Chapter 19
The drive from central Athens to the port of Piraeus takes half an hour. The traffic is heavy, and the route through the port complex is slow. Oxana guesses that the driver, a watchful young man who doesn’t address a single word to her, is one of Tahir Yilmaz’s security detail.
Sitting in the car’s cool interior, Oxana thinks herself into her new role.
The uniform helps. The lilac blouse and skirt, the neatly pinned bun and the straw hat, the cardigan over her arm.
She’s also made a point of wearing no make-up; her skin is shiny, and she has a spot on her nose.
The driver’s silence, not so much respectful as merely uninterested, tells her that her nanny character is believable.
She’s not a guest, she’s a minor employee, and the guy’s probably not best pleased at being dispatched to pick her up.
Finally, they reach their destination, and Oxana steps from the air-conditioned car into a blast of heat.
The driver lifts her wheeled suitcase from the boot of the car, and with a nod, indicates that she should follow him onto a long seafront jetty at which a dozen or more superyachts are moored.
The sight of these – their science-fictional gleam, their sheer fuck-you massiveness – stops Oxana in her tracks.
Young men and women in crew T-shirts are visible on several of the yachts, loading provisions, squeegeeing decks, and issuing orders over phones.
At the far end of the jetty is a single black-hulled craft.
Longer than the others, and more aggressively streamlined, it seems to radiate urgency, tension and an impatience to be off.
The nameplate on the stern confirms that this is Medusa.
As Oxana approaches with the driver, her suitcase wheels whirring on the jetty, she sees two figures, a man and a woman, waiting at the top of the gangplank. They watch as she boards. When she looks back, the driver is gone.
‘You are Miss Vorontsova, the nanny, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Welcome aboard Medusa. I am Captain ?zdemir.’
They shake hands. The captain is a wiry figure with an iron grip and creased, watchful eyes. Not a man to suffer fools gladly, Oxana guesses.
‘And I’m Feris, the Chief Stewardess.’ She’s slender, with a wary smile.
‘Feris will show you everything,’ Captain ?zdemir says. ‘We cast off at noon.’ He gives Oxana a tight, professional smile, and vanishes into the shadowy interior of the vessel.
‘Let’s get you settled,’ Feris murmurs, and after a moment’s hesitation lifts Oxana’s case.
Interesting. Clearly, she’s not quite sure of my status.
Am I a servant, a guest, or something in between?
Which role serves my purposes best? Because I’m guessing that this Feris woman, for all her willowy appearance, takes no shit from anyone.
Perhaps I should befriend her. I know exactly how to do that.
I know which sympathetic looks to give her.
I know the precise intensity of sigh and softening of gaze that she’ll respond to.
I know when to widen my eyes, bite my lower lip in shocked surprise and touch her forearm.
I’ve done it so often it’s instinctive. When all’s said and done, people aren’t very complicated.
Women, especially. Let’s see what tune I can play on this one.
Oxana’s cabin, like all the guest cabins, is on the lower deck, on the starboard side. It’s compact but beautifully appointed, with curving oak walls, a single bed, and a tiny en suite bathroom.
‘Have you been on a yacht like this before, Miss…?’
‘Oxana, please.’ She sits down on the bed. ‘No, I haven’t. It’s amazing. I expect you know the family well.’
Feris looks at her hesitantly.
‘Do you like Turkish Delight?’ Oxana asks quickly. ‘There was a box in my room at the hotel.’
‘I love it. In Turkey we call it lokum.’
Oxana reaches into her case, and takes out a small circular box. She opens it and folds back the wrapping paper, releasing a miniature cloud of powdered sugar. ‘Rose and lemon,’ she murmurs. ‘With pistachio nuts. Go on, Feris. Have one.’
‘Maybe just one.’ Feris extends a tentative finger and thumb.
Oxana does the same. ‘Mmm. So good. I’ve also got a mini-bottle of pink champagne. Perfect for two.’
Feris watches warily as Oxana takes out the bottle. ‘I’m not really supposed to drink on duty.’
‘You’re not on duty yet.’ Oxana opens the bottle with a deft twist of the wrist, reaches for the glass on the bedside table, and pours. ‘Here.’
Feris looks at her dubiously but takes the glass.
‘I bet you’ve got the hardest job on the boat,’ Oxana says. ‘Keeping an eye on everything. Keeping everyone happy.’
‘It is hard,’ Feris admits, taking a cautious sip of the champagne. ‘Sometimes very hard. You have to be prepared to be unpopular.’
‘Oh no. Poor you. Here, have another lokum, I can’t eat them all on my own.’
‘Maybe just one more.’
Oxana smiles. ‘Your English is really good.’
‘Thanks. I grew up in Izmir. Everyone there speaks English as a second language.’
‘So what are the other stewardesses like?’
‘They’re OK.’ Feris sips. ‘They know they’re here to work.’
‘And there are male crew too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nice?’
She shrugs. ‘Sure. Everyone gets on fine.’
‘Are there… romances?’ Oxana takes a sip from the champagne bottle and nudges the lokum box towards Feris.
‘Officially, no,’ says Feris, helping herself. ‘It always leads to trouble. But you can’t really stop people… Do you have a boyfriend?’
Oxana shakes her head and looks away. ‘It’s difficult, being a nanny. Plus, I just don’t think guys are very attracted to me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Feris drains her champagne. ‘You’ve got lovely eyes. And nice hair, as far as I can see, under that hat.’ She glances at Oxana’s scarred cheek. ‘Can I ask… What happened there?’
‘I was attacked by a stranger on a bus,’ Oxana says, her voice not quite steady. ‘He had a knife and slashed my face as he walked past. They never caught him, and I… I still have nightmares about it. I think I see him everywhere.’
‘Oh, Oxana.’ Feris takes her hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Oxana’s lips tremble. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers. She gives Feris a brave smile. ‘I’m sure I’m safe here, though. I mean, the Yilmaz family are nice people, right?’
‘They’re certainly interesting. Tahir, that’s the father, is very polite. Very correct. But perhaps be careful of Inci.’
‘That’s his wife?’
‘His girlfriend. The singer, Inci Demir. She’s a huge star in Turkey and expects to be treated like one.’
‘Right. I hear you. So what’s Defne like? She’s the one I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on.’
‘Defne’s… yeah. She’s a nice girl.’ Feris sighs. ‘A bit lonely, perhaps? A bit attention-starved?’ She shrugs. ‘They’re rich people, Oxana. They live by different rules from people like us.’
Feris shows me round the Medusa. By now most of the crew are on board and busily preparing for our departure; they’re a mix of nationalities, and English seems to be the working language.
The chef, Andreas, is Greek. Andreas is extremely handsome and knows it.
He and Feris exchange lingering glances.
There are five decks, all arranged on top of each other like a layer cake.
My cabin is on the lower deck, in the belly of the ship, or the boat, or whatever you’re supposed to call it.
Above that is the main deck, where the crew live, and where all the cooking and laundry and service stuff happens.
At the front of this – the foredeck, Feris calls it – there’s a helipad.
Of course there is. Then there’s the owner’s deck.
That’s the main family area, with two salons, a dining space, and a cocktail zone.
Overhead is the bridge deck, housing the ship’s controls – strictly the domain of Captain ?zdemir, apparently – and above that the sundeck, which I’m guessing is basically for working on your tan.
It’s all super-comfortable, but I wonder how we’re all going to get on together.
The Medusa is longer than most of the luxury craft in the Piraeus yacht marina, but once we’re at sea, I’m guessing it’s going to start feeling like an enclosed space. We’ll see.
When Feris has finished showing me round the yacht she excuses herself.
I’m pretty sure I’ve handled her right. I want to come across as an ally.
Someone who understands the particular pressures she’s under.
The essential thing is to treat her as an equal.
I have no idea if I’ll need her help, but if I do, I want to be sure it’s forthcoming.
In general, I need to know my place and not get above myself.
I can’t let anyone imagine, for one second, that I’m any kind of threat.
In her cabin, Oxana unpacks her case and hangs up her clothes.
She’s confident that if anyone decides to search the cabin, they’ll find only the modest possessions of a not very well-off young woman.
Everything from her underwear to her deodorant has been sourced from budget high-street outlets.
On the floor next to her bed is a copy of Her Frozen Heart, a goodbye present from Charlotte.
Inside it is the crocheted bookmark that Georgie gave her.
When Oxana has finished unpacking, she ascends a deck and makes her way to the dive locker, which Feris pointed out in passing when she was showing Oxana the layout of the yacht.
The dive locker is actually a small room, containing half a dozen sets of scuba equipment.
Oxygen cylinders, breathing regulators, buoyancy control devices, fins, masks, wetsuits and weight belts.
Oxana eyes this equipment speculatively.
It looks well maintained, and ready for use.
‘Cool, huh?’ Feris materialises beside her.
‘I guess it is.’
‘Are you a diver?’
‘Oh my gosh, no. I’m just… scaring myself. I’ve never seen stuff like this close up.’
‘Diving’s fun. You should try it. I’m sure one of the crew would be happy to give you a lesson.’
Oxana shudders. ‘No way. I’m more comfortable above the surface, thank you very much.’
‘Well, make yourself at home, anyway.’
The Yilmaz family board Medusa shortly before midday. Oxana is waiting in the stern with Captain ?zdemir, the stewardesses, and the crew, as the small group saunters unhurriedly up the quay towards the gangplank.
The women board first. They’re headed by a full-figured woman with honey-blonde hair.
Wide, mascaraed eyes survey the Medusa and her crew.
As she sets foot on the gangplank, loudspeakers burst briefly into song, and there’s a burst of applause from the crew.
Captain ?zdemir steps forward and shakes the woman’s hand.
The two of them converse briefly in Turkish, then the captain switches to English to introduce Oxana.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Oxana murmurs.
Inci Demir glances at her, wordlessly registers her hat and uniform, then moves on, nodding to left and right at the crew members and stewardesses. For a second, perhaps a half-second, Feris catches Oxana’s eye.
Tahir Yilmaz, walking in Inci Demir’s wake, is a broad-faced man in a crumpled linen suit.
He’s nondescript in appearance, with brown eyes that appear almost kindly.
Behind him, another figure hovers. Again, not a big man, or a particularly noticeable one, but Oxana notes his constantly scanning eyes, and marks him down as a close-security professional.
‘Miss Vorontsova,’ Yilmaz murmurs. ‘Thank you for coming. Was the hotel comfortable?’
‘Very. Thank you.’
‘Have you been shown to your cabin?’
‘Yes. Feris has been looking after me.’
‘Excellent.’ He indicates the bodyguard.
‘This is Atlas. While you keep an eye on the girls, Atlas will be keeping an eye on me.’ He looks searchingly at Oxana.
‘It’s unfortunate that such precautions are necessary.
It’s one of the penalties the world exacts on successful businessmen.
And our families.’ He smiles at her, and something behind the smile, an unflinching coldness, strikes a chord with Oxana.
She’s seen men like this before. Men who look absolutely ordinary and deploy terror without a thought.
‘I understand,’ she says, but Tahir has turned away. When he looks back, he’s holding the arm of a tall, dark-haired young woman. He draws her forward. ‘Defne, this is Miss Vorontsova.’
‘Call me Oxana.’ She holds out a hand.
Defne squeezes it uncertainly. She has her father’s brown eyes, and the ungainliness of a teenager who hasn’t quite grown into her body. ‘So who exactly are you?’ she asks, releasing Oxana’s hand and scratching absently at a patch of sunburnt skin between her shoulder blades.
Oxana’s about to respond when she’s interrupted by a disbelieving shriek of laughter.
‘Oh my God.’ The speaker has child-woman features and giant sunglasses pushed up into streaky-blonde hair. ‘The hat,’ she says, staring at Oxana. ‘I can’t…’ With a last disbelieving gawp at Oxana she grabs Defne’s hand and drags her into the Medusa’s interior.
‘Buse ?etinkaya. My daughter’s friend,’ Tahir Yilmaz murmurs. ‘As you can see, she’s quite…’
‘High-spirited?’ Oxana suggests.
‘Something like that.’
‘All aboard?’ the captain asks Yilmaz.
‘Yes, that’s everyone, I think. Emir’s joining us as soon as he can get away. Tomorrow, with any luck.’
‘Excellent. We’ll prepare to cast off, then. I hope you’re a good sailor, Miss Vorontsova.’
‘I hope so too, Captain ?zdemir, I’ve never had the chance to find out.’
A young crew member carrying a bulging Fendi suitcase catches Defne’s eye. ‘Can I show you to your cabin, mademoiselle?’
She glances at him, taking in the sun-bleached hair, the tan and the smile. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Yes. You absolutely can.’