When Oxana returns, in a one-piece swimsuit teamed with a sarong and sunglasses, Inci looks at her speculatively.
Defne grins. ‘That looks a bit more comfortable.’
‘Thank you. It is.’
Feris and two colleagues deliver the starters, accompanied by Andreas the chef, who provides a commentary on each dish as it’s put down. ‘Poached quail eggs with garlic yoghurt foam and Aleppo pepper butter drizzle,’ he murmurs reverently. ‘Vine leaves with pine nuts, currants and herbed rice. Sea bass sashimi dressed in olive oil, lemon, and Aegean wild herbs. Grilled octopus with walnut sauce and pomegranate pearls.’
‘Please,’ Inci says, raising her sunglasses and peering at the food. ‘Take away the octopus. I saw this documentary and apparently, they’re every bit as intelligent as we are. More intelligent, in some cases.’
‘Yes, Miss Demir. Of course. Right away.’ Andreas retreats with the dish of octopus.
‘It’ll just be eaten by the crew,’ Yilmaz observes mildly.
‘I don’t care,’ Inci snaps. ‘I’m not going to be a party to genocide.’
Atlas glances at her quizzically, then carries on scanning the horizon through his dark glasses. Oxana is struck by the way his presence is neither acknowledged nor commented on. Why, she wonders, does Defne think that her family need guarding? Does she think that Tahir is just a super-rich businessman, taking steps to deter kidnappers? Or does she, deep down, know what he does?
‘That chef,’ Buse murmurs to Defne. ‘He’s quite handsome, don’t you think?’
‘Is he?’ Defne says distractedly. ‘I didn’t notice.’
Buse rolls her eyes exasperatedly.
‘As it happens, Bu, my thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. You’re not the only one getting appreciative looks.’
‘So tell.’
‘No way.’
Buse frowns. ‘Wait. You’re not talking about the guy who brought your suitcase to your cabin? The French boy?’ She grins. ‘Youare, aren’t you? God, Def, you’re such a sly-boots. What was his name?’
Defne says nothing.
‘He’s a fast worker, I’ll give him that. Cheeky, too, for a deckhand. Was his name Noel? Something like that?’
‘Noah,’ Defne murmurs. ‘And just FYI he wasn’t cheeky. He was very polite and respectful.’
Inci regards her distractedly. ‘Tahir,’ she says, as the stewardesses withdraw. ‘What’s our first port of call?’
‘I believe Anemisia.’
‘It sounds like a disease.’ Inci smiles wearily.
‘How do you spell it?’ Buse asks, picking up her phone.
‘Eye tee,’ Defne says.
Buse rolls her eyes. ‘You’resofunny,’ she murmurs.
Both girls are at that strange, transitional stage. One foot still in childhood, the other in the adult world. Buse is much surer of herself, and vibrantly aware of her own sexuality and its power. But she’s not particularly switched on to those around her. She didn’t notice the look, almost a flinch, that passed between Tahir and Inci when she mentioned the handsome chef. The two of them are obviously just tolerating her forDefne’s sake. I’m guessing the day will come when Buse gets left behind, but for the moment Defne’s keeping her around. A link to the past. To childhood and safety.
Defne takes out her phone, thumbs the screen, and begins to read. ‘Anemisia, also known as the isle of the winds – from the Greekanemos, the wind – is one of the smaller of the Cyclades, an island group in the Aegean Sea. Anemisia has several villages and towns, of which the largest are Idona and Lissae. The Hollywood actress Phoebe Faull owns a home in Idona, as does the fashion designer Marco Terrasini. The port and the centre of the island’s nightlife are in Lissae, adjacent to the island’s most popular beach, Galanos.’
‘I think it sounds groovy.’ Buse slides a lazily complicit glance in Defne’s direction. ‘I think we’re going to have fun.’ She sucks a quail’s egg between her pillowy lips.