Page 56 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
I barely noticed. Instead Roy and I had been swamped with deliveries and prep work. Natasha, Justin, and Alex would arrive tonight, and the regatta would start tomorrow. We would have a full day motoring around as a spectator boat, and then we would spend the next day dockside, preparing for the evening’s awards ceremony onThemisat the dock.
The checklist in my hands was nearly complete. I flipped back and forth, comparing notes with the delivery slip and with my order. Substitutions had been made, and I was not happy about it.
“This isn’t the Imperia we ordered.” I pointed at the box of caviar.
“Right, this is just as good, but cheaper.”
I stared at the delivery guy. “Do we look like we give a shit if it’s cheaper? Send it back, and get me the proper product by noon; otherwise, I’ll order from my other vendor.”
Returning to the list, I confirmed a few more items. “Radicchios instead of endives?”
This time he stubbornly shook his head. “There’s a shortage of those. No one else has them either.”
I regarded him skeptically. “Fine, I’ll accept this substitution, but I’m going to ask around.”
Another truck pulled up at the stern. “Will!” I shouted toward the bar. “Your champagne is here!”
“Thanks!” came the call back.
I eyed a guy walking up to us wearing a chef’s jacket, but he stood to the side waiting his turn. I quickly went through the rest of the list and made some notes on what I still needed to track down. The delivery guy scuttled off and I turned my attention to the chef.
“Can I help you?” The guy was tall and lean, with olive skin like mine and stubble over his face.
He smiled and offered his hand, speaking to me in beautiful Italian. “Marcella? I’m Andre. We’ve been emailing?”
“Oh yes, hello.” I shook his offered hand. “You’re onPegasus,right? Which one is she?”
He pointed over his shoulder. “Three boats down, the power yacht with the Cayman Islands flag.”
“Beautiful. I’m really glad to have your team coming to help for the weekend.” Andre and some of the stews were coming aboardThemisto help out our staff. Andre was a head chef, like me, and he’d be assisting in the galley alongside Roy. The owners ofPegasus,the Kozlovas, were friends of Natasha and Justin’s. Their kids would race together in the regatta over the weekend.
“Come on aboard. I’ll give you the tour and we can go over the menu.”
* * *
Half an hourlater we sat in the crew lounge, going over the game plan. Andre had been wide-eyed as we toured the service stations aroundThemis,but as soon as we were in the galley, he was all business. With a crowd of a hundred people, the biggest issue would usually be dealing with the dirty dishes, so Andre’s team was going to come in handy washing dishes and serving. Andre would focus on the displays, keeping them full, and some of the simpler hors d’oeuvres.
Since Natasha and Justin were so particular, I would handle the majority of the assemblage, but Andre’s team would spend the day of the regatta prepping food—dicing, slicing, mincing, searing, anything I needed done in advance—onPegasus.
It was a pleasure to talk to Andre in my native tongue, and when we wrapped up the list of prep work, we compared notes from home. “I’m from Rome,” he told me. “And I studied in Italy, but I understand you went to school in London?”
“Yes, my menus have gotten much more international, which is good for this job, since the Boyds are Brits.”
“Have you heard about the kids?”
I closed my portfolio. “What kids?”
“I guess they aren’t kids anymore, but Alex Boyd and Niki Kozlova got into some drama on Instagram.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Alex and Niki were friends in school, and that’s how the parents met. But...teenagers.” He shrugged. “Somewhere along the way hormones kicked in and now they are absolute nemeses. They started showing up at events just to antagonize each other: polo, charity balls, sailing races. But then they ended up on the same boat together for a regatta in Bermuda, and all hell broke loose.”
Over Andre’s shoulder, I saw Roy come into the galley with a box of greens and nod at us.
“They will both be on the same yacht in the regatta this weekend?” I asked.
“No, thank God. They are too competitive. But they’ll both be at the awards ceremony that night.”
I frowned. “They don’t getdisruptive, do they?”
“Not that I’ve seen. Just passive-aggressive postings on social media and occasionally harmless pranks. I’ve only met the Boyds a few times, but the Kozlovas keep Niki in check pretty well.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “How long have you been onThemis?”
