Girls Who Travel (25 page)

54

F
OR
A
MOMENT
,
we all stood in a reverent silence.

The eye-squinting sun made the glistening mega-yacht look even shinier and whiter and yacht-ier.

“It's a one-hundred-seventy-eight-foot, luxury-crewed motor yacht,” said Mr. Darling, breaking through our soundless awe. “It accommodates up to twelve guests in six luxury cabins and has five separate deck areas, a crew of fifteen—”

“Oh, stop it, lamb. You sound like a brochure.” Elsbeth swatted her hand in Mr. Darling's face, righted her wide-brimmed sun hat, and charged right through the distinguished moment by sauntering up the sloping gangplank.

The yacht, simply put, was the coolest thing I'd ever seen, like, ever. I had to make a physical effort to stop saying “wow” as we toured the multileveled boat equipped with massive sun beds, a pool, a hot tub, and what could only be called an
outdoor living room with teakwood sun beds and cubed white cabanas.

The inside looked like a South Beach hotel with crisp glass bars and Scandinavian furniture. There was even an Abachi wood sauna. (Like I knew what Abachi wood was; I was just quoting Mr. Darling.)

On the top deck, the girls and I laid out turquoise-striped towels on the sun beds around the pool and spent the day swimming and playing card games.

Elsbeth and Mr. Darling were tasked with entertaining Amjad and Primrose Nazari. Primrose was positively translucent in the daylight. Thankfully, I had been able to avoid them so far. They drank Campari in the shade while the girls and I giggled nearby.

“If only my boys were here to keep your girls company,” trilled Primrose from under her shaded fortress.

She'd been babbling incessantly, but watching her speak was mesmerizing because of the Botox: The lower half of her face was a constant whirl of mouthy animation while the top was totally still. Watching her talk was like watching an Irish step dancer.

“The boys don't have their holidays now, Prim?” asked Elsbeth as I eavesdropped.

“Oh yes.” Primrose hiccupped, already drunk. “But they're at boarding school—James is at Harrow and Jasper is at Le Rosey in Switzerland. And they stay at the school during their breaks. They just adore it there.”

Or they want to be far away from you
, I thought to myself.

Amjad interjected, “And they have made wonderful lifelong contacts with their networking. They are both to be neurosurgeons.”

Elsbeth and Mr. Darling hummed appreciatively.

“And how old are the chaps now?” asked Mr. Darling. “Graduating this year, are they?”

“Nine and eleven,” said Primrose.

I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses.

Elsbeth gave Mr. Darling a coy side-eye, and he rapidly switched subjects. Something was up. But I had bigger problems to deal with.

The tabloid newspaper was tucked away inside my beach bag. I was waiting for the right moment and the right person to translate it for me.

“You lost, Kika,” said Gwendy, sprawling out the winning cards with a grin on her face.

“You're telling me,” I responded absentmindedly.

Gwendy suddenly yelped, “Benito!”

Benito, who had come along with the yacht staff much to Mina's delight, gave us a wink and went to refresh the Campari Sodas.

Mina checked her posture as Benito came over to us.

“Ciao, Benito,” we chirped in unison, and Benito put on a big show of being very impressed with our toddler-level Italian.

I heard Elsbeth say to Primrose, “We've been coming here for years now, and I've never asked any of the staff their names . . .”

•   •   •

T
HE
DAY
OOZED
on in a slow summer way, but soon enough the sun began to dip down behind the island of Capri.

The group oohed and aahed over the sunset, wisps and puffs of baby blues and cotton candy pinks that looked good
enough to eat. Gwendy perched atop Mr. Darling's shoulders, and he gamely let her play bongo drums on his bald head. (Ah, parental guilt.)

But I was too distracted to properly enjoy it. I couldn't wait any longer. I poked Mina's arm and jerked my head so she would follow me. Mina was more interested in watching Benito on the other end of the boat than the sunset, anyway, so she didn't mind me pulling her away from the group.

“What's up, Kika?” she asked as we moved to the back deck where no one could hear us.

We took a seat on the polished wood benches where there was still a great view—I mean, we were floating off Capri: It was drop-dead beautiful any which way you looked.

Her hair shone with hints of fiery copper in the setting sun, and her cheeks were now tan and freckled from the long days in the Mediterranean. She looked fresh faced and healthy. I let the scene wash over me until I sharply remembered:
the tabloid
.

I reached for it and held the paper to my chest for a moment to prepare myself to look upon the upsetting picture again. “So, um, I found something and—”

“Lemme see!” Mina snatched the paper from me impatiently and pushed her sunglasses atop her head. “That's Aston,” she said, unimpressed. “I've seen him in the paper before. He's like a gazillionaire.”

“Yeah, but—” I began to explain, but she interrupted me.

“Hey wait, that's Peaches' sister. Look here,” she said, pointing to the caption below. “Chantelle Benson-Westwood,” she confirmed.

I nodded bleakly, and she kept examining the paper.

“Gosh, she looks awesome. Like Kate Middleton,” she said, which was
wildly
unhelpful.

I seized back the paper with a snort and folded it so that only the caption was visible. I didn't need to see them holding hands for a moment longer than I absolutely had to.

“Can you read what this says?” I stuck my finger to the caption, and she read it aloud, slowly.

“It's something about Aston and Chantelle,” she reported with a definitive head nod.

“Thanks Captain Obvious of the good ship
Duh
—”

“
A Londra
: That means ‘in London.'”

I puffed with anticipation. “Okay, now we're getting somewhere. What else can you figure out?”

“Um, the only other word I know is
fidanzata
. It means ‘girlfriend' . . . or is it ‘fiancée'? Not sure . . .” she said, dropping the paper back into my lap. It slid off my thighs and onto the polished deck of the yacht. I didn't try to stop it.

55

“K
IKA
?” M
INA
ASKED
.
“Are you okay?”

A salty coastal gust whipped across the boat. I sat in stillness listening to the frothy water slurping against the ship's bow.

“I should get you and Gwendy some sweaters . . .” I said in distraction. I picked myself up and headed for the cabins, but Mina followed behind me.

“Mina, has Peaches said anything about her sister and Aston?” I asked.
This makes no sense—I haven't been gone that long.

Our rooms were below deck, and we carefully navigated the steep steps.

“Nope,” said Mina towing behind me. “Why? Are you upset? Do you like Aston or something?”

I stopped so abruptly that Mina rebounded off my back. “No! Do you like Benito or something?”

“No!” she said quickly.

We had the world's shortest staring contest until both of our faces went pink.

“I guess I kind of do like Benito,” said Mina quietly. “How about you?” she asked hopefully.

I knew her confession meant I had to pony one up myself. I nodded meaningfully. “I guess I kind of do like Aston.” I broke away and pulled out the sweaters from our bags.

“But what about Lochlon? He's not your boyfriend anymore?”

I shook my head in confirmation. “He wasn't for a long time. I just was holding on to this fantasy of how it used to be,” I added, feeling like I owed her a bit of an explanation (and so she didn't think I was some boyfriend-dumping hussy—I was a role model, after all).

“But what are you going to do? Aston already has a fiancée.”

“Oh, please. They couldn't have gotten engaged in, like, seven days,” I snapped. “Sorry.” I softened and petted down her windswept curls. I tossed her a sweater, and she threaded her arms into it. “I just don't think they could really be a couple. I know what it looks like, but I just have to talk to Aston first.”

“Do you think he likes you back?”

“He did.” I pulled on a sweater as well. “I don't know if he still does, though.”

Before I really had a chance to process this, I linked arms with Mina. “Come on. Let's head back up. Gwendy must be cold.”

As we reached the deck, we ran straight into Benito. “Benito,” I said, grabbing hold of his arm to make sure he didn't get away.

“Mina,” I called, and she timidly poked out from behind me. “Ask him which island is Capri.”

“But I know which island—”

Benito's eye lit up at the word “Capri,” and he motioned to follow him to the bow of the boat, on the opposite end of the deck.

“Go on,” I whispered to Mina. “I'll keep watch. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

She shook her head and followed Benito giddily. “You are so lucky that this guy doesn't speak English, Kika.”

I gave her a sweet wave. From my safe distance away, I watched them talk in broken Italian while looking out onto the rocky seascape. Mina giggled ultra-girlishly, and I could tell that this would be the highlight of the trip for her.

I pulled my eyes away, giving them a moment of privacy. I went over to check on Gwen, who was with the adults on the other end of the deck.

“Gwendy!” I quarterbacked her a sweater, and she caught it with karate-honed reflexes.

“Thank goodness.” She wriggled into the sweater. “I was freezing my—”

Before she could utter another word (most likely a bad one), I snagged her shoulders and trapped her in the fabric before she could weasel her head through. “Don't get lost in there, hobgoblin!”

She cried out in a muffled voiced and flailed her arms. Childlike silliness swished over me and lessened the dreadful feeling that I might have missed my chance with Aston. I banished the thought as Elsbeth strolled over to us with a full glass of sloshing wine.

I snatched a glance at Mina and Benito, but they were acting perfectly innocent and were out of Elsbeth's line of sight.

But her time was up for now. Mina caught my eye and knew
that my finger-swipe across the throat meant:
Wrap it up, and get your butt back over here.

“Are you girls having fun?” Elsbeth asked just as Mina wandered over with a huge smile on her face.

I flung her a sly wink that she sent back with lightning speed.

Elsbeth bent down. She picked up the tabloid that I'd stupidly abandoned on the deck, flapping in the wind.

“Oh my, is that Aston Hyde Bettencourt?” she asked aloud, scrutinizing the photo.

“Yeah,” answered Mina gravely. “And Peaches' sister, Chantelle Benson-Westwood. His fianc—girlfriend.”

“You know, I
thought
those two were a couple. Lately, she's been over at his house constantly,” Elsbeth said in a cheerful voice, her words walloping my gut.

“That is just what poor Aston needs, a society girl like Chantelle who will get him back out on the scene and make him
live
again. The Benson-Westwoods know everyone in London; they're in publishing, and they own all the lifestyle magazines and newspapers, so they know everything that's going on.” She flipped over the tabloid to the front cover. “Why, they even own this paper.”

She turned back to the photo. “They're just the type of people Aston
should be
cavorting with. Really quite wonderful, I think, don't you?”

She didn't specify who she was addressing, so both Mina and I grumbled inaudibly.

“She has the most lovely skin tone—like porcelain,” she added.

I leaned into Mina. “You say porcelain; I say cadaver.”

She stifled a laugh.

Elsbeth continued unaware. “He deserves to be happy after all that he's been through, poor lamb.” Her eyes scanned the rest of the pictures as she took a healthy swig of her wine.

“And just look at Chantelle, dressed to the nines in Burberry Prorsum—mature but fashionable. She's the perfect fit for him, because he's always photographed, and he can't be with someone who'd be a liability to him—socially or otherwise, do you see what I mean?”

Mentally, I couldn't help but to inspect myself. With my wild hair and scuzzy bohemian clothes, Elsbeth basically meant that Aston should be with someone opposite of me.
I never wear stupid Blueberry Possum
, I thought.

Mina mangled her face at me. In response, I gagged my finger in my mouth and dropped my tongue in the universal gesture for
vomit
. Gwendy laughed at the both of us, though she didn't know what we were griping about.

“Well, lambs. I'm off to play with the adults. Kika will tuck you girls in tonight.” She gave both girls kisses on the crowns of their heads before disappearing inside for more postdinner cocktails.

I took the liberty of crumpling the tabloid into a ball lest someone else come over and pronounce outright how amazing Chantelle Benson-Westwood was.

•   •   •

T
HE
GIRLS
AND
I remained on deck awhile longer, now swaddled in sweaters and fleecy blankets. The wind relayed scraps of the adults' chatter and the pacifying tinkling sound of ice cubes in short glasses.

We watched the stars get brighter, each one happier and
more twinkly than the last. When our eyelids went droopy, I ferried the girls inside to their cabin rooms. I folded them into their white beds before giving them good-night kisses of my own.

“Thanks for today,” said Mina before closing her eyes. I stroked her hair off her forehead.

I automatically thought about Aston as the boat lulled the girls to sleep. It was a dangerous habit. If he really was with Chantelle, then I had no right to pine for him. But I would hold out until I saw it with my own eyes: I knew the tabloid could be wrong, and there was a chance Aston and Chantelle weren't a couple. But it was undeniable that they were out on the town together, which meant
something
.

If only I had been able to get to a phone sooner to explain why I was in the café with Lochlon, then maybe he would have never gone out with Chantelle.

With both girls asleep on the lower deck, I stole away for a moment to join the adults. I didn't want to be alone with my churning, repetitive thoughts anymore. They were clustered in the upstairs bar called the Sky Lounge, all steel and glass and fabulousness.

“But Switzerland seems so far,” I heard Elsbeth say to Primrose, who now looked like a middle-school English teacher drunk on cooking sherry. “Is that really the best option? Mina
is
learning French, I suppose.”

“Well, you can always go with English schools, but after doing my research, Switzerland is really the best option—especially for girls. They'll find it delightful. Don't worry for one moment longer.”

I held back for a minute, hovering in the doorway.

“I know you're right, Prim,” Elsbeth said. “Boarding school is the absolute right choice.”

“Elsbeth!”

When everyone swiveled toward the door, I realized that it was me who had just blurted out Elsbeth's name in that reprimanding way.

“Kika, how long have you been standing there?” she asked, setting down her wineglass. She looked tipsy as well, and I hoped whatever she had just said was a product of the alcohol.

“Sorry. Hi, everyone,” I said timidly. “I'm so sorry,” I repeated, “it's just that for a minute there, I thought I heard you say that you were sending Mina to boarding school in Switzerland. It's been a long day. Obviously that's ridiculous.” I started laughing feebly.

“Not just Willamina,” said Mr. Darling. “Gwendolyn, too.” He rose from his chair, posturing like an alpha gorilla.

“What?” I blinked rapidly.

He slowed his words. “Boarding school. In Switzerland. In September.”

“What are you talking about? You can't send them away.” I rushed the table. “You're kidding, right? It's a joke, isn't it?” I pleaded, looking only at Elsbeth.

Mr. Darling made a condescending chuckle for the benefit of his guests, and Elsbeth joined her hands together. Amjad and Primrose Nazari sat by awkwardly.

“Now, now, Kika, you're not to worry about your job,” Mr. Darling fussed in a patronizing way. “We've already arranged—”

“
Screw
my job!”

Primrose wheezed as if we still lived in a world where saying the word “screw” aloud was unseemly.
Bitch, please.

“You can't send the girls away,” I said to Elsbeth, still not fully believing it.

“And why not, Kika?” Mr. Darling challenged.

I looked at Elsbeth, wordlessly beseeching her to say something. But she appeared to be captivated by the lipstick stain on the rim of her wineglass.

“This can't be your idea,” I told her. “You'd never make them live alone in Switzerland, not when they're so young.”

Primrose let out a scale of titters that got higher and higher. “American au pairs are certainly outspoken. Never you mind her, Elsbeth—”

“This is ludicrous,” I interjected, still speaking only to Elsbeth.

Suddenly, she bolted upright like an exclamation point, and I let out a grateful sigh.
Finally
, I thought,
she'll set these maniacs straight
.

Elsbeth squared off: “You are quite right, Kika!”

But before I could let out a noise of relief, she barreled on.

“Your outburst
is
ludicrous. I'm very sorry you had to hear it this way, but you are not a part of this conversation or, to be quite frank, this family. Decisions regarding the education of the girls are mine to make with Mr. Darling. And your hostility is spoiling the night.”

“Well put,” said Prim.

I bombarded her with mute daggers. Elsbeth had never spoken to me like that before. I sucked my teeth. “Please, Elsbeth,” I whispered. “You can't.”

She glanced at Mr. Darling like she was looking for his approval. He nodded shortly at her, and she resumed talking.