“Oh, I know,” said Harry. “No need to remind me. I just hope she won’t get into trouble again. Like last year, remember?”

  “Do I?” said Eric, also grinning widely now at the memory. “As if sparking a rivalry between two French teenagers wasn’t enough, she had to bring in a third one.”

  “Three young Frenchmen, all vying for her attention, organizing a competition to see who got to take her out. No wonder Mom and Dad thought about leaving her in Hampton Cove this year instead of bringing her along.”

  “I think it’s very hard to say no to your sister,” said Eric. “She has a way of getting what she wants.”

  Harry glanced at his friend. “I’m glad you and Chloe decided to ditch your plans to tour Italy this summer. Especially since this will give you a chance to get to know Emily.” When his friend didn’t respond, Harry frowned. “Everything all right, buddy?”

  Eric inclined his head. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but as your friend I feel it’s my duty.” He fixed Harry with a serious look. “Are you sure you’re not rushing into this marriage thing too quickly, Harry? I mean, how long have you known Emily? Three months? Four?”

  “Seven,” said Harry curtly.

  “Seven months. And already you’re talking marriage?”

  “What can I say, buddy? When you know, you know.”

  “But do you? Do you really? Know her, I mean?”

  “She’s the one for me, Eric. That’s all I need to know.”

  “What about her family? Her background? Her past? It’s just that…”

  “It’s just what? What are you saying?” said Harry, who was also frowning now, and didn’t look happy with his friend’s little speech.

  “Remember how we used to say we’d never allow ourselves to be tied down? How we wouldn’t be like our parents and get married young and maybe regret it for the rest of our lives?”

  “Emily is not my mom,” said Harry.

  “But how do you know? After seven months, how can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure. One hundred percent sure. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure, all right.” He suddenly turned on his friend. “Look, what is this really about? Why are you suddenly all ganging up on Emily like this?”

  “We’re not all ‘ganging up on Emily,’” said Eric.

  “Yeah, you are. Don’t you think I’ve heard the gossip?”

  “What gossip?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Eric!” he said with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Even my mom said my old friends are all hating on Emily.”

  “Your mom is mistaken. Nobody is hating on Emily.”

  “Yes, you are. And you don’t even know her.”

  “Okay, so maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she is the greatest person in the world, and the perfect bride for you. All I’m saying is maybe wait a little while before you allow her to tie you down.”

  “Nobody is tying me down, Eric!” said Harry, suddenly becoming vocal. “Look, I don’t need this, all right? You’re my best friend. I was hoping for a little support here. And instead I get the same crap from you I’m getting from my mom and dad.” He started to walk away.

  “Harry, I’m sorry,” said Eric, placing a hand on his friend’s arm.

  But Harry shrugged him off. “Just leave it. I should have known this was a mistake,” he bit out, and then he was gone.

  Eric stared after his friend, then hung his head.

  “That went well,” he muttered to himself. “Great job, Atkinson. Way to go.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Eric was feeling sorry for himself. If only he hadn’t mentioned Emily. He should have known better. Heck, he’d even told Chloe to be careful. Not to rock the boat and make things worse. But he just had to go and stir the hornet’s nest, didn’t he?

  And why? He knew Harry wouldn’t be swayed by the words of his friend. The guy was head over heels in love with that girl, and wasn’t listening to reason. The only thing Eric had gained by his intervention was to antagonize his friend. Now Harry would probably tell him to get lost, and he might never see him again.

  He dragged a hand through his hair, which snapped back into place the moment he had, thanks to the miracle of hair gel.

  The thought of Harry not being in his life was simply too much to bear. Ever since Eric had first become aware of the fact that the feelings he harbored for his best friend were deeper than mere friendship, he’d wrestled with this and wrestled something awful. There were times he felt he should confess to Harry how he really felt about him, but then wiser councils prevailed and he kept his tongue, realizing a confession might jeopardize a beautiful friendship.

  But lately, ever since Harry had started dating Emily, he felt that their friendship might have reached a terminal stage anyway, so why not go ahead and put the final nail in its coffin and make a clean breast of it? At least then he wouldn’t have to live with the regret of never having declared his undying love and devotion to the man.

  “Oh, Harry, Harry,” he murmured brokenly. “If only things were different…”

  Unbeknownst to Eric, there was a witness to his silent musings, and also to his conversation with Harry, which had been fraught with such unexpected rancor and acrimony. For behind him, across the deck, Kim had been listening intently, hidden behind the window of her cabin.

  She now let herself glide down along the wall, prey to violent turmoil. For just like Eric was the victim of his unrequited love for his best friend, so had Kim been in love with someone who seemingly didn’t even know she existed. The object of Kim’s affection was none other than Eric himself. Ever since she was old enough to experience feelings of romantic love, Kim had yearned for her brother’s best friend. And now, because of Emily, she might never see him again. For if Harry and Eric ended their friendship, that would also end the relationship she now enjoyed with the man she had loved from afar these many years.

  If only Eric would get rid of that horrible Chloe. Couldn’t he see what a scheming cow she was? Always gossiping and coming up with evil plans to bully this or that person. No, Chloe had to go. And as luck would have it, the same little scheme that would remove Emily from their lives forever, would also fix the Chloe conundrum.

  Now if only her plan would work…

  Still thinking about our recent encounter with Harry’s friends and sister, Dooley and I followed Frankie, who wasn’t deterred by this brief sojourn in the land of gossip, intrigue and scandal, and led us onto the top deck, also called the sun deck, where we found more of the Audrey’s inhabitants.

  “The Johnsons are great friends of Amanda and Steven,” Frankie explained. “Brian Johnson actually works for Steven in his company, and his wife Heather is Amanda’s best friend. They’ve known each other for years and are regular guests at these annual shindigs.”

  “What is it that Steven does, exactly?” I asked.

  Frankie took a deep breath. “Automotive electronics manufacturing. Don’t ask me what it is, exactly, but it has something to do with cars. And apparently his company is the world leader in whatever it is that he does, which makes him a very rich man indeed.”

  “He must be rich if he owns a boat like this,” said Dooley, who had been admiring the jacuzzi and the swimming pool which were also located on this top deck.

  Next to the pool, enjoying some sun, was a woman about Amanda’s age, with skin the color and texture of leather, dressed in a yellow polka dot bikini, a large pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. Next to her, a voluminous man sat tapping on his phone. Like her, he was deeply tanned. But unlike her, he was more of the bulbous variety, whereas his wife was thin as a rail. They seemed an incongruous pair, but then we all know that opposites attract.

  They were accompanied by a third person, a young woman of ravishing beauty with curly golden hair and creamy skin. She looked like a model. “So who is she?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s Sarah Dawson,” said Frankie. “She’s a royal.”

  Dooley and I stared at our new canine friend. “A royal?” I asked.

  “Royal as in the royal family?” asked Dooley.

  Frankie nodded. “She’s a member of the British royal family. Don’t ask me where exactly she fits into the whole constellation but she’s in there somewhere. Not the top tier, obviously, but she’s part of the firm, as they say. Presumably a cousin thrice removed, like your human is related to Emily,” she added with a wink.

  “Huh,” I said. Now I have to say we had met royals before, when we paid a visit to England in the recent past, and had even met members of the top tier, as Frankie called it. But this particular royal had never featured on my radar. Then again, the British royal family is vast and sprawling, with dozens or possibly even hundreds of members, so it wasn’t inconceivable one of them would have ended up being friends with the Griffiths and spending time on their yacht.

  Brian Johnson, meanwhile, was downing a glass filled with a colorful liquid. It may have looked like fruit juice, but I had the distinct impression that it wasn’t. His wife’s next words confirmed this view.

  “That’s your fifth cocktail, Brian,” she said a little snappishly, like a turtle who is having a bad day. “Maybe you should stop before you make a total fool of yourself again.”

  “So nice of you to keep count, Heather,” said Brian. “And to worry about my reputation.”

  “It’s not just your reputation,” she hissed. “If you fall overboard it reflects badly on me, too.”

  “I won’t fall overboard,” her husband promised. He had downed the final dregs of his cocktail and held up his empty glass. Out of nowhere a server appeared and relieved him of the glass. “Another one, please,” said Brian.

  “Brian!” Heather said. “What did I tell you?”

  But Brian merely shrugged. “Maybe you should try one. It might put you in a better mood.”

  “For crying out loud,” his wife said, then glanced at Miss Dawson, who was doing her darnedest to pretend she hadn’t heard the conversation.

  “I think I’m going to have another lie-down,” the minor royal now announced.

  “She does look a little faint,” Dooley commented. “Is she sick?”

  “She doesn’t have her sea legs yet,” Frankie said.

  Dooley’s eyes dropped down to the woman’s legs, which were shapely, I had to admit. “Why would she need sea legs?” he asked. “And what are sea legs, anyway?”

  “It means she isn’t accustomed to being on a boat yet,” I explained. When he merely stared at me, I added, “She gets seasick.”

  “Oh!” said my friend. “Well, I get seasick.”

  “You don’t get seasick,” I said.

  “Yes, I do. When I see the sea I feel sick. Especially when I think about how thin the hull on this thing is, and how deep the sea is.”

  I shivered at his words. “Please don’t remind me,” I said in a pained voice. “I was just starting to forget we’re on a boat.”

  “It’s easy to forget you’re on a boat, isn’t it?” said Frankie. “Especially a boat as nice as this one.”

  “The trick is not to look at the sea,” Dooley revealed. “As long as you look down at the deck, and not up at the sky, or at the horizon, it’s fine. You can trick your mind into thinking you’re on terra firma.”

  We both looked at him admiringly. “Discovery Channel?” I ventured.

  “Gran,” he said. “When she heard Odelia was traveling to the South of France to stay on a boat and that she was thinking about taking us with her, she told me to say no. Cats need to be on terra firma, she said.”

  “When did you talk to Gran?” I asked, much surprised.

  “She called Marge when she arrived,” said Dooley. “Said Dick’s yacht was everything she had hoped it would be and more.”

  “Who’s Gran?” asked Frankie. “And who’s Dick?”

  And so we explained to her that we weren’t the only members of our family who had traveled to the French Riviera, but that Odelia’s grandmother was also staying on a yacht somewhere in the vicinity. Though last time I heard she wasn’t in Saint-Tropez but was cruising along the coast somewhere, having a ball. And maybe that was a good thing, too, for she just might blow our cover if she was in Saint-Tropez.

  Sarah Dawson’s announcement that she was returning to her cabin had been greeted with kindly words of encouragement from the Johnsons, and when she had left, Heather said, “Poor girl. Imagine having to stay on a boat and being sick all the time.”

  “There’s pills she could take,” said Brian as he accepted his sixth cocktail from the able-handed server and immediately quaffed greedily and deeply, imbibing half of its contents in mere seconds.

  “She’s taking them,” said Heather. “But she said they’re not helping.”

  “Then she shouldn’t have come,” said Brian. “I mean, who in their right mind spends their vacation on a boat if they know it’s going to make them sick? That’s just stupid.”

  “She didn’t know she was going to be sick, did she? And it’s probably because she’s a royal. They’re very sensitive, these royals. Like the princess and the pea. They feel everything more intensely than the rest of us mere mortals.”

  “Oh, dear God,” said Brian, and downed the remainder of his drink.

  CHAPTER 15

  After saying goodbye to the Johnsons, Sarah wended her way back to her cabin. She hadn’t lied when she said she wasn’t feeling well. It might be the sun, or the fact that she was on a boat, but the slight feeling of nausea she had been contending with ever since she arrived simply would not go away. It was so annoying. She had wanted to swim and work on her tan and enjoy the great company on board but instead she was spending all of her time in her cabin.

  Amanda had sent for a doctor, and he had prescribed her a stronger version of the seasickness medicine she had brought along just in case. A member of Amanda’s staff had been sent to fetch the stuff from a pharmacy in Saint-Tropez, and Sarah hoped it would do the trick and make her feel right as rain again.

  On her way back to her cabin, she passed Matthew, who was Steven Griffiths’s secretary. She inclined her head in greeting as they passed each other in the corridor, then she opened the door with her key and entered. Much to her satisfaction she found the medication on her nightstand, accompanied by a couple of pink peonies in a vase and a card that read, ‘Get well soon!’ So very thoughtful of Amanda. So very kind.

  She downed a tablet with some water, closed her eyes and dropped down on the bed.

  Matthew Brown was in search of that elusive but highly sought-after commodity: a place where he could conduct a phone call without being overheard. He secretly suspected his employer of having bugged his room, since Steven’s fight against corporate espionage had been kicked up a notch in recent months. So if he wanted to talk to his contact in private, he needed to find a place where neither crew members nor family members could listen in.

  And he thought he might have found such a place when he arrived at the very aft of the ship and glanced left and right, then down. No one. He was all alone. All he could see from where he was standing was the vast expanse of the Mediterranean. He relaxed, and took out his phone.

  Moments later the call connected. “Yeah, I’m getting close,” he announced. “Just a couple more days and I should have something for you.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Look, I’m sorry it’s taking so long, but I have to be careful. You have to understand it’s not easy to—” Suddenly he thought he heard a noise, and he looked up. And as his eyes rose along the stern of the ship to the deck above his, he suddenly caught sight of Emily King, who stood idly gazing out across the sea. He swallowed with difficulty, whispered, “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to call you back,” and quickly disconnected.

  Just at that moment Emily looked down, and their eyes met. He gave the woman a feeble smile, raised his hands in a half-hearted salute, and removed himself from the scene. As he did, he almost stumbled over a fat, red cat, who sat staring up at him for some reason.

  He hurried off, wondering how much Emily could have heard.

  But more importantly: did she suspect? Did she know?

  And even more importantly: would she tell?

  Emily watched Steven’s secretary’s departure with interest. The man was behaving strangely. And he clearly hadn’t wanted her to listen in on his conversation. But then she put Matthew Brown and his odd behavior firmly out of her mind. She had bigger fish to fry. Ever since arriving on board she had felt ill at ease. Not that people weren’t friendly to her. On the contrary. Amanda had gone out of her way to make her feel welcome, and so had Steven. But whenever Amanda thought she wasn’t looking, the woman’s expression darkened, and there was a definite coldness in her eyes.

  But it wasn’t just Amanda. Emily couldn’t shake the feeling that she was an intruder. An outsider who had arrived in the middle of a group of people who had known each other for years, and who had developed an easygoing friendship and a way of associating with each other that made her feel quite like the odd one out.

  The only person with whom she felt at ease was Harry. And since Harry was all that mattered, she tried not to let the rest of the gang get to her. The fact that one of them had pinned that note to her pillow told her that someone hated her with a passion. She just hoped that Odelia would be able to figure out who it was, for right now she suspected everyone. From Amanda and Steven to Eric and Chloe, to Harry’s sister Kim and even the Johnsons—Brian and Heather. One of them must be behind this sick game, but who?

  She wandered away from the stern of the ship and in the direction of the pool, possibly her favorite area. She saw to her elation that both the pool and the jacuzzi were empty, and decided to take a swim. It might settle her nerves and make her feel more relaxed.

  But as she started to remove her T-shirt, suddenly a voice behind her spoke. “Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a killer body?”