Dog Handling (19 page)

“G’day, ladies.” His brown arms swinging, propelling him expertly up the ladder, Rob appeared at their side. “Bit late ’cause I’ve been mucking out at the stables and fancied an early-morning ride. Alex, you want to borrow my shirt? Your arms are gonna fry,” he said as he unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over Alex’s shoulders. Liv waited for Alex to hand it back in a fit of feminist pique, but she didn’t; she merely smiled sweetly at Rob.

“So, Robbie, can I come and help you with the horses one day? I haven’t been on a horse since I went to Bridlington on holiday when I was seven,” asked Alex enthusiastically.

“Yeah, but we have to muck out before. I’ll lend you a pitchfork. Mind,” he said, scratching the back of his calf with his foot, “it might muck up yer clothes a bit.”

“Oh, I love getting mucked up.” Alex laughed and turned back to admire the harbour view. Liv looked at Alex and then at Rob and wondered if they really could be having a fling. Alex’s bit of rough? With his filthy fingernails and workman’s torso Rob certainly qualified.

“So what was that all about?” Liv asked as Rob wandered over to help the deckhand haul in the anchor.

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Alex neither confirmed nor denied. “And really interesting, Livvy. I was telling him all about my thesis last night. He gave me some good ideas.” Alex watched as Rob’s back muscles flexed under the weight of the anchor.

“So a bit of rough with a brain. Where does that leave Charlie?” Liv asked.

“Exactly where he’s always been. In my bed but eyeing up other women. Rob’s just like my brother. And he is quite sexy, isn’t he?”

“Who’s sexy?” Liv looked up to see Ben Parker’s crotch presiding over them. She turned away but not before he caught her looking. Well, if he
would
wear white shorts, have long brown legs, and stand inches from her head.

“Well, not you, that’s for sure. Could you move the obscenity from my line of vision?” Alex yelled as Ben laughed and sat down next to them.

“Oh, by the way, Ally, Charlie’s just arrived. He was looking for you a minute ago. Over by the bar.” He pointed over to where a group was forming: sun hats, beachwear, and ubiquitous sunglasses at the other side of the boat. “I’ll look after Liv if you like. How’s the ankle?” He smiled as Alex wandered off giving Liv a told-you-he-fancied-you glance over her shoulder.

Liv sat up and decided that his concern and phone calls had been purely medical. And actually, she wished he would go away. He made her feel about seven and all shy and stupid, and suddenly the last thing in the world that she wanted was to kiss him; it was all much too scary.

“Fine, thanks.” Liv nodded curtly and pretended to concentrate on a mosquito bite that was assuming epic proportions on her arm.

“It was fun last night. It’s a real shame you couldn’t make it.” Ben made himself comfortable beside her on Alex’s towel.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” she said. “So, erm, how’s work?” She thought she should make a bit of an effort, though she could only seem to manage dumb things.

“Great, but actually I want to hear about yours. I gather you’re really into this business idea with Alex. Rob said you guys are going to have some huge empire in no time.”

Liv just smiled; she couldn’t think of a single interesting or even dull thing to say. Her vocabulary had totally deserted her. So instead of being scintillating, she just lay down on her towel like a mute idiot and pretended to be enjoying the heat rash that was breaking out on her cheeks.

“Have you seen much of Australia yet?” Ben persisted. God, he just wouldn’t give up, would he? Like a terrier with a rat . . . or god . . . even a dog with a ball. This was so weird; maybe Dave was right. Ben was behaving like a total panting dog. Even if she were to lie down and die she suspected he might just sit there in the same way that faithful Alsatians sit by their dead masters’ graves for years and years. Liv couldn’t quite believe it. It just seemed that as long as she smiled sweetly occasionally she didn’t actually have to do anything else to keep him hanging on there, trying to win her round. I mean there were about twenty other much prettier, definitely more interesting girls on board who would be willing to dance attendance and hair-flick adoringly at him and he was sticking to her side like a limpet. But Liv wasn’t fooled for a second. She contemplated telling him that he’d got the wrong girl; in case he’d forgotten, she wasn’t five-foot-eight in stocking feet and when she took her hat off she was—surprise, surprise—a brunette. No leggy blonde about her. But it was a hot day and the last thing she wanted was to be made to walk the plank into shark-infested waters for having a barney with the boyfriend of the yacht’s namesake. And besides, she was quite enjoying her day on the ocean waves. The
Millie
was almost as lovely as her owner. In fact, they could have been separated at birth. They were both a glossy teak colour, phenomenally expensive to run, and safest kept on the right side of. So Liv opted for civility.

“Oh, I’ve been pretty flat out on the stall, seeing friends, don’t seem to have time to breathe,” she said without raising her head for fear he’d see her disgusting rash.

“That’s a shame,” Ben said as he looked out onto the harbour. “I mean you not being around. You really should see some more of the country. You know, Sydney’s great, but it’s a playground. You need to check out some of Melbourne, Queensland, Alice Springs. See the real stuff.”

“I think Amelia’s about to be eaten alive. If I were you, I’d go and rescue her,” Liv muttered, and cast a glance at Amelia, who was indeed being circled by seven predatory males.

“When it comes to sharks it’s the ones who travel alone you have to watch out for. And they usually get their prey in the end.” He laughed and tried to catch Liv’s eye, but she pretended to immerse herself in a book she’d found in Alex’s bag,
The Brothers Karamazov
by Dostoevsky. In Russian.

“Later,” Ben said finally as he got up to leave, getting the message, she hoped. The gulls circled the mast hoping for a mouthful of filet mignon or sushi canapés or whatever delights everyone else seemed to be tucking into at the bar. Too shy to go over and ask for a bite to eat, Liv attempted to ignore the mouthwatering smell of the barbecue and tried to get some beauty sleep.

In fact, it was a hugely successful attempt at sleep. But a little more beetrooty than beauty sleep. Liv woke up two hours later to find the boat totally silent. She lifted her stiff head and rubbed her cheek. She’d fallen asleep on her watch, and, sadly, had Marks and Spencer imprinted on her jowls. If she’d been any of the other glamour-pusses on the boat it would have been Cartier, naturally, but the only thing they were ever likely to fall asleep on was the finest goose-down pillows. Certainly they wouldn’t dream of waking up with the kind of sunburn Liv had managed to achieve across her shoulders and the backs of her legs.

“Hell.” She sat up quickly, the proverbial scalded cat, as if another second in the sun would make any difference. She was fried and there was little else to it. But, actually, of more concern to her right now was that she seemed not to be aboard the
Millie
anymore but the
Marie Celeste.
As she stood up and wrapped her jeans around her shoulders for emergency sun protection she saw no sign of life.

“Hello?” She whispered at first, looking down the staircase into the berths below. “Anybody there?” Her voice got louder as she approached the bar. Champagne glasses sat untouched. A Fendi baguette bag glittered abandoned on the floor and a gold macramé bikini bottom. But no apparent owners. The deck was gleaming in the sun, and in the distance the Harbour Bridge stretched across the horizon. Other yachts bobbed on the flecked surface of the water, but Liv was very definitely alone on board. She thought of the possibilities: either they were sinking slowly and everyone had jumped ship in a lifeboat, mistaking her sleeping form for an inflatable Day-Glo raft, or they’d been picked up by some glamorous friends in a helicopter and taken to the bar at The International for cocktails while she slept.

“Oy, Liv, you not coming in?” someone yelled from somewhere far away and muffled. Liv ran towards the edge of the boat and looked out. There in the water, dotted like currants in an eccles cake, were the heads of the entire party. Laughing, doing duck dives, splashing one another. Liv waved down as Stephanie, Amelia’s personal assistant and dearest friend, bobbed up. At Liv’s feet was a pile of the finest undergarments and bathing suits money could buy. As she smiled down on the watery fun she contemplated picking up a few of the bits and bobs and examining them for stitching and lining and any other details that might help her further in her design of Greta’s Grundies. She longed to know whether the interlaced
G
s on a Gucci bikini were real gold or just clunked like plastic when you knocked them against your front teeth. But it might be inviting just a little too much attention if she were caught munching heartily on Amelia’s bikini bottom.

Instead Liv took the opportunity to slink off and find a real bite to eat. Something other than $400 bikini bottoms or Ben Parker’s boxers. And besides, she’d feel a bit like a spare prick at a wedding if they all came back on board in the nude and she was standing there with her jeans wrapped around her shoulders. Even though she would dearly have loved a dip in the cocktail blue water, she dismissed the idea before it could even form. How, but how, she would ever manage to leap into the water in the altogether without those down below getting a full gynaecological viewpoint was too perilous to contemplate. She did have a supercool Stripper Wax to her name, but she’d be buggered if that was going on public view.

Instead she negotiated the steep, polished steps down into the berth and sighed with relief as the cool darkness soothed her scorched skin. In fact, this was much preferable to bouncing around in the refreshing waters of the harbour because she got to have a peek through the keyhole of Amelia’s life. A glimpse of which Liv knew was going to be just like flicking through the pages of cuttings again, but with the added bonus of being able to check out what brand of mascara Amelia really wore when she wasn’t being bribed by Chanel to say it was thanks to them that her eyelashes had been voted Most Battable in last year’s
Cleo
magazine’s readers’ poll. In fact, as she glanced around the glistening glass shelves of the tiny but perfectly formed bathroom Liv discovered it
was
Chanel. She couldn’t resist; she picked up the wand and stroked a little onto her piggy pink morning eyes to see if she became Battable. Not a hope but certainly an improvement. She ran her hand over the cool marble and checked out her sunburn in the mirror behind her. Ooh, if her piddly little eyes didn’t make her a complete pig, then the broad pink rump she was looking at now did. She didn’t dare touch it for fear of unimaginable pain.

She walked along the low, cream silk–lined corridor hoping to find the kitchen and a few leftover canapés. What she found instead was the main bedrooom, lit as dimly and flatteringly as if by candlelight. She dreamed she would be allowed to spend the rest of her days in here. Not your average superyacht-type ensemble of naff luxury and dripping gold. Not that Liv really knew what the inside of the
Christina
or the
Britannia
or any old oil tycoon’s yacht would look like, but she had seen her share of biopics of the rich and famous and had to say the decor on those silly-money boats was generally pretty vulgar. Miserably, Amelia didn’t seem to have a bad-taste bone in her body. The bed was draped in acres of white and cream silks and the small mountain of cool linen pillows was made for lounging like a languid courtesan. In fact, the whole place was bloody amazing.

Liv plumped down on the antique stool at Amelia’s dressing table. She reached over and picked up a jar of something cool and moisturising-looking and slipped off the lid. She inhaled deeply and practically passed out with pleasure at the smell of white jasmine. Knowing she shouldn’t but feeling the backs of her legs begin to prick, she stuck in a fingertip and rubbed the small blob of cream onto her forearm. It was so cool and soothing, she gasped. Then she stuck in a few more fingers and began dolloping the cream on her shoulders. As she rubbed it gently into her searing skin she heard a noise outside the door. Probably someone come to use the loo. She was about to put the cream back on the dressing table and fake a fit of heatstroke when the door opened. God, talk about being caught with your hand in the cookie jar. She turned around hoping that it would be Alex or, at worst, Rob. It was, unfortunately, worse than worst. It was Ben. Naturally. And god, he looked natural. He was wrapped in a towel and his chest and face were covered in glistening drops of water. His hair was damp and a small pool of water was forming at his feet.

“It was a first-aid measure,” said Liv, juggling the cream from one hand to another as she tried to look as innocent as possible. He smiled as he rubbed his arms with the thick white towel. “I mean, I wouldn’t have cared if it was cold cream or fresh cream or Savlon; I just needed to rub something cool into this sunburn,” she warbled on, and tried to rub the vast, expensive,
stolen
blobs of cream into her legs and shoulders before he could make out the extent of the theft and perform a citizen’s arrest.

“Christ, you’re fried there.” He left his pool of water and moved closer to her.

“Shouldn’t you be drinking champagne or swimming or something?” she said, and covered up her legs with the pair of jeans she was still wearing around her neck.

“Can I help with that cream?” he asked as he took the jar from her hand.

“You know what? I think it’s very expensive and I probably shouldn’t have taken any in the first place, so why don’t we just put it back and go upstairs for something to eat?” Liv blabbered, and as if on cue, her stomach rumbled like an air-raid siren.

“Not a chance.” He pushed the flopping wet hair out of his eyes and reached towards her. Liv jerked back and Amelia’s perfumes and potions clattered behind her on the dressing table. “That shoulder needs attention,” he said as he rested his hand on the sunburn. “Painful?” he asked.