Billionaire on Board (24 page)

He smiled bitterly. "I see. If that's how you feel, I think you really should go."

I wanted to take a champagne bottle and crash it over his head. Why could he not say he would try to do things differently? Why could he not budge the slightest bit? Was there nothing he wanted to offer me?

"I will."

"Do you need money?"

"No," I hissed. "I don't need your bloody money, you can shove it up your arse."

I went down to my cabin and sat on the floor by the bed, feeling nothing but emptiness.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning I walked over to his cabin. I wrenched the door open and marched into his bedroom. He was not asleep. We tore each other's clothes off and I sat down on top of him and rode him in a blind fury.

When it was over I got up again.

"I believe this was good-bye?" he asked blandly.

"Yes."

"Well, good-bye, then." He turned away from me and drew his cover up.

I took my pink suitcase and my red laptop bag and walked to the gangway.

Colin and Rusty nodded when I passed them at the pier. I walked until I reached the waterfront. There I hailed a taxi.

"
Aéroport de Nice s'il-vous-plait
- Nice airport, please." 

"
Bien sûr, Madame
- Of course, Madame."

A few minutes later we drove past the casino. I swallowed. 

"
Ça vous displairait si je mets la radio?
- Would you mind if I turned on the radio?" The taxi driver asked.

"
Non, non, pas du tout
- No, no. Not at all."

I closed my eyes.

A gentle guitar came from the speakers. I knew the song well, it was INXS' "Beautiful Girl".

I blinked. Outside the sun rose over the bay and cast the sea into a golden light. I leaned my head against the window and hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to Michael Hutchence, who told me the things Ryan Corvera-Fabergé had not. 

He had not asked his beautiful girl to stay with him.

Fifteen

I arrived in my flat at 4 pm in a taxi. 

I had changed planes in Frankfurt. 

Nobody had followed me, called me, texted me or in anyway prevented me from leaving the Principality of Monaco or the French Republic. And by nobody I mean Ryan Corvera-Fabergé.

The fear during the flights had been bad, especially because I had a vision of Ryan turning on CNN and finding out I was dead. It was not an unpleasant idea, really. It would serve him right. The only thing I did not like about it was the part of me, burning to death in a fuselage, but I thought it was the most likely end to this completely unlikely story. In any decent tragedy she would crash.

Miraculously, both Lufthansa flights made it to their destinations without any incidents and even my last hope for catastrophe, the taxi drive home, bore no surprises.

The door closed behind me and I dropped my luggage to the floor.

At least I would not have to see a soul.

Wrong. 

When I came into my kitchen I discovered my fridge had come alive.

I threw out the entire mouldy mess and gagged and sobbed and swore. Eventually, I dropped down on my living room carpet and cried until I was empty of tears. Then I called my mother. I desperately needed to hear her voice.

"Hello Poppy Jude, where are you?"

"Home."

"On the boat?"

"No, Hamburg."

Silence.

"Why? I thought you'd come back in five days? Did you fight with Ryan?"

I could not bear to talk about it yet. Maybe I would even put the bankruptcy and the disfiguring disease into play.

"No, he had to go to New York, an emergency. Somebody lost two-hundred million dollars of his."

"How unseemly of them."

God, I loved my mother.

"Yes. I only wanted you to know I'm back."

"Are you alright? Tired after the trip?"

"No, Mum, I'm fine."

"Great, Popps, because I need you to take over a harbour cruise for me tomorrow morning with Italian pensioners. I was already worried, because the Queen Mary 2 gets in two hours earlier than expected and I'm booked for an English tour with them."

Was there anything I needed less than a port cruise? 

"Sure, mother." 

"Wonderful, you're on the Gertrude with Ivan."

"Fine…"

"Will you come for tea tomorrow? You could ride out with Fleur and Mary Lou."

"Yes, I think I will."

"I'll make scones. After all the
haute cuisine
, I'm sure you miss your Mummy's food."

"Yes, I do. I have Tina on the other line, Mum, I have to go!"

"Bye, my love!"

It was not true, there was no Tina on the other line but I could not say one more thing. It turned out I had an unlimited supply of tears, after all.

I fought through a sleepless night. I did not even bother going to bed. I sat on my couch - the one Ryan had slept on - shivering and shaking, although I had huddled myself into my duvet.

It had been too good to be true. 

Meeting him had only been a freak of destiny. 

We were not meant to be. He was too entrenched in his life and I was not the kind of woman who could spend her days as a society beauty. Maybe I had been his stepping stone into relationships, maybe now he would find somebody suitable to share his life. There would be enough willing candidates, beautiful and intelligent women, he would have no problem whatsoever to find someone, while I would resign myself to life in a three-bedroom flat full of IKEA furnishings, with a man who was prematurely balding and worked for the Hamburg Bank of Savings.

I bit into my arm to make the physical pain cover the one in my soul.

I was close to calling him and telling him I had been wrong and that I wanted to come back but what good would it do? He would still be the same man, staying awake every night to speak to his Japanese stockbroker. There would still be those terrible people all around him!

I remained on the couch until my alarm went off, then I changed into my tour guiding outfit and walked out of the house in a daze.

I was so confused, I drove one stop into the wrong direction with the tube.

The Gertrude was another barge of Adolf's fleet. She was smaller and even older than the Heidi. Her captain was Ivan. He was of Ukrainian ancestry and looked as if he could singlehandedly protect a four-hundred feet mega yacht, but he was as soft as a teddy bear.

When I climbed into his booth he ate a morselled apple from a tupperware box. His wife packed his food for him and he was not allowed to eat refined sugar, because she said he was filling out around the middle. 

"I had a Bounty yesterday," he confided in me. "I hid it underneath the sofa pillow and when Ilona had gone to bed I ate it."

"Ivan…" I shook my head. "You know you're not supposed to."

"Yes, I know. But sometimes, I need it. I watched the X-Factor and it was so exciting."

"I understand, Ivan, but don't do it again, Ilona would be so disappointed."

"I know."

Our group was approaching. I could hear their loud chattering even before I could see them.

 I heard voices complaining of it being '
freddo
' (cold)  and '
troppo caldo
' (too hot) and voices demanding whether the water would be '
mosso'
(agitated). A third group of voices was discussing if there was a part of the boat which was '
coperto
' (covered) and if there were '
bagni
' (toilets) on board.

I went into performance mode. It was not the worst thing to do. First of all, I could start right away by making new memories of a port cruise, memories not including Ryan Corvera-Fabergé. Second of all… Whatever. There was no second of all.

"
Ciao
!" I called. 

"
Aaaah! Ciaaaaao! Ciao, ciao, ciao, ciao, ciao
!" was the excited response.

All thirty of my Italian pensioners had now come into my line of vision and they looked just the way Italian pensioners always look. They were much better dressed than pensioners of any other nationality and they walked much, much slower. It took a quarter of an hour until I had herded them all onto the Gertrude and Ivan could take her out of the small canal reserved for the barges. 

"Would you like some chamomile tea?" Ivan offered and poured himself a cup from his thermos.

"No, thank you, Ivan." I needed vodka and a valium, if anything. 

I droned on in Italian about the port, the depth of the water, the height of the cranes, the number of oak piles and so forth and so forth. I knew the Italians did not listen because they were debating how
caldo
,
freddo
, or
mosso
their personal experience was and since every opinion differed enormously from the next, it had to be repeated over and over again. But - and it was the only thing that mattered -  they were happy. And whenever we passed a site of some importance they would break out in raptures of '
che bello
' and '
fantastico
' and '
splendido
', apart from the one or two usual suspects who would claim the '
mare in Sardegna
' was more beautiful and that,  '
si, certo
' (yes of course), they had seen the largest container ship in the world before, because they lived near Lake Garda and '
si, certo
' they had been in a nuclear submarine before and '
si, certo
' they had pulled up alongside the 1132 feet long Queen Mary 2 in a 35 feet long historical barge before, as she came into the port, drawn in by three tugboats and dwarfing all the buildings in the vicinity. '
Si, certo
', probably also on Lake Garda. 

I loved them with all my heart, my innocent, Italian pensioners. 

I had tears in my eyes again, tears of gladness at this marvellous world, in which I was allowed to live. I felt a deep gratitude for being healthy and living in a first world country, for having a job and having friends… I wanted to hug Ivan and tell him I loved him for being so kind. Who needed a man anyway? I would start anew, freed from desire. I would meditate, I would become a yogi, I would save the world from hunger, I would go to Somalia to feed the starving, I would go to India to heal the lepers, I would go to China to save the Pandas, I would read to elderly people and adopt three-legged dogs, I would—"

"GERTRUDE PULL OVER! THIS IS THE HEIDI SPEAKING! PULL OVER TO THE STARBORD QUAY!"

"That's Adolf," Ivan said. "What does he want? Have we forgotten an Italian? Jude, do you think Ilona found out about the Bounty? You must protect me if she's coming for me."

But it was not Ilona who was standing next to Adolf on the Heidi. It was Ryan.

The Italians were still busily photographing the Queen Mary 2, calling out how much more
mosso, freddo
or
caldo
everything was now that we had encountered her and they had not noticed the voice hollering across the water.

I was panicking. "Go, Ivan! Go faster!"

"Is it Ilona!?"

"No!" I whimpered. I could not face him, I could not, it would be too much, I would expire, my heart would rip itself apart.

"Jude, I can't drive away from Adolf. He's my boss."

"
Oh Gott, oh Gott, oh Gott!
" I hyperventilated.

Heidi was forty yards behind us now.

"GERTRUDE PULL OVER! THIS IS THE HEIDI SPEAKING! PULL OVER TO THE STARBORD QUAY!"

"I have to do what he says, Jude. He's my boss."

Thirty yards. 

Ivan slowed down.

I panted. 

Oh Gott, oh Gott, oh Gott!
 

Twenty yards.

I was going to pee myself, I was sure of it. 

Ten yards.

"JUDY?"

It was Ryan.

Oh Gott, oh Gott, oh Gott!

"JUDY, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"Jude, I think the man wants to talk to you," Ivan suggested. He pressed the mouthpiece into my hand.

The Italians had finally noticed something was going on. They turned and stared at the Heidi.

"JUDY, PLEASE, LISTEN TO ME. YOU MUST HEAR ME OUT, PLEASE!"

The first Italians started to comment on the situation. Were they the police? No, they wore no uniforms. Were they pirates? No, unlikely, only in the Bay of Naples. Were they the tax collectors? Most likely, yes certainly, the tax collectors.

Some woman had discovered there was '
un bell'uomo, ma molto bello
' (a beautiful man, yes, very beautiful) on board and that such a
bell'uomo
could not possibly work as a tax collector, more likely they were TV people.

"JUDY, PLEASE, LOOK AT ME! I LOVE YOU!"

Now. Everybody in the whole wide world understands that phrase. The Italians broke into loud cries of "
Che bello! Che bello! Che bello!
"

I took the mouthpiece although I did not trust my voice.

"YES, WHAT DO YOU WANT, RYAN?"

Fuck, it was loud.

"JUDY, I'M SO SORRY, I'M SO SORRY! I SHOULD NOT HAVE LET YOU GO! YOU WERE RIGHT, I DID THE HELICOPTER THING ON PURPOSE, BECAUSE I WANTED TO SEE IF YOU LOVED ME ENOUGH TO GET ON IT AND IT WAS STUPID AS HELL! BUT I WAS SO DESPERATE BECAUSE I FELT YOU SLIPPING AWAY THROUGH MY FINGERS AND I DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I WAS SO AFRAID OF LOSING YOU AND WHEN YOU LEFT I THOUGHT IT HAD BEEN CLEAR ALL THE TIME YOU WOULD NEVER STAY WITH ME, THAT IT WAS ALL TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!
—
BUT AFTER YOU WERE GONE I REALISED WHAT A BLOODY MORON I HAD BEEN AND THAT I SHOULD HAVE COME AFTER YOU. BUT YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE STORY WAS FAR MORE MIRACULOUS FOR ME THAN IT WAS FOR YOU! WHEN I SAID OUR MEETING WAS A CLASSIC CASE OF COSMIC ORDERING I WASN'T TALKING ABOUT YOU, I WAS TALKING ABOUT MYSELF. BECAUSE I HAD BEEN HOPING FOR SOMETHING TO HAPPEN IN MY LIFE, FOR SOMEONE TO SHARE MYRTLE WITH NOW SHE WAS READY, AND I HAD JUST BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT WHEN YOU SUDDENLY STOOD THERE! I THOUGHT EVERYTHING WAS CLEAR AND THAT YOU BELONGED TO ME AND I SIMPLY HAD TO PICK YOU UP SO I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHEN YOU PUT UP RESISTANCE. YOU SEE, WHEN I TOLD YOU AT THE RESTAURANT HOW I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE MOST INCREDIBLE CREATURE, I WAS NOT LAUGHING AT YOU, I WAS LAUGHING AT MYSELF FOR BLURTING IT OUT LIKE A HELPLESS, STUPID TEENAGER! "