Summer Madness

by Susan Lewis

  7

  GOLFE JUAN WAS not a port Sarah would have thought of coming to. In fact, until Jean-Claude had mentioned it she’d never even heard of it. It was in the small bay between the Cap d’Antibes and the Cap de la Croisette in Cannes and was so new that in the shimmering light of the sun the paint on the smart, colourful shop fronts and cafés barely looked dry.

  The jetties were laid out in neat rows between the quayside and the harbour wall that curved out around the port like a giant, protective arm. The bigger, more luxurious cruisers were furthest away, unable to manoeuvre in the crowded moorings deeper into the port.

  There weren’t many people around so Sarah clicked away happily, switching frequently between the three cameras strung around her neck, capturing the gleaming pinpoints of light reflecting from masts, cabin windows and the glorious blue sea beyond the harbour wall. They weren’t particularly interesting shots, it wasn’t a particularly photographic port, but it was, as Jean-Claude had told her, a good place to get some practice in where she wouldn’t be constantly fighting her way through tourists.

  As she worked her way along the port she rubbed a high-factor sun cream into her delicate, rosy skin and pulled her blue peaked cap further down over her eyes. Her shorts were nipping her about the waist and the straps of her swimsuit dug into her plump shoulders, but she was too busy concentrating on the angles from which she could shoot this port to make it look more vibrant, less polished.

  After a while she was out by the incredible yachts that she would have more happily described as ships, and since the owners weren’t in evidence she snapped away cheekily, trying to imagine what it must be like to have so much loot and simply dying to go on board to take a look around. It was another world on board these floating palaces, she thought dismally, and one that was totally closed to the likes of her. It was only nosiness really, for she didn’t covet such wealth for herself, neither was she particularly turned on by the yachties she, Danny and Louisa had come across in the bars at Antibes. But she’d sorely like to go on board, just to satisfy her curiosity and to say she’d been. Still, there was no one around to ask, so turning her lenses around, she began shooting back across the harbour towards the rose-pink apartment blocks with crescent shaped, balustraded balconies and well-tended roof gardens and the wooded hills behind, crowded with villas.

  She came upon what was clearly a private mooring where bougainvillea climbed the harbour wall and fussy little gardens edged the quayside, and passed breezily through it onto a narrow pathway with huge boulders either side and the sea beyond. She had been perched on a rock at the end of the harbour wall next to the cheery, little green-topped lighthouse for over an hour before she realized her skin was prickling painfully in the fierce rays of the sun, so reluctantly she gathered up her cameras to find relief in the shade.

  As she strolled back she was mulling several things over in her mind: the exposure that would best portray the vividness of the sky; whether there was anything here worth experimenting on with the infrared film; how serious they all were about getting into some sort of business down here; was it worth even discussing it when she was pretty fed up with telly; was she ever going to get the hang of this water-skiing lark Danny and Louisa were into; the intriguing gesture of Consuela’s inviting them all to lunch at the Grand Hotel on Cap Ferrat when they’d been told she rarely left the villa … All kinds of things were flitting through her mind when she happened to glance back over her shoulder to see a magnificent yacht gliding smoothly, no, majestically, through the waves towards the harbour. To her delight the sails were still up and the sun was in a perfect position over the Esterel, slightly hazed by the heat, to get some wonderfully dramatic shots, especially if she used the infrared film.

  Two reels and several convoluted angles later, the sails were down, the yacht was anchored just outside the bay and a motorized dinghy with three people on board was heading towards the inner sanctum. Sarah stared at it, shaking her head in a fatalistic sort of way. Over a week had gone by and Jake Mallory hadn’t yet picked up the phone to call either Danny or Louisa, nor had his name been mentioned again since that morning on the terrace, but Sarah had known he would come back into their lives at some point and here he was speeding across the water towards her.

  Quickly capping up her lenses, she stashed her cameras in their bags and started off for the jetty the dinghy seemed to be aiming for. Fortunately it was the one closest to her so she arrived at the water’s edge just before Jake Mallory and the others disembarked.

  ‘Hi!’ she called out, her cameras clattering together as she waved. Who the hell wanted to see the plastic palaces out by the harbour walls when there was a vessel like the one they’d just left to explore?

  Jake looked at her blankly then glanced back at Bob and Jason, assuming she was greeting one of them. They shrugged, equally at a loss.

  ‘Hi,’ Jake said, swinging himself effortlessly up onto the jetty. ‘How’re you doing?’

  Realizing that he didn’t recognize her Sarah said, ‘I’m fine. We sort of met at Consuela’s a week or so ago. You probably remember my friends Danny and Louisa better than me, but I was there. I’m Sarah, by the way.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Sarah,’ Jake smiled, shaking her hand. ‘That looks like quite some gear you’ve got there,’ he added, nodding towards her cameras.

  ‘Oh I’m just practising,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I took some shots of your boat. She’s pretty splendid. I hope you don’t think it an invasion of privacy,’ she added looking worried.

  Jake laughed and Sarah could see instantly why Louisa had fallen so hard. He was absolutely gorgeous and the twinkle in his dark eyes, coupled with the athleticism of his hard body was starting to play up her hormones. ‘If it is,’ he said, ‘then you’re welcome. You say you’re practising?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m hoping to change careers and I’ve always been a bit of an amateur snapper. Hey, I don’t suppose you’d let me go on board and take a look around would you?’ she said, turning to gaze out at the Valhalla.

  ‘Sure,’ he said without hesitation, taking a patch out of his pocket and putting it over his left eye. ‘I’m kind of busy myself right now, but Bob here’d be happy to take you.’ He turned to look at his first mate who was eyeing Sarah with his usual suspicion – women were always throwing themselves at Jake and this one might think she was being subtle in her approach but Bob was having no problem seeing right through it.

  ‘Hi, Bob,’ Sarah said, sticking her hand out to shake his. ‘I promise not to be a nuisance. Maybe you’d let me take some shots of you, you’ve got just the kind of face I’ve been looking for.’

  Jake turned away to hide his laughter. It wasn’t often he got to see Bob blush.

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ Sarah went on as Jake handed her down into the dinghy, ‘you could put a patch over your eye too, Bob, could you? And if you’ve got a skull and crossbones to wave around on the top of one of those big stick things it would make some pretty entertaining shots. No? OK, just a thought,’ and turning aside she winked up at Jake.

  Bob was looking at her with such blatant hostility now that Jake laughed outright. ‘Well, partner,’ he grinned, ‘looks like you’re in for quite an evening. You ready Jason?’

  ‘Right there,’ Jason answered, jumping up onto the jetty.

  ‘Do you think you could show me how the sails go up when we get there, Bob?’ Sarah asked, dropping her bags on the floor and making herself comfortable.

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to be a nuisance,’ Bob grunted.

  ‘Oh, I won’t be,’ she assured him. ‘If you say no sails, then no sails it is.’

  Still laughing Jake turned and walked off down the quay, pretty certain he’d come back to find the Valhalla flying every one of her kites and Bob posing on the bowsprit, complete with eye patch and G-string and flexing his brawn like he was straight off Muscle Beach.

  Quite unperturbed by Bob’s disgruntlement Sarah began re
loading her cameras as Bob jerked the cord and started up the engine. It was a shame Jake wasn’t coming along too, she was thinking to herself, she’d have enjoyed getting to know him. Not that she had any designs on him, he was far too good looking for her taste and she couldn’t imagine she’d be his type either, but she was curious to find out a little more about him. Maybe Bob would be forthcoming on that front and if he wasn’t what the hell, she reckoned she was going to enjoy getting under old Bob’s skin for an hour or two and she could hardly wait to tell Louisa and Danny where she’d been.

  A brief frown crossed her face. On second thoughts maybe she’d keep it to herself. Louisa hadn’t mentioned Jake again since that morning on the terrace, neither had Danny, but Sarah knew that Danny had spent another night in St Tropez during the week, though whether Louisa knew she couldn’t say. She’d probably guessed though, but at least on the surface it didn’t seem to have caused any bad feeling between them.

  She started and almost lost her balance as Bob’s chest suddenly rang. Reaching inside his shirt pocket he pulled out a compact mobile phone and unfolded it.

  ‘Yeah,’ he barked. He waited a moment then made a noise in the back of his throat as he thrust the phone at Sarah.

  ‘For me?’ Sarah said, amazed and feeling very international.

  He nodded curtly and she took the phone.

  ‘Hi,’ the deep, American voice said. ‘It’s Jake Mallory.’

  ‘Well seeing as you’re the only other person who knows where I am, I believe you,’ Sarah responded, looking back towards the port to see if she could catch sight of him.

  He laughed. ‘Could you do me a favour?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Tell your friend I haven’t forgotten. She’ll know what I mean.’

  ‘You haven’t forgotten,’ Sarah repeated. ‘Yes, I think I can manage that. Anything else?’

  ‘Just one thing, Bob’s all growl and no bite, but I reckon you figured that out already.’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon I did,’ Sarah said, affecting his American drawl as she looked over at Bob.

  ‘OK. Well you have yourself a good time,’ Jake said and the line went dead. It was only as she handed the phone back to Bob that it occurred to Sarah that she didn’t know which friend he’d been referring to. She’d assumed it was Louisa, but what if it wasn’t? She didn’t want to get Louisa’s hopes up again, especially not if the message was meant for Danny.

  ‘Uh, do you think I could call him back?’ she asked Bob as he cut the engines and they nudged gently against the hull of the Valhalla.

  Glaring at her Bob took out the phone and dialled. ‘He’s gone out of communication,’ he said after four rings.

  ‘Oh. Well, if you could give me his number I’ll try again later.’

  ‘I can’t do that without Jake’s say so,’ Bob retorted, ‘’specially not the number of his private line.’

  Sarah smiled so winningly that Bob’s jaw visibly tightened as he fought to keep hold of his animosity.

  ‘Then how about you let me have your number?’ Sarah said. ‘After all, I have the distinct feeling that you and I are going to be great friends by the end of the evening, don’t you?’

  Bob shook his head. ‘Uh-huh,’ he said. ‘You don’t get to him that way either. Jake wants you to call him he’ll give you his number himself.’

  ‘And what if I want to call you?’

  Bob looked at her, his watery blue eyes not thawing in the least, but he was the first to turn away. ‘You want to see this baby, or don’t you,’ he said getting to his feet.

  ‘What I want, Bob,’ she answered smoothly, ‘is to convince you that it’s not your skipper’s body I’m after.’

  Bob started, almost lost his footing and Sarah reached out to catch him as he stumbled against her.

  ‘Later, Bob,’ she said. ‘After all, we’ve only just met,’ and at long last she managed to pull a smile from the obstinate press of his lips.

  The twin-enginnned speedboat was skimming rapidly over the inky black water, breaking apart the rippling reflections of moonlight, riding high on the waves, heading towards the Ile Sainte Marguerite, just off the coast at Cannes. Jake was driving, standing at the wheel, steering with one hand while with the other he pointed to the small wooden jetty they were approaching.

  Dmitri peered through the darkness. His golden hair was tangled by the wind, his green eyes were constantly darting towards Jake. He knew there was marijuana on board, Jake had been smoking it when he’d arrived at the quay, but whether there was more than what Jake kept for his personal use Dmitri had no idea and he wasn’t going to ask. If they were stopped by the coastguard he’d plead ignorance, though much good that would do him.

  A few minutes later Jake eased the lever back, slowing the engines and steered the boat quietly, effortlessly alongside the jetty.

  Dmitri watched as two men emerged from the shadows wearing dark clothes and soft-soled shoes.

  Jake turned to Dmitri. ‘Vas-y,’ he said.

  Dmitri climbed obediently from the boat to join the two men, listening as Jake told them that the Valhalla was in Golfe Juan and would sail for Corsica the day after tomorrow, stopping en route at the Ile Sainte Marguerite to take Dmitri on board.

  ‘You OK?’ Jake said, looking up at Dmitri.

  Dumbly Dmitri nodded.

  Jake laughed. ‘Give him a stiff drink, Alain,’ he said in French, ‘then get him to tell you about the girl waiting for him in Athens, that should loosen him up a bit.’

  Alain’s humour was gruff as he slapped Dmitri on the back, while Jake started to turn the boat around.

  Dmitri was still on the jetty, gazing back at the distant lights of Cannes as the boat gathered speed, ploughing into the waves, making its return journey to the mainland.

  ‘Viens,’ Alain said.

  Dmitri turned, could see just a few lights glowing through the dense trees of the island in front of him. Why, he was wondering, did he have to leave France this way? Why couldn’t he have taken a plane from Nice Airport, or even a train from the Gare de St Augustin?

  Consuela, when she’d driven him to Cannes, had told him that Jake would explain, but Jake hadn’t even attempted to and Dmitri had been too afraid to ask. Maybe he would have the answers when they sailed to Corsica, if they sailed to Corsica.

  With each step he took, moving deeper into the night-blackened island, his foreboding grew. Why did he have the feeling that he was never going to see Athens again? Why had Consuela seemed so upset when he’d left, so angry with Jake, yet so unnerved by him too? She’d said little, but he’d sensed it in her and once again he felt chilled by the way Jake had looked at her, as though he wanted to kill her. He’d wanted to assure them that their secrets were safe with him, that he’d never tell what he knew, but his tongue had been too weighted with fear to speak. Merciful God, why had Jake sought him out in those moments before he’d made love to the English actress? Why did Jake have to tell him what was about to happen? He’d carried out Jake’s instructions, but even so he hadn’t needed to know. It would have been far better never knowing. But it was too late now and the burden of his knowledge was as heavy and as doom-laden as this night was still and so intimidatingly black.

  8

  THE IMMENSE OCEAN-GOING cruiser, Misty Nights, was moored at the furthest point of the Albert Edouard Jetée in the vieux port of Cannes. Every light on the vessel was flooding the crowded decks, champagne was flowing, music blared from the speakers and excited laughter, shouts and screams rang joyously around the harbour.

  Sarah and Danny were among the wild dancers on one of the spacious aft decks, jiving recklessly with one another, bumping the other dancers, tripping, catching each other and spinning into the arms of anyone who cared to catch them. Louisa was elbowing her way through the heaving mass of glittering, sun-bronzed bodies, champagne fizzing over her fingers from the three glasses she was carrying. Seeing her, Sarah and Danny grabbed their champagne, threw it back in on
e go and drew Louisa into the heart of the mayhem, shouting down her laughing protests as she careened into a semi-naked woman, slopping half her champagne over the woman’s shoulders.

  ‘Sorry!’ Louisa yelled.

  ‘Don’t worry!’ The woman cried, throwing out her hair, gyrating her hips and letting the champagne trickle over her breasts. She wasn’t the only topless guest, there were plenty of others in various states of undress, most having come straight from the beach, others simply having discarded excess clothing in an effort to cool down as much as to enter into the spirit.

  Pierre, who had been teaching them to water-ski off the pier at the Majestic that afternoon, had pointed out the yacht as it sailed in, telling them where they could find it later and just to ask for Guy when they got there. They’d returned to the villa to freshen up and change first, so the party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. Now, two hours later all three of them had lost track of how much champagne they’d drunk, how many dances they’d had and how many gorgeous men were on board. There didn’t appear to be anyone above the age of thirty, making this a very different kind of party from the rather more decorous cocktail affairs Louisa imagined these decks were more used to hosting.

  She was in a great mood, had laughed, danced and flirted her way through the evening as outrageously as either Danny or Sarah, and was feeling happier and more carefree than she had since arriving in France. What did it matter that she had seen Jake Mallory the day before at a café in Mougins, a stunning blonde sitting opposite him, gazing rapturously into his eyes? It was true, her heart seemed to jar at any thought of him, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her having a good time. Guy, the chief steward, had taken quite a liking to her and he was simply irresistible. Sarah and Danny had teased her all evening about her conquest, though they were doing their fair share of flirting, especially with the two Italian brothers, Marco and Saberio, who also worked on board.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve had enough!’ Guy laughed as Louisa flopped against the side of the boat.