Page 132 of The Island of Lost Girls

‘I say,’ says Matthew. ‘I fancy some pistachios.’

Mercedes nods. Of course we have pistachios, just lying about in case you want them.

‘What a good idea,’ says the prince. ‘I’ll have some too.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ she says.

‘Yeah, and me,’ says the hairy film producer. She nods politely. ‘Feeling a bit protein-depleted,’ he says, and the men laugh uproariously.

Three little dishes, and three empty ones for shells, or they’ll be turning up in the gaps between the paving stones for months. Not my problem any more. She loads them onto a tray, then adds more, because it’s all monkey-see, monkey-do with these people. She feels strangely light, almost high. Can feel the future coming up towards her.

The girls sit in a row with their feet in the pool. Wei-Cheng has a big purple bruise on her thigh and Hanne keeps reaching round to the back of her neck and straining, as though she’s trying to clunk something out.

The actor looks at his little dish as though she’s just farted on it.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he says.

Tatiana looks up indifferently, looks away again without asking what’s wrong. Jason Pettit glares at her.

‘Take them away,’ he says. ‘Did I ask for them? No. Well, take them away. Are you trying to kill me?’

Mercedes puts the dish back on the tray and gives him her sweetest smile. ‘I wouldn’t mind, sir,’ she says.

Wei-Cheng shouts with laughter. Shuts herself up when she realises that she is the only one. Mercedes throws her a conspiratorial smile. She takes the rejected nuts over to them and gets sunny smiles of thanks, while the actor goggles as though he’s been slapped.

Hanne has a pattern of small bruises across her neck and shoulders. As though someone’s gripped her there, roughly. She turns to look at her hostess, and the movement is cramped, careful. ‘Hey, Tatiana?’ she calls. ‘Where’s Gemma?’

Tatiana doesn’t look up. ‘Gone,’ she says.

‘Gone?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Gone where?’

‘My dear,’ says Tatiana, ‘I have no idea and I care even less.’

But she’s left her passport, thinks Mercedes. Where can she have gone without her passport? Her light mood vanishes.

‘She got a better offer,’ says Matthew Meade.

‘Better offer?’ Sara looks appalled.

‘I know, right?’ says Tatiana.

The girls exchange glances.

‘Well, to be fair,’ says Bruce Fanshawe, ‘there was serious money here last night. I guess she got an offer even you couldn’t match.’

‘Well, she’s not getting any of mine, that’s for sure,’ says Tatiana.

‘Oh, God,’ says Wei-Cheng, ‘why does that sort of thing never happen to me?’

You don’t want it to, thinks Mercedes. You don’t. I’ve a good idea where she’s gone to and you don’t want to follow.

‘And after all that blubbing,’ says Sara. ‘Who’d go with that, for God’s sake?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says the actor. ‘That sort of thing can have its appeal.’