Sin Tropez (7 page)

‘Mmmn, he couldn’t take his hands off you in the club,’ agreed Abena through a mouthful of pain au chocolat.

‘Well anyway, I brought him along to the boat and well, you know, we kind of got carried away and ended up shagging. But, literally, as soon as it was over, and I mean, like, the second it
was over, he said he had to leave and just walked out. And to add insult to injury, he didn’t even remember my name! God I hate him!’ Tara put her sunglasses back on so that Abena
wouldn’t see that she was crying.

‘Ouch. Well, he might still call you today, he’s probably just being rock and roll – how long is he in town for?’

‘He didn’t bother to get my number,’ Tara sniffed, ‘and he flies back to New York this afternoon.’ She was careful to avoid any mention of cocaine, as she knew that
Abena, who’d had what she thought was a mini heart attack the last time she’d done it, was now set against her taking the drug.

‘Well why don’t we get dressed up a bit and head down to Nikki Beach. I met a bunch of really sweet guys last night who are going down today and we can join them. It’ll be good
for you to take your mind off Dan.’ And then, when Tara still wouldn’t budge, ‘If he’s off today he’s bound to go for a last round of partying at the beach before he
leaves.’

‘Alright, alright, let’s go to Nikki Beach then,’ conceded Tara, getting up and sliding into the pool for a few laps to work off her misery, then emerging twenty minutes later
slightly cheered.

The girls took their time over the ritual of dressing for the beach, luxuriating in the fresh sea air and bright sunlight shining directly through the patio doors and into the villa.

‘Oh fuck, what are you wearing, hon?’ Abena asked, popping her head into Tara’s room. This is more stressful than I imagined it’d be. It’s been far too long since
I’ve had everything on show like this.’

‘Dunno, thought I might get into the swing of things and go for my cut-out one-piece, but I don’t want to mess up my tan …’ Tara replied. She had perked up considerably
and was now dancing naked to dodgy music from a local radio station that she’d turned up as high as it could go.

‘How about you? Surely you remember the advice we were given by the paragon of elegance and good taste that is Natalya?’ Tara raised an arched eyebrow mockingly.

Abena thought back to what Natalya had said the night before about the importance of dressing for the beach and chuckled. As mercenary as Natalya had been, she’d kind of had a point when
she’d claimed that ‘it’s at private beach clubs and pools that serious decisions are made’. By the bright light of day at Club 55, she had explained, the owners of the
largest yachts can be seen descending on to the shore for lunch, giving anyone looking to sell – shares, businesses, homes, even their body and soul – access to dozens of potential
business partners and clients. Across the champagne-saturated pool at Nikki Beach, a girl can be seen in all her glory as her bikini-clad body teeters on the brink of deep water, never quite
entering. ‘Anybody who has seen or been seen by day,’ Natalya had said, ‘will make an appearance at Les Caves or VIP by night, and at these clubs, on dance floors and at tables,
the seduction takes place.’

Abena laughed at the memory. ‘Natalya’s cynicism is terrifying, but somehow I like her. She’s amusing and very, very intriguing. I kind of feel sorry for her
sometimes.’

‘Intriguing? Or downright shady? She makes me uneasy.’

In the end, the girls both settled coincidentally on animal-print bikinis. Black-and-white zebra print for Tara. She wasn’t yet tanned enough to wear the plain white one that made her feel
like Ursula Andress emerging from the sea. Abena wore a leopard-print string bikini, an ostentatious choice considering she felt self-conscious next to skinny Tara. No matter how many times she
told herself that Tara had the body of a peculiarly tall, prepubescent little girl whereas she had a trim, athletic, young woman’s body, she always ended up feeling that her muscular thighs
were too chunky. They threw on floaty chiffon mini-dresses in pastel colours and stepped into flat bejewelled sandals. The bikini-and-high-heels look was for the likes of Natalya.

Next came full faces of make-up, expertly applied to give the impression of flawless and bare summer skin. Hair slicked into chic top-knots and big sunglasses completed the seasoned jet-setter
look. Abena picked up her phone to text the boys she’d met last night.
Just ask for my table at the entrance
came the immediate reply. God, these guys are all
so arrogant! she thought. They expect everyone to simply know who they are. Struggling to focus through her hangover, she texted back:
My mother told me never to meet boys
whose sirname I don’t know
.

Beep beep and in came the smug reply:
And my mother told me never to associate with girls who can’t spell “surname”. Banio.

Embarrassed, Abena was tempted to reply that seeing as neither of their mothers were likely to approve, they should just call it quits now. Instead she gritted her teeth and typed in a smiley
face, followed by:
Ha, ha – you got me! Great, see you in a few minutes.

When Abena picked up a book to bring along, Tara stared at it and guffawed loudly. ‘Leo Tolstoy’s
Anna Karenina
! It’s a great book, hon, but I somehow don’t see
you getting round to reading that this morning.’

‘Yep, sod that,’ laughed Abena and grabbed a copy of
Vogue
instead. She was here to party; Tolstoy could wait till the plane.

When the girls arrived at Nikki Beach and were pointed in Stefano’s direction, even consummate partier Tara paused to take in the scene. The place was not so much a beach as a large pool
with a busy bar area painted brilliant white and surrounded by white sun loungers and beds. It was 2 p.m. and a DJ was already spinning dancey house music. The boys were lying on the loungers,
drinking champagne. There were four of them although Abena only recognized Stefano Banio and somebody she vaguely remembered being introduced as Pietro, who’d been wearing his shades even
inside the nightclub. None of the boys was especially handsome, yet there was something impressive and attractive about each one of them. Perhaps it was simply that they were a great deal younger
than the majority of men the girls had met so far. Tara thought it was also their collective air of confidence. They had a uniform look, which oozed luxury, from the cut of their slim-fitting
tailored shirts and colourful shorts to the self-assured way they were sprawled on their sun loungers. Even their floppy dark hair was silkier and shinier than any of her girlfriends’ back in
London. Their eyes and teeth shone with vitality and their deep tans and Mediterranean features hinted at lives as fast and flamboyant as Ferraris.

The boys rose and introduced themselves as Stefano, Alessandro, Gennaro and Pietro. They fussed over the girls, making sure that they were comfortable and had drinks, and commenting on how
fantastic they looked. Tara in particular appreciated the boys’ attentiveness in the light of Dan’s humiliating treatment of her the night before. They were all from Rome but were
studying for post-graduate degrees in London and spoke eloquently in English. They tended to spend every other summer weekend in St Tropez as some of their families had villas there.

A shower of cascading Dom Pérignon suddenly interrupted the group. This was accompanied by a squeal from a skinny blonde who had been the intended target of an orgy of champagne spraying
taking place beside them. Looking again, Stefano let out a horrified groan. ‘Oh no, Paris Hilton is here!’

By early evening, Nikki Beach was full of gorgeous people dancing under the romantic dusk sky. With its gleaming white decor, the place looked like a fashion shoot. Most people
had been drinking since lunchtime and whatever problems anybody might have had were forgotten for the evening. Poseurs relaxed and insecurities melted away alongside sobriety. The atmosphere was
delicious. Tara had been lifted up on to Alessandro’s strong shoulders and was dancing in her bikini, all thoughts of Dan Donahue forgotten. Stefano made a similar grab for Abena but she
squirmed away from him with an impish grin, dodging his attempts to throw her into the pool.

‘What does everyone feel like doing for food?’ called out Pietro from where he lay languidly on a sun lounger, one hand behind his head and the other idly massaging his chest. He had
not once removed his dark glasses and Abena wouldn’t have been surprised if he wore them to bed. Unbeknown to him, the girls had renamed him ‘the Celebrity’, which was causing
them endless giggles.

‘We should probably get going actually. We need to go back to our villa and change for dinner with the guys who invited us out here,’ replied Abena. ‘It’d be much more
fun to go for dinner with you guys though …’

‘Well why don’t we?’ cut in Tara. ‘It’s not like Reza will miss us. He probably won’t be able to see past Tatiana’s humongous boobs to notice
that’s there’s nobody on the other side.’

‘I just think it’s too rude, hon,’ Abena laughed. ‘After all, it’s because of Reza that we’re here in the first place.’

‘Whatever you say.’ Tara jumped off Alessandro’s shoulders, with his help, and Abena found herself wondering, as she often did, at her friend’s willowy elegance.

They made plans for the boys to come and party on Reza’s boat later, and were just about to put on their dresses and leave when Stefano waved over some friends who looked familiar.

Immediately, Tara added some lip gloss and did her best to seem uninterested. Strolling towards the group were the two incredible-looking guys they’d spotted last night at dinner. They
were brothers. Stefano introduced the blond as Alex and his darker-haired sibling as Sebastian. Abena glanced at Tara, who got it immediately. They were the very same Alexander and Sebastian
Spectre they’d read about on the flight over. No wonder they’d looked so familiar yesterday. Up close, the image of the two brothers standing side by side was so powerful that for a few
beats neither Abena nor Tara could speak. With his bright green eyes and smooth skin, Alex, the older brother, had a soft, refined elegance that stopped just short of effeminacy. Sebastian, who
seemed younger, had a harder handsomeness. His eyes were greeny-brown and his face was tanned and chiselled, with not an ounce of fat masking the striking structure of his high cheekbones; designer
stubble framed his wide, sulky mouth and his coolly dishevelled brown hair was just the right side of long.

If the brothers recognized anybody from last night they didn’t betray it.

‘Hi,’ Alex said to Tara, fixing her with a lingering stare.

She managed to extend her hand. ‘I’m Tara,’ she attempted, but it came out as a high-pitched squeak. Whipping out her mobile, she shot off as if to make a call, but really to
stop herself from staring or gibbering inanely.

Meanwhile Sebastian smiled at Abena, enjoying both her discomfiture and her skimpy bikini. Forcing a smile, Abena reached out to meet his hand. She knew his type: always surrounded by doting
girls; annoyingly good-looking, intolerably vain and narcissistic; flighty, unreliable and ultimately only concerned with themselves. She’d been suckered by that sort of man before, but since
her last few boyfriends had all proved such painful disappointments she’d been weaning herself off them and was determined to meet a good old-fashioned man with intelligence, ambition and
integrity, not a fashionable pretty-boy who spent his entire life at parties.

‘I … I think I saw you at the restaurant last night,’ Abena faltered, regretting it immediately.

‘Did you?’ Sebastian replied. ‘I didn’t see you. I’m sure I’d have remembered something that delicious.’

Abena felt intensely aware of how much flesh she was exposing under his hot, suggestive gaze, and she hated that he absolutely knew how handsome he was. She turned away from him to face Stefano
as a catchy song that had been playing at Les Caves the night before came on. His face lit up with delighted recognition and he started to bounce along to the beat.

When Tara returned she was not amused to find Abena holding court, surrounded by the four Italians and the two new English recruits. She’d been telling a story and the guys were roaring
with laughter as she went on to conclude ‘…and then when my mother patted her stomach and finally told me where babies really
did
come from, I refused to speak to her for a
whole week because I thought she’d eaten me.’

Tara’s display of uninterestedness had clearly not impressed Alex as she’d hoped. Wanting a piece of the action for herself she joined in the raucous laughter, clutching at
Gennaro’s arm with the hilarity of it all. When nobody looked her way, she turned to Sebastian and Stefano and asked how it was that they’d all met.

‘Just a second,’ Sebastian grinned, ‘I want to hear this.’ Once Abena had finished her jolly monologue, Sebastian replied, ‘Oh, in space.’

‘Oh right, in Ibiza?’

‘No. In space. Our families were some of the first space tourists. Long before all these companies sprang up and starting taking bookings to organize trips.’

‘No way! Tara was astounded, and by now the rest of the group were also listening.

‘It’s true,’ Stefano admitted, blushing sweetly. ‘It’s not something we normally tell people about.’ He glared at Sebastian, who met his eyes
unrepentantly.

‘But wouldn’t you have been all over the news?’ Tara asked.

‘There’s nothing in this world that can’t be paid for,’ countered Sebastian, raising an eyebrow at his brother, who backed him up with a casual nod.

There was an awkward silence. ‘Well, we’d better go,’ said Abena, looking at Tara, unable to think up a good excuse to ditch their plans and hang out. They said their goodbyes
and walked off arm in arm out of Nikki Beach. Aware that the brothers were likely to be watching their retreating backs, Tara couldn’t take in Abena’s keyed-up chatter, concentrating
instead on wiggling a little but not too much, for their benefit. Only once they were out of eye-shot did she stop and release her barely contained excitement.