by Viva Jones
‘I’m so sorry to be late,’ she stammered. ‘I had a problem with my car, basically, it wouldn’t start. I had to get a taxi.’ She felt it best to be honest. ‘But what a gorgeous lounge!’
‘Your car?’ he asked, looking concerned. ‘It’s broken down?’
‘It is quite old,’ she told him. ‘It’s been playing up for a few weeks now and I just kept hoping it would sort itself out. But today it seems to have died on me completely.’
Mr Makhtabi looked concerned. He encouraged Tanya to sit down and offered her some iced tea. It was unlike anything she’d ever had before, it was spicier, it had more oomph. They then went over his questions, which Tanya was sure they’d discussed before. But as the sun streamed in from the deck, it was hot in the room, stifling, even, and beneath her jacket Tanya could feel beads of sweat trickling down her back. Mr Makhtabi didn’t seem to notice. Finally she took it off, folding it neatly on the arm of her chair. That felt better.
‘It’s too hot in here?’ Her client asked, before clicking his fingers to summon a crew member, whom he asked to turn the air conditioning up. The thermostat, Tanya noticed, was only a few metres away from where they were sitting. Mr Makhtabi was either extremely important, she decided, or just showing off. Either way, she liked the attention.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ he asked in a gentle tone. ‘You’re not married, are you? What brought you to this island?’
Tanya was startled by the question. Clients never asked about her life. She’d find out all about theirs, all right, about what they did for a living, about the children who might be joining them for the holidays, and about their grandchildren - but did any of her clients take any interest in her life? It was as if she only existed to find them their holiday homes. So what a nice man that made Mr Makhtabi, Tanya thought. She explained about her ex-boyfriend, and how she’d got this job and decided to stay on.
‘You are a courageous girl,’ he started saying. ‘Beautiful and courageous. It is shocking for me that no man has yet taken you for his wife.’
Tanya giggled. ‘I’m too young to settle down,’ she told him. ‘I just want to have fun, at the end of the day.’
At this, he raised an eyebrow, and Tanya wondered if she hadn’t perhaps been a bit too frank.
‘I mean,’ she stammered, ‘enjoy my independence, you know, get my career going, basically, and meet lots of different people.’
‘But fun? What is your idea of fun?’ His arm was creeping slowly towards hers.
Tanya gulped. ‘Oh, you know, making new friends -‘ she started, feeling foolish.
‘I hope that we shall become friends,’ he said, admiring her body. ‘I would very much like for us to become friends.’
‘Well, that would be very nice, but of course, ours is a professional relationship as well.’
Her client roared with laughter. ‘Of course it is, dear lady, and I am happy to tell you that I will be buying Zeus. He showed her the contract, which was still unsigned. ‘Do I need to sign this before we can be friends?’
Tanya was feeling confused. Perhaps it was the heat, but her head was feeling a little woozy. Mr Makhtabi suddenly clapped, and a crew member came running. ‘Champagne,’ he ordered. ‘The Cristal.’
‘Oh, Mr Makhtabi, I mustn’t, I’ll have to get back to the office and sort out my car and -‘
He put his hand to her mouth, silencing her. ‘If I sign this contract, we have to drink champagne to seal it. It’s a tradition in my country.’
Tanya didn’t believe that was true for one moment, because she thought they were all supposed to be teetotal, but she didn’t like to argue.
‘And as for your car, I can lend you my driver. For the rest of the day, he will take you anywhere you want. To your boyfriend, perhaps?’
‘I don’t have one,’ she admitted.
Mr Makhtabi recoiled, as if in shock. ‘How can that be? Someone so beautiful, so fresh, so charming? Are all the men in this world crazy?’
Tanya giggled. He certainly knew how to make her feel good. And this yacht! And champagne! And two deals today!
‘Tanya,’ he said gravely, taking her hand in his. ‘I think life has been very tough for you. And that is not the life you deserve. You deserve splendour, you deserve jewels, and you deserve fine clothes. Let me make life easier for you.’
Tanya was startled by the way things were going, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead she sat dumbly as a man in uniform arrived with the champagne, showed Mr Makhtabi the label and started to open it.
‘Tell the driver to be available for this lady for the rest of today,’ Mr Makhtabi ordered.
‘Yes, sir,’ the man said with a nod.
How he respected him, Tanya thought. And how she’d underestimated him herself! She took her glass and sipped it gingerly, but it did taste good, and those bubbles were refreshing.
‘To my new home,’ her client toasted, as they clinked glasses. The contract lay on the table in front of her, still unsigned. ‘And to our friendship. I hope I can help you to get all the fine things you deserve in life.’
Mr Makhtabi drank some champagne and then looked as though he’d just had a good idea. ‘Would you like to see around the yacht? She’s a beautiful boat, and I’ve just had her refurbished.’
‘Oh, I’d love to.’ Tanya jumped up, glad to stretch her legs. The champagne was going straight to her head.
He took her by the hand and led her through the state room to a stunning black and white home cinema made up of six huge white chairs with a black trim facing a rolled up screen. There were matching circular pouffes in front of them and small glass tables on either side. The floor was all white with black detailing. Towards the back was a black and white drinks cabinet and a matching cupboard full of chocolate and snacks. Tanya had never seen such luxury.
‘You wouldn’t want to spill your cokes and popcorn around here, would you?’ she suggested with a giggle.
Mr Maktabi smiled indulgently, ushering her onwards.
‘And now, for my favourite room of all.’ He opened a cabin door and there was the most glamorous bedroom Tanya had ever seen, its centrepiece being a vast bed covered in a deep purple satin bedspread with matching headboard, pillows and cushions. There was a chandelier hanging above, and chairs in purple, blue and green stripes in the corners, framing an elegant dressing table. The lamps, of which there were several, Tanya noticed, were either white with purple shades or purple with white shades.
‘It’s the most incredible room I’ve ever seen.’ Tanya looked around herself in wonder. ‘It’s like something out of James Bond!’
He pressed a remote control and behind her a screen came down. He pressed another button, and a DVD player started up.
‘I may have a cinema next door, but still I like to watch movies in bed,’ he told her with a laugh. ‘Do you?’
Tanya burst into rapturous laughter. ‘I don’t know, I never have, but yes, I suppose so!’
Mr Makhtabi then turned the DVD off, placed his champagne glass on the table and sat on the edge of the bed, signalling for her to sit beside him. ‘Life is tough for you. And now your car is broken down. For today, you will have my driver, but for tomorrow? And the next day?’
‘It is a bit awkward.’
Tanya felt fragile. She’d had too much champagne and was suddenly aware of its effects. She fought the tears back; she couldn’t let herself down now, not at a time like this. Suddenly Mr Makhtabi’s hand was gently brushing her tears away.
‘Let me help you, Tanya. This house, Zeus, it is beautiful, but there are many houses. You can I, we can be friends, and I will buy your house, and not another. Then I can help you, no?’
Tanya wasn’t sure she understood. Then his hand slid slowly down from her cheek to her breast. His hand dropped down to the buttons on her blou
se and he began unfastening them, slowly and surely. Tanya put up no resistance. When he removed her blouse she remained there, telling herself it was OK.
‘Take off your bra.’ She did as he said, and as she revealed her breasts to him, she felt a surge of power coursing through her. She’d done a deal today! She was getting another one done now. If this was what it took, so be it. And Dolores had mentioned an evening with some wealthy Russians, just a bit of fun, a show and a dance. Why not? It wasn’t as if Tanya was religious, or married. She stood up, unfastened her skirt, and let it drop to the floor.
‘You are a beautiful girl.’ He pulled her down, and then swiftly removed her knickers, before plunging a finger inside her and rubbing her clit with its moistness. To her surprise, Tanya didn’t feel revolted, or abused, or anything she’d imagined she might. Instead, Tanya felt power. This was a man’s weakness - sex. If this was how to play them, then so be it.
She heard him unzip his trousers and the next thing she knew, he had plunged his cock inside her. After a few thrusts his face crumpled and he made a terrible groaning noise, and Tanya wondered if he was having a heart attack, and who she might get to sign the contract instead. But he didn’t die on top of her, he just lay there, panting softly, before patting her.
‘Now, we drink more champagne, and sign the paperwork,’ he told her once he’d recovered his breath. ‘And take this.’ He reached inside the bedside drawer for an envelope. ‘For your car, and maybe some nice clothes.’
She noted how he pronounced the word ‘cloz-es,’ and tried not to giggle. What had she just done? Tanya felt a rush of power and excitement, like she’d just lost her virginity all over again. Once he’d left the room she checked inside the envelope and found five hundred euros - five hundred!
There was sex, and there was love, Tanya told herself as she got dressed again and ran a brush through her hair.
And wouldn’t life so much more profitable if she didn’t confuse the two?
Chapter Ten
Since getting her car, Nathalie started her days the same way every morning. She’d wake up just as the sun was rising, climb out of bed and pull on a summer dress. She’d run a brush through her hair and throw her purse into the wicker bag in which she kept her beach towel. Then she’d make for her car, pausing to breathe in the scent of the clusters of sweet peas that lined the driveway. She seemed to be the only person who ever picked them.
She’d drive down to her favourite cove, a rocky inlet away from the long strips of beach, and climb over the rocks to the one she considered her own. There, she’d take off her dress and step naked into the sea, gasping as the chill met her legs. She’d splash water on her arms and chest before lowering herself fully and swimming out, following the direction of the sun. It was a form of worship, a ritual she’d come to love. Somewhere out here Aphrodite had been born, and every morning she felt imbued with the goddess’s presence.
This morning she felt especially liberated, as she finally had her villa looking how she wanted it, with her eclectic mix of furnishings and paintings, modern art and African sculpture. The packing boxes were gone and every room seemed to represent a piece of her life, from the oils she stored in the spare room to the scented candles and creams beside the bath tub - the villa now felt like her own.
She’d begun her courses and enrolled in her online coaching. Nathalie was determined to stay busy, refusing to start a holiday that might never end. She couldn’t bear the idea of drifting aimlessly, helped by alcohol and sunburn, through a life without meaning. There was a fine line between being a free spirit and drifter. The transition from working under pressure for five days a week to having just twice-weekly commitments still made her uneasy. How indulgent it was just to get up early, go for her morning swim, and then to shower and throw on a summer dress, without having to consider meetings or interviews or giving the right impression. How strange not to have deadlines to give structure to her day: leave the house at eight to catch the eight twelve train. Get in the office by eight forty-five to gain fifteen minutes before the influx of staff and queries. Take an early lunch and use the quiet period between one and two for clearing her desk and preparing for the afternoon.
Nathalie’s days had always been focused and controlled, and in as much as she’d sometimes resented this, in hindsight she was beginning to see the benefits. There’d been no time to mourn her lost marriage, because there was always the next deadline to meet. There’d been no time for introspection or self-analysis, because there was always the next meeting to prepare for. Now Nathalie was left with her thoughts, and she almost missed the pile of paperwork on her desk, and the tasks she’d clear so efficiently. When autumn came she would explore the island, but climbing into her car in the summer heat had all the allure of stepping inside a pizza oven at full blast.
The water rippled around her, its gentle waves ushering her forward, the temperature dipping and rising as she swam. It was in the sea where Nathalie felt free. Unburdened by mortgages and meetings and duties and schedules. She’d never intended for her life to get so submerged in normality. Not that Nathalie’s life had ever been normal - her father had worked for a sugar company, and they’d lived in South Africa, India and Thailand. Her mother, who was French, had prided herself on creating homes in each of their adoptive countries. She couldn’t understand the other expat wives who’d complain about everything from the heat to the locals, neither seeing the beauty in a place nor its individuality.
Home could be anywhere, Nathalie had long ago realised. Home didn’t need to be grand, it didn’t need perfect kitchens or designer furnishings, it didn’t need to conform to any ideals - home could be a shepherd’s hut for all she cared. There were moments she wished it was.
This year off was about taking the time to immerse herself in the alternative, in learning about natural resources rather than human ones. It wasn’t about making money; it was about something more profound and life-enhancing than that. Money had got her everything she’d ever wanted - the mews cottage, the exotic holidays, the furnishings - until she decided they weren’t really what she wanted after all.
Nathalie flipped onto her back, immersing herself in the water while allowing the sun to warm her body. It was a form of meditation, a way to clear her mind of daily drudgery. To the sound of her own breath, she let her mind wander, floating off in whichever direction it chose. She was on her terrace, a few years older, feeling wise and serene, and there was a little boy, about four years old, with fair hair, pale skin and large, inquisitive eyes. He was giggling, and she felt an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness towards him.
Her son, Nathalie knew in that instant. He was on his way.
She continued to lie there, breathing in and out deeply, enjoying the sensation of motherhood, and that overwhelming love. It was the first time she’d ever considered a child of her own. Children had been something for the years to come, but never an immediate need. In London child-rearing had seemed complicated and cluttered, with school fees and extra-curricular activities and danger and bullying. Here, she could raise a child more simply; here it felt right.
That meant she’d stay in Cyprus, Nathalie also realised. Her vision - if she could call it that - had most definitely been here. A son would change her life, but she was ready for that. She’d made the first steps; she was entering a new phase.
Nathalie swam out a little further. She’d always relied on her intuition - it was what made her such a gifted human resources director. She could tell a candidate’s suitability within minutes of their interview. In the past she’d often wondered if she was even psychic. As a child, the phone would ring and she’d just know who it was on the other line. ‘That’s grandma,’ she’d say. Or, ‘that’s Mrs James from your lunch group, or Mr Kruger from the bank’. It had felt perfectly normal. A thought would pop into her head and she’d simply trust it. Life was easier when she didn’t let logic interfere
.
She swam out until the rocks were barely visible and floated on her back again, her ears submerged, listening to the sound of her own breath. As a soft breeze rippled over her skin; it felt like Aphrodite’s breath, caressing her. As her nipples rose to meet the sun, it was as if Aphrodite’s own lips were kissing them, and she was flicking her tongue over her buds.
She saw herself with the little boy again. ‘Not yet,’ she told him. ‘It’s too soon. Give me more time.’
Nathalie hadn’t made love for months, and her body longed to be awakened. She needed sexual adventure like others needed caffeine. But she wasn’t ready for a child, not yet. No, Nathalie knew the identity of her next lover. It was time to trust in her instincts.
Chapter Eleven
Once Richard had left for work, Anna retreated into her upstairs study and opened up her secret party file, took one despairing look at it and went on Facebook. All of Richard’s friends had confirmed her as a friend, but there was still no request from James. With no fewer than three mutual friends, his face frequently appeared on the side of her screen as someone she might know. Her own photo, she realised, must be appearing on his screen as well, but he’d chosen to ignore it. Did he loath her so much, or was Samantha the jealous type? She could send the request herself, as Facebook suggested, but that would seem like an act of desperation.
Now she had a party to organise, and Anna’s ‘to do’ list grew longer every day. Catering, accommodation, activities, entertainment - she didn’t know where to start. She’d booked number two with Tanya for the close friends, and had even emailed Barry, whom she remembered had once mentioned a good team of caterers. Did she need to find a band? A DJ? What would it take to give the impression of affluence and happiness? Should she organise a yacht trip, or was that a terrifying expense?
Anna slumped, dejected, and turned to Spider Solitaire. Half-way through her third game there was the sound of an email arriving and she went to read it, hoping to find a friend request from James. To her disappointment it was from Barry, offering to come back early to oversee the party’s catering. He’d attached documents of menu suggestions, written with such attention to detail that Anna didn’t have the heart to put him off. As she accepted his generous offer, her heart sank. She didn’t even want to throw Richard a party in the first place. She felt as enthusiastic as Marie-Antoinette facing the guillotine.
