Page 46 of Deep Blue Lies
The elevator hums to a stop. For a moment, nothing happens. I glance at John, but he’s as motionless as before. Then, without a sound, the doors slide open.
“Here we are, miss. The captain is waiting for you outside.”
I blink at the man, expecting to follow him, but he gestures again, a simple move of the hand that tells me he won’t be getting out, so I step through alone.
The contrast is immediate and startling. Suddenly I’m in blazing sunlight, the glare bouncing off cream-coloured teak decks and gleaming chrome railings. Around me, below me, I see the squat concrete pier where we parked, and beyond it the sprawl of Athens with its hills. I squint, adjusting. Then I see him.
Simon Walker-Denzil is sitting at a table, reading some papers. He’s wearing a loose cotton shirt, open at the neck, with chinos and deck shoes. No socks. He’s tanned, slim, unshaven. Better looking than I expected, but somehow, also exactly as I imagined him.
He looks up and smiles, everything about him relaxed. He puts the papers down and stands.
“Ava, you made it.”
“Yeah.” I can’t stop myself from holding out my hands in a “ta-da!” moment, which I instantly regret. He smiles at it though, and I try to cover it up.
“Thank you for seeing me. For coming to get me.”
There’s a flicker of something in his face, amusement I guess. I must look so naïve, so out of place.
“Let’s see if you still think that by the time we’re done,” he says, with a smile I don’t quite get.
He nods towards the lounge area, white leather sofas shaded by a sleek overhang that’s more spaceship than sailing boat.
“Let’s talk.”
FORTY-SEVEN
“So, you want the spiel, or did Dominic already give it you?”
“Um. Who’s Dominic?” I reply.
“The guy who picked you up. What’d he tell you about us?”
“Oh. Not much.”
Simon laughs. “Right. Man of few words, our Dom.” He lifts his eyebrows playfully, they’re bleached blond from the sun. He takes a deep breath, then begins.
“She’s ninety-five metres long, that’s three-hundred-twelve feet, if you like it old style. Four decks above water, one below. Fifteen-and-a-half-metres beam – that’s your width – with a draught of four-point-three metres, meaning we can get her in surprisingly close to the shore for such a big beast.” Again the eyebrows go up.
“Cruising speed of fourteen knots, max speed twenty, and a range of six-thousand-five-hundred nautical miles, so we’re transatlantic capable. We have a crew of anywhere between thirty to forty and typically won’t take more than eighteen guests, since we just have the nine staterooms.” Simon smiles sarcastically at this. “You could fit more in at a push.” He sees me looking around. You could fit a hundred just on this deck.
“She was built in Germany, by Lürssen Yachts. Launched in 2010,but refitted a few years ago. Heated marble floors, Italian furniture, gold accenting, you name it, it’s here. We have floor-to-ceiling windows, glass-bottomed jacuzzi, fully fitted gym, spa, steam room and sauna. Cinema room – one-hundred-sixty-inch screen,” – the eyebrows go up again – “plus there’s a whisky bar and a walk-in humidor.” He pauses at this, cocking his head on one side and falling quiet suddenly. I fall right into the trap.
“What’s a humidor?”
“I so hoped you’d ask. OK, picture this, because I’m sure you have this problem most days. You’re sitting there smoking your thousand-dollar hand-rolled Cuban cigars, but they don’t taste exactly right? You know what I mean? A little too moist, you can’t quite get the notes of sweatshop-poverty? What you need is a temperature and humidity-controlled room to store them in. That’s a humidor.”
“And you have one?”
“Lined with the finest Spanish cedarwood. We very much do.” He chuckles.
“Then we have the beach club. Tender garage has two speedboats andallthe toys. I’m talking sea bobs, foiling boards, e-surfboards – you ever try one of those?” He pauses until I shake my head. “Then we have a retractable swim platform, jet skis – obviously – and…” – he grins again – “my favourite Bond-villain touch, the mini sub.”
“You’re joking.”
“Uh huh. Seats four comfortably, six if you know each other well. Goes down to a thousand feet. Not thatI’mgoing in it.” He smiles as he watches my reaction. “I prefer to be on the water, not under it.” He waves a breezy hand towards the deck behind me.
“There’s a few other bits and bobs. Helipad, bulletproof glass of course, twin panic-rooms, just in case you’re panicking too much to find the first one when we get attacked – if we get attacked – forgive me, you’ve had a long trip and I didn’t offer refreshments. What can I get you, tea, coffee, glass of wine? What’syour poison? We can feed you too, if you’re hungry? Got a hell of a chef, let me tell you.”
