TALIA
Eleni’s shoulders dropped; she looked crestfallen for a moment, then perked up again and plastered the ingratiating smile back across her face. ‘Still – I appreciate it. Would you mind waiting for a moment while I gather my things together for the trip? Then we can go up together.’
‘Ah – well, I should really get back …’
‘Oh – yeah,’ said Eleni, appearing back at the door, a touch breathless. ‘Yes. It’s just how Nick likes things, I suppose. Shall we go?’
They began to make their way along the corridor and upstairs.
‘I love your earrings,’ said Eleni as they walked. ‘You have such great style.’
Talia’s eyes flickered sideways. Why was she doing this again – insisting on paying Talia endless compliments? ‘You’re very kind.’ But please, stop. The endless flattery wasn’t endearing – it was irritating.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Eleni came to a sudden stop and turned her eyes upwards, fixing on something on the ceiling.
‘You don’t think they put cameras below deck too, do you?’ she murmured.
Talia flinched. ‘Pardon me?’
‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It’s just this feeling I keep having of being watched on the yacht – in my cabin, mostly. But maybe it makes sense – there’s CCTV pretty much everywhere, isn’t there?’
Eleni pointed up to a dome-shaped camera fixed above the entrance to the salon. From its position there, it would be able to capture the whole sweep of the room. Talia’s stomach churned.
‘I’m sure no one really watches it,’ she murmured absently.
‘I suppose not,’ said Eleni, with a shrug. ‘Just seems a bit pointless having it then, doesn’t it?’ She smiled at Talia, then strode ahead to join the others out on deck.
Talia sat next to Rory in the tender as Kai sailed the group – everyone except Nick – closer to shore, taking in the white sandy beach and vibrant corals of the bay near Fare village.
The view anchored off Huahine was breathtaking.
Of the islands they’d visited so far – Tahiti, Moorea, now here – this one might be her favourite.
The sand on the beach was impossibly pale; the sea the most stunning, vibrant turquoise.
And it was so peaceful, this bay – a true desert paradise.
With the tender docked at shore close to a yacht club, Kai helped everyone out of the boat and led them along the beach.
From there, it was a short walk to the paved road of the village, lined with thick green foliage and dotted with low, cream-coloured houses and shops with brightly coloured fascias, some of them screaming brand names at passers-by.
After a few minutes on foot, they arrived at a bike shop, where seven bikes were lined up outside. Kai stepped inside and emerged a few moments later with a map for each of them, detailing the area surrounding Fare.
‘Okay, everyone, you’re going to be free shortly to explore the surrounding villages and hiking trails on your e-bikes – feel free to have your own adventures this afternoon!’ said Kai. ‘Some quick safety pointers for using your bikes in the area …’
Talia tuned out as he talked through the mechanisms of the e-bike, and took in the quiet buzz of the village around her.
Four-by-fours tightly packed along the edges of the street, ferrying locals on their way to the supermarket.
A handful of tourists strolling by, eyes fixed on the colourful store fronts, pointing and snapping photos with their phones.
‘Enjoy yourselves, and make sure you’re back here at this same spot at five o’clock to return to the boat. Everyone has a watch or a phone on them, yes?’
The group murmured their agreement, then began studying their maps.
Eleni was trying to catch Talia’s eye. She probably wants to ask if she can join the two of us – God forbid.
But Rory was already astride his bike, saying he didn’t need directions.
‘Shall we take a tour on our own, darling?’ he called.
She looked at him. The eagerness in his expression was almost too much to bear.
‘Yes, of course. That will be nice,’ she said. And a blessed relief to get away from some of his colleagues.
She put on her helmet, climbed on her bike and – with an excited squeal, she’d never ridden an electric one before and the way it glided forward with such minimal effort made her laugh with surprise – rode with her husband away from the others. Just Talia and Rory, alone.
After twenty minutes of riding, taking them away from the village centre and upwards on a small path that climbed into the nearby hills, Rory began to slow to a stop. ‘Wow – just wow. Look at this view!’
They’d reached a clearing in the trees, and beyond it, the South Pacific stretched blue and still for miles. ‘Shall we stop and sit in the shade for a few minutes, take it all in?’
She observed her husband: his cheeks were pink and sweat had turned his polo shirt into a sopping clump that clung stickily to his chest and shoulders. He was clearly struggling with the heat, but far too proud to admit it.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I could do with a bit of shade.’
Rory hopped off his bike and laid it down gently on the grass; Talia followed suit.
They sat down, nestled their frames inside the curved roots of a nearby mape tree, its wide trunk solid against Talia’s back.
As the hum of their bikes faded, they were encased in the dense silence of the lush hillside, only gentle gusts of wind through leafy branches and the faint chatter of nearby birds reaching her ears now.
‘This is glorious, isn’t it, darling?’ said Rory, taking hold of Talia’s hand.
Talia looked at her husband – really looked at him.
She saw the try-hard, eager-to-please boy behind the facade of the high-powered man.
She saw the subtle eye-rolls in response to his poor jokes; the awkward ways he tried to ingratiate himself with people; his out-of-touch attempts to show his care for those he loved.
Shame and regret and the blood-curdling terror of exposure gnawed hotly in her stomach, curdling together in a vile, broiling mess, exactly as they had done every day for the past few months.
She dug her long nails into the palm of her hand, then gasped in pain: she looked down and saw pinpricks of blood.
Damn. She’d managed to cut herself. She stared at the oozing red drops in horror, then pressed a finger down onto her palm to stem the flow.
‘You’re bleeding, my love. What happened – did you cut yourself on one of these spiky roots?’
‘Gosh – I think I must have done.’ Talia blinked away her hot tears, felt a rush of gratitude for her thick sunglasses. What the hell is wrong with me – what am I doing? Surely I don’t want to hurt myself …
But then again, she already was, wasn’t she?
Not in a way that would draw blood – she was hurting herself inside, and that was far worse.
And she wasn’t just doing it to herself.
What she’d been doing all these months – what she was still doing – was harming other people too. Perhaps bleeding was her just reward.
‘Do you want to go back into the town – see if we can’t find you a plaster?’ Rory asked.
Talia smiled, touched at his concern. ‘You’re sweet, darling, but no. I’ll be fine – it’s just a scratch.’
His kindness in moments like these only made her feel worse.
If only she’d got out of the affair straight away – ended things before they’d started, told the other man it was a mistake, blocked his number, whatever it took – she could have avoided doing any serious damage.
No one else would have got hurt, least of all herself.
She wouldn’t have been at risk of getting caught and losing everything.
But she hadn’t got out of it. She’d done the opposite: she’d got deeper and deeper in.
‘Phew. Well, I’m about ready to head back anyway, if you are? This heat is really quite something.’
‘That’s fine with me.’
Rory took her face in his palms and leaned in to kiss her. ‘I do love you, darling, very much. You know that, don’t you?’
Talia frowned; these moments of sentimentality were rare for her husband, and usually only happened after they’d had sex – a once-per-month occurrence these days, if that.
She smiled. ‘Of course. And I love you too – very much.’
And it was true: she did still love Rory – perhaps more as a friend than a lover, but they’d been together for twenty-odd years – their days of heated passion had cooled to a companionship that was steady, warm, and in many ways fulfilling.
Until now, she’d always been honest, loyal and supportive to her husband, even when he’d embarrassed her with his outdated jokes; even when she’d cringed at his banter that reflected his position as a man of a certain era; a certain upbringing.
Despite all that, she did care for him – and it left Talia baffled at exactly how she’d got to this point.
At what exactly had happened that led to her starting an affair.
On their ride back downhill, Talia turned the past few months over in her mind.
It wasn’t like she’d been going out looking for something to happen – she’d been content with life; she had more than most. She had her husband, two beautiful daughters, a wonderful home, plenty of money, and good health.
There was nothing missing – or nothing on the surface, at least.
But something in her changed after both girls left home last year – Nina into her own flat, Chloe away to Cambridge for university.
Talia had given up her career as a solicitor after Nina was born: she’d devoted herself to raising her children, picking up some pro bono legal cases to stay busy when they were in school.
Now that they were grown, and with only her part-time job at the charity – plus her weekly Pilates sessions and lunch with friends to keep her busy – she had become that cliché of an empty-nester: wandering around their Hampstead townhouse, finding things to clear up, decorating, pottering in the garden … All while feeling slightly flat; empty.
But that’s no excuse. This isn’t who I am.
It can’t be. She’d always been revolted by the thought of ending up like her dad, and her grandad before him, carrying on the cycles of infidelity that ran back through her family history like a generational curse.
Dad, ‘working away’ most of the week; coming home with an extra spring in his step and the lingering reek of sickly floral perfume in his dirty laundry.
Her mother had turned a blind eye to it, but Talia was all too aware – by the time she hit her mid-teens, she could see her father for exactly who he was: a cheat and a liar, and not even a convincing one, at that.
Her mother’s wilful ignorance had come to a shattering end when, on Talia’s eighteenth birthday, he’d confessed that he was in love with someone else – a younger woman, of course; how clichéd – and moved out the next day, leaving his family reeling.
She’d hated him for it. And yet here she was now. Sneaking around behind Rory’s back, lying – and even worse: over time, she’d become good at it. Much better than her father had ever been.
Back on board the Lusso, Rory ushered Talia in Michaela’s direction; the stewardess was tidying in the salon.
‘My dear wife managed to get a cut to her finger while we were on the island,’ he said. ‘See to it that it’s cleaned and patched up, will you?’
As he walked away, Talia gave an exasperated groan. ‘Michaela, there’s really no need. It’s just a scratch.’
Michaela smiled. ‘Well, why don’t you come into the galley with me anyway – I can have a look and grab the first aid kit if we need.’
‘Fine,’ said Talia, with a brisk nod. She followed the stewardess through the salon and into the galley.
She’d not been inside the yacht’s kitchen before, and took a moment to admire the gleaming silver surfaces.
She sat on a barstool by the counter and held out her hand, as Michaela soaked cotton wool in antiseptic and dabbed it on Talia’s palm.
Just then, the stewardess’s crew radio crackled to life. ‘Captain to First Officer, please confirm all CCTV is back up and running now that guests have re-embarked. Over.’
Then an almost immediate reply: ‘Captain, this is Brett. All cameras now back up and running. Over.’
Talia’s mouth went dry; she thought back to her conversation with Eleni about the cameras, just before the biking tour.
She studied Michaela as she neatly cut a plaster to size and gently applied it to Talia’s cut.
‘Isn’t it a little … excessive, to have CCTV running all the time we’re on board? ’ she said, attempting levity.
Michaela looked up. ‘It’s just a precaution,’ she said. ‘In case anything goes wrong, and we need to look back to understand what happened.’
Talia nodded. ‘And does it get recorded over, after a day or so?’
She shook her head. ‘Usually not for thirty days. At least, until well after a charter is over.’
Talia pulled her hand away. ‘And does anyone watch it otherwise? If nothing’s gone wrong, I mean?’
Michaela’s eyebrows knitted together. She glanced briefly at the galley door, as if to check no one was outside listening, then turned back to Talia.
‘Talia,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not sure exactly what you’re asking. But, yes – sometimes, the crew watch the footage. And we … we see things on charters. Not just on CCTV.’
Talia took a deep breath. Where is she going with this? ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, examining the plaster on her hand, the dry flakes to the side of her nails.
‘It’s just – well, being so close to people, in such a tight space … it’s hard not to pick up things about the people on board with us,’ the stewardess said softly.
Then Michaela leaned closer to Talia; so close that as Talia looked up, she could make out the flecks of brown in her light green eyes. ‘Of course, we try not to involve ourselves in guests’ business. It’s part of our job, to keep things to ourselves. But—’
Talia clattered off the stool and drew herself up to her full height. ‘What are you trying to say, exactly?’ she said.
The stewardess lowered her gaze. ‘I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just concerned.’ She met Talia’s eyes. ‘I think you need to be more careful.’