Slaves of Elysium (2 page)

‘I gave Mark's old man a promise I'd stick with him until he learned enough sense to look after himself, and I won't go back on it. Perhaps this'll be what it takes.' He looked at her with sudden hope. ‘I don't suppose you could try talking to Rebecca...?' He saw the expression of dismay the proposal reflected on Jeni's face and said quickly, ‘No, I guess not.' He sighed heavily. ‘You'd better get back to bed. Looks like we're in for a busy day tomorrow.'

 

It was only as Jeni was trying unsuccessfully to get back to sleep that an additional consequence of what they were going to do occurred to her. The route of the race would take them straight through the legendary Bermuda Triangle.

 

 

 

At twelve noon exactly the crack of a starting pistol rang out across Hamilton harbour. Idling throttles were driven forward. Propellers turned the limpid waters into foaming wakes as the bows of five yachts lifted. Shouts and whistles of encouragement rose up from the scattered ring of spectator craft as the competitors powered their way north across Great Sound in line abreast.

Rebecca, clad only in sunglasses and a red bikini, stood at the bow leaning against the rail. As the
Galatea
gathered speed she flung her arms out wide, threw back her head and yelled in delight. The rush of fresh salt air made her billowing golden hair sparkle in the brilliant light thrown up from the glittering sea. Watching her through the saloon window, Jeni thought she looked very beautiful.

There was still nothing between the racing craft minutes later as they swung round the point of North Ireland island towards the south west. The pulsing done of the engines rose another notch as they sped out into the open ocean and maximum revs were called for.

Rebecca gripped the rail harder and braced her feet as the
Galatea
began to meet the heavier swell. She shouted cheerful insults across the water to their rivals, but her words were lost on the breeze.

A woman standing on the open fly bridge of the yacht on their port side shouted something back then stripped off her T-shirt and waved it defiantly. Rebecca laughed as she unlaced her own bikini top and held it aloft like a banner, exposing her naked breasts to the sun and air. She leant against the rail over the breaking bow wave with her arms spread wide, as though she had been transformed into a living figurehead for the
Galatea
.

The low hills of Bermuda shaded through blue and purple as they fell away behind the little fleet, swallowed up by the immensity of the ocean. The sight made Jeni shiver, though she was not sure why. She comforted herself with the thought that at least the morning's frantic preparations were behind them now.

 

At dawn, before their respective employers had stirred, she and Ash went ashore to prepare for the race. While Ash arranged for the delivery of extra fuel and engineering supplies, Jeni had, on his advice, laid in extra provisions. Though they only expected to be at sea for a day or so Ash would not be able to spend any time in the galley, and if the passage became rough Jeni might have trouble preparing meals. So she bought an assortment of ready-packed food and self-heating rations. Ash did not say so but Jeni suspected he also wanted to top up their supplies in case their engines failed for any reason and they were left stranded. Clearly he was not taking any chances with their safety, which Jeni found reassuring.

Back on board Ash supervised the stowage of the extra fuel in the lazarette, and then began checking over the engines. Jeni had just finished unpacking the provisions when Rebecca called her.

Her employer looked hung-over and needed two cups of black coffee before the colour returned to her cheeks. Jeni put her under a cold shower while she tidied the cabin. Devereaux also made his appearance about then, looking even worse than Rebecca. He blinked stupidly at Ash as he worked on the engines, as though surprised by the activity. Jeni supplied him with more coffee while Ash reminded him of the events of the previous night. Ash was evidently hoping he would feel too unwell to see the ill-considered wager through, but Devereaux appeared to pull himself together and managed a smile.

‘Thanks for getting her ready, Brad. Don't worry, we'll show them.'

At eleven-thirty Devereaux piloted the
Galatea
over to the start of the unofficial race a little way offshore. Several million pounds worth of seagoing luxury bobbed impatiently on the waves as the rival crews made ready. Onlookers in dinghies and motor launches circled round them, calling out encouragement or disparaging remarks according to their loyalties. Rebecca, now apparently completely recovered, appeared on deck. At first she draped herself playfully over Devereaux, but he was conversing urgently with Ash about tactics and courses, so she made her way to the bow where she could best see and be seen.

Jeni felt very small and insignificant in the midst of such a display of wealth and self-assurance. Imagine having the freedom and the nerve to change your plans in the space of twelve hours and set off on a race across almost half an ocean, she thought.

Then she was afflicted by a sudden nameless sense of foreboding. What was she doing here? Was this whole venture not simply foolish but dangerous? Well, even if it was it was too late to leave now, and nobody would change their plans for the likes of her. As always she was helplessly following along in the wake of those with more purpose and certainty of spirit than she possessed.

The seconds ticked away and the starting pistol cracked...

 

An hour passed and the racers gradually spread out across the ocean, due both to the slightly divergent courses they were following and as small differences in speed began to tell. Three of the yachts were falling behind the
Galatea
while one was slowly pulling ahead. Devereaux remained on the fly bridge while Ash was seated inside at the lower helm monitoring the gauges, his ear cocked for any change in the engine noise. Jeni took him some iced fruit juice, which he accepted gratefully, flashing her a reassuring smile.

‘They're holding up so far,' he said, nodding at the deck, below which the engines throbbed. ‘We've even got a little in reserve. I persuaded Mark to wait a while before going all out. I don't think the
Lady Delaware
, that's the boat we're chasing, can hold her rate of knots for too long.'

Jeni carried another glass of juice up to Devereaux, who took it with an absentminded nod, his eyes fixed on the distant form of the
Lady Delaware
halfway to the horizon. Swaying against the motion of trembling deck, Jeni took a third glass of juice forward to the bow, where Rebecca was still disporting herself. She was holding tightly on to the railing, as though riding the big yacht.

Rebecca downed the drink thirstily, then said loudly against the wind and hiss of water, ‘Bring me another. And I need more sun cream.'

Jeni returned shortly with the refill and a tube of cream. Rebecca turned her back to the bow rail and rested against it with her arms spread, so that Jeni could anoint the front of her torso where her skin had been reddened slightly by the sea spray. She waved up to Devereaux, who merely nodded back distractedly. With a frown she snapped, ‘Put plenty on my tits.'

As Jeni worked the cream into Rebecca's twin cones of pliant flesh she felt Rebecca's nipples harden in a brazen display of sensuous pleasure, and gave an inward shiver. How beautiful Rebecca was! Jeni realised Ash could also see her performing this menial yet intimate service for her mistress from the lower helm position, as Rebecca must know full well. But if the provocative gesture was intended to win Devereaux's attention it seemed to fail; his eyes did not stray from the boat in front of them.

When Jeni passed back through the saloon wiping cream from her hands, Ash raised a sardonic eyebrow but said nothing.

Not long afterwards Rebecca, apparently tiring of her perch on the bow with no rival now close enough to taunt and nobody paying her any attention, also returned aft. Jeni saw her coming from the galley. Rebecca had not bothered to cover her breasts and trailed her bikini top behind her. A little of the colour seemed to have drained from her cheeks. Jeni got some tablets out of the medicine locker and filled a tumbler with water. Rebecca made her way up to the fly bridge and Jeni heard the windblown murmur of an exchange with Devereaux, though she could not make out the actual words.

A minute later Rebecca descended and came back through the cockpit. Ash was in the lazarette supervising the transfer of reserve fuel to the main tank. Jeni saw Rebecca look down at him through the open deck hatch and paused, hands on hips, feet wide to steady herself against the swaying deck.

‘Can't you stop this boat rocking about so much?' she demanded. ‘It's making me feel sick.'

‘Not at this speed, Miss Lamont,' Ash replied, keeping his eyes firmly on his task. ‘You'll have to talk to Mr Devereaux about that. It's his race.'

Jeni watched Rebecca standing there, tight-lipped with frustration, and felt a slight pang of sympathy for her employer. Apart from the unsettling motion as the
Galatea
ploughed through the Atlantic swell, the throb of the engines at high revs filled the boat. Rebecca had enjoyed the fun of the start, but now that the race had become a test of endurance with only the empty ocean to look at, she was clearly beginning to regret accepting the wager.

Jeni came forward quickly. ‘These will help, miss,' she said, holding out the pills and tumbler. ‘Then perhaps I could give you a massage.'

Rebecca scowled, downed the pills, and flounced off to her cabin with Jeni trailing after her.

 

Jeni worked the knots of tension out of Rebecca's supine body as best she could, but the motion of the boat made her clumsy, which did little to improve Rebecca's mood. As she struggled to soothe her employer, Jeni thought again of the way she stood over the lazarette hatch. Despite her anger and discomfort, it was as though she had been deliberately flaunting herself in front of Ash. Did she take pleasure in taunting somebody she considered her inferior, or was her vanity manifesting itself through exhibitionism? Then again, the display might have been a means of asserting herself by intimidation. In all it spoke of a spiteful and self-centred character. But then that was something Jeni already knew. In fact, it was part of what had drawn her to Rebecca's employment.

 

All through the long afternoon the
Galatea
pressed on. The trailing yachts slipped further astern and were lost in the haze of the horizon. The
Lady Delaware
maintained her lead but drew no further ahead.

Rebecca stayed in her cabin refusing food and fighting down her seasickness. Jeni kept the men supplied with drinks and finger meals, and even found herself infected with a little of their excitement. If they were in a race then they might as well do their best to win, and Ash seemed hopeful they could overhaul the
Lady Delaware
during the night.

As evening fell, Devereaux came down from the fly bridge to take the lower helm. He and Ash worked out a watch rota between them. Jeni decided he possessed more determination than she had given him credit for, and suspected this show of resolve pleased Ash as well. It might have been a foolish wager, but at least he looked like seeing it through.

Night closed in about them and they sailed on under clear skies and a dusting of brilliant stars. They might have been alone on the ocean except for the blip on radar screen that marked the position of the race leader. Ever so slightly the gap between them was shortening.

The sea swell also seemed to have diminished, so Jeni took a light supper to Rebecca's cabin in the hope of getting her to eat something. Though her face was still pale Rebecca appeared to be a little better. She was sprawled on her bed mechanically leafing through a magazine.

‘I've got some food, miss,' Jeni said.

Without looking up, Rebecca said, ‘I'm not hungry.'

‘It would do you good to eat something. Perhaps you might change your mind later, miss,' Jeni added, putting the tray down on the bedside locker.

‘No, take it away!' Rebecca snapped, waving a hand at the tray. Her fingertip caught the rim of the glass of fruit juice, sending it tumbling to the floor. ‘Now look what you've made me do!' Rebecca accused angrily. ‘Clean it up at once.'

Jeni fetched a cloth from the bathroom locker, got down on her hands and knees beside the bed and began mopping up. As she did so she said, ‘Mr Devereaux hopes you're feeling better, miss. He said he's sorry he won't be joining you tonight, but he has to share watches with Mr Ash.'

Rebecca frowned. ‘Ash should be able to steer the boat himself. That's what he's paid to do.'

‘He has to rest sometime, miss,' Jeni said respectfully. ‘He must be getting very tired by now.'

Rebecca rolled over on the bed so she looked down at Jeni. ‘I don't care if he's tired,' she scowled, her indignation fuelled by discomfort and frustration.

Jeni flinched. ‘No, miss.'

‘And it's not your place to defend him, either.'