Trapped (2 page)

And now, after catching the late night Eurostar from St Pancras, then the early morning TGV from Paris, here Cate was, in one of the most beautiful towns, on one of the most stunning coastlines in Europe, breathing the salt-scented air in excitement.

She pushed her gold-rimmed Ray-Bans – a last minute present from her father's long-term girlfriend, Monique – up on top of her dark blond hair. ‘This is it,' she said to herself. ‘Time for an adventure.'

Glancing at the numbers painted onto the slatted wooden pontoons, Cate set out on the curved walkway towards the far end of the marina, away from the looming medieval walls built to protect the port from invaders.

As the berth numbers rose to five then six hundred, Cate turned off the concrete walkway onto the pontoons. Through her light flip flops she could feel the warmth of the wood, already heated by the sun. Another few hours and it would be almost too hot to tread on without the protection of thick soles.

Just as she was about to run out of walkway, Cate finally arrived at berth 694 and looked up at the boat.
Catwalk II
was beautiful. The jade green hull was topped with dark polished woodwork and a pure white three-decked stern. The brass fittings sparkled in the sunshine and, through the large glass door, Cate could see luxurious sofas edged around a large salon. A wooden walkway with a rope handle was slung at a sharp angle between the middle deck and the pontoon and, at its foot, stood a big, round basket full of deck shoes.

The boat was twenty-five metres from stern to nose, but seemed devoid of life. While Cate tried to decide whether to call out or simply walk on board, a tall, almost boyishly thin, young woman appeared at the top of the gangway. She had a large straight nose on which rested an enormous pair of sunglasses and her dark hair was tied up with a scarf. She looked Cate up and down, taking in her dusty footwear, her crumpled cut-off cotton trousers, her dirty white shirt and her rather battered suitcase.

‘Yes?' she said. The tone was not unfriendly.

‘My name is Cate – Cate Carlisle,' said Cate, trying not to sound intimidated. ‘I was given the number of this berth by Charlie Summers. He said you were looking for help. He should have told you about me . . .' Cate's voice trailed off in the other woman's silence. Had her dad and Charlie got their wires crossed?

To her relief the woman suddenly smiled. ‘Typical Charlie,' she said in a South African accent. ‘We do need crew but he never mentioned that he was sending someone. Good job we hadn't hired in the meantime. You'd better come aboard.' She nodded towards the basket. ‘Ditch the footwear and choose a pair of deckies. Rule number one of sailing: you can't come aboard in shoes with soles and, worst of all, heels. If you do, the captain will throw you straight back down the gangplank.'

Cate rummaged in the basket for a pair of size sixes. Luckily almost the first pair she picked out fitted perfectly, the expensive tan leather lying like silky slippers around her feet.

She picked up her flip flops, her suitcase and her precious Mulberry rucksack that had seen her through many an adventure and took her first step on board
Catwalk II
. This would be home, she hoped, for at least the next eight weeks.

‘You'll have to talk to the captain,' said the woman, as if she was reading her mind, ‘but later – he's downstairs working on the engine and must not be disturbed.' She suddenly grinned sardonically and Cate warmed to her. ‘I'll show you around in the meantime. I hope you're not afraid of hard work.'

As they walked through the glass doors into the interior of the middle deck, Cate gazed at the utter luxury around her. The middle deck salon was a good five metres square, kitted out
almost entirely in cream leather and polished wood. The last time Cate had felt carpet pile this deep was when her dad had taken her and Arthur to the safety of the French Embassy in Damascus after a particular nasty demonstration against the occupation of Iraq had got out of hand.

At the front, on the bridge, a bank of computer screens was blinking and flashing next to a huge nautical steering wheel. An adjustable leather seat was lined up next to the wheel and the view through the sparkling glass window was vast.

In the centre of the salon, several individual seats and sofas were scattered around a wooden block which housed a sink, a fridge and a cabinet with a huge selection of crystal glasses. There was a massive flat-screen TV on the wall and Cate spotted several speakers discreetly built into the furnishings.

‘This is where we do the evening and the wet weather entertaining,' the woman explained. ‘If the weather is good, the guests prefer to be on the top deck.'

She gestured towards a small spiral staircase in the far corner. They climbed the tiny steps and came out into the sunshine. Wooden sun loungers were invitingly laid out next to a bubbling jacuzzi and small crescent-shaped splash pool. Marble-topped bar stools were submerged into the bright blue water and within arm's reach of the pool was a fully fitted, fully stocked bar. Beyond that stood an LED TV and the slimmest music centre that Cate had ever seen. It was the ultimate rich man's playground. For a few seconds Cate was stunned by it all. Then the woman finally held out her hand.

‘I'm Wendy, Wendy Bloemfeld. I'm the steward on board, in charge of housekeeping, entertaining and generally keeping
everyone happy. As well as me, there is Marcus the chef and Bill, our illustrious captain, who you'll see in a minute.'

Cate took Wendy's hand and shook it firmly. ‘Thanks,' she said. ‘Wendy, Charlie didn't quite explain —'

‘I need a general dogsbody,' said Wendy. Mind-reading seemed to be a particular skill of hers. ‘Someone to make the beds, take the laundry to be washed, clean up after the guests and, if I think you're up to it, stand in for me so I can have a bit of time off the boat.

‘Usually we're quiet, but when the boss decides to turn up it's all systems go for as long as she stays. It could be for a day or a month and we don't get any notice. And when she is here – well, don't expect much time off and be prepared for anything.'

Cate was impressed by Wendy. Although probably only in her mid-twenties, she had the no-nonsense air of someone who could cope with most situations.

They headed back down the staircase. On the middle deck they walked through the boarding area of the boat and down a wide, carpeted set of steps into the lower salon. Wendy pushed open the large double doors and Cate took a deep breath. The wood-panelled salon was even more impressive than the one above. The carpet was thick and deep, the jade and cream sofas and chairs liberally strewn with plump cushions. Crystal wall lights provided daylight-level brightness.

At the far end of the room a door was open. ‘The master bedroom,' said Wendy, following Cate's gaze. The master suite was bigger than the sitting room in Cate's house in London and was decorated in scarlet and green. There was a marble
fireplace in the corner and mock candle lights flickered and stuttered, illuminating the heart-shaped double bed, the floor-to-ceiling closets and the bathroom fashioned almost entirely out of marble. It could have looked tacky, but instead felt sumptuous. At a discreet distance from this room, but also off the main salon, were four large ensuite guest bedrooms.

‘Don't get too excited,' said Wendy. ‘We get a bunk and a basic bathroom down in the crew quarters.'

Cate suddenly felt a pang of homesickness for her messy, comfortable home and the familiar faces of her family and her best friend Louisa, who she'd met on her first day of school and been practically inseparable from since.

She took a grip of herself. She and Wendy grinned at each other.

‘Bill should be just about finishing up now,' said Wendy.

Down in the bowels of the boat, the huge twin engines gleamed, a twisted labyrinth of pipes and blocks and pumps. To Cate's eye, the whole thing seemed an unintelligible mass of metal but clearly the man with his back to her, wiping his hands on a rag, had no such problem. He was tall with broad shoulders and a shock of blond hair. As he heard them approaching, he turned slowly around.

‘Bill, this is Cate. She's looking for work as a deckhand and can start today. Charlie sent her.'

There was silence while Bill looked Cate up and down with his piercing blue eyes. Finally he spoke in an Aussie accent. ‘Bit young, aren't you?'

‘I'm old enough to work.' Inside Cate felt her stomach curling but she forced herself to sound steady.

‘Hmm. We're not bloody interested in anyone with trouble behind them. Not running away from anything, are you?'

Cate grinned then. ‘Not unless you count exam results,' she said, and saw the beginning of a smile on his handsome face. She took a deep breath and went for it. ‘Look, Bill, I love boats, I need a summer job. I'm used to travelling, fending for myself and I hate trouble. If you want to check me out, why not ask Charlie? His office is in town.'

‘I know where Charlie is,' said Bill shortly. There was another silence before he turned to Wendy. ‘Well, she seems all right to me.' He spoke as if Cate wasn't there. ‘But you're the one who will be telling her what to do. Whaddya think?'

Cate held her breath.

‘I've seen a lot worse,' said Wendy. ‘She doesn't rabbit on for a start.'

It was time to play her trump card.

‘I can speak a few languages,' she said brightly. ‘That might come in handy.'

‘What languages?' said Bill, still looking at Wendy.

‘Well, er, French, Spanish, Russian, some Italian and even a bit of Dutch.' Cate decided to leave out Arabic and Mandarin in case it sounded as if she was boasting. ‘Like I said, I've travelled a bit.'

When Cate had reached fourteen her father decided that she needed to be at school for her GCSEs and that it was time for her and Arthur to settle in one place. Cate was devastated, and even more so when he ignored her suggestions of somewhere glamorous like Barcelona in favour of a three-storey town house in a quiet street in South Kensington in London.

It wasn't until Monique, a sassy Dutch translator, volunteered to stay with her and Arthur that Cate realised he really did have their best interests at heart and gave in gracefully.

There were compensations for this more ordinary life. For a start, Monique, a black belt in martial arts, was passionate about teaching Cate and Arthur those skills. She also taught the children languages and insisted they spoke a different one at home every day of the week to add to the ones they had already picked up on their travels.

Now she offered up a silent prayer of thanks to her.

‘Blimey, mate,' said Bill. ‘Impressive. I can only speak Australian!' He nodded to himself. ‘You need to know our rules,' he continued. ‘I'm captain of this boat and that means everyone – and I mean everyone – has to do as I say, particularly when we're at sea. Lives can depend on it. Got it?'

Cate nodded. She got it.

‘Wendy will explain your duties, but there is one thing you need to know right from the off. On this boat there is no such thing as regular hours. When the boss isn't here we can relax a little. There's just maintenance and security and keeping the place ready. Then you get plenty of shore leave. But when she's here, well, it's the opposite. No matter what time of day or night, you're here on this boat on call to her every whim and wish. She pays our wages and owns this boat, and when she gets here she expects the best. The best service, the best comfort, the best everything. So no skiving off and no moaning about the hours. That suit you?'

Cate nodded again. ‘Can I ask one thing?' she said. ‘Who is the boss?'

Wendy and Bill looked at each other and burst out laughing. ‘You mean Charlie didn't say?' said Bill, not unkindly.

Cate waited patiently for them to tell her.

‘Sorry, mate,' said Bill. ‘It's just that normally that's why people want to come and work here. It's great that you're not just a fame junkie looking to hang out with the stars.'

Now Cate really was curious. Wendy was the first to take pity on her.

‘British supermodel, pop star, actress, children's book author, animal rights campaigner, rainbow family mother, business woman.' She spoke in a mock chant striking off her fingers as she went. ‘Does that help?'

Cate felt her head whirl. Like most of her friends she was a regular reader of celebrity magazines, avidly lapping up the stories of the rich and famous. She knew exactly who Wendy was talking about. This woman was full of energy and talent, as sought after for her acting skills as she was for her ability to champion a charitable cause and get it onto the front pages. She had posed naked to highlight animal cruelty, charmed her way through the war-torn Congo to adopt an abandoned child, set up an organic children's cosmetic line and released the odd number one single for fun. As a result, she had the ear of just about anyone who was anyone. This woman was a legend and she, Cate, was going to be working for her!

‘Nancy Kyle.' Cate did her best to keep her cool, but she wanted to jump up and down with excitement.

‘That's the one,' said Bill triumphantly. ‘My, you're sharp. I can see we're going to have to watch you. Now, if you two ladies don't mind, I've got an engine to check over.'

The interview clearly over, Bill turned his back on the two of them.

‘Right,' said Wendy. ‘Let me show you your cabin.' She marched from the engine room down a little corridor. ‘I'm just back there in that cabin and Bill is near the engine, for obvious reasons. Marcus the chef is across from Bill. And here you are,' she said, finally opening a door at the end.

The room was tiny but managed to contain everything Cate could need. There was a bed, a small porthole which looked out onto the waterline and a wardrobe-cum-dressing-table-cum-desk configuration, cleverly designed to take up as little space as possible. There was none of the opulence of the rest of the boat, but there were nods to comfort. A small flat-screen TV had been fitted onto the wall opposite the bunk, over the sink was a shelf holding a kettle and various tea and coffee bags, and there was a fitted hairdryer by a full length mirror.