LUCY
‘Let’s take the grand tour, shall we?’
‘Thanks,’ she said, then stared intently at the floor.
‘Here we have the first of our two hot tubs and relaxation areas,’ said Michaela, sweeping her hand across the space.
Mark leaned down to whisper in her ear: ‘Two hot tubs? This boat is mad, Luce.’ She nodded, looking up and into his face – the edges of his grey eyes crinkling as he grinned; the ginger flecks in his beard that appeared more orange under the blazing sun – and gave him a smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes.
Yes, it was incredible here – and my God, she needed the break.
But she couldn’t help it: she felt awkward.
All this attention on them, all the fuss. The VIP treatment.
Most people seemed to love that stuff. But then again, Lucy wasn’t most people.
‘On the extendable swim platform,’ Michaela pointed to a flat area of the deck, ‘you can jump right into the sea. And in the garage here, we’ve got jet skis, paddleboards and inflatables to keep you all entertained when we’re at anchor.’
‘Oh my God, this is going to be so much fun!’ Eleni squealed, jumping up and down and clapping – before she seemed to catch herself abruptly and clear her throat, replacing her excited expression with a more muted look of pleasure.
Nick laughed next to her, then reached over and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder.
Eleni was right to be thrilled, though: the yacht was incredible.
Lucy looked up at Mark again. He looked happy, if a bit overwhelmed.
The fanciest place they’d ever been together was a four-star hotel in Hertfordshire that Mark’s parents had paid for after a family wedding.
On his newspaper salary, and with all Lucy’s money going straight out of her account before she could plan things like holidays, they could never afford a trip like this themselves.
She started to reach for his hand, mirroring the affection of Eleni’s husband – then pulled it back before he noticed.
They followed Michaela up a black spiral staircase with a polished gold handrail, and continued the tour: the upper deck with the bridge – the command centre for the captain – then one more level up, the sun deck, with another hot tub, a bar and reclining, double bed-sized loungers.
Then it was time to head back down to see the yacht’s interior: the upper deck’s ‘sky lounge’, with its L-shaped sofa and an enormous flat-screen TV in the centre of the wall.
Down the spiral staircase to the salon on the main deck, with floor to ceiling windows on each side, two curved cream leather sofas dotted with blue and gold cushions set at one end of the room, the polished oak dining table at the other. It was all so … pristine.
‘I’ll be too worried about making a mess to ever sit down anywhere,’ she whispered to Mark, who grinned in response.
Michaela pointed to one more staircase at the aft end of the salon, leading downwards.
‘Below the deck, you’ll find your cabins, including the master stateroom – your suitcases are already in your rooms. All the cabins have their own en-suite.
You’ll find the names of each of your rooms in your welcome packs, and you can explore them at your leisure. ’
She paused as the first officer – Brett, Lucy remembered from that whirlwind of introductions – strode into the salon.
‘Sorry to interrupt your tour,’ he said.
‘We’re ready to cast off for the first stop on our charter, Opunohu Bay on Moorea.
We’ll be sailing for around two hours this morning to reach the island. ’
Michaela nodded. ‘During the sail, you’ll enjoy a light lunch on board, prepared by the wonderful Leilani,’ she said.
‘Then when we’re anchored at Moorea, you can go snorkelling and explore the stunning coral reef and marine life around the island.
We’ll come back to the yacht for games, dinner and cocktails under the stars on the main deck this evening. ’
‘Well, that all sounds perfect,’ said Rory, beaming. The others nodded and murmured their thanks. Brett disappeared back up the stairs to the bridge; a moment later, the yacht’s engine purred to life and they began to reverse slowly out of the marina.
Champagne glasses refilled by Johanna – though Lucy’s was untouched; the bubbles made her queasy – the group headed back to the upper deck’s outdoor lounge.
They settled onto the soft cushioned benches lining the bow, their welcome packs resting on their knees, and watched as the vessel eased gently away from the marina, turned and began to sail out to sea.
‘This is so amazing,’ sighed Eleni, pouffing up her hair with her free hand. ‘Still can’t believe we’re here – we’re so lucky!’
‘Indeed, it’s marvellous. And it’s quite right that you’re here – you earned it, fair and square,’ said Rory. ‘And you, Lucy, of course – you girls are my right-hand women. Now, here’s to a wonderful week.’
Lucy nodded. ‘It’s wonderful. Very pleased to be here too.
’ And she was, for the most part – she’d never imagined she’d win a place, even with her extraordinary skill as an analyst. That she’d been picked had come as a shock – though, of course, a welcome one.
It meant she’d be well placed to do some digging this week – to shed some light on her burning questions.
Rory held his glass high, then leaned over to pat first Eleni and then Lucy on the thigh.
Lucy moved her leg out of his reach, and sneaked a glance at Sam.
Odd that he wasn’t mentioned in Rory’s little congratulatory speech; Lucy thought of him as Rory’s right-hand man.
And clearly Sam had noticed it too: his expression was gloomy as he stared out to sea.
He usually looked so cheerful – a permanent grin on his face every day at work.
It made Lucy suspicious, when people always seemed that happy.
She could practically guarantee they’d be the ones with the most skeletons in their closets.
At least Sam had just shown emotion that wasn’t unabashed joy; that was reassuring.
‘Now, who’s joining me in the hot tub?’ Rory was back on his feet, already stripping down to his trunks – bright blue Speedos that clung embarrassingly snugly. ‘Come on, Talia – let’s start this holiday as we mean to go on.’
His wife smiled her agreement. ‘I’ll just go down and get changed,’ she said.
‘Ooh, I’ll be right in too,’ said Eleni, then, along with her husband and Sam, she disappeared inside to find her cabin. By the time they’d gone, Rory had already jumped in the tub, champagne glass in hand.
‘This is the life, eh? Come on in, Lucy – Mark! The water’s lovely.’
‘Ah, we’ll be there in a bit,’ said Lucy. The yacht had begun to pick up speed as it left the harbour, and a wave of nausea bubbled up her throat. Oh no, am I going to throw up? She got up and clutched at the smooth metal railing at the bow, leaned down and inhaled gulps of briny air.
A few seconds later, a hand – Mark’s – touched the small of her back.
She edged away. She hated people coddling her when she felt poorly – the only person’s touch she’d been able to put up with was her mum’s when Lucy was a kid.
It was bad enough dealing with the nausea, knowing her skin had roughly the pallor of an elephant’s arse, fighting against the rising tide of vomit, without someone else getting involved.
Mark’s hand moved away: Message received.
‘Sorry, Luce,’ he said. ‘Just trying to help.’
‘I know.’ Lucy had suspected she might get seasick; she’d had to ask Mark to pull the car over so she could throw up more than once.
But she’d never been on a boat before, except a flamingo-shaped pedalo at a London park one summer.
She’d had no idea it would hit so fast: they’d barely left the marina.
Not a good start. She searched for the horizon, trained her eyes to focus on it – that was supposed to help, wasn’t it?
‘Oh God, you’re not seasick, are you?’ It was Eleni, back on the deck and looking like a Love Island contestant, her honed figure on display in a bright green, halter-neck bikini, pink lip gloss freshly applied.
Lucy’s cheeks flushed under the withering gaze of her glowing, fresh-faced colleague.
Everything about Eleni was so shiny: her honey-coloured highlights, her glossy pout, the shimmer of her contoured cheeks.
How does she still look so lovely after such a long journey?
Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but Eleni had already strutted off towards the hot tub, giggling.
Michaela approached Lucy then, with a sympathetic tilt of her head.
‘I’m sorry you’re feeling unwell,’ the stewardess said. She pressed a glass into Lucy’s hand. ‘It’s tonic water – the quinine should help.’
‘Thanks,’ Lucy said weakly, accepting the drink and taking a small sip.
Talia and Nick had now joined Eleni, Sam and Rory in the tub.
Lucy caught the five of them glancing over at her – Rory’s sharp hazel eyes hidden by faintly ridiculous aviator shades, but still she could feel them on her – then returning to their laugh-filled conversation.
‘No problem,’ Michaela said. ‘Happens to the best of us.’ Lucy smiled politely and took another sip. It was helping a little; the bubbles were giving her the satisfying urge to belch, and each time she did, the queasiness ebbed a notch at a time. She sighed with relief.
‘We’ve got some anti-nausea tablets on board too, would you like one?’ Michaela asked.
Lucy was about to say yes, when she caught Mark’s eye; the note of warning in his expression. She leaned towards Michaela. ‘Ah – thank you, but I can’t. I’m on other medication. I’m not supposed to take anything else.’
‘Of course,’ Michaela replied. ‘I’ll let the captain know the situation. We can see if she’s got any other ideas.’
‘Shall we sit down?’ suggested Mark as Michaela walked away. ‘I wonder if we’ll see any dolphins on our sail …’