A small voice replies, ‘Yes, they will keep giving you money. They have no time to play with me because they are always busy.’
My heart tugs as a brief look of hurt clouds Emir’s little face.
‘Come with me.’ I take his little hand, a gesture that instantly surprises him. Poor child. Fancy being routinely ignored by your parents like that. ‘Let’s find you some chocolate.’ I stuff the money in my skirt pocket but honestly it barely fits. It’s double the size of the last wad, so I wonder if it is double the amount.That’s a lot of money.
I don’t care what the others think about tipping, it feels wrong for me to take it so I will return this money at the soonest convenience. For now, I need to keep this child entertained. I lead him through the No EntryPERSONELdoor and towards the kitchen.
‘Erm, what do your parents do? For a living… I mean.’
‘We own Hello Chicken and More,’ Emir says casually as his youthful bravado returns. ‘Biggest franchise in eastern Europe.’
Oh.Why does that sound so familiar?
We arrive at the kitchen to see a blaze of colour as the two hard-working, scrawny chefs are busy chopping mountains of coriander leaves, piles of tomatoes and red onions while different meats are sizzling away on a massive hotplate. The smells are incredible: lamb infused with mint, garlic and herbs, delicate pastries stuffed with cheeses, meatballs in sauce, and a colourful selection of dips. My stomach instantly rumbles, reminding me that I skipped most of breakfast.
The boy speaks Turkish to them, and I watch amazed as they both immediately stop what they are doing, wipe their hands on their… I want to call them aprons but really, they are glorified rags, and race towards a huge cupboard. When they fling open the doors I can see dried foods, packets, tins and a stash of chocolate bars and biscuits.
Emir scans the selection and points to a box of sticky-looking baklava, a large bar of pistachio-filled, crunchy chocolate and a bag of assorted Turkish delight. ‘Pay them,’ he instructs, nodding towards the money in my pocket. I find myself doing as he instructs and hand over a note to each of the chefs. Their astounded expressions immediately erupt into praise and thanks as they hold the notes aloft. They shake Emir’s little hand as though I had nothing to do with the transaction and that’s when I notice a huge gold Rolex dangling from Emir’s skinny wrist.
‘Now you have your chocolate, I think it’s time to return that watch to your grandmother, don’t you?’
‘She never notices they are missing. I have four of them at home,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Besides, I might sell it. Do you want to buy it?’ He holds his wrist aloft and the watch falls down to his armpit. ‘Twenty big ones.’
‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘We will return it.’
‘Think about it, lady.’ He flicks his hair from his angelic face, grins disconcertingly and taps the side of his nose, eyes shining mischievously (unnervingly like his father). ‘She paid eighty thousand dollars for it, so it is a bargain.’ I hear a clunk and look down. It has fallen on the floor.
Oh, Christ.I pick it up and slip it in my other pocket. ‘We’ll return it at lunch. Come on. And it’s notlady, I’m called Maddie.’ I glance down at him. He is a miniature version of his father, in looks, mannerisms and everything. ‘Are you sure you’re only five?’
A clanging announces that lunch is ready to be served.
15
I take Emir’s hand and pull him along the corridor and up the staff spiral staircase onto the deck with the two dining areas. Astrid is first to race over to me.
‘And just how are you going to serve lunch with a child in tow?’ she snaps, looking frazzled. ‘All of the guests have sat down expecting to be waited on hand and foot, even though it is clearly ahelp yourselfbuffet. I’ve already been yelled at twice for not being quick enough with the drinks. This lot are a fucking nightmare.’ She pauses to glance down at Emir. ‘Hang on. Does he understand English?’
Emir shakes his head from side to side dutifully.
‘Good. We don’t want him running back to his parents and telling tales.’ She pulls her gaze back to me. But before I can put her right, Astrid continues, oblivious to Emir’s perfectly good understanding. ‘As soon as they trooped on board, I could tell they were going to be lazy and high-fucking-maintenance nightmares. I’ve seen it before. Stinking rich, ignorant and full of it. Can you believe they’re already threatening to complain to head office about us? I mean… fuck me.’
Oh boy. The last thing I need is Jackson to find out that even more guests are complaining about me.
‘Where’s Shaun?’ I ask.
‘Shaun ishelpingTiffany source some decent red wine. Apparently, the ones in stock are not good enough. They’ve taken the speedboat back to Gumbet to meet the supplier. It’s so inconvenient. She could have just gone by herself.’
I get the feeling that Astrid is more concerned that her illicit lover has decided to spend time with his girlfriend rather than her. Say what you like about Shaun, but at least he is the only one prepared to roll his sleeves up and get down to some hard graft. I take in her pale skin, the dark shadows beneath the eyes and her gaunt frame. ‘Okay. And where’s Garry?’ I simply refuse to get on board with anything other than his first name.
‘Gee Man said he was supervising in the kitchen.’
‘Right. You keep serving drinks. I’ll get Garry and we’ll dish up some starters and plate them out. Emir, you come with me.’ His little grasp on my hand tells me he is quite enjoying the behind-the-scenes drama and in no hurry to get back to his family. We race down the staff spiral staircase and scuttle along to the kitchen. I glance down at Emir. ‘Not a word about what Astrid said, okay?’
He looks up impishly and taps the side of his nose.
When we get to the kitchen there is no sign of Garry. The two chefs are sweltering under the intense heat of the sizzling woks and the clay oven, housing rising slabs of assorted flatbreads and pizzas. Emir speaks rapidly in Turkish. All I make out is the mention of Garry’s name. One of them flicks us a look and responds in a few words.
‘They haven’t seen him,’ the boy tells me.
