‘You didn’t see them go on board?’
‘I guess I wasn’t looking,’ she replies dismissively, and goes to fetch table nine’s rabbit spaghetti.
Tatiana arrives at nine-thirty the next morning, as though nothing had happened. She walks onto the terasa with her beach bag, waves at Sergio, who waves back, and marches past the breakfast tables to Mercedes.
‘You’re late,’ she tells her.
Mercedes draws herself up and regards her distantly. Donatella has coached her in the night. Her cold stare is perfect.
For a second – just a second – Tatiana falters. Then, ‘Oh, come on, what, Mercy? You’re not still on about that, are you? It was a joke, for God’s sake.’
‘Mercedes,’ she says. ‘My name is Mercedes.’ Anger has made her bold. I’m not your property, to name at your will. She meets Tatiana’s eye and holds her gaze. I won’t look down first. I won’t. Go to hell.
‘Whatever,’ says Tatiana.
Mercedes stands her ground.
The stand-off lasts a full minute. She counts the seconds, to occupy her mind. I’m not coming with you, she beams across the ether. We are not friends.
Tatiana’s gaze drops. She turns on her heel and walks back to her father’s yacht.
At half-past eleven, the car reappears. Only this time it doesn’t go to the boat. It stops at the Re del Pesce and Luna Micaleff gets out. He ignores the women and walks straight indoors.
‘Uh-oh,’ says Donatella.
‘Don’t,’ says Mercedes.
‘It’s okay,’ says Larissa. ‘I’ve got your back.’
Five minutes later, Luna Micaleff comes out and gets back into the car. They work on in the afternoon heat. An Aperol spritz. A Campari soda. Three beers. A gin and tonic. Who drinks alcohol in this heat? People with no work to do, of course.
Sergio comes out and calls her. ‘Mercedes? A word.’
She goes indoors. Larissa nods at Maria, at Donatella – take over my tables for me – and takes off her apron.
Sergio leans on the bar, his back to them. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says, ‘you go back. Nine a.m.’
‘No,’ says Larissa.
‘Yes,’ says Sergio.
‘I’m not having her near that girl,’ says Larissa.
‘You don’t have a choice,’ he replies.
‘Yes, I do. And so does she. She can find someone else to bully.’
Sergio turns round. His face is pale beneath his tan. ‘She signed a contract.’
Larissa makes a pfft sound.
He reaches over and holds up a wedge of paper. ‘Here. See?’
Larissa snatches the contract and rips it up. One, two, three, four. ‘See?’ she says back, into his face.
Sergio sighs. Bends to collect the shreds. ‘Don’t be stupid, Larissa. You all signed four copies.’
‘Well, what are they going to do? They can’t force her to go, can they?’