SAM
‘Sláinte,’ he said, raising the bottle to Johanna.
He turned back to lean on the railing of the yacht’s uppermost deck – the sun deck, where a few of them had headed after that dip in the heavenly hot tub – and gave a deep, satisfied sigh as he took in the view.
Aquamarine blue sky, crystal-clear ocean as far as he could see, a smattering of similarly luxurious superyachts sailing in nearby waters.
I could get used to this. He had to get some decent pics for his socials; his mates back home would lose their shit when they saw this. And Claire – she still followed him on Instagram, didn’t she? She’d be bound to see them.
Looking down into the moving water, he felt light-headed. Or was it the thought of Claire? It couldn’t be vertigo – he wasn’t that high up.
The boat was impressive, though – somehow, on the drive to Papeete from the airport, as they’d spotted the Lusso at the marina from the darkened windows of their chauffeured Merc, the yacht hadn’t looked all that big.
Sleek and smooth with its white and gold exterior, it had looked neat; compact, somehow.
If he was honest, he’d wondered how it could house eight people plus a crew comfortably for several days.
Seven people – not eight. His chest tightened at his mistake – he’d forgotten, for a second, that he was supposed to be here with his girlfriend, and wasn’t.
And meanwhile, the man who’s to blame for Claire dumping me – he’s here, isn’t he?
He gave his head a shake and necked the rest of his beer; maybe he just needed another drink.
Sam turned to look around at his companions on the sun deck.
Rory and Talia were down in their cabin unpacking – Sam hadn’t bothered; he’d just shoved his suitcase under his bed and come outside – but the other four were up here with him.
Lazing on a double sun lounger were Eleni and her husband, Nick.
She’d tucked her legs up underneath her and was resting her head on Nick’s shoulder; his hand rested protectively on her upper thigh.
They were an unreasonably good-looking pair – probably in their early thirties, a couple of years younger than him.
Eleni was all highlights and toned upper arms; Nick had the physique of a man who got to the gym at least five times a week.
Don’t they have young kids? And isn’t he a sergeant in the Met? How does he even have time for a daily workout?
He’d made some small talk with Nick as they waited in the lounge at Heathrow to board their first flight – decent fella, and an Arsenal supporter too – Sam’s adopted team in England, though nothing compared to his beloved Bohemian FC back home in Dublin.
Sam remembered now that Nick had said he actually played football – maybe that helped with the six-pack.
Watching them now, curled into each other, Sam felt a flash of envy, and the hot sucker punch of hurt and anger: he should be soaking up this trip of a lifetime with someone else. Instead, he was here alone.
He tried to brush the thought away again.
Maybe this trip would distract Sam from his heartbreak and help him get to know his workmates properly, without the distractions of meetings and calls.
He’d sat next to Eleni enough times in their open-plan office near Great Portland Street since she’d joined Ashworth, but he’d barely had a conversation with her that wasn’t to do with clients. Hopefully, this week would change that.
Then there was Lucy. She’d just come up to the sun deck and sat on a lounger, looking ashen, sipping a drink and twiddling with her hair.
Her bloke Mark – who Sam had learned was an investigative journalist on a decent-sized paper; he’d have to chat to him, he’d always been fascinated by how they got their scoops – was lying next to her, snoozing.
Lucy seemed nice enough, but it confused Sam that she’d got a place on this trip.
With Sam and Eleni, it was a no-brainer: they’d earned their places.
Sam had worked his arse off to win a spot this year – his effort on the Rosenberg account; those late nights schmoozing with buy-to-let investors; the emails back and forth with commercial occupiers and the fecking local councils.
Sure, there was some fortunate timing involved that he couldn’t have anticipated – but nothing else about it was luck.
It was hard graft, and dedication, and relationship management and learning the right things to say to people to win them over.
As for Eleni – well, he knew she’d managed to beat off a bunch of top developer rivals to acquire a prime London heritage site.
Lucy, though – Sam couldn’t work it out.
She’d only joined a few months back, and she worked in data analysis, for fuck’s sake.
She was smart, no doubt, and she’d impressed Rory.
She could work out wildly complicated growth ratios instantly in her head, sums that most people would never manage without a calculator.
But clever didn’t always translate to capable, did it? And it worked the other way around: you didn’t have to be book smart, or get a first-class degree – or even a degree at all – to do well in life. I’m living proof of that.
Sam looked up as Michaela appeared at the top of the stairwell. ‘We’re ready to serve lunch,’ she said. ‘Would you all like to come down?’
‘Yes! I’m starving,’ said Nick.
‘Me too – I’m dying to try Leilani’s food,’ Eleni replied, as the five of them followed the chef down two flights of steps to the main deck, and to the table under the awning, where Rory and Talia were already sitting.
‘Leilani has made you a crab and lobster salad to start, then fresh monkfish in a creamy coconut sauce,’ said Michaela. ‘She’s also prepared some crusty bread and crackers for anyone who’d prefer something simpler.’ Sam saw Lucy smile gratefully. ‘More champagne, anyone?’
Sam’s mouth watered. He took the empty seat next to Talia – Rory had taken the spot at the head of the table, naturally – and tucked into his food, which was every bit as delicious as Michaela had made it sound. Between mouthfuls, he turned to Talia. ‘What do you think of the Lusso so far, then?’
Talia was wearing a wide-brimmed hat that hid almost her entire face; Sam couldn’t make out much of her expression.
But she seemed distracted, that much he could tell: she was picking at her food and her long, French-manicured nails had chips around the edges, with some of the white at the tips peeling off.
‘It’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘Although,’ she lowered her voice to add, ‘I’m not a huge fan of crab, to be honest.’
Sam grinned. ‘I won’t tell our chef. I promise.’ He mimed zipping his lips closed, and that, at least, got a more genuine look of pleasure. Wow, I forgot how stunning Talia is when she smiles.
‘But you’re enjoying it so far?’ Sam persisted. ‘Your husband puts on the most amazing bonus trips.’ He nodded in Rory’s direction.
Talia nodded. ‘He’s quite literally pushed the boat out this year.
’ She smiled, reached a hand towards her husband and patted his arm; Rory stopped his conversation with Nick and turned to listen.
‘It’s marvellous,’ Talia went on. Then she gave Sam a wry look.
‘You did extremely well to get a place. You should be very proud.’
Sam felt a flicker of unease. Why did she say it like that? Doesn’t she think I deserve to be here? He swallowed. Best to get off the subject of Ashworth.
‘Ah, thanks – we all should be,’ he said smoothly, gesturing to Lucy and Eleni. ‘But yeah, I put a lot of effort in this year. And it’s so good to have a breather from work for a few days, honestly.’
‘Oh goodness, yes. I was ready for some time off myself.’
‘Time off?’ Lucy said. ‘From what?’
Sam’s eyebrows shot upwards. Was Lucy making a dig at Talia – here, in front of everyone, on day one of the trip? It was a bold move, if so. Surprisingly bold.
Talia cocked her head to one side. ‘From work,’ she said flatly. ‘Why – did you assume I don’t have a job?’
Lucy shook her head; she looked genuinely baffled. ‘No – not at all. I’m sorry. I wasn’t assuming anything. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’
‘Ha!’ Rory guffawed. ‘Lucy thought you were one of those bored, desperate housewives putting on luncheon for the ladies, I expect. What do you make of that, Talia?’
‘No – no, I didn’t,’ said Lucy, flushing slightly. ‘That’s not what I meant. I just … I didn’t know that. I’ve only met you once before, Talia, at that awards night a few months ago. I’m not sure if you remember. But it was so loud, and I didn’t get the chance to speak to you much …’
Talia paused for a beat, then smiled – the first truly genuine one Sam thought he’d seen since they got on the plane in London. ‘I see. Well, yes. I work for a children’s charity, as a legal adviser,’ she said. ‘It’s only part time, but the people – the impact they have – it’s quite wonderful.’
‘That’s so amazing,’ said Eleni, sounding almost breathless. ‘Truly. Working for a charity that does such good things, when you wouldn’t actually have to work if you chose not to … it’s really admirable.’
Talia grimaced. ‘There’s really no need for all the flattery – praise is certainly not why I do it,’ she said snippily.
Clearly Talia didn’t want compliments, but Sam had thought the same thing when he’d first learned what she chose to do with her time.
It had warmed him to her; she was so much more than an uber-rich, uber-privileged housewife swanning around at home or going shopping every day. She deserves so much better than Rory.
‘It must be good to feel like you’re making a difference,’ Lucy said. ‘A lot more of a difference than moving around tabs in a spreadsheet all day, anyway.’
Talia laughed. ‘Well, anyone who can put my husband in as good a mood as your work has done over these last few months is making plenty of difference, I can assure you.’
‘Hear, hear!’ boomed Rory.