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‘I told Sofia to tell her sister to bring us in a load of fresh veg,’ Yannis told her with pride. ‘You see, I do think ahead.’
‘You do,’ Claire conceded, walking out back to the kitchen to check on the other supplies, which the older man often overlooked when unexpected customers arrived.
She had studied for three years to become a pastry chef and copious working experience had been included in her degree course. In fact, only the year before she had got a position as a pastry chef at a top restaurant. Unhappily, that was the job she had had to give up when she’d decided to fly out to Greece to be with her mother. Claire, however, was pragmatic about that sacrifice. Chefs were always in demand, and when she got back to the UK she would soon find a job, even if it didn’t have quite the prestigious status of the one she had quit. Eventually she would climb back up the ladder and start paying off her student loans again.
Her father had thoroughly disapproved of her chosen career. In truth the only version of her future that would have pleased her father would have been her marrying some approved man in his congregation and settling down to raise children. Her half-brother, Tom, had just entered theological college and, last she had heard, already had a church placement waiting for him. Claire was willing to admit that the long and often late hours in the catering trade were a drawback but, aside of that, she enjoyed cooking and loved the frantically busy pace of a working kitchen.
She spent the afternoon baking bread and a selection of desserts and pastries. It was a busy evening. Yannis dropped in to tell her that her food, the desserts in particular, had received many compliments. Around finishing time, she was invited out to meet the customers. ‘I think I may have found you a cheap way of getting home,’ Yannis told her.
A personable middle-aged man introduced himself as Captain Hastings of theMahnoor. Her brows rose when she realised that he was referring to the giant yacht that resembled a cruise liner anchored out in the bay.
‘Are you interested in temporary employment?’ he asked. ‘We’ll be docking in Southampton in just over two months. Our assistant chef broke a leg mountaineering and he’s out of commission. We need a replacement for the rest of the trip.’
‘I’m Gregoire, the head chef,’ a bald older man with a thick French accent interposed. ‘Tell me about your training and experience.’
Someone pulled up a chair for her and there was a flurry of introductions to the crew seated round the table. About a quarter were women.
Gregoire asked exacting questions but hope and anticipation were already bubbling up inside Claire. Working onboard a yacht sailing back to the UK would solve all her problems. She wouldn’t have travel expenses and she would be able to save her salary, which would give her a cushion of cash towards affording accommodation on arrival.
‘I think you’ll do, and you’ll pick up useful experience on the yacht,’ Gregoire pronounced.
Claire breathed in deep. ‘Can I bring my cat? She’s well trained.’
The captain frowned and rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t see why not as long as you keep her under control.’
‘She hasn’t got pet travel papers yet.’
‘You can get that taken care of at one of our ports of call.’
The yacht was moving on the next morning and naturally that was when they wanted her to start. It didn’t suit. She would have liked longer to pack up, but she knew that Sofia would happily donate her mother’s possessions to the local charity she supported and she herself would only be a retaining a few small keepsakes because nothing else made sense in her situation. After staying for a drink with the younger crew members and getting to know Liz, the onboard beauty consultant, and a couple of cabin stewards, Claire began to look forward to her new job.
‘Oh, I forgot to ask. Who owns the yacht or is it on a private charter?’ she asked.
‘His Royal Highness, the Prince—’
‘Royalty?’ She gasped.
‘Foreign royalty. So rich I’m surprised he doesn’t shed diamonds or drip oil as he walks. You don’t need to worry though. You almost never see him. He works on board. He’s some gobsmackingly important big business whizz. He has a large party of guests joining us, though, so we’ll all be run off our feet this trip,’ she forecast.
Raif wakened at dawn and headed straight into the gym as was his wont. An elegant black cat awaited him there, a cat called Circe, which belonged to someone on the crew. Raif had tried to ignore the cat because it plunged him into memories he preferred not to recall. But the cat was persistent and refused to be ignored, following him back to his private quarters and graciously allowing him a brief caress before he stepped into the shower.
How many black cats like Circe lived around the Mediterranean ports? Probably thousands, he reasoned, and at least fifty with the name of a Greek goddess. In any case, he had only noticed the cat since they had docked in Trieste, where presumably the new crew member had boarded. Since then, the sleek black cat had become a ship mascot. As far as he knew he was the cat’s first port of call on its wanderings. It visited the captain on the bridge every morning and, apparently, the unsentimental older man had shopped for fresh fish for the cat’s benefit and Raif’s famous head chef had created some special dish for it.
The cat visited the entire crew at different times of day. It had its own bed in the beauty parlour and toys in the office of Raif’s admin staff. In the afternoon, it slumbered in Raif’s office. So self-possessed and fearless was the cat that Raif would not have been surprised to find it kicking back on a sun lounger with a fat cigar and a tumbler of the most expensive whisky on board. It took adoration as its due.
But worst of all, it reminded Raif of Claire and he didn’t need the reminders when he was peculiarly conscious of every mile that took him further from her. She had texted him once to thank him for the flowers but had not contacted him again. Why would she have when he had neither responded to that text nor contacted her? No doubt he would have heard from her had she been pregnant but, since he had not heard from her, he told himself that he should be grateful that that unforgettable night had not ended in a conception. Only, at heart, he knew he wasn’t grateful when he still couldn’t get either Claire or that extraordinary night out of his head.
Several decks below the owner’s suite, Claire was contemplating the pregnancy test she had finally purchased at their last port. It had taken her two missed periods to accept that there could be genuine cause for alarm. The first month she had assumed it was stress from losing her mother, but the second month panic had begun to build inside her. It truly hadn’t occurred to her that she might fall pregnant the very first time she had sex or that the repercussions from one night with a guy could be that massive. As she groaned out loud at her stupidity, her foolish naïve confidence in her sound judgement, she looked around her comfortable cabin for the comfort of her pet...herrovingpet. Of course, as usual, Circe was absent.
Penning up Circe for a large part of the day hadn’t worked and eventually the cat had slid out of a porthole and discovered that there was very large and interesting boat filled with people to explore. There had been no caging Circe after that and as Claire’s pet had ranged far and wide and she’d realised that the cat wasn’t annoying anyone, she had relaxed and stopped worrying. Now she only locked up Circe when she went ashore and that had been only a handful of times because there was no room in her budget for shopping trips when she had to save up.
In truth, she acknowledged, she loved working on the yacht. The pay was terrific and the accommodation top of the line. There were enough other women onboard to ensure she had company when she wanted it and there were all sorts of extras on theMahnoor. When there were no guests, they were allowed to use the beauty salon where Liz, the resident beauty consultant and massage therapist, was going mad with boredom. They also had access to a pool and a gym and the latest movies.
But she still worked long hours and, although she had enjoyed the sheer frantic pace of the galley while catering to a large demanding party of well-heeled guests, she was glad that the last event of their stay was due that morning, a barbecue on the top deck. It would be the first time she had been allowed near the upper decks to which only senior crew members enjoyed access. Once the guests disembarked, there would be perfect peace and nothing taxing for the remainder of her trip back to London.
She did the test for which she had prepared and sat down again to await the result. Would Raif help as he had implied in his note? She had been tempted so often to phone or text him, but he had pretty much ghosted her, had certainly not started up a conversation when she’d thanked him for the flowers. Where did he even live? She knew nothing about him. Would he offer her financial help? Or had he just offered support without ever meaning to do anything concrete?
Claire peered at the result and felt sick, indeed as nauseous as she had felt on several occasions in recent days. She had sore breasts and couldn’t stand the taste of coffee any longer. The nausea came and went at different times of the day but the extreme tiredness and the sleeping like the dead at night was there all the time. It was positive, pretty much what she had expected, and shock and fright vibrated through her and she had to dash into the bathroom to lose her early lunch in the most undignified way possible.
