In the silent churn of her lengths Ore thought about the implications of using the sixteen-year-old daughter of the subject of an exposé as a named source. It wasn’t a good look, but she was probably the only person in Chuck’s life who wasn’t gagged by a pesky legal document. Without Mel, there would be no piece at all. She’d speak to Patricia. Ultimately it would be her decision, and she could only hope that Mel’s mother held her daughter’s best interests more firmly in her mind than Chuck.
After her swim Ore headed to the kitchen. Carlos was already crying by the time she swung through.
‘Oh my darling, how I’ll miss you.’ He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, sniffing into her ear.
‘I’ll miss you too, and your food!’
He gave her a playful slap on the arm. ‘That’s all I am to you, a cook!’
‘A chef!’ Ore corrected and then at his not quite faux wounded expression she added, ‘And a friend.’
Another hug and this time Ore wasn’t sure she was going to keep it together. They had their lunch, as usual, bent over the hob.
‘So how is the story coming along?’ Ore had noticed that Carlos was the only person who didn’t lower his voice when he asked questions like that.
‘It’s fine. It’s sort of done … well my editor seems to think so anyway,’ Ore said evenly.
‘Sort of done?’ It seemed that nothing could escape Carlos’ intuition.
‘I’m not sure I want to publish it. And well, there is another story, a better one, but I don’t think I have enough to prove anything.’
‘Hmm.’ Carlos furrowed his brow in concentration. ‘What do you need to prove these things?’
‘I need people to go on the record,’ Ore said plainly.
Carlos nodded gravely. ‘And no one can because of Mr Regas’ secret contracts.’
‘Bingo.’ Carlos looked confused, and Ore corrected herself with a: ‘Yes that’s right.’
‘You’ve spent too long in America, Ore.’ Carlos shook his head theatrically and Ore laughed. She really was going to miss him, but she couldn’t resist one last push.
‘Would you mind taking this?’ She dug into her pocket and handed him her card. ‘In case you change your mind?’
Carlos looked at her apologetically. ‘I really can’t afford to lose my work Ore.’
‘I know, I’m not …’ Ore sighed, and made to put the card back, but Carlos picked it from between her fingers before she did. She looked up at him hopefully.
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself – it is only to send you some recipes, so you do not have to live off takeout when you return to New York.’ He winked, tucking it into his apron. Ore smiled. It had been worth a try.
The rest of the day dragged on. Ore didn’t have anything else to write, so she wandered around the boat aimlessly, counting down the minutes until Daniel clocked off. At eight she let herself into his cabin with the spare key card he had made for her.
She settled into his bed, first resisting and then succumbing to the urge to bury her face in the pillow that smelled of him. She scrambled to stand as she heard footsteps approaching.
