brunette who introduced herself as Johanna; then their chef, a Polynesian woman in her forties who said her name was Leilani.
Finally, they met their bosun – a stocky, bearded Australian guy called Noah, and a slight but muscular Tahitian deckhand, Kai.
Captain Taylor raised her glass to the group. ‘Now, I’m going to make my final preparations before we cast off. I’ll leave you in Michaela’s capable hands for a tour of the Lusso.’
As the captain headed up the stairs, Eleni took another sip of champagne and marvelled at the main deck.
She wanted to tattoo this image on her retinas.
She’d never board a superyacht or go somewhere like French Polynesia again, would she?
Their annual holidays were to the same house in Paphos, visiting their extended Greek Cypriot family.
And she’d only seen yachts like this in gossip magazines – actors and models lounging on sun decks next to infinity pools, or diving off platforms into crystal clear seas.
When she got back, her boys, Theo and Lucas, would want to know exactly what she’d done each day.
My boys. Eleni’s throat tightened. She’d never been away from them before – not once in nine years, not even overnight, let alone for a week.
They’ll be fine. They’re with the world’s best auntie and yiayia.
She’d be fine too – better than fine: four days on a superyacht, right now anchored at the marina in Papeete on the island of Tahiti.
And her plans for while she was here were going to make life so much better – for Eleni, and her family too.
As her eyes roamed the walls and floor, something caught her attention on the gleaming oak surface of the bow’s deck beneath her feet: a hairline crack in one of the boards, running along the edge of the dining table underneath the awning.
Someone had done a hasty fix-up job on it, smoothing on another coat of glossy brown varnish rather than filling it properly.
She could still see the fracture underneath; the surface looked slightly sticky.
She noticed too as she stood there, mixed with the scent of the briny sea air, the faint smell of varnish.
They must have literally just painted over it. Eleni smiled. It might look perfect, but even superyachts have cracks under the surface.
It was comforting, somehow. She knew what that was like: to seem as though she had everything together, but to be quietly fracturing beneath the facade.
If anyone looked at her life on paper, they’d think she had everything: the handsome husband, the two gorgeous kids, the career success, the beautiful suburban home, the expensive haircut …
She scanned her fellow passengers: Rory, the mega-rich CEO of a thriving business and his poised, elegant wife. Sam, the charming sales superstar from Dublin, liked by everyone. Lucy, the young financial prodigy and her keen-eyed journalist boyfriend.
Appearances could be so deceiving. Perhaps that was the case for them all.