'Puzzled'

Episode 41 - Muchness

Chapter Five  ‘You're just like in my dreams,

Like in my albums,

Where I drew your face with gouache...’

- From the song Search, lyrics by Zemfira[1]

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[1] Zemfira - Russian rock musician. She has been performing since 1998 and has been popular in Russia and other former Soviet republics. To date Zemfira has sold over 3 million records.

Episode 41 - MuchnessYacht ‘Rosalinda’, Saint-Tropez, France, 29 December

My face flaming, my heart racing, I run into the salon, grab the glass of Campari from the table and gulp it down. I must calm myself down before Monsieur Moreau sees me! I dash to the lower deck and bump right into him, almost knocking him down. 

'Are you all-right?' he asks in bewilderment.

'Yes, I think I’m,' I blurt out and dart into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

Turning the tap on, I bend over the sink and splash cold water on to my face. But my attempts bring no result. My face is blushed as ever; my heart's still racing madly.

I straighten up and throw a look around the bathroom. My eyes stop on the shower cabin. I pull the sweater off, turn the shower on and stick my head under the stream of icy cold water, feeling instantaneous relief.

Hearing a knock on the door, I turn the shower off and listen. The water running down my face drips onto my shoulders and chest.

'Monsieur Luke, are you all-right?' Monsieur Moreau asks, his voice muffled by the door.

'Yes, all is well,' I respond, plucking a towel from the shelf.

He falls silent for a moment.

Quickly, I dry my hair with the towel, pull the sweater back on and unlock the door. In the doorway, startled, Monsieur Moreau stands. 

'Voila, ' I say, smoothing down my hair, 'Just freshened myself up a bit ... '

'Yes, I see,' he replies, giving me a scrutinising look, 'hope you feel better now.'

I nod.

'Well, come have something to eat, then.'

We go back to the salon and into the dinette. On the table, amidst crystal glasses and porcelain plates, as if a celestial body landed from outer space, a box with a huge pizza lies.

'Monsieur Moreau, I had no idea you are into pizzas,' I say, taking my seat.

'Well, mon ami, I believe certain occasions call for certain food,' he replies, opening a bottle of red wine.

'Agreed,' I nod.

'To your ‘first date’!' he says, raising his glass.

'By the way, Monsieur Moreau, do you know who's the owner of that black yacht, the one anchored opposite ‘Rosalinda’? I ask, taking a sip from my glass.

'Do you mean the yacht that Gaspard's come to check on this morning?' he asks, putting a slice of pizza on my plate.

'Yes.'

'As far as I know, it belongs to the son of the Ambassador of the United Arab Emirates – Mohammed Al Murshidi.'

'Never thought that sons of ambassadors can afford such yachts,' I reply, starting on my pizza.

'My dear Luke, it isn't a matter of being in the diplomatic elite, it's a matter of money.'

'Is he a relative of the sheik Mohammed, then?' I ask, surprised.

'No, I don't think so. Besides sheik Mohammed wealth, there is enough richness out there. I'd say even muchness of it ... '

'But Monsieur Moreau, is there such a thing as much-richness?' I say.

'Oh, yes, there is, very much so. That's when "much-richness" becomes too much to bear.'