Billionaire on Board (16 page)

Myrtle was the biggest yacht around and I could easily look across the others. 

The Sirius Black was a rather average looking, modern ship, elegant, but nothing to write home about. — There, do you see how spoiled I had become in only ten days? 

"I like Myrtle much better."

"Sure, so do I, Buttercup."

"She used to be yours, right? The Sirius Black?"

"Yes, she was. But I chartered her out a lot."

"Aha." 

Contrary to common belief, the big super yachts are not only built for their master's pleasure but also for their master's income. Hardly anybody cruises more than a few weeks a year, therefore the yachts and their crews can be rented by vacationing parties throughout the year.

"Will Myrtle be chartered out?"

"No."

"Thank Goodness, I couldn't stand the idea."

He smiled
the smile
and I thought I was going to die of happiness. "Neither can I. No, I'm going to work a lot from here, I've decided. I have to say, I like it a lot and it's easier now. We can have internet access wherever we go. It wouldn't have been possible, not even two years ago. Maybe I'll get rid of the London house and start living on Myrtle."

"I'll move in as your bed bug. By the way, I drove the Bug yesterday, did you get my pic?"

"Yes, I found it this morning. You're a nice pair of bugs."

I chewed for a while

"Do you have any recommendations for me for today? Anywhere I should go? I don't think Porto Cervo would be my pick, maybe I could drive to one of the smaller beaches. There's nothing like "
il mare in Sardegna
", if the Italians can be believed."

Ryan lifted my right foot and bit into it. "Are you already fed up with me?"

"Well, not yet, but I will be totally fed up with you if Shiro calls us on the sat phone in the middle of the night again."

"It was my fault. I should not have fallen asleep, he really needed my okay for an important transaction and he couldn't get me on the mobile."

"Yes, but since I met you, you've been talking to him every night, even on a sunday."

"I can't hire him to head the Tokyo office and then not talk to him, he's only there to be talked to by me. It's his bloody job, he gets a stellar salary, so he should really make sure he gets his shit done."

"Fine, fine. If you want to spend your nights like this… Now, where should I go?"

"I had actually thought
we
could take a tender, roam the coast and stop where we like it best."

"Don't you have to work?"

"Yes, but I don't want to."

"Wow, do you think you can leave your two billion pounds alone for a few hours? Won't they be pulling any pranks on you while you're away? Play hide and seek?"

"They are four and a half, actually, but I'd have to ask my bankers for the exact numbers."

"Good! At that age, we can leave them to the babysitters for a few hours."

"Don't pretend it doesn't matter to you. I could buy you forty-five-million Smart cars right now."

"Boohoo! Why don't you? You could also go to the kiosk over there and buy me a few Italian gossip magazines."

"I'll get one of the boys to do it."

"There, ha! You see? That's the difference. It doesn't matter to me if you buy me a Smart car or a matchbox or a Rolex, because it doesn't make a difference to you money wise. I'm interested in the effort."

"The last time I made an effort I was kicked out of your bed for over a week."

"Not the same."

He stood up. "Pack your stuff and go to the loo, we should really get going. — Toby!" 

One of the deckhands peeped out from the stern. 

"Yes, Sir?"

"Make a tender ready, could you? We would like to start in fifteen minutes. Thanks old chap!"

I finished my juice. "Why are you in such a hurry all of a sudden?"

"Because it's almost noon and I still have to buy the gossip magazines. Any preferences?"

"I want Novella 2000, Chi and Ciao!"

"And here I thought you were a bloody intellectual."

I threatened him with a spoon. "I spent two semesters in Rome for my bachelor and when I went to the beach with my friends, we
always
took gossip mags. I simply won't do Italian beaches without gossip mags! Hey, don't you want to know who Veronica Montesantangelo is currently dating?"

"No, but I know it's not me any longer."

"I didn't want to know
that
."

"I know. Come here."

"Why?"

"I want to snog you."

"Okay, I want to snog you too."

We snogged for a few minutes, then we parted to prepare for our outing.

I met him again on the lower aft deck to board one of the four tender boats. 

It was a chic little thing, made of dark wood, with red leather seats, a sun bed and shiny gold mountings. It was all in all very Brigitte Bardot.

I hoped I could match the setting. I wore a lofty, long white blouse-dress over my bikini and a large pair of sunglasses which I had bought in Barcelona, apparently. I could not remember their purchase. I had been too much of a baloney to remember anything of Barcelona.

My gossip mags were waiting for me and I clapped my hands with pleasure when I discovered Ryan had also bought me a straw hat.

We swiftly set out south and passed a few more marinas and towns until the coast became rugged with bays and coves. 

We settled for a tiny half-moon shaped beach, surrounded by cliffs. There was a little bar there too with the barkeeper lounging in front of it in a deckchair. The beach itself was completely empty.

Ryan turned off the engine and we heard music coming from the bar's speakers.

"Listen, they're playing our song! If that's not a good sign…"

I had not known until then we even had a song. I did not recognise it at first. "What is it?"

"Listen. It's The Foundations." Ryan began to pat my butt to the rhythm of the music. He sang too! "
Build me up…Buttercup
". When the song was over he gave my behind one more emphasising smack. 

I chortled, pulled the dress over my head and without further comment I hopped into the water.

It was still fresh and cool, the way I like it, not bathtub temperature as it tends to get towards the end of the summer.

Ryan plunged in only seconds later. "Shit, it's cold!"

"Yes, at least I'm safe from you in here for a while."

"You're wrong there, baby." He dove towards me.

I squealed and tried to escape but he got me in the end and I willingly surrendered.

Eight

"Oh, wow!" the woman with the curly brown hair cried when she beheld Myrtle. Her husband, who was tall and blond and had tennis player's calves, waved at us. We were looking down at them from the upper deck.

The gangway was rolled out.

"Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, SHOES!" I called. Did the woman really think to board Myrtle wearing heels?

"Sorry, I keep forgetting!" she shouted.

The couple was followed by two children, both girls, no older than six and by two young women, both plain and on the plump side, no older than twenty-one.

"Do they have two nannies for two kids?" 

"Thank God." Ryan waved back at them. 

I ogled him furtively. He wore turned up linen trousers and a light white shirt, top buttons open. I presently expected a photo crew to show up and shoot an after-shave commercial with him. You know,
Davidoff White Ocean Breeze
or
Hugo Boss Sail Away Men
. 

"How nice they're in Sardinia just when you are."

"Not a coincidence."

"Did we come here to meet them?"

"No, the other way round."

They showed up about a minute later, accompanied by Dan who also acted as our butler.

"Ryan, what a yacht, what a yacht!" The woman stretched her arms out and soundly kissed him on both cheeks. 

"Marvellous, hello Patricia."

"How are you? Good to see you." Mark and Ryan shook hands.

"This is Jude." 

I shook both their hands.

"First timer, never met one of Ryan's girlfriends before, right, Trish?"

"Yes… Wow, you look like Scarlett Johansson, has anybody ever told you?" Patricia beamed at me. Then she impatiently beckoned the children to come forward. "These are Talulah and Theodora." She did not bother to introduce the nannies. "Do you think we could find somewhere for them to play? They brought everything they need." 

I do not look like Scarlett Johansson either.  Maybe it was the outfit. I wore a striped, blue and white t-shirt dress, rather on the tight side and pretty short. I was also barefooted and my hair was in a ponytail which might perhaps have created a "Vicky Christina Barcelona" effect.

Dan took it upon himself to accommodate the children.

"Is there anything special we can have prepared for them?" I asked Patricia when we walked over to the bar. "I don't think our dinner will be appealing to them." 

"The kids? Why, I don't know…"

"Spaghetti maybe or French fries?"

"Yeah," she looked at me as if I were an alien. "The nannies will know."

"I'll send somebody to ask." Weird, I thought, why does she not know what her own children liked to eat?

Dan had now taken on the role of barkeeper and handed out Pernod and Campari-Soda for aperitifs.

"When did you get here?" I inquired of Patricia who was glancing around and looked somewhat harassed.

"Last week. We rented a villa near Porto Rotondo."

"How lovely. We went by Porto Rotondo today."

"Yes, I bet it is, but I can hardly appreciate it. The kids, you know."

"Of course."

I scrutinised her more closely. She was in her mid-thirties, I guessed, although her immobile face indicated the use of Botox. She was smaller than I was and very, very thin. I would even go so far as to say she looked emaciated. She wore white trousers, a white blouse with a braided leather belt and chunky diamonds on every available extremity. Though not on her toes, I think.

"Honey, to be honest with you, I'm exhausted."

"Young children can be a challenge, I imagine."

"They are! And the nannies are just as hard to please! You wouldn't think it, I mean, I pay them to make my life a little easier but in the end all they do is ask things. I really don't understand why we had to bring the children at all but Mark insisted."

"We don't mind, they may use the pool if they want."

"God, no. I'm happy if I don't have to see or hear them for a few hours. No, I wasn't talking about bringing them here to you, but why bring them to Sardinia at all? They could have stayed at Mark's parents' house with the nannies. But Mark wouldn't hear of it. Well, he's not the one who has all the work! He's always in the office! He doesn't know what's going on!" Patricia obviously needed somebody to pour her heart out to.

"I see. I hear your husband works on Wall Street."

"Yes, the whole week. While I spend my time on Long Island…"

"What's your profession?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What do you do for work?"

"Me? Honey, when would I work, with the house and two kids to take care of?"

"Did you hire the nannies for this trip only?"

"No, no. They're there all the time. They're live-in nannies."

"Oh. Ah."

"Where did you go before Sardinia?" Mark sat next to me at the dinner table but he was talking to Ryan.

"Barcelona, Saint-Tropez, now here."

"And are you happy? Is she what you expected her to be?"

For an instant I thought he was talking about me and from the look on Ryan's face I deduced he had thought the same.

"Myrtle? Yes, she's fantastic. They vamped her up to seventeen knots, can you believe it?"

"Wow…" Patricia said vacantly. 

"That's what I call travelling in style," Mark declared. 

"Absolutely," Patricia chimed in. "You must take us on a tour later on."

"Certainly, Patricia."

The starter was served. A bouillabaisse.

Patricia ostentatiously ate one spoon full of soup. "Mmh, the soup is totally delicious, do you have a French chef?"

"No, he's from the Philippines."

"I see." She seemed disappointed. She put her spoon down, but I do not think it was because she did not like Joshua's excellent cooking, but because she simply did not eat. Ever.

"He was the sous-chef on the Queen Mary before." I felt I had to defend Joshua's credentials.

"Wow…"

"Hey, Ryan, did you hear about Martin Sanderson? He sold out completely and bought a farm somewhere in Montana. Breeds cattle. Can you imagine? Said he never wanted to see Wall Street again."

"Sounds appealing to me."

"He's just living off the land, Tania Zuckermann told me," Patricia added. "I think they call it the 'new leanness' or something. Cut off all the superfluous. I wished we could afford it too."

"Don't believe my wife. She can't live without her mink coats."

Patricia smiled at me as if she had been caught with her fingers in the cooky jar. "Mark! Don't tell them what a naughty girl I am…"

Mark went on. "But Ryan here's certainly heading there, you have reduced your portfolio quite a bit over the past eighteen months and don't you lie to me and tell me you haven't."

"I've been focusing on the Asian markets."

I laughed. "I corroborate."

"Sure? I've been on the phone to Leroy two weeks ago and he said you had gone slower in Asia too."

"I was busy with Myrtle. A ship like this does not restore itself."

"She'll be a winner on the charter market."

Ryan and I looked at each other in horror. "She won't be chartered out."

"No? Would be a pity, I just wanted to ask you what you charged for a week. Half a million should do the trick."

"You can charter my sister's ship for a third. She's over there, can you see? The Sirius Black."

Patricia turned her head. "Wow… that one looks amazing too…"