‘You’re a professional, Petra – no celebrity crush is going to jeopardise that.’
Petra looked over at her, pausing to decide whether or not to deny the true source of her anxiety. She decided against it and smiled shyly. ‘Yeah I know you’re right. It’s just Captain Mary really has no time for stuff like that and it’s a lot of pressure for my first time as head stewardess.’ It was reassuring to be reminded that even women like Petra were occasionally plagued with self-doubt.
‘You’re doing a great job. You’ve got this whole boat running to the minute.’
Petra tucked her hair behind her ear, as if resolving to get herself together. ‘You’re right, even the food is ready to go, and that literally never happens. You’re really on top of this. Thanks.’
Now it was Sofia’s turn to awkwardly take the compliment. ‘London kitchen training, I guess.’ She shrugged.
‘Michelin training, more like. Do yourself justice, Sofia – we’re really lucky to have someone as talented as you in our kitchen.’
‘Thanks.’ The two women exchanged the sort of look that left them both determined to prove the other’s faith in them right.
‘They’re here.’ The sound of the radio startled them both.
‘OK, everybody, let’s get this show on the road.’ Petra was in army general mode as she walked out of the kitchen, gesturing for Sofia to follow.
Chapter Eight
They stood in parallel rows on the deck, Petra and Sofia facing Jack, Stuart and Declan. Sofia thought the girls versus boys setup was a little trite but she didn’t say anything. She adjusted the collar of her polo shirt and tried not to dwell on how self-conscious she felt in an outfit that seemed better suited to a netball match than a professional meet-and-greet.
As the captain led the couple across the deck, the whole crew took the opportunity to get a good look. Milly Cox’s proportions were perfect but she looked like she had been miniaturised. Her hair was a startling shade of red that Sofia felt could not really have been captured on camera. It fell in a straight sheen to the tops of her shoulders either side of an immaculate middle parting. She wore white from head (large rectangular sunglasses that covered most of her freckled face) to toe (a pair of precariously high strappy, heeled sandals). Brian by contrast stood at least a foot taller than Milly, and was dressed entirely in black. It was the outfit of a man who was reluctant to stand out, but still wanted you to know he’d thought about what he was wearing. Black short-sleeved linen shirt worn open over a black tank top and paired with linen trousers and black flip-flops, which on closer inspection seemed to be made of leather. She wondered idly if Milly had chosen the outfit for him.
The captain introduced each crew member in turn, with the exception of Tabitha who was apparently still throwing up somewhere below where they were standing.
‘It’s absolutely stunning,’ said Milly, an Essex twang curtailing the ‘g’ from the end of her sentence. She was standing at the edge of the deck and looking back towards the boat. ‘Can you believe it, Brian, home sweet home for the next six weeks.’ She squealed with delight as Brian strode over and planted a kiss on her lips. The captain averted her eyes respectfully, but after a moment of silence in which the two of them remained lip-locked, she had to clear her throat.
‘Would you like a tour of the rest of the yacht? Petra can show you to your suite, and Declan, could you take their bags down as well?’
‘If you’d like to follow me,’ said Petra, smiling over at Brian. Milly snapped a selfie and then stared critically at the screen as she examined herself. ‘Come on, baby, this nice lady is going to show us our rooms now.’ Sofia noticed Petra blush and then quickly collect herself.
‘I’m sure you’ll both be very pleased with the amenities.’ Petra caught Brian’s eye and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.
Declan busied himself with the mountain of Louis Vuitton–emblazoned luggage as Petra led the couple away. The captain walked off, leaving Jack and Sofia standing awkwardly on deck.
Sofia thought he might just ignore her. She found herself simultaneously hoping for and dreading the idea.
‘All prepped for today, Chef?’ Was he suggesting she didn’t have everything under control? Maybe he was just making small talk? Or sincerely checking in? She scanned his face for a clue about what he might really mean, but his expression was inscrutable.
‘Yes, everything is ready to go.’ She tried to mimic his tone and give nothing away, in case she revealed how much he had unsettled her with a simple question.
‘Glad to hear it,’ he said flatly, and with that he walked off towards the upper deck. Sofia stared at his retreating back, bemused, before getting a hold of herself. She didn’t have time to stand around and overthink; the tour would be done soon and the guests would be expecting their snack in the main saloon. She headed back down below deck.
On her way to the kitchen she bumped into a flustered-looking Petra.
‘Everything OK?’ Sofia asked cheerfully.
‘No, I’ve left the guests to unpack and just had a chat with Captain M, and she thinks we should leave Tabitha behind.’
‘Oof, that bad?’ Sofia was sympathetic. She had worried about the sturdiness of her own sea legs before accepting the job; she would have been heartbroken to have been kicked off the boat, betrayed by her own body.
‘She said it’s my call, and I really don’t know what to do, but whatever I decide, I have to do it soon.’ Sofia was reminded then that this was Petra’s first time as head stewardess. It was easy to forget, when she radiated such confidence. She remembered what it had been like, back at Nakachwa, when she’d first started as sous, the weight of the expectation that you would just suddenly make all the right calls. The sense that you might let down somebody who had taken a chance on you. Sofia knew all too well what that could do to a person.
‘Whatever you decide, Petra, you’ll make it work. If your gut is saying something useful, listen, but I know it can be hard to block out the noise if you’re feeling panicky.’ Petra looked up and smiled at Sofia.
‘You’re very thoughtful,’ she said, already seeming calmer.
Sofia let out a dry chuckle. ‘It’s advice learnt the hard way.’
