Yes, Tommy, I know. I’m not thrilled about it either.
From the reactions of the others, they hadn’t noticed – too fixated on the view of Naxos – which was a relief. Not that I washidingmy connection to Julian, but touching down on a yacht with my name splashed across the bow in giant gold letters was…mortifying.
After we disembarked, I was grateful – as always – to be back on solid ground. Even if that ‘solid ground’ was bobbing about in the Aegean.
As I sucked in a deep breath of briny air, Tommy drew near.
‘Nice name,’ he murmured low in my ear.
I really wished he’d stop doing that, whispering in my ear. Was he purposefully trying to turn me on? And I didn’t acknowledge his unnecessary jab. Instead, I strode purposefully towards the steward, who was waiting to greet us. I didn’t recognise him so hopefully he had no idea that I was once the Lady of the Yacht.
‘Welcome aboard,’ he said in a Scottish brogue. ‘I’m Scott, the chief steward’ – I stifled a laugh at a Scot called Scott – ‘and if you need anything, just let me or another crew member know. The tender to shore leaves in thirty minutes. In the meantime, we have some refreshments for you.’
He signalled to another steward who stepped forward with a tray of freshly poured Champagne, something Julian insisted on every time we boarded.
I took one of the offered glasses and expelled a soft sigh. From Scott’s welcome, there was no way he knew that I wastheAlly.
‘This way, please,’ he said, leading us down the staircase to the flybridge – just a fancy name for the uppermost deck where people like to hang out.
‘Oh, I could live on this yacht in a heartbeat,’ said Trudy, hooking her arm through mine and unwittingly saving me from another interaction with Tommy. ‘Can youimagine?’ she asked. ‘I mean, Dale and I are comfortable – far more fortunate than a lot of people – butthis… Oh, it’s something else.’
‘It would probably wear thin after a while,’ I said. ‘I imagine it could get very lonely.’
I didn’t have to imagine it. When there were no guests aboard and it was just me, Julian, and a bloated crew – seriously, it was a five-to-one-ratio – then it was extremely lonely. There are only so many hours you can lie in the sun wishing that you and your husband had more in common.
Actually, it was often lonely when wedidhave guests. None of them were actual friends and I had to beonthe entire time playing hostess, earning that gold lettering.
‘Hmm, I suppose,’ Trudy mused beside me.
She clearly thought otherwise but I wasn’t about to try and convince her. That would be yet another venture into dangerous territory – and it was obvious Julian hadn’t told her and Dale about our history.
Once I might have tried harder with Trudy. I don’t have that many female friends – besides Claude and she’s family, so she’s obligated to love me. I wanted to let Trudy in, but there were already secrets between us. And that’s hardly the foundation of a solid friendship.
‘Oh my god, look at that!’ she said, gawking at the enormous jacuzzi with its glass sides – a feature that had thrilled an exhibitionist like Julian no end. But that’s another story.
And Trudy was so distracted by the opulence (some might sayostentatiousness) that she almost missed the next step. I caught her before she tumbled down the staircase.
‘Oh,thankyou, Ally. You’re so strong for such a petite gal.’
‘Pilates,’ I replied, and she laughed, even though I was being truthful.
With Scott in the lead, we stepped onto the flybridge and Minh rushed ahead of us, pointing his camera at me.
‘Ally? Look this way please,’ he prompted.
I posed, glass tilted and poised at my lips. This excursion was becoming curiouser and curiouser. The Julian I knew would never welcome groups of strangers onto his yacht – even just for drinks on the deck. But if Minh was photographing me aboardAlly’s Odyssey, then that must have been the plan.
Two more stewards appeared, each carrying a tray of delicious-looking nibbles, but I declined and wandered over to the railing. My eyes roved the boxy structures on the shoreline of Naxos, soaking in the atmosphere as I sipped my champers. Predictably, it was Krug – some things would never change – and the taste triggered a memory.
Julian and I had just said goodbye to ten guests – five of Julian’s business associates and their (intolerable) trophy wives – who we’d hosted for a fortnight as we’d sailed the French Riviera. It had been a soul-crushing experience, despite the luxurious lifestyle and beautiful setting, and I was trying to pluck up the courage to ask about returning to London. Alone.
We were supposed to sail down to Valencia to collect a new cohort of hangers-on for yetanotherfortnight of sailing, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of more inane conversations with vacuous wives. There was only so much you could say – or hear – about designer handbags and face lifts.
And it may sound implausible, but day after day of 25°C and cloudless blue skies becomes mind-numbingly dull. I missed springtime in London – sun showers and bundling up to go to the farmers’ market to buy daffodils and asparagus, the joy of waking up to a crisp spring morning with its milky blue sky and frost on the ground. Ilongedfor London. And I missed Claude.
I had the steward bring a bottle of Krug to our suite, aiming to ply Julian with his favourite Champagne, seduce him, then ask to leave the following day. We made it as far as his toast,To finally being alone, when I broke down in tears and confessed that I was miserable, that I needed real life, not this picture-perfect endless holiday.
He drew me onto his lap, where I curled up, and he stroked my hair. We talked for a long time, then he picked me up and carried me to the bed where he made love to me – tenderly, lovingly. And the next morning, a helicopter collected me from the yacht and flew me to Marseilles airport so I could return to London.
