Page 21 of Below the Deck

Talia nodded, gave him a brief kiss on the lips, then backed away and headed inside the salon. Despite the warmth of the evening, she shivered – the furious expression on Mark’s face still haunting her.

Did he leave me that note?Did Mark have some kind of grudge against Rory? But no, surely not – the two men scarcely knew each other. They could only have met once before this trip – on that one fateful night she wished she could erase from her life altogether. This couldn’t be aboutthat, could it?

No; impossible.Then perhaps Mark’s anger was to do with Lucy. That was the only way it could make sense.But why?Rory had no problems with her; he’d have mentioned it if he did, and he certainly wouldn’t have invited her here. His personal preferences always influenced the winners of bonus holidays, much as he claimed to be an ‘entirely impartial judge’.

Talia sighed; she wasn’t getting anywhere with this. Bestjust to sleep on it. She’d try to talk to Mark once he’d sobered up – alone, just the two of them. And Lucy too, if she could manage it.

As she approached the spiral staircase leading below deck, she paused, waiting. No one appeared; there was only silence pierced by the hum of the air-conditioning, the gentle purr from the engine room, and the sound of Talia’s own heartbeat pulsing in her ears.

‘Hello?’ she whispered. ‘Is anyone there?’

There was no reply, but … was that someone’s soft footsteps behind her? Was that the rhythm of someone else’s breath in time with hers?

Talia froze. She stayed unmoving at the top of the stairs – and waited.

SAM

9 JUNE

Sam lay in bed, willing his brain to switch off so he could finally get some sleep. It was gone two in the morning; he’d been tossing and turning for more than two hours, and now he’d missed the soporific, alcohol-fuelled point in time where he could pass out in a haze. To make matters worse, he’d actually started sobering up; he was vaguely nauseous, his tongue coated with fur despite two rounds of mouthwash, his heart juddering erratically in his chest. The cut on his foot was throbbing again too; it had felt better the previous morning, but he’d clearly overdone it during the day.

Sam winced as he brushed his injured foot against the mattress. It wasn’t just the pain, though: his confusion about the evening was spinning around his brain, wiring him up. It had all ended so strangely tonight – Mark kicking off like that, Lucy having to drag him away, Rory so bewildered by it all. They were on a superyacht exploring some of the most beautiful places on earth – what did Mark have to get so pissed off about?

He’d only known him a couple of days, sure, but that behaviour seemed out of place. Mark didn’t give off the vibe of someone who’d turn aggressive when drunk; he’d seemed sensible, quiet, a little awkward – a bit of a geek, honestly. He’d have been that boy at school who sat at the front, arm straight up with the answers before the teacher had finished speaking, covering his exam papers with his hands. The opposite of Sam, who spent his days messing about, sticking chewed-up bubblegum under his desk, scrapping with kids in the year above – popular; excellent at sports, but not much else.

Sam had his suspicions about what could have given Mark the rage, though. It was to do with Lucy – it had to be. Mark had caught Lucy snooping in Rory’s room so maybe he thought there was something going on between them.

And maybe there is.Whether it was romantic – Sam was grossed out by the idea, but wouldn’t rule it out; that was Rory’s style, after all – or something else altogether, some kind of secret agreement between them might explain what she was doing here. It just didn’t add up otherwise. Lucy wasn’t Rory’s usual pick for a bonus trip; it was basically unheard of, bringing along ananalyst, for fuck’s sake. Then rifling through his stuff, alone in his cabin, clearly up to something. Looking for something. Did Lucy have any idea what she might be getting herself into?

His brain felt scattered. Giving up on sleep now after so long trying, Sam decided he needed some fresh air. He swung his legs out of bed and got up, chucked on a T-shirt and shorts over his boxers, grabbed his key card and phone – smiling as he noted the new text from his little sister, Anna:How’s the superyacht, bro? –then opened his cabin door, as quietly as he could.

The corridor outside was dark and silent – except for thesound of some guttural snores coming from the master stateroom, next to his cabin. He crinkled his nose in mild disgust – of course Rory was a horrendous snorer. He’d expect nothing less.

As he stepped into the passageway, the sensor picked him up and the lights blazed on, blinding him for a few seconds. Squinting, he stumbled, hopping on his good foot towards the staircase.

When he reached the top, he felt something squelch as he placed his injured foot briefly on the ground. Peering down, he saw with horror that blood was seeping through the dressing – he must have opened the cut again somehow.Shit. He needed a new bandage, and for someone to clean up the smears of blood that had no doubt trailed behind him from his cabin. It was too late for any of the crew to still be up, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to wake anyone. Perhaps he could just clean it up himself.

Stepping gingerly towards the galley, he was about to walk inside and start rooting around for a bandage and a cloth, when he heard soft voices inside. He peered through the window: two people were standing at the other end of the galley.

The stewardesses. They’re up late.He went to knock on the door, but something about their body language told him not to interrupt. He paused – not meaning to eavesdrop exactly, just … waiting for a good moment to announce his presence.

‘I can’t believe he came to the crew cabins – twice,’ Johanna said. ‘How did he even get in this afternoon – and again tonight? And … you don’t think he was being serious?’ Johanna’s arms wrapped around her body. Her tone was urgent; nervous. The crew were always so calm and collected. It was unsettling, hearing them like this.

‘I don’t know – he must have got hold of a key card somehow – didn’t Noah say he’d lost his? And no, maybe he wasn’t beingserious. But just … the way he said it, you know?’ Michaela’s voice was worried too, but tinged with anger.

‘What are you going to do? Have you told the captain about him getting in our quarters?’ Johanna asked.

Sam shifted on the spot, careful to stay out of sight behind the galley door. He knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he felt trapped. If he walked into the galley now, they might realize he’d overheard them. Best to wait until they’d finished talking before he moved.

‘Yeah, I’ve spoken to her again – she said I don’t have to go back on guest duties for now. I’m sorry, Jo, it’s not fair on you. But nothing this bad has ever happened to me on a charter before – a bit of drunken banter, yes, but coming to find me below deck …’

Johanna’s response came more softly this time; Sam strained to pick up her words: ‘Listen, maybe he was just messing around. And honestly, Mic, no one would actuallydoanything on a yacht full of people. He’d have to be crazy to even try.’

So they were talking about a man on board. Someone had said something that had frightened Michaela – threatened her, or made her uncomfortable, at least.

And Sam would bet his annual salary that he could guess who.

Another pause, then Johanna added: ‘Try not to worry. I’ve got your back.’