Chapter 27
Oxana’s up early and has her breakfast alone on the upper deck.
Fresh figs, pastries, coffee and orange juice.
It’s an hour after dawn, and the sky is a soft yellow haze.
Islands, faint and insubstantial, rise from the grey sea.
The Medusa’s moving at speed, and Oxana can feel the quiet thrumming of the diesel engines running at near-full power.
The captain’s making up time, Oxana guesses, so that he can switch to silent cruising at a lower speed when the Yilmaz family is up and about.
For now, she has the full panorama of the Aegean Sea to herself.
Something of the night, a sharpness, lingers in the air, and she draws a pashmina shawl – grey as her eyes, left by some thoughtful soul on her bed – around her shoulders.
That this mission can only be resolved violently lends a particular quality to the profound peace of the moment.
Oxana sits there for an hour, watching the sea and the sky turn to gold.
‘What did you have to drink last night?’ Defne asks, spreading her towel on the deck.
‘Darko had a bottle of this local stuff.’
‘The DJ’s name was Darko?’
‘Yes, Defne, his name was Darko.’
‘So what were you drinking, ouzo?’
‘Worse. Some kind of fig brandy that not only gets you pissed but also gives you violent diarrhoea.’
‘Oh my God. You didn’t…’
‘No. But I nearly did. One fart, and I would’ve.’ Buse glances at Oxana. ‘Can you get us some coffee?’
‘Oxana’s not here to bring us coffee,’ Defne says sharply.
‘No? What is she here for? Apart from pussy-blocking me.’
‘It’s fine.’ Oxana smiles. ‘I’m happy to make a run to the galley.’
‘Off you go, then.’ Buse rolls onto her back and closes her eyes.
On the companionway, descending to the owners’ deck, Oxana runs into Feris, who’s immersed in a whispered conversation with Andreas.
‘How’re you doing?’ Feris asks.
‘Fine. The girls asked me to sort out some coffee.’
‘Where are they? Up top?’
‘Yup.’
‘I’ll see to it.’
‘Miss Vorontsova? Oxana?’ It’s Tahir Yilmaz, waving at her from the master suite.
Oxana waves back, and walks towards him through the yacht’s interior. Beyond him, on the foredeck, Atlas is lounging on a cushioned banquette.
He gestures her towards a chair. ‘So. Tell me about last night. At the club.’
‘There’s very little to tell,’ Oxana says. ‘The girls danced together, Defne had a drink, Buse had a couple. Defne and I talked, Buse danced with the DJ, and that was pretty much it.’
‘And what would have happened if you hadn’t been there?’
‘Honestly, much the same. It was much more Buse’s scene than Defne’s.’
He frowns and rubs his unshaven chin. ‘Why do you think they’re friends?’
‘I think each wants what the other has. Buse is pretty and outgoing, a real boys’ girl, and Defne envies her confidence.’
‘You don’t think Defne has confidence?’
‘I think being seventeen is tough. I don’t think she knows who she is yet.’
‘And you think that Buse does?’
‘Yes. I think Buse knows exactly who she is, and my guess is that she’ll be the same person in ten years’ time. Just with more cosmetic surgery.’
Yilmaz smiles faintly.
Oxana smiles back. ‘Can I say something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Defne envies certain qualities that Buse has, but she doesn’t want to be like her. She’s studying her. Watching how she handles social situations. Learning from her mistakes.’
‘You’re very perceptive, Miss Vorontsova.’
‘Oxana, please.’
‘So where do you think that Defne will be in ten years’ time, Oxana?’
‘I don’t know what line of business you’re in, Mr Yilmaz. But I’d guess that in ten years’ time, there’s a fair chance that Defne will be helping you run it.’
He frowns. ‘I’m not sure that’s what I’d necessarily want for her, but…’ He spreads his hands. ‘Who knows?’
‘I like her,’ Oxana says. ‘She’s a nice girl.’
He nods. ‘You know my son is joining us later today?’
‘I didn’t know, no.’
‘Emir. He’s a fine young man. You’ll like him too.’
‘I look forward to meeting him.’
This is not good. Twenty-four hours on the Medusa and already I’m much too involved with these people.
When I told Tahir Yilmaz I liked Defne, I meant it.
I’ve tried to be kind to her because that’s the role I’m playing.
What I didn’t expect was that the line between play-acting and reality would be so blurry and indistinct.
I was playing a part when I told Defne that she’ll turn into someone amazing, but I’m pretty sure that was me speaking too.
I really did want to make her feel better about herself.
And, full disclosure, that made me feel good.
It was a new sensation for me, and I lay awake for some time last night, trying to analyse it. Kindness is its own reward. Who knew?
Given my mission, though, this is bad news.
I can’t start sympathising with Defne, because she’s going to discover, sooner or later, that she’s been used.
She’ll know that everything I’ve ever said to her is a lie, a manipulation.
She’ll be made to realise that her father is a criminal, and that everything she’s ever been given has been paid for in drug money.
In suffering and death. Has Tahir really been able to keep that truth from his daughter?
Does she really suspect nothing? Am I playing this right?
On the sundeck Defne and Buse are lying on towels, sipping black coffee from tiny cups.
Buse regards Oxana balefully. ‘I’m sorry I forgot your name. Defne tells me that’s very rude.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Oxana smiles. ‘It’s an easy name to forget.’
Buse nods, and yawns. She casts a lazy eye over Oxana’s T-shirt, shorts and sandals. ‘But know one thing, OK. I don’t appreciate being told what to do. You don’t get to tell me when my evening is over or not over.’
Defne props herself on an elbow. ‘Oxana was just passing on the message that the launch was about to leave.’
‘I don’t give a fuck. Tonight we’re going to Kytheria, and you and I will be going to another club, and you, Oxana, will not be there. Do you understand me?’
‘Loud and clear,’ Oxana murmurs. She touches the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.
‘Good. Because you need to know your place. And right now, Defne and I want to be alone. So please take yourself somewhere else.’
I’m actually quite grateful to her. Buse, I mean.
And I’m grateful to Defne for letting her behave in that shitty, brattish way.
Because I can now retreat from any pretence of intimacy with either of them, and concentrate on what I have to do.
As I walk away from the sundeck I glance back and see Defne looking after me with a stricken look on her face, but I don’t react. It’s better that way.
I’m going down to my cabin from the sundeck when I run into Inci.
Big, wide-eyed innocent smile. Have I got a moment to go to her cabin and give her a hand with her hair, because I was so, so helpful last time.
Of course I say yes, because I have, most definitely, been thinking about her. And wondering.
The routine’s almost identical. The hairbrush taken from the box.
The hundred gentle strokes, counted out by me in murmuring French.
My arm around her shoulders. Her warm softness.
Her hesitant kiss on my cheek afterwards.
Not for the first time, I wish that I could read people better.
Is she coming on to me? Normally, I’d say yes, obviously, but nothing about this situation is normal.
I’m tempted to force the issue, perhaps by making an unmistakeable pass at her, because there’s something about Inci – a decadent lusciousness, like dying lilac blooms – that I’m beginning to hunger for. I love the taste of very spoilt women.