‘They’re certainly interesting. Tahir, that’s the father, is very polite. Very correct. But perhaps be careful of Inci.’
‘That’s his wife?’
‘His girlfriend. The singer, Inci Demir. She’s a huge star in Turkey and expects to be treated like one.’
‘Right. I hear you. So what’s Defne like? She’s the one I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on.’
‘Defne’s… yeah. She’s a nice girl.’ Feris sighs. ‘A bit lonely, perhaps? A bit attention-starved?’ She shrugs. ‘They’re rich people, Oxana. They live by different rules from people like us.’
Feris shows me round theMedusa. By now most of the crew are on board and busily preparing for our departure; they’re a mix of nationalities, and English seems to be the working language. The chef, Andreas, is Greek. Andreas is extremely handsome and knows it. He and Feris exchange lingering glances.
There are five decks, all arranged on top of each other like a layer cake. My cabin is on the lower deck, in the belly of the ship, or the boat, or whatever you’re supposed to call it. Above that is the main deck, where the crew live, and where all the cooking and laundry and service stuff happens. At the front of this – the foredeck, Feris calls it – there’s a helipad. Of course there is. Then there’s the owner’s deck. That’s the main family area, with two salons, a dining space, and a cocktail zone. Overhead is the bridge deck, housing the ship’s controls – strictly the domain of Captain Özdemir, apparently – andabove that the sundeck, which I’m guessing is basically for working on your tan. It’s all super-comfortable, but I wonder how we’re all going to get on together. TheMedusais longer than most of the luxury craft in the Piraeus yacht marina, but once we’re at sea, I’m guessing it’s going to start feeling like an enclosed space. We’ll see.
When Feris has finished showing me round the yacht she excuses herself. I’m pretty sure I’ve handled her right. I want to come across as an ally. Someone who understands the particular pressures she’s under. The essential thing is to treat her as an equal. I have no idea if I’ll need her help, but if I do, I want to be sure it’s forthcoming. In general, I need to know my place and not get above myself. I can’t let anyone imagine, for one second, that I’m any kind of threat.
In her cabin, Oxana unpacks her case and hangs up her clothes. She’s confident that if anyone decides to search the cabin, they’ll find only the modest possessions of a not very well-off young woman. Everything from her underwear to her deodorant has been sourced from budget high-street outlets. On the floor next to her bed is a copy ofHer Frozen Heart, a goodbye present from Charlotte. Inside it is the crocheted bookmark that Georgie gave her.
When Oxana has finished unpacking, she ascends a deck and makes her way to the dive locker, which Feris pointed out in passing when she was showing Oxana the layout of the yacht. The dive locker is actually a small room, containing half a dozen sets of scuba equipment. Oxygen cylinders, breathing regulators, buoyancy control devices, fins, masks, wetsuits andweight belts. Oxana eyes this equipment speculatively. It looks well maintained, and ready for use.
‘Cool, huh?’ Feris materialises beside her.
‘I guess it is.’
‘Are you a diver?’
‘Oh my gosh, no. I’m just… scaring myself. I’ve never seen stuff like this close up.’
‘Diving’s fun. You should try it. I’m sure one of the crew would be happy to give you a lesson.’
Oxana shudders. ‘No way. I’m more comfortable above the surface, thank you very much.’
‘Well, make yourself at home, anyway.’
The Yilmaz family board Medusa shortly before midday. Oxana is waiting in the stern with Captain Özdemir, the stewardesses, and the crew, as the small group saunters unhurriedly up the quay towards the gangplank.
The women board first. They’re headed by a full-figured woman with honey-blonde hair. Wide, mascaraed eyes survey theMedusaand her crew. As she sets foot on the gangplank, loudspeakers burst briefly into song, and there’s a burst of applause from the crew. Captain Özdemir steps forward and shakes the woman’s hand. The two of them converse briefly in Turkish, then the captain switches to English to introduce Oxana.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Oxana murmurs.
Inci Demir glances at her, wordlessly registers her hat and uniform, then moves on, nodding to left and right at the crew members and stewardesses. For a second, perhaps a half-second, Feris catches Oxana’s eye.
Tahir Yilmaz, walking in Inci Demir’s wake, is a broad-faced man in a crumpled linen suit. He’s nondescript in appearance, with brown eyes that appear almost kindly. Behind him, another figure hovers. Again, not a big man, or a particularly noticeableone, but Oxana notes his constantly scanning eyes, and marks him down as a close-security professional. ‘Miss Vorontsova,’ Yilmaz murmurs. ‘Thank you for coming. Was the hotel comfortable?’
‘Very. Thank you.’
‘Have you been shown to your cabin?’
‘Yes. Feris has been looking after me.’
‘Excellent.’ He indicates the bodyguard. ‘This is Atlas. While you keep an eye on the girls, Atlas will be keeping an eye on me.’ He looks searchingly at Oxana. ‘It’s unfortunate that such precautions are necessary. It’s one of the penalties the world exacts on successful businessmen. And our families.’ He smiles at her, and something behind the smile, an unflinching coldness, strikes a chord with Oxana. She’s seen men like this before. Men who look absolutely ordinary and deploy terror without a thought.
‘I understand,’ she says, but Tahir has turned away. When he looks back, he’s holding the arm of a tall, dark-haired young woman. He draws her forward. ‘Defne, this is Miss Vorontsova.’
‘Call me Oxana.’ She holds out a hand.
Defne squeezes it uncertainly. She has her father’s brown eyes, and the ungainliness of a teenager who hasn’t quite grown into her body. ‘So who exactly are you?’ she asks, releasing Oxana’s hand and scratching absently at a patch of sunburnt skin between her shoulder blades.
Oxana’s about to respond when she’s interrupted by a disbelieving shriek of laughter.