‘I’d have warned you,’ Jack says. ‘But I was worried you wouldn’t come.’
‘I’d have come.’
He smiles and unscrews the cap of his water bottle.
‘Is it just these four, or do you take other kids out?’
‘In total, I’ve got eighteen signed up. It just depends whose parents want them out of the house for the day.’
‘I’ve noticed you let them sort their own issues out.’
‘I’m there if it gets out of hand, obviously. But yeah, you’re right. They have to learn to deal with each other.’
‘Madison’s impressive.’
He nods. ‘She wants to join the military, and I think she’d do brilliantly. I’m encouraging her to apply to the Army Foundation College.’
‘And the others?’
‘They’ve all got their battles to fight. But there’s something about all this open space that makes that easier.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘In a flat or a small house issues get shelved, because tired parents can’t deal with the drama. Out here, you can let things play out. Shouty teenagers can’t dominate a place like this. They can’t even make an impression on it. Roman legionaries climbed these hills. These fields have been laid out like this for centuries.’
‘You’re giving them a sense of perspective, then.’
‘I’m not giving them anything, I just bring them here. This is deep England. It teaches its own lessons.’
Oxana will have left for the Greek Islands by now. She may already be at sea. There’s certainly no way of contacting her – not that I want to. I could contact Johnny Fernandes, I suppose, but not without giving away my whereabouts. Who am I kidding? Johnny could find me in five minutes if he really wanted or needed to. But I can’t imagine that he’s got much use for me right now.
19
The drive from central Athens to the port of Piraeus takes half an hour. The traffic is heavy, and the route through the port complex is slow. Oxana guesses that the driver, a watchful young man who doesn’t address a single word to her, is one of Tahir Yilmaz’s security detail.
Sitting in the car’s cool interior, Oxana thinks herself into her new role. The uniform helps. The lilac blouse and skirt, the neatly pinned bun and the straw hat, the cardigan over her arm. She’s also made a point of wearing no make-up; her skin is shiny, and she has a spot on her nose. The driver’s silence, not so much respectful as merely uninterested, tells her that her nanny character is believable. She’s not a guest, she’s a minor employee, and the guy’s probably not best pleased at being dispatched to pick her up.
Finally, they reach their destination, and Oxana steps from the air-conditioned car into a blast of heat. The driver lifts her wheeled suitcase from the boot of the car, and with a nod, indicates that she should follow him onto a long seafront jetty at which a dozen or more superyachts are moored. The sight of these – their science-fictional gleam, their sheer fuck-you massiveness – stops Oxana in her tracks. Young men and women in crew T-shirts are visible on several of the yachts, loading provisions, squeegeeing decks, and issuing orders over phones. At the far end of the jetty is a single black-hulled craft. Longer than the others, and more aggressively streamlined, it seems to radiate urgency, tension and an impatience to be off. The nameplate on the stern confirms that this isMedusa.
As Oxana approaches with the driver, her suitcase wheels whirring on the jetty, she sees two figures, a man and a woman, waiting at the top of the gangplank. They watch as she boards. When she looks back, the driver is gone.
‘You are Miss Vorontsova, the nanny, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Welcome aboardMedusa. I am Captain Özdemir.’
They shake hands. The captain is a wiry figure with an iron grip and creased, watchful eyes. Not a man to suffer fools gladly, Oxana guesses.
‘And I’m Feris, the Chief Stewardess.’ She’s slender, with a wary smile.
‘Feris will show you everything,’ Captain Özdemir says. ‘We cast off at noon.’ He gives Oxana a tight, professional smile, and vanishes into the shadowy interior of the vessel.
‘Let’s get you settled,’ Feris murmurs, and after a moment’s hesitation lifts Oxana’s case.
Interesting. Clearly, she’s not quite sure of my status. Am I a servant, a guest, or something in between? Which role serves my purposes best? Because I’m guessing that this Feris woman, for all her willowy appearance, takes no shit from anyone. Perhaps I should befriend her. I know exactly how todo that. I know which sympathetic looks to give her. I know the precise intensity of sigh and softening of gaze that she’ll respond to. I know when to widen my eyes, bite my lower lip in shocked surprise and touch her forearm. I’ve done it so often it’s instinctive. When all’s said and done, people aren’t very complicated. Women, especially. Let’s see what tune I can play on this one.
Oxana’s cabin, like all the guest cabins, is on the lower deck, on the starboard side. It’s compact but beautifully appointed, with curving oak walls, a single bed, and a tiny en suite bathroom.