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Enrique was perhaps in his forties and therefore older than Gemma had imagined. Short and stocky, muscular arms with small tattoos, sharp brown eyes, and an unfortunate small scar down one side of his strangely handsome face. Another set of Jason eyes, noted Gemma with a quickening of her heartbeat. .
“Señora. Señor. Welcome aboard. Your stateroom is all prepared for you. I’m sure you would like to partake in some refreshments when they are ready. Maria and I will assist you with your unpacking.” His English was perfect in execution and grammar, his accent similar to Maria’s. A foreigner only in the execution of the language, not in its richness.
“Thank you, Enrique. Captain.” Jason faced the crew. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I’m sure you have much to do before we depart tomorrow. I will leave you to your tasks while I give my wife a tour.”
Gemma sighed in relief. Formalities dealt with, she couldn’t wait to see the rest of the yacht.
The crew dispersed quickly, leaving Gemma and Jason in the main salon.
“Wow!” She put her hand to mouth and twirled on the spot with glee.
“Gemma, come on.” Jason caught her arm and led her farther into the yacht. “These are the guest quarters. Ours are on the deck above. Let me show you around.”
The decor remained uniform throughout the yacht. Spotlessly clean, no smudges, scuffs, or marks adorned the pristine interior. Everything shone brightly, finished with elegance and refinement.
The main
deck housed the gym, spa room, and galley. The main galley was situated in the midst of the deck, and the chef nodded when Gemma stuck her head round the door.
A dining salon with a metallic table and a dozen mahogany chairs, generously padded in white. At the bow of the deck were four compartments and, at the farthest stern point, the bridge with the captain’s cabin.
“Enrique and Maria have one of these compartments. Leo has another,” Jason indicated as they strolled past the rooms.
They had discussed the security arrangements during the flight. Leo Lubinsky was the chief security officer for the three weeks. Jason’s usual bodyguard and security chief, Martinson, had taken an extended break, and Lubinsky, an ex-Navy SEAL with plenty of experience as a bodyguard and surveillance expert, came highly recommended. His sidekick, Jean Dufour, was a French Canadian who had previously been in the Canadian Mounted Police amongst other security jobs. Meeting the men at the airport, Gemma had thought the pairing made a formidable team: hard muscles, inscrutable faces, and ears incorporating the ubiquitous communication devices.
Jason had already warned Gemma there would be armaments on board the vessel and, where the local laws permitted, both guards would be armed when on shore. Gemma had shrivelled at the idea of armed bodyguards, something forbidden under UK laws as only government agents could carry weapons. Were they facing a greater threat, or was the precaution purely because, away from England, they were allowed to be armed? She dare not ask in case the answer scared her.
The bridge was a bank of confusing computer screens, buttons, and flashing lights. Captain McKenzie rose to greet them from his a swivel chair perched high.
“Mr. Lucas. Mrs Lucas. I should remind you before we leave tomorrow there is the obligatory safety talk.”
“Safety is important, Captain. Of course, my wife and I shall listen attentively.”
The tour moved on. Jason stopped in the lobby area. In the centre of the main deck was a door with a numeric keypad. He punched in a four-digit code.
“Only Enrique and Maria have free access to our deck. Everyone else has to ring the doorbell, so to speak. Unless it’s an emergency or we are onshore.” Jason opened the door to a stairwell leading to the upper deck.
Jason gave Gemma the key code, which she quickly memorised. Upstairs, she entered another lavish lobby with the uniform gilt decorations and marble floors, which continued throughout the private deck.
“To the aft is an outside dining area.” Jason pointed to a glass door.
They stood in the owner’s salon and bar. Off the central space were a mahogany-furnished office and a small pantry with dumbwaiter to the main galley.
Forward was the stateroom. The spacious compartment, complete with panoramic windows semi-circling around the bow of the yacht, stunned Gemma. The emperor-sized bed stood centre stage, its large backboard of wood and marble, providing a privacy screen when entering the room. Chest of drawers lined each side of the cabin and in the bay of the bow windows, sofas and armchairs. Two bathrooms adorned either side of the stateroom, each decorated with mirrors, marble, and gilt-edged tiles. His, with a shower and dressing area, her larger one with a Jacuzzi, shower, and generous closets and dressing table.
After two years with Jason, Gemma had become accustomed to luxury, but to have it all on such a grand scale and in immaculate condition impressed. She swooned, if only emotionally. At the base of their bed, a glass-topped low table and above it a separate light fitting. To an innocent bystander, perfectly acceptable furnishings. Jason placed the contents of his jacket pocket on the glazed surface and grinned at Gemma as she lined up the ceiling with the table.
“Yes, you’ve guessed. An additional feature required only by me, the owner. It disappears when chartered.”
Jason retrieved a remote from the bedside cabinet.
He pressed one button, and blinds sheathed the windows, casting the room into semi-darkness. Another button and the lights came up gradually. Then the ceiling compartment slid open to reveal a ring and pulley.
“I told you I was going to string you up, didn’t I?” Jason tapped the table. “Tucked away in this room is a padded top for this. So don’t worry about the glass.”
The remote activated and everything returned to normal lighting and style.
Gemma gulped and stood nervously, tapping a foot repeatedly. Enrique and Maria arrived with their luggage and Esteban with a tray of refreshments.
