‘I thought you were sailing?’ I frown.
‘We are, but why don’t you come with us?’
‘Hold on.’ Greg looks concerned. ‘Wouldn’t we have to buy an apartment to do that?’
‘Not at all,’ Cherry chuckles. ‘You’d be our stowaways!’
‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’ Greg looks fretful.
‘I’m only teasing!’ she nudges him. ‘You’d be our guests – we have a three-bedroom residence so you’d even have your own rooms!’
‘A three-bedroom residence?’ I marvel, realising I never did get the full story on her situation with rich Richard. ‘Do I take it you’re not in entertainments any more?’
‘Well, I like to think that I’m as entertaining as ever but no, I’m no longer staff on The World. I help Richard run his business – doubled his profits in the last six months, if you don’t mind! So what do you think, shall I call ahead and arrange the passes? Or do you have other plans?’
I look at Greg. This is rather more of an adventure than either of us was expecting.
‘Where exactly are you sailing to?’ Greg has the sense to enquire, not that the destination particularly matters to me.
‘Chania.’
‘Chania?’ I repeat, wondering why that port name is ringing a bell.
‘It’s where Nana Mouskouri was born,’ Cherry informs me, as if that will end my niggle.
‘That’s not all . . .’ Greg looks awkward.
‘What?’
‘You know what island it’s on?’
Cherry shakes her head. ‘No, but I can check the schedule –’
‘No need, I went there earlier in the week.’
‘Not Crete?’ I blanche.
He nods.
‘Oh well, then forget it.’ Cherry folds her arms defiantly. ‘There’s no way I’m going there while Jules is at large. I’ll stay here in Athens with you guys and then catch up with the ship in Istanbul.’
‘Good idea!’ I confirm as we trade credit card slips for our precious parcels.
‘Is it?’ Greg challenges as we head for the door.
‘What?’ We turn back to face him.
‘You’re just going to let Jules off the hook?’
We blink confusedly at him. ‘I don’t see what purpose it would serve to confront her now.’
‘Really?’ he says.
Cherry and I look at each other and then back at the man who appears to be challenging our righteous indignation. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Just that Jules must be counting her lucky stars right now. She steals your guys and what do you do to retaliate? Disappear! You couldn’t make it any easier on her if you tried.’
‘It’s a matter of self-preservation!’ I protest.
‘What about the next woman she does this to? What possible incentive is there for Jules not to do this again?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m not saying it’s an easy situation – when Lily was getting bullied in the playground my first instinct was to get her into a new school but what kind of message would that send? I didn’t want to teach my daughter to run from her problems, we’re a whole nation of confrontation-avoiders and I see that backfiring in the worst way.’
‘So what did you do?’ I ask.
‘Presumably, you went to the headmistress?’ Cherry surmises.
‘Well, actually, Lily persuaded me to let her try something else first . . . She went back to school and faced down the bully, having positioned her friend so she could do a secret mini-movie of the whole thing, and then came home and uploaded it on to YouTube. Of course the bully didn’t care what the other girls thought of her, she even thought it was great advertising – showing her at her scariest – but her comeuppance came a week later courtesy of her twelve-year-old boyfriend Jason. He’d been off with flu and when he came back he dumped her on the spot. She spent the next year trying to win him back with do-gooding. It really was quite amusing in the end.’
‘So you’re saying that confronting Jules is the morally right thing to do?’
Greg shrugs as he holds open the door for us. ‘I’m just offering my opinion. What you do with it is up to you.’
As we step outside I can’t seem to raise my eyes from the pavement. ‘I hate to be a wimp about this but I don’t think I can go back there. I know I should feel all fired up but I don’t, I just feel weak.’
Cherry reaches for my hand. ‘What if I was there with you?’
‘I’d be there too,’ Greg offers.
‘And Richard,’ Cherry adds. ‘I know I can count on his support.’
‘Oh no!’ I panic. ‘I don’t think you should let him anywhere near Jules!’
‘I’d like to see her try with him!’ she scoffs confidently.
‘Careful what you wish for,’ I caution, heaving a sigh. ‘Really, Cherry, it’s great of you to offer but you’ve got no reason to get involved in this now – your life has moved on.’
‘It’s not just about me, I’d do it for you and, like Greg says, for the next girl. So there isn’t a next girl . . .’ she clarifies. ‘Besides, perhaps this will spare you a few months of therapy – it could be the fast track to some closure!’
‘I’m not sure that seeing Jules suffer would make me feel any better about Alekos,’ I grumble.
‘But you know what would feel good?’ Greg pips. ‘Standing up for yourself.’
‘God!’ I throw up my hands. ‘Would you stop talking so much sense?!’
He grins back at me. ‘You said yourself you’ve always wanted to visit The World . . .’
‘And you do need to get back to Crete . . .’ I concede.
‘So are we all in?’ Cherry looks expectantly at me.
‘Come on then,’ I link arms with them both, ‘I think it’s time for us to set sail on the good ship Revenge!’
27
‘The strong do what they have to do and the weak accept what they have to accept.’ – Thucydides
‘I feel like I’m going undercover as a rich person,’ Greg gulps as we approach the pre-boarding security desk for The World. ‘Do you think I should have worn a tie?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I assure him as I surreptitiously study the genuinely wealthy residents ahead of us, wondering how they made their respective fortunes. They look normal enough. No instantly apparent differences between them and my regular cruisers. Then again, I suppose it’s too hot for furs and too early for tiaras.
‘These are the guests I called about.’ Cherry smiles at the security guard as he takes custody of our passports, exchanging them for a sticker. A little yellow sticker. Surely it should at least be gold?
I have to admit, I was expecting to be greeted by scalp-tingling chandeliers and shimmering opulence but in fact the lobby area is decidedly understated. Yes, the reception staff are suitably glossy and charming but the bar area has an almost corporate business look to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if that besuited gentleman sipping sparkling water started to make a flip-chart presentation.
By way of utter contrast, Cherry begins our tour at the ship’s Banyan Tree spa and we are instantly transported, via a dark, fragrant corridor, to Asia. My hand reaches to pick up a leaflet for Jules but then halts over the wafting incense. Maybe not.
We continue on past the gym, on to the two-table casino with hip white leather stools and spangled curtains that look ready to reveal a magician. The bar at this level is far more fun with a low ceiling bristling with fibreoptics – fine wispy threads pulsing neon sea anemone colours. There’s a small circular dance floor, about the size of one swirling skirt, but I’m guessing it could hold a dozen or so tightly clasped slow dancers.
‘Cute, huh?’ Cherry grins. ‘This is a lot smaller than she’s used to . . .’ she explains to Greg.
‘Oooh, I wish we had one of these!’ I gurgle as we discover the deli and adjoining grocery. ‘Special K! Kettle Chips—’
‘Are we moving?’ Greg blurts suddenly, looking alarmed.
‘Yes,’ Cherry confirms with a
check of her watch. ‘We’re just setting sail now.’
‘Oh my god! I’d forgotten we were on a ship!’ He laughs at himself.
‘Come on, let’s get up on the top deck so you can really take it all in.’
‘I can’t even get my head around the fact that there are lifts on a boat!’ he chuckles, amazed as we press the call button.
‘It’s the little mail boxes that get me,’ I say, noticing that each room has one – just as a regular apartment would.
‘Want to take a quick peek inside?’ Cherry offers, noticing the maid entering a few doors down. ‘This is one of the rentable rooms so we’re not snooping on anyone’s home.’
We can’t resist and discover it resembles a sleek, modern hotel room, all glossy beige wood and clean Scandinavian lines. In fact, now I come to think of it, the overall look of the ship is very much Ikea for Billionaires.
‘So this is a studio, the smallest option.’
‘But it has its own balcony?’ I peer out on to the wooden deck.
‘They all do, every last one. Of course, ours happens to have a Jacuzzi . . .’ She twinkles.
‘On the balcony?’ I gawp. ‘So you can sit in it at night under the stars as you’re sailing along?’
Cherry nods. ‘You could sit in it while you’re in port, too, but that would just be weird.’
‘So although this living space is relatively small, you really have the rest of the ship as your playground.’
‘Exactly!’ Cherry grins at Greg. ‘It’s so quiet on board you can always find a public area and have it all to yourself.’
‘So go on, then, tell me: how much are we talking here?’ He braces himself for her response.
‘About four hundred thousand for this. I think ours was eight.’
‘Wow.’
‘But think of all the airfares you save!’ she reasons.
‘I think it’s brilliant,’ I pip. ‘I’d never leave!’
‘But isn’t this your life already?’ Greg frowns in confusion.
‘Let me tell you, my room on the ship doesn’t have its own espresso maker and a bathtub with a view of the ocean. The only personal object I can squeeze in is a picture of my mum and dad Blu-tacked to the wall.’
‘Remember that Ukrainian musician’s cabin?’ Cherry prompts.
I roll my eyes. ‘He was so talented you’d think they’d have him in the penthouse suite, but it was just a humble house band so he’s tucked away in this little cell with big ol’ pipes running through it. No windows. You had to duck and weave just to get in. Completely claustrophobic.’
‘It wasn’t really a room at all,’ Cherry decides. ‘Just a sectioned-off area with a door on it. Anyway, onward and upward.’
We pass through an Internet area with a Matrix-esque contraption that looks like a cross between a recliner and an exercise machine with the computer no doubt set at some ergonomically accurate angle. I consider slotting myself in to try it out but I’m not sure I’d ever get out of it again.
‘Fresh air,’ Cherry cheers as she leads us on, pushing open the door leading on to the delightfully breezy deck. She points up a level. ‘That’s the only full-size tennis court on any cruiseship!’
‘Really?’
‘It’s to do with the guest/space ratio,’ she explains. ‘On any other cruiseship it would be an extravagance to dedicate that much space to two or four passengers but here they don’t have those kinds of restrictions. There’s plenty of room and far fewer passengers, so why not?’
‘Why not indeed!’ I nod, noticing that the court is a non-traditional blue, presumably because it can be.
‘And you’ve got golf up there too?’ Greg observes. ‘I wonder how many fish get concussed by misplaced golf balls . . .’
‘Well, you’re not going to believe this, but the balls actually dissolve into fish food.’
‘They do not!’ I hoot.
‘It’s true, they’re biodegradable. This is actually the greenest ship going. The World Wildlife Fund were protesting our docking at one port so the captain invited them on board to check us out and on the next visit they were there again, only this time with welcome banners!’
‘That’s impressive,’ I acknowledge, thinking how interested Alekos would be in the environmental element. It makes me feel quite churny thinking about him, realising that I can no longer share any thoughts or moments with him.
‘Who fancies a cuppa?’ Cherry takes me by the arm, noticing I need reviving.
I presume we’re headed back to the deli but in fact she’s saved the best to last.
We actually have our tea on the bridge. I can’t believe guests are allowed to freely view the nerve centre of the ship, but then again, I suppose on this vessel guests are so heavily vetted, and if they did accidentally break the multi-million-pound navigation system, you know they’d be able to pay for a replacement.
‘So when are we going to meet Richard?’ I ask, realising that since we’re moving, he must be on board.
‘Here he comes right now.’ She beams.
My jaw gapes almost as wide as the drawbridge that lowers to allow swimmers full access to the sea when the ship is anchored. I was expecting someone a bit old-fashioned suity with a heavy flicked fringe but in fact he’s gorgeous with close-cropped tawny hair, the clearest aqua eyes and perfect gold-dusted tan. As he steps closer I notice he has the cutest chin dimple à la Kirk Douglas.
‘Welcome!’ he cheers. ‘It’s so lovely, aaggh—’
‘Oh my god!’ Greg and I cry in unison as he trips, about to crash headlong into the tea china.
‘Oh Richard, I wish you wouldn’t do that!’ Cherry rolls her eyes as he halts millimetres short of devastation. ‘Ever since we saw that documentary on stuntmen last week . . .’
As we make introductory chit-chat I can’t help but wonder what hideous flaw he must have to balance out being rich, handsome and fun.
‘So!’ He claps his hands together suddenly. ‘Let me run through our restaurant choices for this evening . . .’
He certainly has a lot of energy. Perhaps to the extent of being insensitive?
‘So what will it be?’ He looks expectantly at myself and Greg as he completes the list.
‘Well . . .’ We exchange an uneasy look – Greg with his dress code concerns, me with my general fatigue.
‘Allow me to offer you one other dining option,’ he says, leaning in conspiratorially. ‘How about room service?’
My face instantly brightens. So much for him being insensitive.
‘Would I still need a tie?’ Greg frets.
‘No, but you will need pyjamas!’
Ten minutes later we’re standing before Richard’s extensive wardrobe getting kitted out with brand new, handmade silk pyjamas courtesy of his last trip to Gibraltar.
‘He thinks they make great presents so he always stocks up,’ Cherry explains as we marvel at the range of options on offer.
‘Navy for you, my good man.’ He hands a pair to Greg. ‘And silver for the lady –’
‘No, give her the black,’ Cherry diverts him. ‘That way she can still wear her new shoes!’
Now this is fun – all four of us gleaming luxuriantly by candlelight, us girls in stilettos, the men in velvet slippers. Better yet, it really does feel like we are in someone’s home. Unlike the studio, Richard and Cherry’s three-bedroom apartment has been completely personalised with artefacts and framed photographs from their trips around the world, alongside the gleaming Bosch appliances in the large black-marble kitchen.
‘I can’t believe you have a washing machine in your cabin!’ I chuckle as Richard presents each of us with a Martini accessorised with an authentic Greek olive.
‘Right!’ He then bears down from the head of the table: ‘Regarding the comeuppance of Ms Jules Webb, I think we need a strategy!’
I look at the alert faces around me, still not quite believing the team operation this has become.
‘If we just turn up and have a go at Ju
les, she’ll simply get huffy and leave.’
‘No lynch mob?’ Cherry looks slightly disappointed.
‘Quite the opposite,’ Richard continues. ‘I think we should invite Jules and Alekos for dinner – start the evening off nice and refined.’
‘They’re staying at the Elounda Beach,’ I attempt to make a contribution. ‘I happen to be familiar with all the menu options there . . .’
‘Hmmm, I’m sure the food is divine but I don’t think it’s the kind of place we’d want to cause a scene . . .’
‘So there’s still a chance of a cat fight?’ Cherry brightens.
Richard rolls his eyes at his fiancée. ‘Ideally, we need somewhere that offers an opportunity for Jules to make a move on one of us guys—’
‘Excuse me?’ Cherry baulks.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t let it get further than a proposition – it’ll just have so much more impact if we can catch her in the act.’
‘I don’t know.’ I grimace. ‘I mean, she’s only been with Alekos a matter of days; she might not be ready to move on.’
Richard’s confidence doesn’t waver. ‘If our assessment of her motives is correct, she’ll drop him the second she sees you girls with new toys.’
‘Which would also double as a neat little comeuppance for him.’ Cherry gives me a significant look.
‘I’ve got a suggestion for the venue.’ Greg holds up his hand, requesting permission to speak.
‘Yes?’
‘My Carob Tree Valley Villa – there’s a kitchen and lounge, outside dining, pool area, balconies, an upstairs to take a little tour of . . .’ He gives a subversive wink.
‘He’s right, it’s perfect,’ I concur. ‘It even comes with its own caterer!’
‘Really?’ Cherry gawps.
‘You’re looking at him,’ Greg mumbles.
‘Great!’ Richard claps his hands together. ‘If you do the grub, I’ll supply the booze.’
‘Beware!’ Cherry issues a general caution. ‘Richard is the sneakiest topper-upper I ever met!’
‘Secret of my success!’ He puffs his chest. ‘I really have no business acumen or seduction skills, I’m just a very deft pour! Anyway, we’ll get everyone a bit tipsy and see whether she makes a play for me or Greg here,’ he says, reaching to give him a manly jiggle of the shoulder.
Out of the Blue Page 29
