The Girl from Lace Island Page 20

  Ivana didn’t say anything, relaxing back on the grey squashy cushions on the deck before turning to her friend Tilly and laughing. ‘Fucking idiot,’ she added as an aside, although Jess knew that the stewardess had heard her clearly enough as she left.

  Shocked, Jess looked away towards the harbour where they were moored in the swanky marina Ibiza Magna, wishing that Ivana would stop being so rude to her staff. Wishing that this whole thing didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable and weird.

  From where she was sitting, Jess could see both of the yachts next door, one of which Ivana said was owned by Jade Jagger. Roman Abramovich’s yacht, Eclipse, was also moored, and he too had this view of the town, the strip of shops and the famous nightclub Pacha. Jess looked down at the reflection of the white yachts in oily water and for a minute was reminded of a caravan park she and Angel went to years ago near Whitby. The comparison made her smile. Not that she could ever say something like that to Ivana or her friends.

  They’d flown out several days ago for their holiday in Ibiza, but Blaise had suddenly announced this morning that he was leaving her with ‘the girls’ on the yacht, telling her to have fun and that he’d be back in a few days. She had no idea where he’d gone, but he and Serge, Ivana’s husband, had been laughing and joking together, slapping each other on the back like they were involved in some big conspiracy.

  The girls staying on board included Becca and Tilly – also from London and both recently divorced, Tilly from husband number two, despite being only just thirty. They had a predatory air about them, scoping out everyone and anyone who passed the yacht, and Ivana had taken up the role of matchmaker for them both. Since Jess had arrived, there’d been people coming and going the whole time, Ivana delighting in hosting spur-of-the-moment long, raucous lunches and a huge party last night that had given Jess a terrible headache.

  Tilly, dressed in a skimpy brown leopard-print bikini, her short blonde hair oiled back from her wrinkle-free forehead, had been studying her phone all morning hoping for a text from a DJ she’d kissed at the party last night. It seemed rather desperate to Jess. Girls like Tilly and her mate Becca, with her dusky, hawk-like looks and clanking gold jewellery, did nothing, as far as she could see, other than look perfect and spend other people’s money. When they talked, Jess realized they had ridiculously high standards. She’d never even heard of the clothes brands they talked about, or the kitchen designers or cars they name-dropped constantly. Like their life would only ever be complete when they’d checked off every item on their long, long shopping list of desires.

  And it seemed that the greater their material desires, the more respect Ivana had for her friends and her long, long list of acquaintances. It seemed to Jess as if everyone wanted to be Ivana’s friend, or at least be seen with her, and Ivana knew it – insisting on the yacht being moored in the most exclusive part of the harbour and lounging on board in her spandex bikinis and stilettos for the world to see.

  Jess knew Ivana wanted her to be impressed too, and grateful for having been propelled so effortlessly into Ivana’s inner circle, but Jess had spent the last forty-eight hours in a state of jaw-dropping shock as she observed Ivana and her friends. And now that Blaise had gone, she felt proper panic setting in. Because at any moment, Ivana would discover the truth: that Jess had absolutely no idea how to exist in this world. She simply didn’t know how to cope.

  And the whole thing was making her feel more and more insecure about Blaise. How could he flit between this world and their time together so effortlessly? Because he obviously expected her to be able to do the same, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the job. She would never fit in with Ivana and her friends.

  It made her feel like she hardly knew Blaise at all. And now she wondered exactly what he and Serge were up to. Were they going somewhere like the seedy casino Blaise had taken her to? Jess wondered. She hoped not. She trusted Blaise, of course, but she hadn’t been able to shake the meeting from the other week from her mind.

  Blaise had been quick to dismiss it when she’d told him afterwards how different the evening had been from her expectations. Foreign investors were notoriously quirky and strange, he’d told her – and this particular investor had a penchant for women and casinos when he was in London. In his line of work, he had to deal with oddballs all the time, but Jess had passed with flying colours, he assured her.

  But passed what? Jess couldn’t work out why Blaise had needed her there, or why the two men had paid her so much attention. Because over dinner another man had joined them. He’d been old too, with greasy hair, slicked back, and had told Jess he liked jazz music, although his accented English had been hard to understand. When they’d left, the man had kissed Jess’s hand.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ he’d told her. And the way he’d said it, with an amused look in his eye, had made Jess shiver.

  She hadn’t told Blaise, but the whole evening had spooked her out. She’d thought investors were rich and powerful. She’d been prepared to put her best manners to the test and to back up Blaise, but during dinner, they’d hardly discussed Lace Island at all. In fact, since the conversation in the limo, Blaise had been reluctant to talk about his new property investment and she wondered whether it was because he didn’t want to jinx the deal.

  She wanted so much to be involved, to support him, but he always managed to rebuff her gently, or change the subject. She’d already put a request in to have her routes changed so she could get to India, just in case Blaise could be there at the same time and show her Lace Island, but each time she tried to discuss her plan, he seemed distracted.

  Jess was determined to find out more. After all, she couldn’t deny that having a boyfriend who bought private islands was seriously cool. And, of course, there was the little voice in her head that kept thinking about the desert island poster she’d once cherished so much. What if the dream wasn’t over? What if Blaise really was the one?

  The stewardess dismissed, the conversation returned to Ivana’s neighbour in Knightsbridge and her cruel husband, and Jess quietly excused herself to get some suncream from the cabin. But really she wanted to check her phone. Blaise must have texted her by now.

  Inside the salon, the air conditioning sent Jess’s skin into immediate goosebumps; her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The salon interior was the work of a famous designer, according to Ivana, but it reminded Jess of a gaudy nightclub, with its smoky mirrored walls and highly polished chrome. There were some shocking splodgy canvases by some famous modern artist that everyone seemed to coo over but looked to Jess like they’d been created by a heavy-handed infant in a nursery school.

  Now Jess smiled at the stewardess, who was fixing Ivana’s drink at the giant chrome bar in the corner, and walked towards her. She was probably the same age as Jess, Jess reckoned, with the kind of swishy blonde ponytail and high cheekbones that belied a posh English background.

  ‘Hey. I’m sorry about that,’ Jess said, feeling like she should apologize. ‘It’s Cathy, isn’t it?’ she added, seeing the sweet stewardess’s wary face.

  ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to say sorry. We’re here to serve.’

  We. The well-paid crew on board Serge’s luxury yacht. Her look said it all. They put up and shut up, and Jess couldn’t blame her. There were worse places to work.

  ‘Yeah, well, I get people like her sometimes on board. I work for UKAir. Cabin crew,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been told off for ice cubes, though.’

  Cathy smiled, a look of understanding crossing her face.

  Jess pulled a face. ‘What’s the story with her, anyway? Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘you can tell me. I’m very discreet. I just wondered, that’s all. I’ve only just met her, you see.’

  ‘Ivana?’

  Jess nodded, seeing Cathy glancing around her. Even though the mega-yacht was huge, the walls were paper-thin.

  ‘Well, I don’t like to gossip, and you didn’t hear this from me, but the rumour is that she used to be a prostitute in Ru
ssia before she married Serge. They have lots and lots of money. Crazy amounts.’

  The implication in her knowing look was clear, and Jess felt herself shrinking for being associated with them, for so readily accepting their hospitality. For being seen on this yacht, for drinking their expensive champagne and eating the lobster and caviar the Michelin-starred chef served at nearly every meal. She wanted to explain herself. Tell Cathy that she had no choice. That she was with Blaise, who was different to these people. He was kind and gentle and well mannered. He didn’t care about all the things they talked about.

  But as she moved away towards the cabin, she couldn’t help wondering again why Blaise was involved with Ivana and Serge, and why people as gaudy and money-orientated as them were his friends. They must be connected to his business deals. But which ones? There was still so much she didn’t understand, or know, but it was difficult to ask him without sounding like she was being critical.

  In the corridor below, near her guest bedroom, she saw another of the stewardesses coming out of one of the bathrooms and she waved, but the stewardess looked embarrassed. Ivana insisted that every time anyone went to the bathroom, a stewardess went in and refolded the toilet roll into a point. It was the slavish attention to detail that continued to astonish Jess. It just seemed ridiculous. But more than that, she felt watched the whole time, as if her behaviour were being judged in the same way as Ivana’s. She wanted to burst into the crew’s mess to explain that she wasn’t one of ‘them’; she was normal, like the crew.

  Except that she wasn’t. Not anymore.

  She went into her cabin and shut the door for a moment’s solitude, sitting down on the mountainous soft beige bedding with a sigh and looking at her phone, but Blaise still hadn’t texted. She lay back on the bed, staring at the polished chrome ceiling.

  She knew she was lucky to be here in Ibiza on holiday. Most of the girls she worked with would bite her arm off for a holiday like this, and Blaise clearly assumed that she would be having a brilliant time with the girls, otherwise he wouldn’t have left her. He’d just assumed that she’d fit in.

  He had no idea that she was feeling like she was. If Blaise knew where she’d come from, perhaps he’d understand how uneasy this ostentatious wealth made her.

  But that was the point. He didn’t know where she came from. Not really. And in fairness, neither did she. She wondered now, though, why Blaise was so accepting of her situation. It felt to Jess as if her confession on Brooklyn Bridge had been enough and Blaise had decided that they wouldn’t discuss the past anymore. That together they were making a fresh start and everything unpleasant or painful was over and gone.

  In one way, it was comforting, but now, alone, Jess wondered whether he didn’t want to share his past with her because he had stuff to hide. Or was it because he didn’t want to know the truth about Jess? Did he have some kind of fantasy in his head that he thought Jess was?

  Well, whatever the reason, there was no point in worrying about it. Right now, she was the luckiest girl on the planet, she reminded herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Blaise was a dream come true, and she’d do whatever it took to make him happy. Including getting on with his friends.

  She got up and retied her hair in a ponytail, then gave herself a stern look in the mirror. She had to toughen up. Front it out. Do what it took to fit in.

  Back on deck, Tilly was rubbing suncream into Becca’s shoulders, and Jess grabbed her towel to spread it out on the sun cushion.

  ‘I don’t think she knows,’ Jess heard Tilly say, and then there was a shocked silence and Jess knew immediately that they were talking about her. Ivana glanced at Tilly, who turned, caught out.

  ‘Knows what?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Tilly said, but she looked embarrassed. She put on her mirrored shades.

  ‘It’s OK. You can tell me,’ Jess said, trying to sound more confident than she felt, as she lay on her stomach.

  Ivana twisted her lips, clearly enjoying this social impasse. ‘You and Blaise seem pretty close,’ she said. ‘We were talking about that. That’s all.’

  Jess stared at Tilly.

  ‘So you know, right?’ Tilly asked sheepishly. ‘About his past?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jess lied, not wanting to lose face now that all the girls’ eyes were upon her, but inside she was panicking. What past? What were they talking about? What did they know about Blaise that she didn’t?

  ‘That’s a relief. We thought you didn’t know,’ Tilly said, looking at Ivana over the top of her glasses. ‘Because we’re going round the coast and she’ll be joining us for a few days.’

  She. Who was she?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Lace Island, 1990

  Parva stood in the doorway of Leila’s bedroom and Leila didn’t need to open her eyes to know the look on her face.

  ‘Leila. Wake up. I told you half an hour ago. Timothy is waiting for your lessons. You can’t cancel him again. It’s been over a week now. A week you’ve been in here.’

  Leila could hear the recrimination in her voice as she stomped across the wooden floor and flung open the shutters. She winced, still unable to open her eyes, turning her face away as sunlight flooded the room.

  She wished Parva would leave her alone, but she sensed that this morning’s new policy was tough love. She’d listened to the sounds of the house for a week and knew how busy everyone had been preparing for the monsoon, and how everyone, including Bibi and Chan, had been in the paddy fields collecting the harvest. At the busiest time of year, nobody had paid much attention to Leila, who had stayed resolutely in bed, refusing to get up. How could she? If Bibi saw her, then she’d see how bruised her arms were. It had taken some serious subterfuge to convince Parva to leave her alone and not call Maliba or the doctor, but now Leila wondered if she’d ever heal. If she’d ever feel better.

  ‘It’s ten already,’ Parva said. ‘Everyone has been up for hours, and your mother is wondering what the situation is. You know, Leila, there’s lots to be done. And you promised you’d collect all the candles, remember? You wouldn’t think it on a day like today, but the rain is coming. We have to prepare for the power cuts while there’s still time. Have you made your prediction with Anjum?’

  Leila turned back, her head pounding. How could she pretend that life was normal and do something like predict the day the monsoon broke, like they did every year? How could everyone else be carrying on as normal, when it felt to Leila like her head was going to burst?

  ‘Are you still sick?’ Parva asked, suddenly appearing by the bed and putting her cool hand on Leila’s forehead, her tone suggesting that she didn’t believe Leila’s stories of fever and stomach ache for a second. ‘Because I’m serious. Your mother needs help. You should get up. This is not like you. You’ve been in bed now for long enough.’

  Leila turned away, her nose prickling with tears. If she had the strength, she’d yell the fury she felt at Parva. She hugged her arms around herself beneath the covers, feeling cold and hot at the same time, feeling the tender flesh on her thighs. They were still slightly damp after her shower earlier. Crouching in the warm water was the only way she could get some relief on the torn, bruised flesh between her legs. Sobbing in the quiet dawn light, hoping that nobody would hear, she’d watched the blood trickle down the plughole, feeling all her hope drain with it.

  ‘And what did you say to Rasa, hmm?’ Parva probed. ‘He’s moping around too. He won’t go to lessons either. Did you two have a fight?’

  Leila felt tears bulging from her swollen eyes. Who knew what Rasa thought of her? After she’d crawled out of Adam’s beach bungalow, utterly wrecked, she knew there was no way she could go to him. She’d thought he would come looking for her, but when he hadn’t, she’d known that Adam must have got to him first. She imagined the scene over and over in her head. How Adam would have implied what had happened. Only, he wouldn’t have said it was rape, of course. He would have given Rasa the impression
that Leila had given herself to him freely. And Rasa’s continued silence could only mean one thing: he believed Adam.

  ‘I don’t know what we’ll do with that boy,’ Parva continued, fussing around Leila’s room. ‘He wants so badly to go to Cochin and get a job, but we need him here too much. What do you think he should do? Leila? Leila, come on.’

  Leila pulled the sheet over her head, willing Parva to go away. She couldn’t talk about Rasa. Not now. Not now she’d lost him for good. It didn’t matter what Rasa did, because his future wouldn’t include Leila.

  She’d been awake all night thinking about it, coming to the same conclusion over and over. What would be the point of explaining herself and what had happened with Adam? What would Rasa be able to do? That’s if he believed her. She’d already told him about one attack – the one at school. If she told him about Adam on the back of that, he’d just think she hadn’t tried hard enough to defend herself. Or, even worse, that she was simply making excuses for who she really was.

  And even if he did believe her, then what could he do? Use that gun and kill Adam? She knew he’d certainly want to. Almost as much as she’d wanted to herself. And what good would that do, having Rasa become a murderer on her behalf?

  Leila groaned, the horror of it all washing over her again. It should have been Rasa who had kissed her. It should have been Rasa who’d caressed her and taken her virginity. Not that disgusting man.

  And now it was too late. If only she’d tried harder and had reached for the gun. If only she’d shot him dead. If only . . .

  ‘Right. That’s it, young lady. I’m going to get your mother,’ Parva snapped. ‘If you’re really that ill, she can take you to the hospital in Cochin. But if I were you, I’d get up before that happens.’

  Leila curled up onto her side as Parva left the room, and pictured Adam in his bungalow, blood pouring out of his head. She willed him to be dead in her mind, but it was no use. She couldn’t stop the memory of him. The sheer size of him. It was as if she could still taste him, as if the very essence of him was inside her.