Sailing to Capri (22 page)

The beautiful atrium was filled with light; it smelled of the lilies bunched in vases around the room, and I was standing in the middle of it when Diane entered. I knew she recognized me from that humiliating evening at the Hôtel du Cap when she’d bearded the lion—namely, Bob—in his den and demanded he give her more money, and now she tried to put me at a disadvantage by speaking in French. “Miss Keane,
comment ça
va?”

“Bien, merci, et vous,
Lady Hardwick?” I said. “Welcome aboard
Blue Boat,
and thank you so much for agreeing to come on this little cruise. I know how pleased Bob would have been.”

Still in French, Diane said, “Bob was a very difficult man to please.”

“Allow me to introduce Harry Montana,” I said. “He was Bob’s friend too, and he’ll be sharing my duties as host of this cruise.”

Montana bent gallantly over Diane’s hand. “Champagne, Lady Hardwick?” he asked, beckoning the steward over.

There was a sudden flurry of activity behind them, then a loud female voice exclaimed in Italian,
“Dio mio,
this is gorgeous. Did Bob Hardwick buy this boat all for himself?”

Diane swung round and came face-to-face with Filomena Algardi.

“You!”
she spat accusingly.

“You!”
Filomena spat back.

Both whirled on me. “What’s
she
doing here?” they demanded in shrill unison.

“This is Bob’s cruise and he invited both of you,” I said quickly, but Diane’s face was red with anger.

“How dare he? How
dare
my husband invite his mistress to celebrate his life. How
dare
he?”

“Lady Hardwick,” I said quietly, “this was Bob’s last wish. You have to respect that. Or not take the cruise.”

I had played my trump card and Diane knew it. A check for one hundred thousand dollars awaited her and she wasn’t getting off the ship without it, nor was she leaving until the will was read and she was declared the winner.

Ignoring Filomena, she beckoned a steward. “Show me to my suite, young man,” she said haughtily as she stalked away.

“Dinner will be at eight-thirty, Lady Hardwick,” Montana called after her.

She turned to look at him. “Of course,” she said, sighing because she knew she had no choice.

Filomena was wearing a Pucci silk jersey shift that slid over her lithe body like a second skin. Its turquoises and blues brought out the blue of her eyes and set off her golden coloring perfectly. Her blond hair was pulled back in a rough knot and
skewered with amber pins and her gold thong sandals were embellished with turquoise stones. She carried a dark orange soft leather tote, “borrowed” from the boutique where she worked.

“I didn’t know poor old Lady Hardwick was invited,” she said sulkily, inspecting me from head to toe. I could tell she knew to the euro how much my yellow linen dress had cost and she was not impressed.

“Bob invited quite a few of his old friends,” I said. “Including Harry Montana, who’ll be helping me host this cruise.”

Filomena shifted her attention to Montana. Her smile was pearly with pointed little eyeteeth, like a beautiful cat. “Well of course, any friend of Bob’s is a friend of mine,” she purred as he took her hand. “Did I hear you say we would be having dinner together, Harry?”

“At eight-thirty, Signorina. I’ll look forward to it.”

Filomena leaned closer and said something in a breathy whisper I knew I was not meant to catch.

“Maybe then, Harry, you can tell me why Bob invited so many other ‘friends,’” she was saying. “He couldn’t have been thinking of leaving them
all
something in his will, could he?” She gave a little shrug and added, “Maybe I can understand about Diane; after all, she was once his wife. And of course I’m almost in that same category. You know that Bob and I really loved each other, we were together for so many years, far longer than with Diane. If only circumstances hadn’t forced us apart we would have been together to this day. If he were alive, that is,” she added, crossing herself.

Montana was saved from replying by the arrival of Reg
Blunt, who strode into the atrium aiming for me like a heat-seeking missile, arms outstretched to embrace me. His dark blue blazer bore the crest of the Sneadley Cricket Club, his gray flannels were well-pressed and his square face was wreathed in smiles.

“Daisy lass, there you are!”

Hard on his heels came Ginny Bunn, yellow hair upswept under a jaunty yachting cap. In white stretch capris, mules, and a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt, she beamed like a ray of sunshine.

“Can you believe this boat?” Ginny marveled, taking her turn after Reg to engulf me in a giant hug. “It’s just gorgeous, I can’t believe I’m really here.” She stopped to check out Filomena, then grabbed her hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “It’s Filomena, isn’t it?” she said. “Remember me? I’m Ginny, the barmaid from the Ram’s Head in Sneadley. You came in a few times with Bob.”

Filomena give her a cautious smile, obviously wondering why Ginny was on the cruise, probably wondering if she’d also been Bob’s mistress, and probably also wondering the same about me.

Reg was telling me how glad he was to see me. “The chauffeur brought old Rags back to Sneadley Hall all right,” he said. “The poor little bugger didn’t know which end was up, he was so confused, he’s missing you and Bob that bad. Not to worry, though, he’ll get over it. Mrs. W brings him down to the pub for his usual banger, and we told him you’d soon be back for him.”

He shook Montana’s hand, slapping him heartily on the shoulder. “Good to see you too, Mr. Montana. I was hoping we might get you back up to Sneadley, recruit you for our cricket team. I’ll bet you’ll make a good batsman.”

“It’s Harry, and the only batting I’ve done is in baseball.”

“Not much different, lad. Come back up why don’t yer and give it a try.”

Reg turned, still beaming, to Filomena. “Miss Filomena, how are yer? I remember Bob bringing you into my pub.”

Filomena looked past him. “Do you?” she said distantly, obviously wondering how many more strange “friends” Bob had invited, and exactly what they meant to him.

“Champagne, Ginny?” Montana snagged a glass and handed it to her. Ginny’s eyes sparkled like the fizz of the champagne as she looked up at him with a flirty little smile. “Mmm, this is good. Tell me, is it going to be like this all the time?”

“As much champagne as you like,” Montana promised. “Bob wanted to be sure his friends had a good time.”

Ginny heaved a sigh. “I’m only sorry the poor old bastard can’t be here to enjoy it with us,” she said. Then, “Oops, of course I didn’t mean it like that—
poor old bastard!
It’s just a term of endearment, if you know what I mean.”

Montana laughed and passed her and Reg over to the steward who would show them their staterooms.

Just then Charlie Clement strode in, looking every inch the successful businessman on holiday in a white shirt and beige silk pants, sockless in soft suede loafers and carrying a blazer.

“Too damn hot out there,” he grumbled by way of greeting.
“And
they kept me waiting. It’s not good enough, simply not good enough.”

“Welcome aboard
Blue Boat,
Mr. Clement.” I was unable to keep the note of sarcasm out of my voice. “I’m sure Bob would have been glad to see you here in the company of his friends, heat or no heat.”

“Exactly how many of Bob’s
friends
are on this boat anyway?”

“About a dozen. Let me introduce one. This is Harry Montana, he’s helping me with the arrangements.”

Charlie shook hands, taking Harry in from head to toe. “I’ll push off if you don’t mind,” he said, edging away. “I need to cool off in the shower.”

“Dinner’s at eight-thirty, Clement,” Montana said as he turned to go.

He swung around. “You mean
all
of us?
Together?
Jesus, what kind of cruise is this? I
choose
who I dine with.”

“Those were Bob’s conditions. He requested you all abide by them. If you don’t approve, you are free to leave.”

Clement stared at him for a long moment. Then, “Hah,” he said. “Damn it, I’ll do it your way,” and he strode off, an angry man.

Brandon van Zelder was next to arrive, an old acquaintance of Bob’s, Montana told me quickly, as was the woman with him. Tall and handsome, with thick dark hair and piercing dark eyes, van Zelder was immaculate in a Brioni blazer and preppy Bermuda shorts. He waved cheerily at Montana. The woman
was almost as tall, with a fall of pale blond hair and eyes as brilliant as ten-carat sapphires. Model-slim with legs that went on forever, she was a golden tan apparition in a simple gray shift dress that stopped well above her very pretty knees.

“Just thought I’d add a little spice to the game,” Montana said to me over his shoulder before wrapping his arms around the blonde, who kissed him soundly on the lips.

My mouth pinched into a tight line and I looked determinedly away.

“Hi, I’m Brandon van Zelder.” The Brioni-clad aristocrat spoke to me. “I understand you’re my hostess. Awfully good of you to invite me. I love little jaunts like this, gives me a chance to find a good backgammon game, y’know. I’m pretty good at it, though I say so myself. Do you play?”

“Hello, and yes I do, or rather I did occasionally, with Bob—”

“Brandon, how are you, man?” Montana came over, and they embraced, slapping each other on the shoulder and grinning. Then Montana said, “Let me introduce Texas Jones.”

I groaned inwardly; of course the beauty with her hooks into Montana would be called something wild, like
Texas
.

“Pleased to meet you, Daisy.” Texas had an appealing southern twang. “And thanks for invitin’ me on this cruise. I don’t get much opportunity to do anythin’ like this, not unless I’m workin’, that is. You know, singin’. I’m a cabaret artist. I work occasionally on the cruise ships, but nothin’ as gorgeous as this yacht. And this is the first time I’ve ever been a guest.”

“Then I hope you enjoy it,” I said, warming up a little.

Montana told them about dinner, and they went off to their staterooms just as Davis Farrell arrived.

Davis was in his hippie outfit: rumpled shorts, a T-shirt, denim jacket, and brown leather sandals. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had a rough, stubbly beard. Nevertheless, there was no disguising he was a good-looking man.

He looked around the superluxurious marble atrium, the inlaid floors, the white-uniformed stewards with their silver trays of champagne, the enormous displays of flowers, and the ambience of pampered wealth and power. It was obvious he felt quite at home.

“You must be Daisy Keane,” he said, taking in my creased yellow dress and probably also wondering if I’d been Bob’s mistress. “Davis Farrell,” he said, shaking hands.

“Welcome to
Blue Boat,”
I said, sounding very formal. “I’m only sorry Bob isn’t here to say that to you himself.”

“I doubt he would have,” Davis said. “Still, it’s a nice thought.”

Taken aback, I quickly introduced Montana. “Another friend of Bob’s,” I said.

“So, exactly how many ‘friends’ are attending Bob’s wake anyhow?” Davis asked, frowning.

“A dozen or more,” Montana said.

Davis gave a bitter little half laugh. “Who knew old Hardwick had that many ‘friends’?”

Montana told him of the dinner arrangements, and he shrugged moodily. “If I have to, I have to,” he said as he went off to find his stateroom.

Hard on Davis’s heels came Rosalia and Hector, with Magdalena and little Bella and the nanny.

Looking at Rosalia, no one would have guessed she was nervous. She had long ago perfected the smile that hid a thousand hurts, and she’d always had that regal carriage, like that of a dancer, which had first attracted Roberto to her. Today she wore her glossy black hair the way she always did, in a knot at the nape of her neck. She had on the crisp long-sleeved white cotton shirt that had almost become her trademark, a dark blue linen skirt, and comfortably heeled shoes, and she carried a wide-brimmed straw hat and the woven straw bag she’d bought in the local village store. Rosalia had found herself long ago; she had no need to flaunt designer labels and try to impress.

What she was wondering, though, as she had so many times before, was exactly why she had agreed to this. After all, she had not been able to keep Roberto with her when he was alive, and she certainly could not hope to bring him back from the dead by participating in the cruise.

Sighing regretfully, she turned to look for the rest of her small party. Her daughter and granddaughter were still talking with Captain Anders, and Hector,
dear Hector,
was walking toward her, smiling encouragingly. With a little buzz of pleasure, she thought how very Spanish he looked. Like her, Hector never changed: he was who he was, and she liked that about
him. Hector made her feel secure, though he was not, and never had been, her lover. Rosalia was not a promiscuous woman. She’d had two lovers in her life: The first was Roberto and the last her husband.

It was only because Hector had insisted that she’d agreed to come on Roberto’s farewell cruise. “Roberto loved you,” Hector had said firmly. “You refused to see him all these years. Now he’s asked you for one final favor. Besides, you have to see what he’s going to leave you in his will. He was a very rich man, it could be a great deal of money.”

She’d been astonished when Hector had said that. Of course Roberto wouldn’t leave her anything, she was simply a lover he remembered from long ago.

Spotting Montana, she thought how attractive he was, so very …
masculino.
There was a sort of strength about him, the same kind of strength Roberto had. She was sure Montana, like Roberto, was a man of principle.

He took her hand in both of his, smiling warmly at her. “I’m so glad you decided to come,” he said. “I know how pleased Bob would have been.”

Standing in the background, I thought how lovely Rosalia was. You chose well, Bob, I thought. This one is a true lady. Now if only you had been different, she would have stayed with you,
given you children, a real family life, and I’ve no doubt she would have made you a very happy man.