Trapped (6 page)

‘Right, Cate. Tell me why on earth you crept up on us like that? What were you thinking?'

Cate was silent for a few seconds, whilst she gathered her thoughts. Marcus waited patiently.

‘I saw you this afternoon, up on the Cap,' she said quietly.

‘Yes, you did,' agreed Marcus. ‘I'm sorry I lied. I was meeting a – a business contact but he didn't turn up. It was kind of private, that's why I didn't want to talk about it.'

‘Your meeting wasn't with someone called Andrei?' Cate asked, watching closely for his reaction.

‘How in God's name do you know that?' he asked her curtly, his eyes wide. ‘Have you seen him?'

Cate weighed up his response. If he was telling the truth, then it explained why Andrei was alone and helpless when he was attacked. If he was lying – well, that could mean a hundred different things.

‘Cate, this is important,' Marcus said urgently. ‘Andrei's missing, he could be in real danger. We need to find him fast, for all sorts of reasons.'

Could she trust Marcus? She remembered her feeling of ease around him when they first met, then the fear as he ruthlessly stuck a gun at her chest. She looked at his anxious face and made up her mind. She told him everything: about her run, the fight, the aftermath and her encounter with the
gendarmes
. Marcus let her talk, his face expressionless and then, when she had finally finished, he reached for his phone,
punched in a number and spoke quickly into the receiver.

‘Piot, we have a lead on Andrei. I'll meet you by the car in five.'

He rang off. ‘I just can't believe I was so close to Andrei – I could have helped him,' he said regretfully. He paused for a few seconds, then spoke again. ‘Right, can you do your best to tell me exactly where you left Andrei? And then, Cate, you are going to bed.'

Cate opened her mouth to protest but Marcus silenced her. ‘You've done enough and you look half dead. We'll take over now and I'll explain everything in the morning. Trust me.'

He was right about the exhaustion. Cate felt cold and tired and despite her best efforts her eyelids were drooping. It was the second time that she'd had to guide someone to the place of the attack and wearily she sketched a map which picked out the yacht club, the turnings and finally the large villa where she had last seen Andrei. As he studied the map Marcus nodded his head.

‘I know where that is,' he said grimly. ‘There's a safe house nearby. He must be holed up there. I just hope we won't be too late. Cate, you've done well.'

Cate had just enough energy left to drag herself down the stairs to her cabin. As she collapsed onto her bunk she heard Marcus's footsteps moving quietly back along the pontoon outside her window. She tried to work out whether she had done the right thing by confiding in him but she was too tired to think any more. Seconds later she was asleep.

Cate woke with a start to the unmistakable sound of a
helicopter clattering overhead. The vibrations from the propellers were so strong that for a few surreal seconds she thought the chopper was going to land on the boat itself. Then she heard screaming and laughter coming from outside and, pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, raced up onto the outer deck.

An extraordinary sight greeted her. A bright pink helicopter hovered metres above the boat, hardly clearing mast height. The passenger side of the chopper was open and out of it was leaning one of the most famous women in the world. Her trademark, razored red bob – one of the most copied haircuts of the moment – clashed horribly with the pink paintwork of the helicopter and an enormous pair of sunglasses covered most of her fine-boned face. Her wide, thick-lipped mouth was painted with lipstick which perfectly matched her hair colour and her voice, incredibly, rose above the noise of the machine.

‘
Catwalk II
– I love you, you are so beeeeuuutiful, I love you! Bill, love ya, Wends, love ya, whoever you are in the cute shorts, love ya. See you in a mo, guys, so get yourselves together pronto, no pressure. Love ya.'

The raucous voice, with its strong Essex accent, and the clatter of the helicopter brought people out onto the decks of nearby boats to stare in amazement. Then the helicopter rose up into the air, turned abruptly to the right and was gone. Nancy Kyle was in town!

It was only just after nine, but as Cate went back down below she found Wendy already hard at work in the master cabin.

‘Good, you're here,' the South African said calmly. ‘I hope
you enjoyed your lie-in. Now it's time to earn your keep.'

For the next thirty minutes, Cate, conscious that this was the first chance to prove herself, worked harder than she had ever done in her life. The beds were turned down and aired, already clean bathrooms were made fresh and sparkling, any trace of human activity was removed from the thick pile carpets in the lounge and bedrooms and mahogany furniture and brass fittings were polished.

Finally, just as Cate was straightening the last of the thick, fluffy towels on the top deck, the opening act of the Nancy Kyle show began.

First into view on the pontoon came a man and a woman, so strikingly different from each other that they could almost have been picked for the visual effect they created as they walked side by side. The man was very tall and painfully thin, with black spiky hair adding to his height. His dark, Asian features, all razor-sharp cheek bones and pointed nose, contrasted almost shockingly with the round blondness of the petite woman at his side. Even her painfully high heels, ridiculously unsuitable for the slotted marina walkway, didn't bring her up to the chest of her companion and she had to trot to keep up with him. In turn, he flounced rather than walked, looking, Cate thought, sulky and displeased at life in general.

‘Lulu and Jules,' said Wendy, who was, by now, standing on the outer deck ready to greet them. ‘One is Nancy's ever loyal and incredibly efficient PA, the other her stylist, fitness guru and personal astrologer. I'll leave you to guess which one is which.'

‘Jules, Lulu, welcome aboard,' she said cheerfully as the
couple reached the gangplank. ‘It's great to see you both again. Help yourself to deck shoes.'

With evident relief, Lulu kicked off her heels and walked up the gangplank. ‘Good to see you too, Wendy,' she said in an accent that Cate struggled to place. Czech? Hungarian, maybe? ‘Sorry about the surprise, but well, you know how Nancy is. She only decided to come here when she woke up this morning.'

Wendy shrugged and smiled. Lulu, completely ignoring Cate's outstretched hand, walked onto the deck and flopped down on one of the cream sofas.

Meanwhile, Jules was wrestling with the straps of a soft leather rucksack. ‘I am simply not wearing other peoples' deck shoes,' he shouted crossly up the gangplank. ‘It is too, too gross for words. I have brought my own.'

Cate felt the urge to giggle, before catching a warning glance from Wendy.

‘Cate, can you go and help Jules with his bags?' she said quietly. ‘Lulu, you must be desperate for a cold drink.'

Five minutes later the two newcomers – Jules resplendent in a pair of highly polished snakeskin deck shoes – were settled on the inner deck, sipping cold lemonade from tall, frosted glasses.

‘This is Cate,' said Wendy.

Jules looked her slowly up and down. ‘English,' he said, making the word sound remarkably like an insult. At any second Cate expected him to shudder and cover his eyes.

‘Cate is my right-hand girl,' said Wendy firmly, ignoring Jules's rudeness. ‘If I'm not around, just ask her for anything you need. She is multilingual.'

‘Take it back. Can't be English, then,' murmured Jules.

‘If Wendy thinks you're OK, then you must be,' Lulu said grudgingly. ‘But a word of warning, my dear. Don't get above your station. And you may be a pretty young thing but don't even think about flirting with Nancy's boyfriends. She really, really, hates it when servants do that.'

Jules nodded gravely. There was silence. Cate looked at Wendy, who gave her the smallest of winks.

‘So no kids today, Lulu?' Wendy asked, changing the subject tactfully.

‘They probably don't even know Nancy's gone yet,' said Lulu, shaking her head and glancing at her large diamanté watch. ‘I expect the nanny will tell them sometime today. Nancy says she needs a break from the demands of motherhood. She says she is exhausted and badly in need of some “me” time.'

As if on cue, Cate became aware of a furore just along the walkway. She turned to look and saw two young men each pulling three large leather suitcases, followed by the unmistakable figure of Nancy Kyle. She looked magnificent, striding along with the grace of one who had spent years on catwalks and in front of cameras. She was a dazzle of primary colours – her short red hair glinted like a helmet, her canary yellow, skin-tight top barely reached down to the sky-blue pencil skirt which clung lovingly to every curve of her shapely bottom and willowy thighs.

Wow
, thought Cate as she stared helplessly at Nancy.

‘Wow,' whispered Bill who together with Marcus had come out to greet their boss.

‘Ahoy there, beautiful people. I'm back.'

Bill, Wendy and Marcus all made a rush for the gangway. Bill got there first and offered Nancy his hand, Wendy got a kiss and Marcus definitely an admiring glance. Cate was entranced by the whole spectacle, but in the general mêlée Marcus grabbed her by the elbow and suddenly the racket faded into the background.

‘You and I need to talk,' he said ominously. And with that he was gone, leaving Cate feeling deflated and anxious.

An hour later, as the heat climbed to its midday high, Nancy summoned her entire staff to the top deck. Lying flat on her back on a teak sun lounger, her long legs covered in sun cream and her pale face protected by a parasol, she waved for them to sit down.

‘Hi, guys,' said Nancy quietly, keeping her eyes firmly closed. ‘I want a really chilled time in the next week or so, OK? No visitors, no fans and definitely no horrible paparazzi. It's been catwalk, catwalk, magazine covers, interviews, aeroplanes, kids, God knows what since January and I'm bloody shattered. All I want is sleep, sunshine, good nosh, peace and quiet. Got it?'

Everyone nodded vehemently. A bit of a waste of time, thought Cate, as Nancy still hadn't bothered to open her eyes. Suddenly the strains of a mobile phone rang out harshly, cutting through the hot silence like a bullet. Nancy grabbed her diamond-encrusted BlackBerry and sat bolt up right.

‘Darling,' she said loudly, valiantly trying to tone down her Essex accent. ‘Darling, why didn't you tell me you were at the
Roc? How fabulous, I'd love to. Tonight? You know me, always ready to party – especially with you lovely, lively Irish lads. See you tonight, darling – later!'

She lay back down again. ‘The Irish Saint,' she said, by way of explanation. ‘Can someone book me a car for ten tonight? And Marcus, I'm hungry; I want some chips. Those fat ones not the thin ones. Proper British chips. No salt. Tomato ketchup – Heinz, no French muck. And still water. I don't want to bloat.'

‘On its way,' said Marcus cheerfully, heading off towards the stairway. ‘By the way, can I borrow Cate for an hour or so later, Wendy?' he said as he passed her. ‘Just need help with some shopping and forward planning.'

‘Yeah, OK,' said Wendy. ‘But she has to unpack Nancy's clothes first, all right?'

‘Perfect,' said Marcus, without even looking in Cate's direction.

Cate was soon standing in the vast walk-in wardrobe of the master bedroom suite. Six suitcases worth of clothes had been laid out on the bed and she was surrounded by a chaotic mass of tissue paper and other packing paraphernalia, but for all that, she felt as if she had died and gone to heaven.

Dresses from every designer in every hue lay on the vast bed. There was a midnight blue Roland Mouret cocktail dress and a flamboyant Roberto Cavalli evening number. Nestling underneath them, Cate spotted a tiny scrap of a Dolce and Gabbana skirt in asymmetrical orange and lemon and next to that lay a Jill Birkin multi-coloured kaftan and a vivid pink Versace shift dress.

She counted twenty Jil Sander T-shirts in an entire spectrum of colours, four swimsuits and eight bikinis, ranging from teeny bits of string to Fifties-styled short briefs. There were Hermès scarves and Mulberry beach bags. And then there were the shoes! Cate took them pair by pair and laid them reverentially on the floor.

Impossibly tall Jimmy Choos competed with red-soled Louboutins for attention, whilst several pairs of strappy peep-toes by Manolo Blahnik mingled with gorgeously frivolous flip flops from Miu Miu. Cate had a brief flashback of trying on eight pound flip flops in Accessorize with Louisa and felt slightly hysterical. So much for just one person. Was this what it meant to be really rich?

She had just finished unpacking when Jules marched into the bedroom and plonked himself down on the glossy captain's chair.

‘Get rid of the suitcases,' he said, without looking up from his BlackBerry. ‘Then leave me in peace. I've got to style Nancy for tonight and I need space to get in the vibe.'

It took a few trips to haul all the empty, but surprisingly heavy, Louis Vuitton cases down to a locker on the bottom deck. Then she grabbed her rucksack and hurried back upstairs to look for Marcus.

‘Cate – good, there you are.' Marcus was business-like, clutching a notebook and peering into the galley cupboards. ‘I want to show you where I buy provisions so that you can shop for me.' He thrust a wicker basket into her hand. ‘Cate and I are nipping to the shops,' said Marcus loudly to no one in particular. ‘Back later.'

They walked down the gangplank, Marcus loping slowly along, ostentatiously reading from the notebook.

‘We need to split up when we get through the arch,' he said urgently, looking ahead as he spoke. ‘You head off to the right and walk along by the cafés. Cut back up through the first alleyway and work your way to the top of town. You'll come to the town square eventually and there's a playground. We'll meet there.'