Chapter 24 Ore
Chapter 24
Ore
Peristéri Island (property of Chuck Regas)
Ore felt awash with relief to be standing on dry land. Apparently there was a limit to how much seasickness pills could achieve, especially if you threw them up within half an hour of taking them. Daniel had helped her off the boat, and the concern in his eyes had embarrassed her. She was supposed to be working, not another one of Chuck’s high-maintenance guests.
The island was almost obscenely idyllic. Ore imagined it couldn’t take longer than about thirty minutes to walk round the entire perimeter of it. An oblong of luscious green encircled by a wide band of demerara sugar sand, tapering into shallow turquoise water. It seemed uninhabited, not a building to be seen. Ore concluded that Chuck probably owned it.
Agatha was sitting with a glass of what looked like champagne in hand, on a large picnic blanket. All three of the men sitting around her appeared to be amused by what she had to say. Ore was finding this personality shift from Agatha both bizarre and intriguing.
‘There’s drinks, nibbles and another blanket in the hamper. I’m going to head back to get Nicole and the rest of the supplies now, sir.’ Oscar was holding both his hands behind his back as he spoke, his head lowered slightly. Ore found the subservient hierarchy of the boat uncomfortably feudal.
‘Thanks, Oscar,’ Chuck and Daniel said in unison. Ore cringed slightly when it was Daniel’s turn to bow his head and say, ‘Sorry, sir.’
Chuck seemed to find the whole thing amusing, slapping Daniel on the back and walking over to the rest of the guests.
Ore was standing to the side of them, a little way off, trying her best to flush away the nausea with big breaths of sea air. Daniel walked towards her, stopping at an awkward angle away from her and then turning so they stood side by side.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘I’ve felt better,’ she admitted. ‘Just as I got accustomed to the Thalassa , here you go testing my limits again!’ She was teasing him but he looked so apologetic, she felt a bit bad.
‘Sorry about that. I tried to make the ride as smooth as possible.’
‘No, no, sorry, I didn’t mean it as a comment on your … driving.’ She wasn’t sure what the right terminology was. He chuckled and she found herself smiling at his warm laugh.
‘To be honest I’m just a bit stressed about getting this piece done. I’ve been here for three days and I haven’t written a single word of the article yet. I’m not even sure what my angle is.’ She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this; something about his presence made her feel like she could confide in him.
‘Angle? I thought it was just a profile piece? Don’t you have enough from your chat with Chuck?’ He was asking innocently enough, and the lack of eye contact made her want to open up. In truth it was a bit of a lonely experience, being out here, away from the bustle of her auntie’s house, with its comings and goings. And usually she’d have her friends to talk to about whatever it was she was working on.
‘Oh you know us journalists, there’s always an angle. I just have this feeling that there’s something more to it …’ She couldn’t quite articulate it. ‘Something more, I don’t know … going on?’
She glanced over at him, and noticed him tense, almost imperceptibly.
‘It might be easier to just stick to the brief though, no? Write up your conversation with Chuck and just enjoy yourself for the rest of your time here.’ His tone had changed into something more forceful.
‘Is that advice or an order from up above?’ she asked, motioning her head in Chuck’s direction.
Daniel looked at her, his eyes almost pleading. He looked like he was trying to work out what to say next, but in the end he settled on: ‘Neither. I’m not the writer; what would I know?’
Ore wished he would just tell her what was on his mind, partly because she sensed it might help her understand the ‘something going on’ and partly because it seemed to be burdening him.
‘Anyway, duty calls. You should ask Nicole for some ginger tea when she gets here.’ With that, he strode away. Ore wondered how on earth tea could be brewed on a desert island.
Soon the dinghy arrived carrying Carlos – who must have been stowed away somewhere on the bigger boat – Nicole and an unfathomable amount of ‘supplies’. Ore wandered back over to the guests.
‘Have a drink, Ore, it might do you some good to relax into it.’ Chuck passed her a glass of something sparkling. She worried she might not be able to keep it down, but took a sip out of politeness. It turned out to be delicious, and next thing she knew, she had polished off another two glasses.
As the guests drank, the crew busied themselves setting up a marquee, dining table and what looked like a fully operational gas barbecue, which was hooked up to a huge canister. Ore marvelled at the power of money.
The conversation was mainly centred around Chuck, Frederik and Ousman talking about their MIT days; Agatha and Richard seemed to have their own repartee going about their time at Cambridge, albeit over fifty years apart. Ore sat quietly grazing on the delights of the mezze board and drinking more than she’d intended. She listened, and occasionally laughed politely, but she was becoming more aware that with every passing minute she was losing out on the opportunity to get answers.
Claude was sitting apart from the group, further up the beach, which nobody seemed surprised by. She resolved to buck up, stop acting like this was a holiday and go do some actual journalism.
She stood up and excused herself. ‘Just going for a little wander,’ she explained.
‘Careful that you don’t run into any big bad wolves in the forest.’ Frederik had loosened up too, after a few glasses. ‘Or one big bad wolf in particular.’ He looked over pointedly to where Claude was sitting, and the other two men laughed.
‘Why do you say that?’ Ore kept her tone light, but her question seemed to dampen the mood. The laughter dried up. Chuck looked at Frederik, with an expression that was hard to read. Frederik took another swig and Ousman topped up his glass of sparkling water.
‘He’s only kidding, Ore,’ Chuck said after a moment, ‘but don’t be long. We’ll be eating in about twenty minutes.’
Ore was no idiot, and she was a woman. Which meant that she understood that Claude was someone to be careful around. A lot of men were, and she resented that they assumed she was oblivious to his hungry gaze and wandering hands. Still, she needed, at the very least, a surname from him, if she had any hope of getting to the bottom of whatever it was that Chuck was mixed up in here.
‘Not about to miss whatever feast Carlos is cooking up – don’t worry,’ she said breezily, dusting away the sand on her clothes.
Claude was sitting further away than it looked. The expanse of beach and clear visibility were deceptive. When she finally got to him, he looked up suddenly, although he must have seen her coming for a while.
‘Ore, you have come to steal a cigarette?’ He held a pack open for her to help herself. She was in the habit of smoking exclusively after midnight, usually when she was wasted. Today though, under the blinding sunlight, she thought it best to just accept his offer.
‘Thank you.’ She took a cigarette and sat down beside him. When he produced a lighter, it was clear that she was to lean in and light straight from the flame. She was keenly aware of how close his face was to hers and suddenly she wished she’d taken greater heed of Frederik’s warning.
She inhaled, leaning back, and then blew the acrid smoke into the air between them. ‘I um, I wanted to have a chat with you today actually.’ It came out sounding less assertive and more apologetic than she’d intended.
‘A chat? Is that what the English say when they mean interview?’
She laughed, if only for something to do. ‘I suppose so. Is that a problem?’
He turned to her, and she felt like he was testing her nerve with his silent stare.
Finally he shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’
In that moment Ore’s mind went blank. In the commotion of her seasickness she’d left her precious notepad on the tender. She took another drag of the cigarette to kill time and then it came to her: start simple.
‘How do you know Chuck?’
At an painfully leisurely pace, Claude nodded and took out another cigarette, lighting it and inhaling slowly.
‘Chuck and I, we were school friends,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Where did you go to school?’ Ore’s heart was beating a little faster. If she could get him to confirm the boarding school, then she would at least know that Chuck was definitely withholding, if not outright lying, about his childhood.
‘In my hometown.’ She was by no means surprised that Claude was not forthcoming, but it was still frustrating.
‘Where is that?’ She tried not to let the irritation seep into her voice; she suspected he’d only relish it.
‘Geraardsbergen.’
‘Is that in Belgium?’ Ore wanted to be sure.
Claude rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, I thought it was an American thing to be bad at geography; maybe it has spread now to the rest of the anglosphere.’
He wanted her to drop it; she could sense it. Maybe he thought that she would be shamed into retreat if he insulted her intelligence. But he had only given himself away: she was onto something.
‘How old were you at the time?’
Claude shifted in the sand. ‘I’m not sure, maybe like six or seven. How can I remember that?’ His tone was as steady and monotone as ever, but she swore she could detect him getting just a little flustered.
‘No problem, I don’t need you to be exact.’
‘So you are the sort of journalist who does not deal with exact facts.’ Another dig, before he took a long drag. Ore said nothing. ‘Have you any other questions? We should be going back for food now.’
Time was running out. It seemed she was doomed to collect only tiny fragments from everyone. She would have to do the piecing together in her own time.
‘Does “klauparten” mean anything to you?’ The moment she said the word, she knew she’d hit a nerve. Claude’s head snapped around, catching her in another one of his iron stares.
‘Where did you hear that word?’ His eyes turned somehow icier. Ore felt a flash of fear. There was a menace there that she hadn’t seen before.
‘I …’ she stumbled. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, only wanting to make the most of this conversation before it was over. ‘I can’t remember, maybe something Chuck said to me in one of our chats?’ She was lying, and he knew it.
Neither of them moved, and then the forgotten cigarette burned down into her fingers.
‘Ouch!’ She flung the butt into the sand.
‘You should be careful not to make a habit of getting your fingers burned.’ If ever Ore had heard a threat … Claude smiled, and, perhaps for the first time, Ore realised, deep in her bones, that she was messing with dangerous people. She needed to be more careful.
‘Shall we head back?’ Her voice trembled slightly, and it only made him smile wider.
‘I think that would be wise.’
Ore clambered to her feet as Claude rose slowly. The walk back to the others was excruciatingly silent. The whole way Ore racked her brain for things to say, but nothing materialised. It felt like her body was too concerned with survival mode to be able to think of anything else.
When they reached the table, which by now had been set up with a stunning array of barbecued meats, fish and vegetables, she let out the deep breath she’d been holding in.