Chapter 18 Ore
Chapter 18
Ore
Ore found Chuck on the third deck, alone and on the phone. She hovered awkwardly a few paces behind him, not wanting to interrupt but also tempted to eavesdrop.
The wind wasn’t working in her favour so she only caught snippets.
‘Near the site … three days … Klauparten … reef.’ It was an intriguing and utterly meaningless collection of words but Ore made a mental note, if only to flesh out her sorry-looking mind map.
Chuck abruptly ended the call and Ore leapt back before making as if she had just walked onto the deck. Still, he looked startled. ‘Ore, what are you doing here? I usually like to be alone when conducting business.’ He was smiling but Ore understood that he did not take kindly to being ambushed.
‘I was just looking for you to ask what all that noise was about?’ Again she figured it was best to play a little dumb.
‘The choppers? Oh yes, a few of my friends and business associates have flown over to enjoy a little getaway.’
‘Ahh so it’s nothing to do with Pagonis then? I was hoping maybe I could speak to one or two, but if they’re just on holiday I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
‘My dear, we’re all far too successful to be afraid of mixing a little business and pleasure. I’m sure they’d be happy to speak to you.’
Ore laughed, if only because she had no idea what to say.
‘And how have you and the captain been getting along?’ Chuck continued, giving Ore a once-over that made her skin prickle.
She laughed again. ‘Oh fine, he’s been very helpful.’ She kept her tone even and light.
‘The two of you together make a very attractive pair.’
It’s strange, thought Ore, how the body can read a situation so much faster than the mind. Before he had even finished the sentence her heart was beating faster and her muscles had tensed, ready to fight or flee.
‘He’s a very handsome man, but I am not even remotely successful enough to mix business and pleasure.’
Chuck held her gaze for a moment, and she knew that this was some sort of showdown. She was not about to whimper into the shadows. She held her ground and something akin to excitement seemed to flash across Chuck’s face. A predator revelling in the thrill of the chase.
After what felt a beat too long, Chuck laughed. ‘Well played, Ore. I’m sure my associates will enjoy your company very much. Come with me.’
He walked ahead and she followed, trying to ignore the gnawing in her stomach.
When they got to the top deck, the half dozen men already had drinks in hand, lazing around the huge glass-top table.
‘Here he is at last. Keeping us waiting, Chucky?’ One of the men – tall, red-headed and pink-limbed – stood to shake Chuck’s hand.
‘Treat them mean, keep them keen, eh.’ This one was older, maybe in his sixties or even seventies, his hair surprisingly thick for its almost white hue.
‘You call this mean? My wallet trembles at the idea of what you think generosity looks like.’ This man received a hug from Chuck, and a hearty slap on the back.
One by one he made his way around, before turning to Ore from the head of the table. ‘Richard, Gerry, Ousman, Freddie, Claude, Roger …’ He gestured over to Ore. ‘This is Ore. She’s a reporter for the New York Herald and a very special guest of mine. Please be nice.’
Ore smiled and was glad that her flushing cheeks weren’t obvious.
‘Hello, all, very nice to meet you,’ she said, trying not to sound intimidated but instead sounding overly formal in contrast to all that collegiate banter she’d just witnessed.
‘A reporter! Aren’t you worried about all those skeletons in the closet, Chucky?’ It was the white-haired man again and when he turned back to Ore, he winked.
All the men laughed, although Ore noticed some more than others. Ousman was a serious-looking man, his bald head glinting in the sunlight. Claude too was not as jocular as the rest of them. He was stern, with an almost military-style buzz cut and the sort of pale grey eyes that made his face look otherworldly. He caught Ore’s gaze as she scanned over the table, and held it for a moment too long.
‘Ore has asked me if she might be able to speak to some of you for the piece she’s writing. It’s a profile.’
‘As long as it’s not of you.’ The redhead’s turn at being the joker.
‘Unfortunately so.’ It was clear from the irritability seeping from Chuck’s response that this man did not have the same standing as the elder one. ‘But let’s not talk shop tonight. We’ll do an island trip tomorrow maybe? Ore, you’re welcome to join, and then there might be a chance to have a chat with a couple of these rascals.’
Ore was relieved to have an out for this evening – she wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle the discomfort of all this male gazing. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, she might have reinforced her resilience, and have a decent idea of what questions to ask them.
‘That sounds perfect. Thanks, Chuck.’ Ore tried to keep the unease out of her tone. ‘I’m going to hit the hay, but I look forward to seeing you gentlemen tomorrow.’ That wasn’t exactly true, but they all smiled and nodded on cue. All apart from Claude, whose grey stare Ore could feel fixated on her.
‘Have the kitchen send some dinner to your room, anything you like,’ Chuck insisted. And then he added, ‘Sweet dreams.’ It was a strange thing for Chuck to say, and the way it elicited laughter from the men only made it stranger. After another nervous laugh in response, Ore had to stop herself from breaking into a jog as she retreated from the table and down the stairs. Food and sleep were the last things on her mind right now.
Back in the sanctuary of her cabin, Ore fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She’d only been on board for forty-eight hours and she felt unmoored. She giggled to herself in the silence thinking of it, the manifestation of that metaphor, lost at sea, losing her footing on unstable ground. All of it was laughably on the nose.
After a moment, her brain kicked back into gear. She needed to make notes, before she forgot those names Chuck had reeled off, or that hushed phone call. She laid them out on the bed, and cross-referenced the names with the list of investors she’d made earlier. Richard Greenam, Gerry Porter, Ousman Alzahrani, Roger Alderton were all there, and she guessed that Freddie must be Frederik Dolph, but there was no one by the name of Claude. She’d have to ask for his surname tomorrow, but for now she wrote ‘on board’ for the other names, and a question mark by Claude’s.
She recalled Chuck’s phone call on the deck. She wrote down ‘clow-par-ten?’, circled it and then wrote ‘cloup-arten’ and underlined it. Her brain felt as confused as the words on the page, but it also felt calmer for not having to be their sole guardian.
It occurred to her that it might be wise to keep all her musings in a safe place. After scouring the room and finding no safe, she thought about stuffing the papers under her bed. And then what happens when the stewardess comes in? A silly idea. In the end she settled on placing them between the folds of her beach towel. In retrospect it had been a complete waste of luggage space anyway, as if a billionaire’s mega yacht wouldn’t provide her with its own supply of towels.
As she got ready for bed, her mind wandered to Daniel. That incident in the kitchen felt like a lifetime ago already, but if she concentrated she could remember the heat of his palm on her bare shoulder with freakish clarity. Not only the physical sensation, but the immediacy with which it had brought her back into her own body, lassoed her dissociated mind back into place.
And then later, when she’d snapped at him about Chuck, she hadn’t expected that wounded look. She also hadn’t expected to feel so guilty. Daniel was nice, but she barely knew the man.
She wondered if she fancied him, thinking back to meeting him. She had been struck by his good looks, and she had enjoyed charming him, as she did most men. On paper he was certainly a catch, if you set aside the fact that he was a potential source. There was the small matter of him being totally unavailable to her, in the sense that he lived thousands of miles away, at sea, but her dating track record might suggest that that hadn’t always been a deterrent.
But the problem was that she was wondering – usually she knew almost instantaneously if she would sleep with a man. That familiar fluttering in her stomach – she hadn’t felt it with Daniel. She must not then, she concluded, fancy him, and yet … here she was worrying she’d hurt his feelings.
It was just another puzzle for her mind to obsess over, and she had enough mysteries to solve on this boat. It was time to sleep. Tomorrow was another day, perhaps to get answers, but more likely to discover yet more questions.