Page 48 of Deep Blue Lies
I don’t know what to say to this. I feel almost foolish that I don’t know these basic things about myself. But there’s something about his reaction, like this surprises him, but not in the way I expected it to.
“Mum doesn’t mention…” I go on. “In the diary, she doesn’t say she was pregnant. She doesn’t give birth on the day I was supposed to be born.” It sounds so strange saying this out loud, it sounds like a secret I should be keeping. But if I don’t ask these questions I’ll never know. “I know this sounds crazy, but was she? Pregnant, I mean? Could she have been?”
Simon laughs out loud at this, showing teeth that look too white. When he regains his composure he leans forward, putting the cup back on the table. “No. There’s no way your mum was pregnant at the ADR. Not when I was with her. You don’t have to worry about that.” He watches me again, his blue eyes probing into mine.
I sort of do though.
“She also mentioned,” I say, picking up my cup, “this one time, when she’d been drinking.” I take a sip of my coffee, trying to build up to this. “That maybe my birthday wasn’t my birthday. That maybe it was really later.”
Simon cocks his head at this, then gives a crooked grin. “Well, I guess that explains it. Mystery solved.” I don’t know if he’s joking and meaning the opposite. I’m still confused.
“Except – I don’t know when. Nor why she would lie about my birthday. My passport has the date of birth I know.” I take a breath. “I think that’s what I was hoping you might be able to help with. That you might know something about it?”
Simon shakes his head, then goes further, letting the action merge into a somewhat offhand shrug. “No. Nope. Sorry. I’ve no idea.”
I feel frustrated, but I can’t give up yet.
“You said you saw her in London, after the ADR closed. Whatwas that about, did she say anything then that…I don’t know, might help me?”
He pauses a moment, but shakes his head again. “I was just between jobs. I thought I’d look her up, see if there was still anything between us.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “You know, romantically. But there wasn’t. Not for either of us.”
“This is a crazy question, I know,” I press him. “But are you sure she didn’t have a baby? Could she have had one, but not with her when you met?”
“I suppose that’s possible. It seems unlikely, and I don’t see why she’d hide it. But… how would I know?” He seems to have tired of the topic, and his eyes go to my cup, now empty. “How about we have that tour? Have you been on a boat like this before?” He jumps up, before I have time to answer. He takes my cup from me and puts it down.
“Don’t worry about that, Terry’s got it. The man lives to clean up.”
FORTY-EIGHT
We start the tour at the helipad, which Simon tells me is large enough for a medium-sized helicopter, such as a Leonardo AW139, or a Eurocopter EC155. It’s information I don’t know what to do with.
“Is he here?” I ask, “The owner?”Whoever that is.
“You wouldn’t be here if he was,” Simon replies, his eyebrows raised again. “But don’t worry. He hardly ever turns up unexpected.” We come to the jacuzzi, a little smaller than I might have imagined.
“Looks small right? But press this button here, and the whole platform slides out over the sea, so you can look down and wave at the fishies.” He grins at me. “We’re not allowed to operate it here in port, but…” His finger lingers over the button, like he wants to break the rule. “Better not.” He turns away. “Here we have an observation lounge, telescope, night-vision binoculars blah blah blah.” We come to some stairs, and Simon leads the way down.
“This is the Upper Deck, which I cannot show you.” He pauses, and turns so that I can glimpse in through closed glass doors. I can’t see much inside, but there seems to be a grand piano. “It has a pair of VIP suites up towards the bow, but most of it is theowner’s personal area. Not even I’m allowed in, not without good reason.” We keep walking down.
“Who is the owner?” I ask, following on behind.
“Technically it’s more of a what than a who,” he says, turning to enjoy the look this brings onto my face.
“He’s a Russian, named Leonid Antonov. He’s in oil, shipping, defence contracts, that sort of thing. But since the war in Ukraine it hasn’t been easy for the Russians. A lot of their toys have been confiscated. Assets frozen, yachts seized. Even had to give back their football clubs. But Antonov has Bulgarian roots, so he’s got away with it. AndCelestialherself is owned by a shell company based out in the Cayman Islands, which’ll protect her, even if the sanctions get tougher.” He stops suddenly. “But don’t get the wrong idea.”
“What wrong idea?”
“Russian oligarch, an actual superyacht. You’re thinking he’s a gangster, Putin’s poodle, pushing people out of windows – that sort of thing?”
I shrug lightly. “I suppose it crossed my mind.”
Simon shakes his head. “He’s more complicated than that. This is more complicated.” For a second he stares into my eyes. Then we step off the stairs, into an absurdly large space.
“Main Deck. We call this the Grand Salon. Can you see why?”
I look around. It’s like being in a museum. Everything is marble, or gold. Or gold marble. We walk past a gigantic dining table, the largest I’ve ever seen.
“Up here is the main pool. Beyond that the cinema, the whisky bar.”
