Page 57 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
“I’ve been here six weeks.”
“Is it going well? I’ve heard Natasha’s tough to work for. When the Kozlovas are really trying to impress her, they hire a famous chef.” He raised his hands. “I’m good, but not that good. You must be quite talented.”
I inclined my head. “Thank you. It has been okay so far. We had a horrible charter.” I told Andre about the ridiculous guests and the mayhem on board. He winced in sympathy and patted my hand, lingering a little bit on my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in warning. I glanced over at Roy, who met my eyes. His brow furrowed and he glanced at my hand.
Andre pulled my attention back to him. “Well, as close as the Boyds and Kozlovas are, we might bump into each other quite a bit. I hearThemisis heading to the Caribbean next season too.”
I pulled my hand out from under his and gathered up my things. “It certainly seems like it. Let’s hope this weekend goes well; otherwise, you may never see me again.” I laughed weakly.
“Nonsense, we will triumph.” He shook my hand and nodded to Roy. “I’ll see myself out. Marcella, it was a pleasure.” He turned and switched back to English. “Bye.”
No sooner had the door closed than Roy turned to me. “Who is that?”
I tied an apron on. “That is Andre fromPegasus,a few boats down. He and his crew are being lent to us for the weekend, remember?”
Roy made a face. “That guy? He’s a tosser.”
I leaned a hip against the counter and crossed my arms. “How would you know? He barely said two words in English while you were here.”
“Honey, I don’t need to speak the language to identify a moron. Seb is going tohatethat guy.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. This was part of my job, and for the regatta, I couldn’t afford to turn down help. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just one night, and we’ll power through and get the work done. We need this crew to help.”
“Just make sure he speaks English while he’s here,” Roy grumbled.
We worked through the rest of the evening, interrupted only once as the Boyds returned from dinner out with their newly arrived son.
“Knock, knock,” a posh British voice called from the stairwell. A young man stood in the doorway, a near spitting image of Natasha, but taller than even Justin.
Roy looked up from dicing and broke into a grin. “Alex! Good to see you, man.” He wiped his hands on his towel then offered Justin and Natasha’s son a handshake.
“Good to see you too.” Alex turned to me. “You must be Marcella.” He held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Alex.”
“Pleasure. Hopefully Roy’s been good to you since you’ve joined us?”
“Absolutely.” I leaned a hip against the counter.
“Good. I just wanted to pop in and say hello. I know it’s a hellish day for you both, and I won’t be around much anyway the next few days.”
“Yeah, mate, good luck in the regatta tomorrow. I placed my bets, so I’ve got some money riding on you and a few chore swaps on the line too.”
Alex laughed. “If I lose, who are you going to have to cook for?”
“Breakfast in bed for Xavier.”
“Thanks, Roy. I’ll be sure to think about your dignity while I’m blowing over the finish line.”
Twenty-Eight
The first dayof the regatta was intense. We had fifty guests aboard, and the crew filtered in and out of the galley constantly. Roy and I worked all day as the stews called out for whatever they needed: refills for the crudité station, one of the children running around had dunked their entire hand in the yogurt bowl and then in the strawberry bowl and we had to replace them both for cross-contamination, and where the hell had the basil gotten to?
Just like with their favorite breakfast, Natasha and Justin seemed thrilled with the simplicity and classic presentation we gave. The food all came out amazing—I personally checked every dish myself, coming up to the main deck for observation runs—but it was simple and hearty.
I walked up the stairs to do another run-through and check the displays myself. I was carrying a bowl of oranges up for Will at the bar, and as soon as I set the bowl down, Natasha called my name.
“Marcella, so glad to see you up here enjoying the day. Do you have a moment?” She steered me by my elbow toward a couple standing by the rail. One thing I’d learned about boaters was that what could appear to be dressed-down was very much not. The main deck was full of people wearing Bermuda shorts and loafers, sundresses and sandals. All very casual-looking, until you spotted the logos of H/H and Henri Lloyd.
