Chapter 1

 

 

   

     For the hundredth time, I wish I’d never agreed to come along. It sounded like a fabulous idea – Atlantic cruise, all expenses paid – and of course I love spending time with Xéra, my dear, kind friend. But from the second I stepped aboard I knew it was a mistake. I don’t have the right clothes, or conversation, or even attitude for a superyacht. As for my fellow passengers, well, they’re not my kind of people, not at all.

     It probably doesn’t help that they all know I’m a last-minute addition to the party, invited along by Xéra – let’s be honest – on a whim. The official line is that I’m helping her with her current project, but I suspect she felt she needed an ally, a familiar, friendly face. The others are all her new husband’s family, plus various hangers-on.

     The wedding was a small high-society affair – I wasn’t invited – and I’m not yet sure what to make of Sir Billy. And the project in question is a memoir of her family business, which isn’t normally my kind of thing either; I scratch a living in the food world, so I’m more at home with recipes for Bonfire Night or how to spatchcock a chicken. On the other hand, she’s serious about it and has a mainstream publisher interested; to say nothing of the generous advance on offer to me. This is apparently being paid by Billy (Xéra rather charmingly pronounces it as Bee-yee), though I have yet to see a penny.

    I dress nervously, looking at my watch every few seconds. I don’t want to be first to arrive for dinner, making it look like I’m desperate for a drink, nor do I want to be late and make an entrance (like last night). Especially not when I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday and they’re all dressed to the nines.

     Of course, I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for my disaster back home. The house was flooded and the insurers have moved in these huge drying machines, which roar away morning, noon and night.

     When she heard, Xéra was straight on the phone. Would I care to join her and her new husband on a private cruise to the Caribbean – a sort of honeymoon voyage, with a few close friends? They’d find me a nice little cabin and we could get stuck into the writing with few distractions.

    Normally the idea would fill me with dread – cooped up with a shipful of the wealthy and entitled – but it seemed like the answer to a prayer. What’s more, Julie – my best friend and colleague at Escape magazine – said I’d be mad to turn it down, and I trust her judgement. So it is that I find myself aboard Motor Yacht Maldemer, bobbing about off the coast of Cornwall, wishing I were anywhere but here.

     If it weren’t for Xéra, that is. Socially, we’re chalk and cheese: she a Parisian socialite, usually to be spotted on the pages of HELLO!, on the slopes at Aspen, or at the latest Mayfair restaurant opening; while I eke out a living with poorly paid magazine work and just about manage to make ends meet.

     Nevertheless, we’ve enjoyed a long and tender friendship. She was an old friend of Marcus, my late partner, and the first of his friends to whom he introduced me; he was a lawyer, and she’d originally been a client. When I erupted into Marcus’s previously heterosexual life, the news was greeted generally with embarrassment, coldness or – much, much worse – fervent declarations of rainbow solidarity. Xéra, however, greeted me with a shrug and a smile, and offered her hand in friendship. It was as warm as her heart and beautifully manicured.

Since he died, two years and three months ago, she’s kept faithfully in touch, phoning often and sending thoughtful cards. And whenever we meet, she insists on presenting me with choice, expensive gifts. Arriving in my cabin last night, I found a small, beribboned orange box containing a whistle on a leather strap – eighteen-carat gold from Hermès. When I thanked her she said it was for ‘calling taxis’; it probably cost more than my monthly retainer from Escape, and judging by its pitch, is really for summoning gundogs.

     I’m jolted from my daydreams by a ping from my laptop. Since embarking yesterday afternoon, the Wi-Fi signal has been frustratingly intermittent, but my inbox has started flashing. I know at once who it must be from, because I set up a special email address for the voyage and only one person has it: Julie, the mere thought of whom makes me glow with warmth and affection.

     I open the message to find a photograph of a tarot card (her latest obsession) plus a line of question marks. I guiltily remember that I promised her a full report after we embarked, and tap out a hasty reply, making an effort to sound more upbeat than I truly feel.

 

From: Paul Delamare/Aboard M/Y Maldemer

Monday 7.21 p.m.

Subject: Sorry!

To: Julie Johnson

48°08'06.0"N 10°50'51.9"W (about 320 nautical miles west of the Scilly Isles, sea level)

 

     Hi Julie,

     It’s all been such a rush – and now you’ll have to forgive me, I’ve precisely six minutes till I need to head up to dinner.

     Thanks so much for waving me off – love the nautical outfit. Wish you’d been there when Tower Bridge opened for us and we sailed through, unforgettable even in the pouring rain.

The yacht! No photographs allowed . . . but it’s unbelievable. I haven’t done the full tour yet but it’s all Baccarat chandeliers, marble staircases and priceless artworks, including a real Miró in the dining saloon.

     Xéra’s as blissful as ever and a joy to be with. I wish you could see this stupendous necklace she’s been given by the new hubby. I’m not sure what to make of Sir Billy yet; he seems a bit, well, uncouth.

     All the guest cabins are full so I’ve been allocated a cubby-hole in the crew quarters. A bit of a squeeze, but good for below-deck gossip. It’s not a great vibe among the crew – they’re whingeing that the cruise was booked at the last minute and they’re terribly short-staffed. But don’t worry, I’m not offering to muck in. I shall be staying strictly on the other side of the service door this trip.

     One minor disaster is that while I was boarding the water taxi, my duffel bag somehow fell in the water. They managed to hook it out before it sank but it was totally waterlogged, and I’m still waiting for my things to come back from the laundry.

Apart from that, I haven’t a care in the world. Ten glorious days of sea and sunshine in Xéra’s charming company . . . It’s going to be such a treat and thank you for persuading me to accept the invitation.

     Love you,

     Paul

     P.S. I’m guessing the Hanged Man tarot card is to punish me for leaving you dangling?

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