Excerpt: Paradise Prison
Chapter One
It all started with ‘that look’.
While Gillian was preparing dinner that evening, a hand touched her shoulder.
“Gill, I’d like a word.”
She tried hard not to let him see her shudder or hear the words she whispered to herself. Oh no! What is it this time? Lawrence’s ‘a word’ almost always led to ill treatment of some kind.
“Dinner can wait. We need to have a little chat, clear the air.” How she hated his public-school voice. When they first met, she found it attractive; it was what drew Gillian to Lawrence in the first place—that and his perfect manners. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. It made her cringe. Gillian turned around from the kitchen hob and faced her boyfriend. Although her heart was beating twice as fast as normal and her legs were in danger of turning to jelly, she knew she had to smile. To frown or look the slightest bit miserable was bound to bring his wrath down on her. Lawrence didn’t ‘do’ miserable.
“Of course, Lawrence. What do you want to talk about?” Although she tried to make out they were about to discuss things on a level footing, Gill knew there was only one point of view that mattered: his.
“It’s about Nathan.” This time she caught her breath. Nathan was an old friend of Gill’s; their friendship went back to their early teens when they both started senior school. Gill didn’t have many old friends—just two, in fact: Nathan and Rebecca. She didn’t see them often—maybe three times a year if she was lucky—and never alone. Lawrence always made sure he was around and within earshot. But the three had formed a strong bond and kept it going ever since, despite Lawrence. She was sure Nathan hadn’t done anything wrong…so what had she done now?
“Nathan? I haven’t seen him in ages. The last time we got together was at Bex’s birthday party. But you were there, remember? You normally hate parties but insisted on going to that one.”
Lawrence gave a lazy smile and after flicking a speck of dust from his shirtsleeve, moved closer. His eyes never left her face. “My dear girl, I don’t mean that time. I mean last Tuesday. You said you were going to the hairdresser’s. I dropped you off and collected you.” He ran one finger slowly down the side of her face, and this time she did shudder. “When did you arrange things, my sweet?”
Gill blinked, but didn’t dare move away from Lawrence. “And so I did.” She smiled her best smile and drew her fingers through her hair which she’d had cut short and dyed dark brown. “I said I fancied a big change, a new look. You took me there and brought me home.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me about meeting Nathan and going for lunch with him. Did you?”
Gill bit her lip. So, that was what it was all about. This could go on for hours. At best, Lawrence would dissect every minute of the time she’d spent in Nathan’s company, bit by bit, until she felt wrung out and ended up agreeing with everything he said. His verbal abuse was deadly. At worst, well, it wasn’t worth thinking about. How could she have been so stupid to imagine she could have her hair done and slip out for half an hour with Nathan and be back at the salon before Lawrence arrived to take her home? She was never allowed to be alone with Nathan or any other man, for that matter. Not that she often had the chance. Why was Lawrence making this fuss now, anyway?
She needed to defuse the situation once she realised where it would lead. If he said she could no longer see Nathan, she knew the ban would inevitably include Bex. Life wouldn’t have been worth living without her two friends. She looked him in the eyes, trying to appear unperturbed. “Oh that! We didn’t have lunch, just a quick ten-minute break for coffee.”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “So he just came along by chance, did he? How very convenient.”
Gritting her teeth, she carried on smiling and nodded. “Yes, honest. It wasn’t planned. He saw me paying the bill, with the money you gave me, and tapped on the salon window. He said it would be rude not to go and have a coffee with him. Lawrence, you know Nathan’s my oldest friend.”
“Who no doubt would like to be more,” Lawrence sneered.
This time, Gill felt her stomach churn in terror. She knew Lawrence’s jealousy was intense, although she ensured she never gave him cause to complain. He just used every opportunity to his advantage.
His rage seemed to come from nowhere. “Slut. Whore,” he burst out as one fist smashed against her rib cage, followed up by a second blow to her jaw. “I was watching the whole thing. His leg against yours in the café, his hand on your arm. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, and when you parted in the street, he gave you that look which made me certain you were more than just friends.”
Gill fought to get her breath under control and tried to answer, her voice coming in painful gasps. Tears slid down her face, mingling with the blood from where she’d bitten through her top lip. “It’s true…we’re just friends. But, Lawrence, why bring all this up now?”
“Because I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided you’re a liar! How long, eh? How long has he been sniffing around?”
Battling against agony, Gill raised her eyes to meet Lawrence’s. She saw only glacial chips of ice-cold blue, his normally handsome face, ugly and mottled red with anger.
“I swear there’s nothing between is. How could there be? You keep me a virtual prisoner here. I’m not allowed to go shopping without you, and you choose my clothes and shoes. You even drag yourself around Tesco’s. I don’t have a proper job—I take in ironing.”
Lawrence’s answer was to slap her face. She felt her mouth go numb. “Just as well I do, otherwise where would you be? You need to be taught a lesson. And next time, don’t bloody answer back.”
She yelped in pain and put up her arms to cover her head. The day was obviously going to be one of the worst. He planted another thump to her vulnerable stomach, and she fell to her knees. Lawrence drew back his right leg and swept her knees from under her. She rolled onto her side, and he aimed another at her stomach.
Gill couldn’t move or protect herself. As he delivered the blows to her lower abdomen, all she could think was, not again. The last time ended in a tragedy, for which she’d never forgiven him.
Finally, Lawrence stopped and stood over her, his eyes glazed with lust, his breath laboured. He stood up and glanced towards the hall from the kitchen, and it was then that Gill heard the second knock on the door.
Lawrence shot her a look. “Stay there, and don’t say a fucking word,” he hissed between his teeth. “I haven’t finished with you.”
After he’d left the kitchen, Gill staggered to her feet and clung onto the work unit for support. She knew she had to get away. She’d tried in the past, but he was always too clever.
When he first invited her to move in, he’d been nothing but loving and charming. Gill couldn’t believe how lucky she was after her miserable childhood to find someone who placed her on a pedestal. All too soon, that pedestal became a chain around her neck. She was never allowed to do anything for herself, go anywhere or meet anyone. Lawrence made her a virtual prisoner in his castle—and he alone kept the keys.
She felt blood trickling down her face. She tore off a piece of kitchen roll to staunch the flow. As she held the pressure pad to her lip with her shaking hand, she heard voices coming from the front door. Her heart leapt as she recognised Nathan’s. Could he help her? Then just as quickly as it had risen, her heart plummeted. Lawrence was a thirteen-stone rugby giant of muscle and bone. Nathan was five foot nine, unmuscular, and as slender as a reed. His brains were no match for Lawrence’s brawn.
The voices became louder and there was the slam of the door. So much for that, Gill thought as she feared Nathan had left. But then, she heard running footsteps and turned fearfully towards them.
A flushed and panting Nathan burst into the room and rushed over to her. “Gill! My god, what has he done to you?” He spun round to confront Lawrence, who had crept in behind him. “What have you done, you bloody coward. She’s your girlfriend, for god’s sake. How can you justify hitting someone smaller than you? Are you all right, Bex?” He turned back and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “You’re coming with me. I think we need to get you to hospital, get that lip looked at. It might need stitching.”
“She’s going nowhere. It’s just a little cut. Piss off.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man. Look at her. She can hardly stand. Gill, did he hit you anywhere else? You might need X-rays.”
“I said, get the fuck out of here. This is between me and my fiancée. You’re not welcome.”
“Gill’s my friend. If you’ve hurt her, you’ll pay. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Will you, you little twerp? I don’t think so.” As he uttered these words, Lawrence smashed his right fist into Nathan’s nose. There was a sickening crunch. In dismay, Gill realised his nose was broken. She screamed when blood trickled down Nathan’s shirt front.
“Lawrence, don’t! Please!”
Lawrence gave a sickly grin, and in response, aimed at him again, this time connecting with his jaw. Nathan howled and put up his hands to hold him off. Lawrence took hold of Nathan’s ears and head-butted him. Nathan slid to the floor.
There was a silence as Gill and Lawrence stared down at the crumpled body lying at Lawrence’s feet. Gill couldn’t see any signs of breathing, and a cold finger of terror shot up her spine. In her heart, she knew Nathan was dead. Lawrence bunched up his fists and started to turn towards her. In panic, she lifted the heavy frying pan from the cooker and swung it at his head.
Chapter Two Rebecca
After finding no pulse in Nathan’s neck, Gill stood up and looked around in desperation. Nathan was dead, and although she couldn’t bring herself to touch or go near Lawrence, she feared the worst. He lay as still as Nathan. What the hell was she to do? She’d be blamed for both deaths. She had to get out, get away.
She didn’t have much money of her own, Lawrence saw to that. Every penny she earned from ironing, he’d taken from her, saying it was for their savings account. That was a lie, as she knew full well Lawrence never banked anything if he could get away with it. How he made his money, she never knew, but she reckoned it was illegal. He owned a top-of-the-range car and never stinted on clothes for her or himself. He liked nice things around him, and that included her, too; she always had to look her best.
She staggered out of the kitchen in a daze. If she left, she would need funds. Lawrence kept a stash of cash in his study, under the Persian rug and beneath a square cut into the wooden floor. She sniffed, wiped her lip and then placed her hand on the banister. As her mind cleared, she made a rough plan: pack some essentials into a couple of soft bags; leave everything else; find the money and take it. Where should she go? Abroad? She could hardly turn up at an airport looking like she did. She didn’t know anyone well enough to help her…except Rebecca. She pondered her conundrum. Was it fair to enlist her aid? She and Bex had always been best friends. If she didn’t go to her, then she knew she’d never be forgiven.
***
“Of course I’ll help you,” Rebecca said once Gill was seated in her living room in front of a roaring log fire and had told her everything. She was shocked to find a shivering and terrified Gill on her doorstep earlier that night. She hustled her indoors and dealt swiftly with her torn lip before pouring out two generous measures of brandy. “First, we must ring the police and get an ambulance sent round to your house.”
Gill gasped in horror. “No! Please don’t, we can’t do that.”
“Why not? Look, the longer we leave it, the worse for you…us.” She corrected herself, thinking that she was now an accessory to the two deaths. Her head swam. She couldn’t stop thinking about dear old Nathan. He’d never hurt a fly in his life and now this.
“Please. I’ll be blamed for their murders. They’ll know I was part of it because my blood’s everywhere. I didn’t clean any of it up. I just had to get out of there.”
Rebecca studied her friend. She was in a state and needed help, but she also knew that if she lifted her phone, Gillian would bolt out of the front door and do something stupid. “Okay. Let’s think about this. You’re assuming they’re both dead. You’re positive poor old Nat is because you couldn’t find a pulse, and you think Lawrence is too. Surely they’ll identify that Lawrence killed Nat? You had to protect yourself from Lawrence…hence bashing him over the head. I can’t see why you’re worried.”
“I know I’ll be accused of both deaths. I’m terrified of facing the police.”
Rebecca didn’t know for sure why her friend was so scared of the police, but then there was a period of a few years in which they hadn’t seen each other. Gill had told her everything she could remember, but Rebecca thought there were a few gaps in her history. The last ghastly incident had been when Gill was pregnant with Lawrence’s baby. He was so furious and blind with alcohol that he beat her and kicked her half senseless. She lost the tiny foetus and eventually recovered. Bex’s immediate reaction was to report the matter to the police, but Gill had been too frightened, saying he’d find out and kill her. Bex knew Gill was in a dreadful situation, but she had to do as her friend had asked, or she’d be in danger. She didn’t agree, but what else could she have done?
“Okay, but at the very least, we have to call the authorities and let them know someone’s been hurt. We can call anonymously, but what about when they come looking for you?”
Gill stared into the flames. After a while, she lifted her head and spoke. “I don’t want to involve you in all this. I know you said I can stay, but I want to get away. Yes, I know I’ll have to face the consequences sometime, but right now, all I can think of is Nat. Let me disappear for a while, and I’ll return when I’m ready.”
Rebecca looked at Gillian curiously. She seemed calmer than half an hour earlier…almost too calm. Was she still in shock? Not for the first time in her life, she wished she had a partner with whom she could share her problems: a problem shared was a problem halved. “Well, maybe, but let me make that call.”
Gill nodded reluctantly. “But don’t tell them who you are. Make sure the call’s untraceable.”
“I have an old mobile and SIM card I use abroad sometimes. I’ll use that.”
***
The two friends stayed up well into the early hours discussing what to do. Rebecca was sure Gillian would be treated appropriately if she went to the police and told them everything, but she wouldn’t be budged. Eventually, after a soothing hot chocolate, they nodded off in the warm room, both too exhausted to do any more. Around six o’clock, Gill awoke, stiff and aching from her beating and feeling chilled, as the fire had died down. She stretched and seeing Rebecca was still asleep, went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. There was a radio on the work top and she switched it on. A minute later, she was listening to the news, just as Bex entered the room.
“I wondered…” she began.
Gill waved a hand at her. “Ssh, it’s the news.”
Three minutes later both women stared at each other.
Gill turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. “So, Lawrence is still alive. The reporter said the dead man is Nathan. She mentioned a woman lived with Lawrence. They’ll soon discover and release my name. Oh, Bex, what shall I do? Lawrence will blame it all on me. I made one hell of a dent in his head with the frying pan.” She suddenly stopped, turned and confronted Bex with a horror-stricken look. “He’ll come after me. I just know it. I must get out of here. He’ll come straight here...oh god, what about you? He might take it out on you. He’s vile enough.”
Rebecca stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. “Hush. If he does, I’ll deny everything. Don’t you think you should go to the police now? I’ll come with you and help explain everything.”
Gill shook her head. “I can’t. Please, let me disappear just for a few weeks. I have to come to terms with Nathan’s death. It was all so horrible watching him being beaten to death. The awful thing is, I’m sure Lawrence meant to kill him. He’s been stewing over Nat for days. Nat was small compared to him—Lawrence is all muscle.” She burst into tears, and Rebecca hugged her tightly while they shed tears for Nathan.
After a while, Rebecca drew back gently and locked eyes with Gill. “I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do, but listen. You remember me telling you about Phil? He has a motor boat down on the Hamble. I know he’s going across the channel this weekend. What if I can get you on his boat? Say you’re going to Europe for a bit of travelling. That way, you can travel freely from here and into Europe without showing your passport. If you flew or took the ferry from here, they’d be looking out for you…private yachts seldom get approached.”
Gill gulped back her tears. “That might work. Thank you. I’ll never forget this.”
Chapter Three Gillian A week later
The past week had been one of the worst of her life. Not only had Gill left her home and best friends, she knew she couldn’t let her guard down. Her heart felt heavy when she thought about Nathan and how he’d gone to her aid and suffered the consequences so dreadfully. She’d never seen him again.
Rebecca had been true to her word. She contacted her friend, Phil, and persuaded him to let Gill travel on his yacht across to St Malo in France. Phil wasn’t the type to ask questions; people’s business was their own, and he knew if Bex needed to ask for a favour, she had a good reason. During the crossing, Gill had been as pleasant as she could be, considering everything that had happened. She helped with meals and drinks on board for the two of them and retired to her cabin when she felt the need for solitude and shed some tears.
In St Malo, she and Phil parted company on the quayside. He shook her hand and said he hoped she’d find what she was looking for. Gillian was startled by his choice of words, wondering what Bex had told him. But when he turned away and went below, she realised that for all her calm and quietness, he must have seen through her bravado and knew she was troubled.
Now she’d reached Portugal and guessed she needed to keep moving, even if her sense of loss outweighed everything else. She had to be strong and clear-minded, for once. She’d been downtrodden for too long. She had no one else to watch out for her.
She sat at the table nearest the main pontoon of the marina. She had no idea what to do next. Getting a job was out of the question; there were too many Brits there who followed the news back home. She needed to get far away. Europe, she considered, was out. Maybe the States or farther, South America? The Far East even. Surely, she could come up with something?
Sitting around doing nothing made her feel useless, but as she weighed and considered her options, she had an idea. It was tenuous but possible. She needed to get on a yacht that was sailing far south. She watched the comings and goings of each boat as it passed through Lagos marina. She noticed that some sailed with a full crew, often two couples or occasionally, a family. Sometimes, just two people or a lone sailor. How would she find out if anyone was looking for crew? She could hardly just go up and ask; it was looking for trouble. She decided to stop feeling miserable and get out and look. She read through the advertisements on the board inside the marina office, where she discovered a few yachts were heading south and their skippers were asking for crew volunteers.
She made a note of the boat names and set off down the pontoons to identify each yacht. She knew she looked presentable enough; her bruises and split lip were healing, and make-up camouflaged the worst of her injuries. She knew she was no stunning beauty but reckoned she was attractive enough. For once, age was in her favour: not too old, not too young and the right side of forty. Plus, as well as being fit and healthy, she knew a bit about boats and considered herself to be a quick learner. All it needed was the yacht and right crew.
It had been a relatively easy journey to the Algarve. She had travelled one leg by coach, followed by a train, which eventually took to her current location. She remembered Lagos from a previous visit, a few years earlier, when Lawrence and she had first got together. They spent two glorious weeks lazing in the sun, drinking cheap wine and having great sex. Everything seemed right at the time. For the first few months, Lawrence was easy-going, always happy to do what she suggested and rarely contradicted her. Gillian found it easy to live with him. Other pluses were his—apparent—attractive salary, and he never ever looked seriously at other women. They rarely discussed marriage or even love, but there was an unwritten, unspoken, lazy way between them. The only thing she found irritating was that he liked to vet everyone she met. Insidiously, it all seemed to change, the measure of control gaining momentum until Gill found she did everything he asked because if she didn’t, she would soon receive the venom of his vile tongue or the back of his hand.
Thankfully, that now belonged to another time, another life. Gillian’s new one was just beginning. She doubted she’d ever return to England. She sighed as she thought of Bex and Nathan and wiped away a threatening tear. It still hurt so much.
She noticed movement on the pontoon out of the corner of her eye. Without being too obvious by turning her head completely in his direction, she watched the skipper of the forty-foot sloop, White Lady, moor three boats down the trot and walk towards where she was sitting.
He was tall and slim, almost skinny, and strolled in her direction with a long loose stride along the wooden pontoon. Dressed in navy shorts and a white polo shirt, his blond-streaked sandy-coloured hair poked just below the rim of his cap. He was definitely older than Gillian; she’d already guessed him to be touching fifty. She’d been scrutinising him and the other two skippers looking for crew as much as possible since her arrival. The other two were a lot younger—nearer her age—and like Lawrence. She wished there was a nice family travelling south; in many ways it would have felt safer on a busy noise-filled boat. She could have joined in without giving away too much of herself. Anonymity was what she craved. She picked up her coffee cup and took a last mouthful as the skipper nodded at her before walking past and approaching the bar.
“Cerveja! Sagres, please.”
He slid a note across the marble top before turning away to face the boats. With one hip leaning into the bar and ankles crossed, he picked up the bottle nonchalantly and took a pull of his beer. A satisfied sigh escaped him. The waiter wandered over to Gillian’s table, and when he picked up her empty cup, she asked for a Cerveja, too. Ignoring her heart thundering in her chest, she casually removed her sunglasses and wiped the lenses with a clean tissue.
The waiter returned with her beer. As she took a sip, her eyes met those of the skipper. He raised his bottle in salute. “Cheers!”
“Cheers,” she returned, her mind in a panic. She wanted to look away but knew that finding a skipper there was her only chance. She’d already seen a photograph of herself in the Daily Mail the day before. Thank god her red hair was long in the photograph, not short and dark like now.
“Nothing quite like it, is there? The first beer after a long hot day.” He straightened up and ambled over towards her.
“I’m Harry, by the way. May I?” He thrust out a tanned hand in greeting and then surprised her by pulling out a chair from the next table and sitting down. His manner was self-assured and calm. She registered how rough his palm felt and how he sounded quite posh. “I’ve noticed you around. Are you working here or on holiday?”
It was now or never. Get a grip. She swallowed. “Gillian. A bit of both, really. I came away because I needed a long break…and as my time’s my own, I thought I might look for some casual work. Sort of extend my time off before I think about my next career.”
“Oh yeah? What sort of work? I know a few people here who might need some help. Bar work, waitressing or something else?”
She hesitated before wrinkling her nose. “No, not bar or waitressing work. What I’m actually looking for is to work my passage somewhere. I’m yearning to cross the Atlantic or maybe venture beyond, into the Pacific.”
“Ah! As a cook or deckhand?”
“Well…both, really. I can cook and I know a bit about sailing.”
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment and drank some more beer while taking the time to study her face and give her body a quick appraisal. Gillian wondered if he’d noticed the interest she had taken in his yacht, although she’d been very discreet. “There are always a few skippers with boats either with empty berths for sale or ones looking for working crew. I’m going back across the pond myself this week. You say your time is your own. Does that mean you want a long stint away or just a few weeks?”
Gillian examined the man before her. His expression was open, friendly but not too curious. She knew very little about this sailor, other than what she’d seen during the last few days and the answers to a few casual questions she’d asked the bartender. He was older, so he’d seen a bit of the world. She trusted what she’d learnt, but a single woman needed to be on her guard. She’d found that out the hard way. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“A few months would be good. I’m not married nor tied down to a permanent job.”
Harry grinned. “Me neither. At the moment the sea is my mistress.”
Gillian relaxed and returned his smile with the lines she’d rehearsed back in her hotel room. “Truthfully, I want to get away somewhere quiet and not stressful. I…I had a shock a short while back, and I’m trying to come to terms with it.”
“I’m sorry. A loss is always hard to take.”
She stared at his words and frowned; the back of her throat ached as she remembered Nathan. “I didn’t say I’d suffered a loss…but yes, you could say I have. I just need peace and quiet for a while.”
“Point taken. How much sailing experience have you actually had?”
“I sailed a bit when I was younger. My father taught me in a Wayfarer. Then later, I spent a couple of weekends on small yachts. Trips across the channel to Cherbourg and Guernsey—things like that.”
“So, can I presume you don’t suffer from seasickness? You can hop ashore with a rope in your hand to tie up?”
“God, yes.” She laughed. Even if she felt miserable inside, she needed to give the impression she was at ease. Confident even. “And I can stand a night watch on my own.”
He nodded, studying her closely. “Where are you staying?”
“In a small pension hotel off the main drag in town. I have a small room—a bit noisy from the restaurant below—but at least it’s clean and cheap. It’s called The Yellow Bird.”
“I know it well. The food’s good there, anyway. Tell you what, I’ll have a think and ask around a few of my mates. I can meet you there later this evening. Perhaps we can have a drink or a meal together?”
She nodded and forced a smile. Was this wise? “I’d like that. Seven o’clock okay?”
As he agreed, Gillian realised the first hurdle had been crossed easily. One skipper down and two more to talk to. Harry was easy-going and likeable. He hadn’t pressed her about her private life; she liked that. Plus, he was older. An older man would be more reliable, right?
Chapter Four Harry
As Harry left the marina bar, his thoughts were still focused on the woman he’d been talking to. He’d first seen her around Lagos four or five days earlier and was struck by how her face instantly reminded him of long-departed Marlene: the woman with whom he’d had his first and only long-term relationship. He’d never got over her and hadn’t found anyone to replace her.
But apart from that initial observation, he was right. She had been trolling around the boats soon after she’d arrived. There was something about Gillian that made him think she had a chequered past. Harry had seen all sorts of women pass through over the years: the young, the old, the fallen and those about to fall. This woman had a slightly detached air about her, which interested him; and he’d noticed her looks and slim body. She’d suffered in some way during her life; of that he was sure. She bore strange faint markings on her wrists—old wounds but just visible, nevertheless. And despite her apparent good health, she carried an air of frailty as well as sadness and mystery. He decided that despite what she’d said, she’d lost someone and more likely than not, very recently.
Apart from her resemblance to his old lover, her face was vaguely familiar. Maybe she’d visited Portugal before. Harry made up his mind to check up on Gill; he wondered if that was her real name. He came to a snap decision. Regardless of what he’d said, he wasn’t going to ask around for work for her. Harry needed a cook and a good crew member was invaluable. She was moderately pretty, slim with short brown hair and an interesting face. Having female company across the Atlantic was usually eventful and helped pass the time.
***
Harry glanced down at his watch and saw that he was ten minutes early. It didn’t matter, as he knew the owner of The Yellow Bird, and Bento might have had more to tell him about his house guest. Harry chuckled under his breath. Bento always had his ear to the ground, and if anyone knew anything, it would be him.
“Harry! Good to see you. Como vai? Cerveja or wine?” Bento said, clapping Harry on the back before disappearing behind the restaurant bar.
“You too, Bento, and thanks, I’m good. Sagres will be fine to start with. I’m meeting a guest of yours here for a drink.”
Harry noticed how the bar owner’s deep-brown eyes twinkled, and he nodded knowledgeably while flipping the cap off the beer bottle. “Ah, that would be a certain lady, eh?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen her around this last week and finally got chatting to her today.”
“She has good figure. I know she looking for lift on boat as she ask me if I knew anyone. She say she not worried where it going.”
“That’s right. I thought about taking her with me to the Canaries when I leave in a day or so.”
Bento shrugged. “She good crew. I speak to her every day, but she is, how do you say…private? She not say much about her life, where she coming from. That’s okay. I respect people’s private life. But she right for you, Harry? She seem sad and is long time at sea across ocean for you if she not want sex.”
Harry grinned. Nothing changed. Bento enjoyed the ladies and no doubt would have fancied his own chances with Gill. “You’re one huge step ahead, Bento. She tells me she’s a good sailor, and I don’t want a female who yaps all the friggin’ time. She said she’s looking for some long-term sailing. I thought about asking her to join me across to the Canaries. I can always decide once we’re there if I want to take her further. A few days at sea alone soon sorts out personality clashes.”
“You think good. Just you two?” His filthy grin said it all and Harry laughed.
“Probably. No more dirty thoughts. I just want a good crew member.”
Their conversation came to a natural end, as Gill chose that moment to enter the restaurant. Harry noticed she’d changed out of her daytime attire of skimpy shorts and sun top into a white cotton dress, nipped in at the waist by a wide red belt. A waft of musky perfume caught his nostrils. He noted she was wearing some eye make-up and lipstick, and her short dark hair shone from a recent washing. She looked and smelt good, and both men stared appreciatively.
“I’m impressed. Most women I arrange to meet are usually late,” Harry said as she walked over to the bar. The resemblance to Marlene was striking.
She returned his smile with a slight lift of her eyebrows and replied in a cool tone, “I didn’t know this was a date.” Her lips twitched, and he could see that she was teasing. He always liked a woman who could take a joke.
He returned her timid smile with a grin. “What can I get you? I’m enjoying a Sagres, but if you’d like to join me for dinner, perhaps you’d prefer wine?”
“Thank you, that’s very kind and I’d love to. A glass of red, please.”
Harry ordered a bottle of red wine which Bento praised above all else. The Quinta Reserva came from an inland estate, and Bento explained his family connections to it. Bento declared it went well with roast meat, and Harry trusted his judgement. With a bit of a theatrical flourish, Bento showed them to a table away from the pedestrian walkway. Early evenings were always busy with tourists and locals promenading before entering their chosen restaurant, and as they sat down away from the crowds, it meant they received a good view of everything going on around them.
“How’s your day been? Do you know many people here?” Harry asked after they’d ordered and were savouring their first glass of wine.
“Fine, thanks. But no, I don’t know anyone. It’s…my first time in Portugal.” She took her time glancing around the restaurant. There were a few other diners who gave the newcomers a quick appraisal.
“Right. First time, eh? Well, I always enjoy my trips here. It’s a natural stopping-off place after coming across the Atlantic, going eastwards. I head for the Azores and then here for a stay or go into the Med.” Harry noted her slight hesitation, and wondered if she’d just told him a downright lie. Fine. He enjoyed a bit of mystery.
“That’s in the spring, right?” Gillian switched her attention back to him.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, unless I get out of the hurricane area, I need to have the yacht lifted and stored on land for safety. Sometimes I come back across the ocean, or I sail down towards Panama and out into the Pacific.”
“It sounds lovely…the Pacific, I mean.” The waiter arrived with their meal at that moment, and Harry waited until he’d left before continuing. “It is. Look, I may as well tell you now. I didn’t find anyone looking for crew on a Caribbean crossing today, and there aren’t many yachts entering the Med now, either—it’s not the season. Did I mention earlier I was looking for crew myself? To be honest, I usually prefer someone with strong sailing skills, but as you have some experience and say you can cook at sea, maybe we could give it a try if you’re willing? I presume you know which one is my yacht?” Harry was convinced he’d seen her, despite the huge floppy hat and sunglasses, strolling along the pontoons and taking everything in. He thought it a good idea to let her know he wasn’t a complete pushover. If she accepted and they were to spend up to three weeks together in a confined space, she had to know who was the skipper.
He noticed with satisfaction how her cheeks flushed a faint pink as she picked at the plate of grilled sardines in front of her. “Yes, I think so. The sloop on the left-hand side of the pontoon. White Lady…is that right?”
“Yep. So are you still interested?”
“She looks lovely, and yes, I am. Which island are you heading for and when are you leaving?”
“Great. I aim to leave for Antigua via the Canaries the day after tomorrow, once I’ve finished all my business here. Most of the supplies are already on board, but you can check them over and see if there’s anything I’ve missed, as you’ll be doing most of the cooking. Just a few house rules. I’m the skipper, and my word is final when it comes to running the ship. No drugs are allowed on board, and I keep your passport until we reach your destination—the Canaries or Antigua. Don’t look so worried…that’s fairly standard. Holding a crew’s passport is a sort of insurance for the skipper in case you decide to jump ship as soon as we arrive and run off with all my money. It’ll be locked up in my safe until we reach land. Oh, and no smoking. Is that okay?” He grinned and speared another sardine. Better to let her know his rules there and then and who was boss, woman or no woman.
Harry noticed she hesitated a fraction before replying and guessed it was because he mentioned hanging onto her passport. People often hated handing it over.
“That’s fine by me. I don’t do drugs or smoke, and as I’ve never been to the Canaries or the Caribbean before, Antigua will do nicely.” She smiled and looked down at her food.
“You’ll like both places. Just one more thing…mobile phones don’t work at sea, so you won’t be able to ring home for a few weeks at least.”
“That’s all right. I have no family.”
Harry nodded, faintly puzzled by her compliant attitude. Apart from her slight pauses, she hadn’t batted an eyelid. Was her bravado all show? Most people usually had more to say about relinquishing their passports to a comparative stranger, skipper or not. Neither did she seem very interested in where they were sailing. Was he making a mistake? He’d asked around earlier, but no one could tell him more about her. He gave a mental shrug. He needed to chill. He was in charge here and she’d do nicely.
She had all the necessary criteria for his needs. Youngish, apparently unattached and as she’d just said, no family. That last item was particularly beneficial. No one would come looking for her.
Hopefully, they’d get on well. He raised his glass in a toast. “To Antigua it is.”
Chapter One
It all started with ‘that look’.
While Gillian was preparing dinner that evening, a hand touched her shoulder.
“Gill, I’d like a word.”
She tried hard not to let him see her shudder or hear the words she whispered to herself. Oh no! What is it this time? Lawrence’s ‘a word’ almost always led to ill treatment of some kind.
“Dinner can wait. We need to have a little chat, clear the air.” How she hated his public-school voice. When they first met, she found it attractive; it was what drew Gillian to Lawrence in the first place—that and his perfect manners. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. It made her cringe. Gillian turned around from the kitchen hob and faced her boyfriend. Although her heart was beating twice as fast as normal and her legs were in danger of turning to jelly, she knew she had to smile. To frown or look the slightest bit miserable was bound to bring his wrath down on her. Lawrence didn’t ‘do’ miserable.
“Of course, Lawrence. What do you want to talk about?” Although she tried to make out they were about to discuss things on a level footing, Gill knew there was only one point of view that mattered: his.
“It’s about Nathan.” This time she caught her breath. Nathan was an old friend of Gill’s; their friendship went back to their early teens when they both started senior school. Gill didn’t have many old friends—just two, in fact: Nathan and Rebecca. She didn’t see them often—maybe three times a year if she was lucky—and never alone. Lawrence always made sure he was around and within earshot. But the three had formed a strong bond and kept it going ever since, despite Lawrence. She was sure Nathan hadn’t done anything wrong…so what had she done now?
“Nathan? I haven’t seen him in ages. The last time we got together was at Bex’s birthday party. But you were there, remember? You normally hate parties but insisted on going to that one.”
Lawrence gave a lazy smile and after flicking a speck of dust from his shirtsleeve, moved closer. His eyes never left her face. “My dear girl, I don’t mean that time. I mean last Tuesday. You said you were going to the hairdresser’s. I dropped you off and collected you.” He ran one finger slowly down the side of her face, and this time she did shudder. “When did you arrange things, my sweet?”
Gill blinked, but didn’t dare move away from Lawrence. “And so I did.” She smiled her best smile and drew her fingers through her hair which she’d had cut short and dyed dark brown. “I said I fancied a big change, a new look. You took me there and brought me home.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me about meeting Nathan and going for lunch with him. Did you?”
Gill bit her lip. So, that was what it was all about. This could go on for hours. At best, Lawrence would dissect every minute of the time she’d spent in Nathan’s company, bit by bit, until she felt wrung out and ended up agreeing with everything he said. His verbal abuse was deadly. At worst, well, it wasn’t worth thinking about. How could she have been so stupid to imagine she could have her hair done and slip out for half an hour with Nathan and be back at the salon before Lawrence arrived to take her home? She was never allowed to be alone with Nathan or any other man, for that matter. Not that she often had the chance. Why was Lawrence making this fuss now, anyway?
She needed to defuse the situation once she realised where it would lead. If he said she could no longer see Nathan, she knew the ban would inevitably include Bex. Life wouldn’t have been worth living without her two friends. She looked him in the eyes, trying to appear unperturbed. “Oh that! We didn’t have lunch, just a quick ten-minute break for coffee.”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “So he just came along by chance, did he? How very convenient.”
Gritting her teeth, she carried on smiling and nodded. “Yes, honest. It wasn’t planned. He saw me paying the bill, with the money you gave me, and tapped on the salon window. He said it would be rude not to go and have a coffee with him. Lawrence, you know Nathan’s my oldest friend.”
“Who no doubt would like to be more,” Lawrence sneered.
This time, Gill felt her stomach churn in terror. She knew Lawrence’s jealousy was intense, although she ensured she never gave him cause to complain. He just used every opportunity to his advantage.
His rage seemed to come from nowhere. “Slut. Whore,” he burst out as one fist smashed against her rib cage, followed up by a second blow to her jaw. “I was watching the whole thing. His leg against yours in the café, his hand on your arm. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, and when you parted in the street, he gave you that look which made me certain you were more than just friends.”
Gill fought to get her breath under control and tried to answer, her voice coming in painful gasps. Tears slid down her face, mingling with the blood from where she’d bitten through her top lip. “It’s true…we’re just friends. But, Lawrence, why bring all this up now?”
“Because I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided you’re a liar! How long, eh? How long has he been sniffing around?”
Battling against agony, Gill raised her eyes to meet Lawrence’s. She saw only glacial chips of ice-cold blue, his normally handsome face, ugly and mottled red with anger.
“I swear there’s nothing between is. How could there be? You keep me a virtual prisoner here. I’m not allowed to go shopping without you, and you choose my clothes and shoes. You even drag yourself around Tesco’s. I don’t have a proper job—I take in ironing.”
Lawrence’s answer was to slap her face. She felt her mouth go numb. “Just as well I do, otherwise where would you be? You need to be taught a lesson. And next time, don’t bloody answer back.”
She yelped in pain and put up her arms to cover her head. The day was obviously going to be one of the worst. He planted another thump to her vulnerable stomach, and she fell to her knees. Lawrence drew back his right leg and swept her knees from under her. She rolled onto her side, and he aimed another at her stomach.
Gill couldn’t move or protect herself. As he delivered the blows to her lower abdomen, all she could think was, not again. The last time ended in a tragedy, for which she’d never forgiven him.
Finally, Lawrence stopped and stood over her, his eyes glazed with lust, his breath laboured. He stood up and glanced towards the hall from the kitchen, and it was then that Gill heard the second knock on the door.
Lawrence shot her a look. “Stay there, and don’t say a fucking word,” he hissed between his teeth. “I haven’t finished with you.”
After he’d left the kitchen, Gill staggered to her feet and clung onto the work unit for support. She knew she had to get away. She’d tried in the past, but he was always too clever.
When he first invited her to move in, he’d been nothing but loving and charming. Gill couldn’t believe how lucky she was after her miserable childhood to find someone who placed her on a pedestal. All too soon, that pedestal became a chain around her neck. She was never allowed to do anything for herself, go anywhere or meet anyone. Lawrence made her a virtual prisoner in his castle—and he alone kept the keys.
She felt blood trickling down her face. She tore off a piece of kitchen roll to staunch the flow. As she held the pressure pad to her lip with her shaking hand, she heard voices coming from the front door. Her heart leapt as she recognised Nathan’s. Could he help her? Then just as quickly as it had risen, her heart plummeted. Lawrence was a thirteen-stone rugby giant of muscle and bone. Nathan was five foot nine, unmuscular, and as slender as a reed. His brains were no match for Lawrence’s brawn.
The voices became louder and there was the slam of the door. So much for that, Gill thought as she feared Nathan had left. But then, she heard running footsteps and turned fearfully towards them.
A flushed and panting Nathan burst into the room and rushed over to her. “Gill! My god, what has he done to you?” He spun round to confront Lawrence, who had crept in behind him. “What have you done, you bloody coward. She’s your girlfriend, for god’s sake. How can you justify hitting someone smaller than you? Are you all right, Bex?” He turned back and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “You’re coming with me. I think we need to get you to hospital, get that lip looked at. It might need stitching.”
“She’s going nowhere. It’s just a little cut. Piss off.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man. Look at her. She can hardly stand. Gill, did he hit you anywhere else? You might need X-rays.”
“I said, get the fuck out of here. This is between me and my fiancée. You’re not welcome.”
“Gill’s my friend. If you’ve hurt her, you’ll pay. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Will you, you little twerp? I don’t think so.” As he uttered these words, Lawrence smashed his right fist into Nathan’s nose. There was a sickening crunch. In dismay, Gill realised his nose was broken. She screamed when blood trickled down Nathan’s shirt front.
“Lawrence, don’t! Please!”
Lawrence gave a sickly grin, and in response, aimed at him again, this time connecting with his jaw. Nathan howled and put up his hands to hold him off. Lawrence took hold of Nathan’s ears and head-butted him. Nathan slid to the floor.
There was a silence as Gill and Lawrence stared down at the crumpled body lying at Lawrence’s feet. Gill couldn’t see any signs of breathing, and a cold finger of terror shot up her spine. In her heart, she knew Nathan was dead. Lawrence bunched up his fists and started to turn towards her. In panic, she lifted the heavy frying pan from the cooker and swung it at his head.
Chapter Two Rebecca
After finding no pulse in Nathan’s neck, Gill stood up and looked around in desperation. Nathan was dead, and although she couldn’t bring herself to touch or go near Lawrence, she feared the worst. He lay as still as Nathan. What the hell was she to do? She’d be blamed for both deaths. She had to get out, get away.
She didn’t have much money of her own, Lawrence saw to that. Every penny she earned from ironing, he’d taken from her, saying it was for their savings account. That was a lie, as she knew full well Lawrence never banked anything if he could get away with it. How he made his money, she never knew, but she reckoned it was illegal. He owned a top-of-the-range car and never stinted on clothes for her or himself. He liked nice things around him, and that included her, too; she always had to look her best.
She staggered out of the kitchen in a daze. If she left, she would need funds. Lawrence kept a stash of cash in his study, under the Persian rug and beneath a square cut into the wooden floor. She sniffed, wiped her lip and then placed her hand on the banister. As her mind cleared, she made a rough plan: pack some essentials into a couple of soft bags; leave everything else; find the money and take it. Where should she go? Abroad? She could hardly turn up at an airport looking like she did. She didn’t know anyone well enough to help her…except Rebecca. She pondered her conundrum. Was it fair to enlist her aid? She and Bex had always been best friends. If she didn’t go to her, then she knew she’d never be forgiven.
***
“Of course I’ll help you,” Rebecca said once Gill was seated in her living room in front of a roaring log fire and had told her everything. She was shocked to find a shivering and terrified Gill on her doorstep earlier that night. She hustled her indoors and dealt swiftly with her torn lip before pouring out two generous measures of brandy. “First, we must ring the police and get an ambulance sent round to your house.”
Gill gasped in horror. “No! Please don’t, we can’t do that.”
“Why not? Look, the longer we leave it, the worse for you…us.” She corrected herself, thinking that she was now an accessory to the two deaths. Her head swam. She couldn’t stop thinking about dear old Nathan. He’d never hurt a fly in his life and now this.
“Please. I’ll be blamed for their murders. They’ll know I was part of it because my blood’s everywhere. I didn’t clean any of it up. I just had to get out of there.”
Rebecca studied her friend. She was in a state and needed help, but she also knew that if she lifted her phone, Gillian would bolt out of the front door and do something stupid. “Okay. Let’s think about this. You’re assuming they’re both dead. You’re positive poor old Nat is because you couldn’t find a pulse, and you think Lawrence is too. Surely they’ll identify that Lawrence killed Nat? You had to protect yourself from Lawrence…hence bashing him over the head. I can’t see why you’re worried.”
“I know I’ll be accused of both deaths. I’m terrified of facing the police.”
Rebecca didn’t know for sure why her friend was so scared of the police, but then there was a period of a few years in which they hadn’t seen each other. Gill had told her everything she could remember, but Rebecca thought there were a few gaps in her history. The last ghastly incident had been when Gill was pregnant with Lawrence’s baby. He was so furious and blind with alcohol that he beat her and kicked her half senseless. She lost the tiny foetus and eventually recovered. Bex’s immediate reaction was to report the matter to the police, but Gill had been too frightened, saying he’d find out and kill her. Bex knew Gill was in a dreadful situation, but she had to do as her friend had asked, or she’d be in danger. She didn’t agree, but what else could she have done?
“Okay, but at the very least, we have to call the authorities and let them know someone’s been hurt. We can call anonymously, but what about when they come looking for you?”
Gill stared into the flames. After a while, she lifted her head and spoke. “I don’t want to involve you in all this. I know you said I can stay, but I want to get away. Yes, I know I’ll have to face the consequences sometime, but right now, all I can think of is Nat. Let me disappear for a while, and I’ll return when I’m ready.”
Rebecca looked at Gillian curiously. She seemed calmer than half an hour earlier…almost too calm. Was she still in shock? Not for the first time in her life, she wished she had a partner with whom she could share her problems: a problem shared was a problem halved. “Well, maybe, but let me make that call.”
Gill nodded reluctantly. “But don’t tell them who you are. Make sure the call’s untraceable.”
“I have an old mobile and SIM card I use abroad sometimes. I’ll use that.”
***
The two friends stayed up well into the early hours discussing what to do. Rebecca was sure Gillian would be treated appropriately if she went to the police and told them everything, but she wouldn’t be budged. Eventually, after a soothing hot chocolate, they nodded off in the warm room, both too exhausted to do any more. Around six o’clock, Gill awoke, stiff and aching from her beating and feeling chilled, as the fire had died down. She stretched and seeing Rebecca was still asleep, went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. There was a radio on the work top and she switched it on. A minute later, she was listening to the news, just as Bex entered the room.
“I wondered…” she began.
Gill waved a hand at her. “Ssh, it’s the news.”
Three minutes later both women stared at each other.
Gill turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. “So, Lawrence is still alive. The reporter said the dead man is Nathan. She mentioned a woman lived with Lawrence. They’ll soon discover and release my name. Oh, Bex, what shall I do? Lawrence will blame it all on me. I made one hell of a dent in his head with the frying pan.” She suddenly stopped, turned and confronted Bex with a horror-stricken look. “He’ll come after me. I just know it. I must get out of here. He’ll come straight here...oh god, what about you? He might take it out on you. He’s vile enough.”
Rebecca stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. “Hush. If he does, I’ll deny everything. Don’t you think you should go to the police now? I’ll come with you and help explain everything.”
Gill shook her head. “I can’t. Please, let me disappear just for a few weeks. I have to come to terms with Nathan’s death. It was all so horrible watching him being beaten to death. The awful thing is, I’m sure Lawrence meant to kill him. He’s been stewing over Nat for days. Nat was small compared to him—Lawrence is all muscle.” She burst into tears, and Rebecca hugged her tightly while they shed tears for Nathan.
After a while, Rebecca drew back gently and locked eyes with Gill. “I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do, but listen. You remember me telling you about Phil? He has a motor boat down on the Hamble. I know he’s going across the channel this weekend. What if I can get you on his boat? Say you’re going to Europe for a bit of travelling. That way, you can travel freely from here and into Europe without showing your passport. If you flew or took the ferry from here, they’d be looking out for you…private yachts seldom get approached.”
Gill gulped back her tears. “That might work. Thank you. I’ll never forget this.”
Chapter Three Gillian A week later
The past week had been one of the worst of her life. Not only had Gill left her home and best friends, she knew she couldn’t let her guard down. Her heart felt heavy when she thought about Nathan and how he’d gone to her aid and suffered the consequences so dreadfully. She’d never seen him again.
Rebecca had been true to her word. She contacted her friend, Phil, and persuaded him to let Gill travel on his yacht across to St Malo in France. Phil wasn’t the type to ask questions; people’s business was their own, and he knew if Bex needed to ask for a favour, she had a good reason. During the crossing, Gill had been as pleasant as she could be, considering everything that had happened. She helped with meals and drinks on board for the two of them and retired to her cabin when she felt the need for solitude and shed some tears.
In St Malo, she and Phil parted company on the quayside. He shook her hand and said he hoped she’d find what she was looking for. Gillian was startled by his choice of words, wondering what Bex had told him. But when he turned away and went below, she realised that for all her calm and quietness, he must have seen through her bravado and knew she was troubled.
Now she’d reached Portugal and guessed she needed to keep moving, even if her sense of loss outweighed everything else. She had to be strong and clear-minded, for once. She’d been downtrodden for too long. She had no one else to watch out for her.
She sat at the table nearest the main pontoon of the marina. She had no idea what to do next. Getting a job was out of the question; there were too many Brits there who followed the news back home. She needed to get far away. Europe, she considered, was out. Maybe the States or farther, South America? The Far East even. Surely, she could come up with something?
Sitting around doing nothing made her feel useless, but as she weighed and considered her options, she had an idea. It was tenuous but possible. She needed to get on a yacht that was sailing far south. She watched the comings and goings of each boat as it passed through Lagos marina. She noticed that some sailed with a full crew, often two couples or occasionally, a family. Sometimes, just two people or a lone sailor. How would she find out if anyone was looking for crew? She could hardly just go up and ask; it was looking for trouble. She decided to stop feeling miserable and get out and look. She read through the advertisements on the board inside the marina office, where she discovered a few yachts were heading south and their skippers were asking for crew volunteers.
She made a note of the boat names and set off down the pontoons to identify each yacht. She knew she looked presentable enough; her bruises and split lip were healing, and make-up camouflaged the worst of her injuries. She knew she was no stunning beauty but reckoned she was attractive enough. For once, age was in her favour: not too old, not too young and the right side of forty. Plus, as well as being fit and healthy, she knew a bit about boats and considered herself to be a quick learner. All it needed was the yacht and right crew.
It had been a relatively easy journey to the Algarve. She had travelled one leg by coach, followed by a train, which eventually took to her current location. She remembered Lagos from a previous visit, a few years earlier, when Lawrence and she had first got together. They spent two glorious weeks lazing in the sun, drinking cheap wine and having great sex. Everything seemed right at the time. For the first few months, Lawrence was easy-going, always happy to do what she suggested and rarely contradicted her. Gillian found it easy to live with him. Other pluses were his—apparent—attractive salary, and he never ever looked seriously at other women. They rarely discussed marriage or even love, but there was an unwritten, unspoken, lazy way between them. The only thing she found irritating was that he liked to vet everyone she met. Insidiously, it all seemed to change, the measure of control gaining momentum until Gill found she did everything he asked because if she didn’t, she would soon receive the venom of his vile tongue or the back of his hand.
Thankfully, that now belonged to another time, another life. Gillian’s new one was just beginning. She doubted she’d ever return to England. She sighed as she thought of Bex and Nathan and wiped away a threatening tear. It still hurt so much.
She noticed movement on the pontoon out of the corner of her eye. Without being too obvious by turning her head completely in his direction, she watched the skipper of the forty-foot sloop, White Lady, moor three boats down the trot and walk towards where she was sitting.
He was tall and slim, almost skinny, and strolled in her direction with a long loose stride along the wooden pontoon. Dressed in navy shorts and a white polo shirt, his blond-streaked sandy-coloured hair poked just below the rim of his cap. He was definitely older than Gillian; she’d already guessed him to be touching fifty. She’d been scrutinising him and the other two skippers looking for crew as much as possible since her arrival. The other two were a lot younger—nearer her age—and like Lawrence. She wished there was a nice family travelling south; in many ways it would have felt safer on a busy noise-filled boat. She could have joined in without giving away too much of herself. Anonymity was what she craved. She picked up her coffee cup and took a last mouthful as the skipper nodded at her before walking past and approaching the bar.
“Cerveja! Sagres, please.”
He slid a note across the marble top before turning away to face the boats. With one hip leaning into the bar and ankles crossed, he picked up the bottle nonchalantly and took a pull of his beer. A satisfied sigh escaped him. The waiter wandered over to Gillian’s table, and when he picked up her empty cup, she asked for a Cerveja, too. Ignoring her heart thundering in her chest, she casually removed her sunglasses and wiped the lenses with a clean tissue.
The waiter returned with her beer. As she took a sip, her eyes met those of the skipper. He raised his bottle in salute. “Cheers!”
“Cheers,” she returned, her mind in a panic. She wanted to look away but knew that finding a skipper there was her only chance. She’d already seen a photograph of herself in the Daily Mail the day before. Thank god her red hair was long in the photograph, not short and dark like now.
“Nothing quite like it, is there? The first beer after a long hot day.” He straightened up and ambled over towards her.
“I’m Harry, by the way. May I?” He thrust out a tanned hand in greeting and then surprised her by pulling out a chair from the next table and sitting down. His manner was self-assured and calm. She registered how rough his palm felt and how he sounded quite posh. “I’ve noticed you around. Are you working here or on holiday?”
It was now or never. Get a grip. She swallowed. “Gillian. A bit of both, really. I came away because I needed a long break…and as my time’s my own, I thought I might look for some casual work. Sort of extend my time off before I think about my next career.”
“Oh yeah? What sort of work? I know a few people here who might need some help. Bar work, waitressing or something else?”
She hesitated before wrinkling her nose. “No, not bar or waitressing work. What I’m actually looking for is to work my passage somewhere. I’m yearning to cross the Atlantic or maybe venture beyond, into the Pacific.”
“Ah! As a cook or deckhand?”
“Well…both, really. I can cook and I know a bit about sailing.”
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment and drank some more beer while taking the time to study her face and give her body a quick appraisal. Gillian wondered if he’d noticed the interest she had taken in his yacht, although she’d been very discreet. “There are always a few skippers with boats either with empty berths for sale or ones looking for working crew. I’m going back across the pond myself this week. You say your time is your own. Does that mean you want a long stint away or just a few weeks?”
Gillian examined the man before her. His expression was open, friendly but not too curious. She knew very little about this sailor, other than what she’d seen during the last few days and the answers to a few casual questions she’d asked the bartender. He was older, so he’d seen a bit of the world. She trusted what she’d learnt, but a single woman needed to be on her guard. She’d found that out the hard way. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“A few months would be good. I’m not married nor tied down to a permanent job.”
Harry grinned. “Me neither. At the moment the sea is my mistress.”
Gillian relaxed and returned his smile with the lines she’d rehearsed back in her hotel room. “Truthfully, I want to get away somewhere quiet and not stressful. I…I had a shock a short while back, and I’m trying to come to terms with it.”
“I’m sorry. A loss is always hard to take.”
She stared at his words and frowned; the back of her throat ached as she remembered Nathan. “I didn’t say I’d suffered a loss…but yes, you could say I have. I just need peace and quiet for a while.”
“Point taken. How much sailing experience have you actually had?”
“I sailed a bit when I was younger. My father taught me in a Wayfarer. Then later, I spent a couple of weekends on small yachts. Trips across the channel to Cherbourg and Guernsey—things like that.”
“So, can I presume you don’t suffer from seasickness? You can hop ashore with a rope in your hand to tie up?”
“God, yes.” She laughed. Even if she felt miserable inside, she needed to give the impression she was at ease. Confident even. “And I can stand a night watch on my own.”
He nodded, studying her closely. “Where are you staying?”
“In a small pension hotel off the main drag in town. I have a small room—a bit noisy from the restaurant below—but at least it’s clean and cheap. It’s called The Yellow Bird.”
“I know it well. The food’s good there, anyway. Tell you what, I’ll have a think and ask around a few of my mates. I can meet you there later this evening. Perhaps we can have a drink or a meal together?”
She nodded and forced a smile. Was this wise? “I’d like that. Seven o’clock okay?”
As he agreed, Gillian realised the first hurdle had been crossed easily. One skipper down and two more to talk to. Harry was easy-going and likeable. He hadn’t pressed her about her private life; she liked that. Plus, he was older. An older man would be more reliable, right?
Chapter Four Harry
As Harry left the marina bar, his thoughts were still focused on the woman he’d been talking to. He’d first seen her around Lagos four or five days earlier and was struck by how her face instantly reminded him of long-departed Marlene: the woman with whom he’d had his first and only long-term relationship. He’d never got over her and hadn’t found anyone to replace her.
But apart from that initial observation, he was right. She had been trolling around the boats soon after she’d arrived. There was something about Gillian that made him think she had a chequered past. Harry had seen all sorts of women pass through over the years: the young, the old, the fallen and those about to fall. This woman had a slightly detached air about her, which interested him; and he’d noticed her looks and slim body. She’d suffered in some way during her life; of that he was sure. She bore strange faint markings on her wrists—old wounds but just visible, nevertheless. And despite her apparent good health, she carried an air of frailty as well as sadness and mystery. He decided that despite what she’d said, she’d lost someone and more likely than not, very recently.
Apart from her resemblance to his old lover, her face was vaguely familiar. Maybe she’d visited Portugal before. Harry made up his mind to check up on Gill; he wondered if that was her real name. He came to a snap decision. Regardless of what he’d said, he wasn’t going to ask around for work for her. Harry needed a cook and a good crew member was invaluable. She was moderately pretty, slim with short brown hair and an interesting face. Having female company across the Atlantic was usually eventful and helped pass the time.
***
Harry glanced down at his watch and saw that he was ten minutes early. It didn’t matter, as he knew the owner of The Yellow Bird, and Bento might have had more to tell him about his house guest. Harry chuckled under his breath. Bento always had his ear to the ground, and if anyone knew anything, it would be him.
“Harry! Good to see you. Como vai? Cerveja or wine?” Bento said, clapping Harry on the back before disappearing behind the restaurant bar.
“You too, Bento, and thanks, I’m good. Sagres will be fine to start with. I’m meeting a guest of yours here for a drink.”
Harry noticed how the bar owner’s deep-brown eyes twinkled, and he nodded knowledgeably while flipping the cap off the beer bottle. “Ah, that would be a certain lady, eh?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen her around this last week and finally got chatting to her today.”
“She has good figure. I know she looking for lift on boat as she ask me if I knew anyone. She say she not worried where it going.”
“That’s right. I thought about taking her with me to the Canaries when I leave in a day or so.”
Bento shrugged. “She good crew. I speak to her every day, but she is, how do you say…private? She not say much about her life, where she coming from. That’s okay. I respect people’s private life. But she right for you, Harry? She seem sad and is long time at sea across ocean for you if she not want sex.”
Harry grinned. Nothing changed. Bento enjoyed the ladies and no doubt would have fancied his own chances with Gill. “You’re one huge step ahead, Bento. She tells me she’s a good sailor, and I don’t want a female who yaps all the friggin’ time. She said she’s looking for some long-term sailing. I thought about asking her to join me across to the Canaries. I can always decide once we’re there if I want to take her further. A few days at sea alone soon sorts out personality clashes.”
“You think good. Just you two?” His filthy grin said it all and Harry laughed.
“Probably. No more dirty thoughts. I just want a good crew member.”
Their conversation came to a natural end, as Gill chose that moment to enter the restaurant. Harry noticed she’d changed out of her daytime attire of skimpy shorts and sun top into a white cotton dress, nipped in at the waist by a wide red belt. A waft of musky perfume caught his nostrils. He noted she was wearing some eye make-up and lipstick, and her short dark hair shone from a recent washing. She looked and smelt good, and both men stared appreciatively.
“I’m impressed. Most women I arrange to meet are usually late,” Harry said as she walked over to the bar. The resemblance to Marlene was striking.
She returned his smile with a slight lift of her eyebrows and replied in a cool tone, “I didn’t know this was a date.” Her lips twitched, and he could see that she was teasing. He always liked a woman who could take a joke.
He returned her timid smile with a grin. “What can I get you? I’m enjoying a Sagres, but if you’d like to join me for dinner, perhaps you’d prefer wine?”
“Thank you, that’s very kind and I’d love to. A glass of red, please.”
Harry ordered a bottle of red wine which Bento praised above all else. The Quinta Reserva came from an inland estate, and Bento explained his family connections to it. Bento declared it went well with roast meat, and Harry trusted his judgement. With a bit of a theatrical flourish, Bento showed them to a table away from the pedestrian walkway. Early evenings were always busy with tourists and locals promenading before entering their chosen restaurant, and as they sat down away from the crowds, it meant they received a good view of everything going on around them.
“How’s your day been? Do you know many people here?” Harry asked after they’d ordered and were savouring their first glass of wine.
“Fine, thanks. But no, I don’t know anyone. It’s…my first time in Portugal.” She took her time glancing around the restaurant. There were a few other diners who gave the newcomers a quick appraisal.
“Right. First time, eh? Well, I always enjoy my trips here. It’s a natural stopping-off place after coming across the Atlantic, going eastwards. I head for the Azores and then here for a stay or go into the Med.” Harry noted her slight hesitation, and wondered if she’d just told him a downright lie. Fine. He enjoyed a bit of mystery.
“That’s in the spring, right?” Gillian switched her attention back to him.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, unless I get out of the hurricane area, I need to have the yacht lifted and stored on land for safety. Sometimes I come back across the ocean, or I sail down towards Panama and out into the Pacific.”
“It sounds lovely…the Pacific, I mean.” The waiter arrived with their meal at that moment, and Harry waited until he’d left before continuing. “It is. Look, I may as well tell you now. I didn’t find anyone looking for crew on a Caribbean crossing today, and there aren’t many yachts entering the Med now, either—it’s not the season. Did I mention earlier I was looking for crew myself? To be honest, I usually prefer someone with strong sailing skills, but as you have some experience and say you can cook at sea, maybe we could give it a try if you’re willing? I presume you know which one is my yacht?” Harry was convinced he’d seen her, despite the huge floppy hat and sunglasses, strolling along the pontoons and taking everything in. He thought it a good idea to let her know he wasn’t a complete pushover. If she accepted and they were to spend up to three weeks together in a confined space, she had to know who was the skipper.
He noticed with satisfaction how her cheeks flushed a faint pink as she picked at the plate of grilled sardines in front of her. “Yes, I think so. The sloop on the left-hand side of the pontoon. White Lady…is that right?”
“Yep. So are you still interested?”
“She looks lovely, and yes, I am. Which island are you heading for and when are you leaving?”
“Great. I aim to leave for Antigua via the Canaries the day after tomorrow, once I’ve finished all my business here. Most of the supplies are already on board, but you can check them over and see if there’s anything I’ve missed, as you’ll be doing most of the cooking. Just a few house rules. I’m the skipper, and my word is final when it comes to running the ship. No drugs are allowed on board, and I keep your passport until we reach your destination—the Canaries or Antigua. Don’t look so worried…that’s fairly standard. Holding a crew’s passport is a sort of insurance for the skipper in case you decide to jump ship as soon as we arrive and run off with all my money. It’ll be locked up in my safe until we reach land. Oh, and no smoking. Is that okay?” He grinned and speared another sardine. Better to let her know his rules there and then and who was boss, woman or no woman.
Harry noticed she hesitated a fraction before replying and guessed it was because he mentioned hanging onto her passport. People often hated handing it over.
“That’s fine by me. I don’t do drugs or smoke, and as I’ve never been to the Canaries or the Caribbean before, Antigua will do nicely.” She smiled and looked down at her food.
“You’ll like both places. Just one more thing…mobile phones don’t work at sea, so you won’t be able to ring home for a few weeks at least.”
“That’s all right. I have no family.”
Harry nodded, faintly puzzled by her compliant attitude. Apart from her slight pauses, she hadn’t batted an eyelid. Was her bravado all show? Most people usually had more to say about relinquishing their passports to a comparative stranger, skipper or not. Neither did she seem very interested in where they were sailing. Was he making a mistake? He’d asked around earlier, but no one could tell him more about her. He gave a mental shrug. He needed to chill. He was in charge here and she’d do nicely.
She had all the necessary criteria for his needs. Youngish, apparently unattached and as she’d just said, no family. That last item was particularly beneficial. No one would come looking for her.
Hopefully, they’d get on well. He raised his glass in a toast. “To Antigua it is.”
Links to buy Paradise Prison
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The Dark Minds Psychological Thrillers
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Paradise Prison is the 4th Dark Minds Psychological Thriller - all novels can be read in any order
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