Chapter 21
‘I’m very happy that you’re here,’ Yilmaz says. ‘I’m told that Ruffley Royal nannies have a unique reputation.’ He speaks quietly, as if choosing his words with care.
‘I’ll do my best to keep an eye on the girls,’ Oxana says. ‘Is there anything in particular that worries you? Anything I should watch out for?’
It’s now twenty minutes since the Medusa’s departure from Piraeus.
An almost soundless vibration signals that the yacht is under way.
Tahir Yilmaz and Oxana are sitting at a table in the private lounge attached to the master suite.
The bodyguard, wearing a short-sleeved shirt beneath which Oxana can see the outline of a shoulder holster, is ensconced in a hanging wicker chair at the other end of the lounge, thumbing through a car magazine.
Oxana catches his eye and he holds her gaze for a moment, his expression neutral.
‘I’ve brought you here,’ Yilmaz says to her, ‘because it’s one of the few places on the Medusa where we won’t be overheard or overlooked.’
The walls are made of smart-glass, which Yilmaz has switched from clear to frosted, and low-volume pink noise masks their conversation from recording devices.
These counter-measures confirm to Oxana that Yilmaz is an ordered, cautious man who is unlikely to make unforced mistakes.
She’s already noted his hyper-vigilance.
Even in the presence of the bodyguard, part of him is still searching his surroundings for threat.
Oxana’s father was like that after returning from combat assignments.
Always wary, always watching, always taut-wired.
It exhausted him, and Oxana guesses that it must exhaust Yilmaz.
‘Men,’ Yilmaz says. ‘Men are my worry.’
‘I understand,’ Oxana says quietly.
‘I don’t want to be overprotective. I don’t want to stifle my daughter. But I am a man, and I know men. The best of them are animals. If you deal with them on that basis, everything is straightforward.’
Oxana nods. It’s clear that no words are expected from her.
‘Defne is a good girl. A loyal and dutiful daughter. But she is also a modern young woman, ready to test the boundaries imposed on her. I understand this, and I sympathise. But there are limits, and that is where you come in. If it was left to me, I would not choose Buse ?etinkaya as her companion. I’ve met her parents.
Buse has been given too much freedom, too much money, and too little responsibility.
She is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a virgin. Whereas my daughter…’
‘Is?’ asks Oxana delicately.
‘I sincerely believe so, and virginity is highly valued in our society. A man’s honour is measured by his ability to guard the purity of what is his.
And this brings me to the reason you are here.
I need you to be a friend to Defne. A sensible, responsible friend.
I want you to accompany her and Buse when we go ashore.
They will want to go shopping, to go to bars, to go to nightclubs.
And I will tell them that all of this is fine, but that you need to accompany them. ’
Oxana narrows her eyes. ‘With respect, don’t you think that the girls will resent my presence?’
His voice sharpens. ‘Do you have a better suggestion?’
‘I could ask them to take me with them.’
‘And if they say no? You are a nanny, Miss Vorontsova, and unless I am mistaken, unused to the privileges and the lifestyle that these girls take for granted.’
‘Of course, Mr Yilmaz. You’re right. I’m happy to proceed in whichever way you think best.’
He nods. ‘Good. I want you to report back to me, at least once a day. We will meet here, and you will tell me what is going on. Understood?’
‘Yes, Mr Yilmaz.’
‘Excellent.’ He glances at his watch. ‘And now, I believe, we’re expected for lunch.’
The first meal aboard is being served on the bridge deck, in the smaller of the two dining areas.
Inci, Defne and Buse have changed into swimsuits, cotton cover-ups and gauzy pareos.
All three are wearing giant sunglasses. As Oxana arrives with Yilmaz and Atlas, still wearing her uniform, the two teenagers stare.
Buse giggles. ‘Sorry, but that hat. You have to explain the hat.’
Oxana smiles equably. ‘It’s part of my uniform.’
‘You look hot,’ Defne says.
‘Like, in the temperature sense,’ Buse adds. ‘Not—’
Defne frowns at Buse, then turns to Oxana. ‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in something else?’ she asks her.
‘That’s not really my decision to make.’
‘Well, I’ll make it then.’ Defne addresses her father. ‘Baba, please ask Oxana to go and change into a swimsuit.’
Yilmaz smiles helplessly. ‘Miss Vorontsova, it seems that I have my orders.’
‘Why don’t I change after lunch?’ Oxana says. ‘I don’t want to hold everyone up.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Buse murmurs. ‘You won’t do that.’
When Oxana returns, in a one-piece swimsuit teamed with a sarong and sunglasses, Inci looks at her speculatively.
Defne grins. ‘That looks a bit more comfortable.’
‘Thank you. It is.’
Feris and two colleagues deliver the starters, accompanied by Andreas the chef, who provides a commentary on each dish as it’s put down.
‘Poached quail eggs with garlic yoghurt foam and Aleppo pepper butter drizzle,’ he murmurs reverently.
‘Vine leaves with pine nuts, currants and herbed rice. Sea bass sashimi dressed in olive oil, lemon, and Aegean wild herbs. Grilled octopus with walnut sauce and pomegranate pearls.’
‘Please,’ Inci says, raising her sunglasses and peering at the food. ‘Take away the octopus. I saw this documentary and apparently, they’re every bit as intelligent as we are. More intelligent, in some cases.’
‘Yes, Miss Demir. Of course. Right away.’ Andreas retreats with the dish of octopus.
‘It’ll just be eaten by the crew,’ Yilmaz observes mildly.
‘I don’t care,’ Inci snaps. ‘I’m not going to be a party to genocide.’
Atlas glances at her quizzically, then carries on scanning the horizon through his dark glasses.
Oxana is struck by the way his presence is neither acknowledged nor commented on.
Why, she wonders, does Defne think that her family need guarding?
Does she think that Tahir is just a super-rich businessman, taking steps to deter kidnappers?
Or does she, deep down, know what he does?
‘That chef,’ Buse murmurs to Defne. ‘He’s quite handsome, don’t you think?’
‘Is he?’ Defne says distractedly. ‘I didn’t notice.’
Buse rolls her eyes exasperatedly.
‘As it happens, Bu, my thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. You’re not the only one getting appreciative looks.’
‘So tell.’
‘No way.’
Buse frowns. ‘Wait. You’re not talking about the guy who brought your suitcase to your cabin? The French boy?’ She grins. ‘You are, aren’t you? God, Def, you’re such a sly-boots. What was his name?’
Defne says nothing.
‘He’s a fast worker, I’ll give him that. Cheeky, too, for a deckhand. Was his name Noel? Something like that?’
‘Noah,’ Defne murmurs. ‘And just FYI he wasn’t cheeky. He was very polite and respectful.’
Inci regards her distractedly. ‘Tahir,’ she says, as the stewardesses withdraw. ‘What’s our first port of call?’
‘I believe Anemisia.’
‘It sounds like a disease.’ Inci smiles wearily.
‘How do you spell it?’ Buse asks, picking up her phone.
‘Eye tee,’ Defne says.
Buse rolls her eyes. ‘You’re so funny,’ she murmurs.
Both girls are at that strange, transitional stage.
One foot still in childhood, the other in the adult world.
Buse is much surer of herself, and vibrantly aware of her own sexuality and its power.
But she’s not particularly switched on to those around her.
She didn’t notice the look, almost a flinch, that passed between Tahir and Inci when she mentioned the handsome chef.
The two of them are obviously just tolerating her for Defne’s sake.
I’m guessing the day will come when Buse gets left behind, but for the moment Defne’s keeping her around.
A link to the past. To childhood and safety.
Defne takes out her phone, thumbs the screen, and begins to read.
‘Anemisia, also known as the isle of the winds – from the Greek anemos, the wind – is one of the smaller of the Cyclades, an island group in the Aegean Sea. Anemisia has several villages and towns, of which the largest are Idona and Lissae. The Hollywood actress Phoebe Faull owns a home in Idona, as does the fashion designer Marco Terrasini. The port and the centre of the island’s nightlife are in Lissae, adjacent to the island’s most popular beach, Galanos. ’
‘I think it sounds groovy.’ Buse slides a lazily complicit glance in Defne’s direction. ‘I think we’re going to have fun.’ She sucks a quail’s egg between her pillowy lips.
‘I know we are,’ Defne murmurs.
‘One request,’ Tahir says quietly, and everyone falls silent. ‘No photographs on this voyage. Not of the yacht, the islands, or each other. And absolutely no posting on social media. With respect to you all, I must insist on that.’
There’s a strained silence. Defne and Buse sneak glances at each other.
‘Are we agreed?’ Tahir asks, his smile tightening. ‘Girls?’
They nod. Defne with weary acceptance, Buse with barely concealed outrage.
‘Oxana?’
‘Of course, Mr Yilmaz.’
‘I don’t want to have to ask Atlas to confiscate phones, but I’m prepared to, if necessary. Trust me, this is for your own protection.’
There’s an extended silence, and Oxana becomes aware that Inci is watching her. Buse furtively extends her fork and spears one of Defne’s quail eggs. In response, Defne elbows Buse in the upper arm, causing her to gasp audibly and drop the fork onto her plate.
‘This food’s delicious,’ Oxana says brightly, and everyone stares at her, as if surprised that’s she’s taken it upon herself to speak. She turns to the girls. ‘How did you two meet?’
‘At school,’ Defne says. ‘Queen’s Gate. In London.’