Gemma Makes Her Mark, page 16
She brought the drinks over and gave him a quick hug.
‘Let’s take them up on to the deck, get some fresh air and have a cig.’
The night air was cool rather than cold and the lights of Dubrovnik sparkled across the bay, contrasting with the dark outline of the island of Lokrum from the other side of the ship, she could never remember which was port and which starboard.
Gemma put her arm through Mark’s. Lighting a cigarette, she heard Boy George’s distinctive voice begin the lyrics of ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ How appropriate, and that bastard really had, or certainly had intended to. She’d make sure it was the other way around before they left tomorrow.
‘Come on Mark, let’s go back to the cabin.’
This was proving easier than she’d imagined, although the whole thing was also tainted with an unmistakeable air of depression. It should never have come to this. Mark really looked and sounded quite ridiculous when drunk; what had she seen in him and how had she managed to waste the last two years? Actually that was rather unfair, the sad thing was that there had been some good times and Mark wasn’t such a bad guy to have met, but it was never going to be forever for her. In any case that was a little beside the point: this all needed to be sorted out, now wasn’t the time for any detailed self-analysis or recrimination. While hardly seeing herself as fatalistic, Gemma liked to believe that things happened for a reason. She didn’t regret it all, but he was the one who messed everything up; they could have just moved on without any hassle if he hadn’t been such a thieving bastard.
Gemma pushed Mark onto his bed, there wasn’t much room to go anywhere else anyway. Although still limited for space, at least Mark had managed to book one of the bigger cabins with twin beds. There was just about room for a chair and two built-in cupboards, which was a good deal more than some of the other cabins she’d glanced into.
‘Ok Mark let’s have some fun on our last night aboard.’
She took off his tie and undid his shirt. Normally that would have been the signal for him to try and take control but he looked pretty wrecked this time. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to grin and bear it. She unzipped his trousers and pulled them down over his legs and ankles. She realised that the way Mark was it should be easy enough to check out his luggage without waiting for him to give things away. Pulling his socks off she moved her hand up his legs and into his somewhat passé Y-fronts. It was fairly obvious he wouldn’t be up to anything for the time being at least. Gemma kissed him on the lips, pulled the blanket over his virtually inert frame and whispered that she would put his clothes in his case ready for tomorrow.
There was no response. Gemma hadn’t really taken a lot of notice of the large suitcase Mark had brought with him. Only now did it strike her as excessive for the limited clothing he seemed to have with him. She gave him another kiss to check and, somewhat unnecessarily given his state, whispered for him to lie back and wait for her. Her mind was clear and it felt good to be back in control. She wasn’t happy that she’d let Mark get as far as he had, and as close as he had to ripping her off; she’d taken her eye off things. Even though he was well away she had to make sure that when Mark did come round he assumed they’d just crashed out together. She needed to be quick and then get back into his bed and drape herself around him.
Fifty-plus grand would amount to a fairly decent sized package and he’d have had to take some care getting it out of the country, although to be fair it was rare to get much attention from HM Customs when leaving, and probably especially when on a cruise ship. It must be in the suitcase lining somewhere, the classic hiding place. She’d have to get to it and fill any space left with something – maybe a couple of her magazines would do. Gemma had noticed there was an empty cabin just down their corridor, it had been used by an elderly couple who’d left the cruise a couple of days before in Italy. For no particular reason apart from nosiness, she’d looked in earlier that evening when passing. She’d been surprised it was left open but then there was nothing in it and everyone else had their own cabins so there wasn’t any need for security. She put her face to Mark’s and murmured that she’d be joining him soon; he was well away still. Quickly she pulled the case from under his bed and across the corridor to the empty cabin, smaller than theirs with bunk beds and just about room to manoeuvre. Just as she’d expected, a tear in the side of the lining and her money neatly packed away in large envelopes. He hadn’t even bothered to sew the lining back – typical of his arrogance, no doubt; he really did think he was invincible. Gemma pulled the money out, put it all into a carrier bag and stuffed her magazines back between the outside of the case and the lining.
With Mark’s suitcase safely back under his bed and his planned escape route and strategy now securely hidden in her own smaller travel bag she got in next to him. She could arrange getting the money back home in due course; probably through some kind of bank transfer which she’d have to check out in Dubrovnik before flying home. That was the least of her concerns; she still had tomorrow to deal with Mark. With the adrenalin still flowing she couldn’t sleep. In fact, the whole thing had made her quite horny and she tried briefly but unsuccessfully to get him to respond; maybe she’d try again in the morning – after all, she was in charge now, so why not? It would help keep him off-guard, too. He was always easier to deal with after sex.
Wednesday 3 November 1982
Gemma woke from a fitful sleep just after seven. She could just make out a wintry sun already beginning to catch the higher parts of the old city. She checked again that she’d put Mark’s case, and her own travel bag, away inconspicuously and leaned across to wake him up.
‘That was a good night, we really went for it, are you okay?’
Mark sat up abruptly and soon oriented himself. It had always surprised him that he never had much trouble getting up. Probably his time in prison made that inevitable: the morning roll-call hadn’t allowed any time for luxuriating in bed.
‘Wow, yes, that was great, you were great, we were great from what I can remember. Mind you, I could do with some water pretty quickly, think I rather overdid it.’
Gemma could see that he really had no idea. That would make it easier to keep his fantasy going.
‘Let’s go down to the breakfast bar and get an early start, may as well make the most of our last day, we can catch the first tender across to the city. It’s strange to think that we’ll be back home tonight, or early tomorrow at least. And by the way I read somewhere that a decent cooked breakfast is the best cure for any sort of hangover.’
Their flight was scheduled to leave just after 10 that evening and it was only a couple of hours or so back to Gatwick.
She gave Mark a quick kiss, decided to give a final bit of pointless sex with him a miss, and hurried him into his clothes. She didn’t want to give him time to check his luggage before they set off for the day.
‘We can go across to Lokrum and still get back to the ship early afternoon, in good time to collect our stuff and head to the airport – I found out there’s a few of us getting the same flight so we can sort out sharing taxis later.’
It was essential Mark didn’t take or even check his suitcase before they left the Uganda for Dubrovnik and then the trip to Lokrum. She left her own case as well, now with her money safely stashed away in it, and just grabbed a small shoulder bag; she told him she could take anything he needed for the morning with her. Although she didn’t like leaving the money there, it would look odd carrying a suitcase on their brief excursion to the island. Anyway, it would be safe enough locked in their cabin.
Gemma knew she had to get rid of the money before they left Dubrovnik later; it shouldn’t be too much of a problem depositing it at the post office and hopefully sorting a transfer to her account back home. Maybe she’d pop into the post office before they got the ferry to Lokrum and check out what she could do; then return later in the day on the way to the airport with the cash. She’d think of some excuse to do a bit of shopping or something after they docked at the old city and before heading over to Lokrum; probably leave Mark in a café for half an hour or so. At the moment she reckoned she could get him to do just about anything. He was even giving the impression that he thought he’d won her back – bloody idiot, and bloody typical of him, she thought. For now it was important to keep focused on what Mark had actually done; in due course he needed to know she had sussed him out and he hadn’t got away with it.
***
After a quick breakfast, they managed to get the first taxi boat of the day, along with a few of the Uganda’s crew who generally went to whatever port they were visiting early in the day to stock up on provisions for the next stage of the cruise. The majority of the passengers usually tended to take a leisurely, and typically pretty heavy, breakfast and leave the ship mid-morning. As it was, they docked at the old port just after nine, with the city itself coming to life and preparing for the day ahead. Miguel, the Spanish chef, helped Gemma up on to the quayside with an appreciative glance at her tight jeans. It was never too early in the day for him to flirt.
‘I’m going to miss your smile, you know. It’s so nice to have some young people on the boat, and some pretty ones too. Have a good day.’
Gemma gave him a quick hug, she couldn’t help feeling she would and that things would work out.
‘I reckon I will, Miguel. You take care too.’
She grabbed Mark’s hand and headed to one of the little quayside cafes, more a kiosk than café really but with a couple of chairs set next to a small metal table at the front.
‘Look Mark why don’t you get yourself a coffee or something, I’ve got a little last-minute shopping, souvenirs for a couple of friends, I’ll only be half an hour at most then we’ll get the ferry across to the island.’
***
As the ferry pulled out from the harbour and headed for the island, Gemma settled back to run things over in her mind. Fortunately the money hadn’t proved to be too much of a problem. The counter clerk at the post office didn’t seem fazed by her asking if she could deposit and then transfer the cash; it would be open until six o’clock as well, which would give her plenty of time to get back to the ship again to collect her bags and the money. The clerk assured her that it might even be in her account when she got back home. Surprisingly it had all seemed a good deal more straightforward and civilised than she imagined it would have been in England.
There weren’t many on their particular ferry to Lokrum. An elderly couple, dressed in matching khaki, explorer-type outfits, two single men both equipped with binoculars, presumably planning to examine some particular inhabitants or species found on the island and a youngish lad who seemed to know the crew and might just have been along for the boat trip. It was November, of course, and although bright was also quite cold. They were on the Skala, which along with the Zrinski was one of the two city-owned boats that made the regular trips between the port and Lokrum. Both it and its crew of two weather-beaten, and presumably local, men looked as if they’d been doing the journey for years. As it motored through the channel between their cruise ship and the nearside shore of Lokrum, Gemma snuggled up to Mark. No harm in keeping him unaware and occupied. She could see he was contented and wondered for a fleeting moment whether perhaps he had changed his mind, and even if she might have somehow got it wrong. He’d even told her over breakfast that last night had made him realise how much he wanted her back. Anyway, that was his look out. She put the thought out of her mind: he’d tried to rip her off, there was no way she wanted him and, even if she had, she’d never have trusted him again. Once a manipulative bastard always one, she figured.
They moored at the little jetty toward the south end of the island. The small snack bar gave the appearance of being open, the tables and chairs were set out for business although there was no one around, and no sign of any waiter. Gemma suggested they walk up to the middle of the island where the now deserted monastery was and then over to Lokrum’s own little Dead Sea. They had been told it was a natural and quite deep salt-filled lake that was easy enough to swim in.
‘I love swimming but it’s probably too cold to do that today, still we can have a look and then get something to eat when we come back, if anyone actually appears to serve us.’
She found her thought processes going into overdrive when Mark replied that he had never really liked or been any good at swimming anyway.
They set off on the well-marked path to the former Benedictine monastery. There had only been the one ferry trip so far that morning and as Gemma and Mark headed out across the island it felt as if they were the only ones there; the silence was quite eerie, almost palpable. The path wound up through a mass of shrubbery and small trees that had mostly lost their foliage. At this time of year, the deserted monastery could be seen from a few hundred yards away; no doubt in the spring and summer it would have been quite hidden until actually stumbled upon. They walked through the cloisters, which unlike most of the monastery had remained pretty much unchanged, and had a quick look at the overgrown gardens and courtyard before following a helpfully positioned if slightly decrepit signpost to Mrtove More, the local name for the Dead Sea.
It only took a few more minutes to reach. As it came into view they were both taken aback: it was a stunning sight even on a chilly autumnal day, and it just didn’t seem to fit the rest of the island. It resembled, almost, a mini resort but carved out of the ground. There was a small sort of beach area near where the path had ended and some flat rocks to each side but the sea itself was still and very dark. Across from the would-be beach, and on the other side of the lake, there were steep rocks forming a small cliff, probably little more than thirty yards away, with the water lapping gently against them. It was a clear, bright day and they could make out the Adriatic Sea beyond the far side of the island itself. It would have been the ideal place to while away a summer’s day.
‘Wow, this is pretty smart.’
Gemma flinched, why did Mark have to adopt some kind of American lilt for no obvious reason? It was time to confront him. She knew she couldn’t keep things bottled up much longer.
‘Let’s wander round to the other side, it looks like we’ll get a good view from over there; apparently the water’s so deep that people can dive off those rocks in the summer.’
Gemma wasn’t certain why she had suggested that, they certainly weren’t planning to go swimming. It just seemed like the right place to sort things out. In any case Mark seemed happy enough to let her take the lead.
‘Sure, it’s lovely here, not that I’m planning any swimming; like I said, it’s not really my thing anyway.’
Once they had scrambled round to the rocks overhanging the far side of the lake, Gemma launched into it.
‘Listen Mark, do you think I’m some kind of bloody idiot? I know that you’ve ripped me off, you bastard, and obviously have no intention of coming back to England tonight or even at all. Just what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’
She hadn’t said she had already found and taken the money; that could come later. She could see his shock at first and then, almost immediately and if she hadn’t known him better almost imperceptibly, his desperate search for an excuse.’
‘What do you mean? I’d do anything to stay with you Gemma, you know that. I thought we might work things out between us. It’s been great these last few days.’
‘Look Mark, stop clutching at straws, I’ve checked the bank accounts, you’ve taken something like fifty thousand pounds from our account, if not more, and presumably brought it with you to start some kind of new life or God knows what. But whatever the hell it is, you’ve certainly ripped me off; and don’t come up with some pathetic sort of denial, you’re the only one who could have withdrawn that money, and in any case the bank told me it was you.’
She wanted to keep him guessing; and to see him try to squirm his way out of things. She could almost feel his brain grinding into damage limitation mode.
‘Okay Gemma, yes I did withdraw that money, but only because I deserved it and if you were going to ditch me I wanted to make sure I wasn’t left with nothing. And anyway, I haven’t done anything with it, I promise, in fact now we’re getting on I really want us to stay together and give things another go. I’d never actually take it if we had a chance of staying together. I love you, you know.’
Even though Gemma knew she was one step ahead, she was finding it difficult to stay calm and control her anger. She folded he arms to stop herself trembling and looked him in the eye.
‘So where is the money then, Mark?’
‘Well I’ve just stashed it away at home so we can talk things through when we get back.’
That was it, so much for his sudden pretence of decency and honesty – qualities which were obviously beyond him. She couldn’t keep the charade going any longer.
‘No way Mark, you’re a fucking liar, you better give me that money back now; and if you mess around I’ll grass you up about Anne’s murder, you know I could, there’s nothing to pin anything on me except your word. I’ll bloody ruin you, again, you arrogant bastard.’
Mark was disconcerted and rattled, his panic fighting a desperation to come up with a plausible explanation.
‘What do you mean give it back now? I haven’t got it here, have I? And as I said I bloody deserve it for all I’ve done for you.’
It was clear Mark was going to hang in there with his excuses. Enough was enough.
‘Okay Mark, let’s stop messing around. I know exactly what you’ve done. I’ve already taken the money from the lining of your stupid enormous suitcase and transferred it all back to an account in my name only. It didn’t have to be like this, you know; I actually used to quite like you. Anyway I’m going back to Dubrovnik, you can get back yourself and then you can go where the fuck you like.’
