'Puzzled'

Episode 38 - An Invite

Episode 38 - An InviteYacht ‘Boreas’, Saint-Tropez, France, 29 December

Opulence of Mohammed’s yacht stuns me but can’t hide the lack of imagination and taste of its owner from me. I feel as if being on board of an expensive yet faceless hotel ship.

Though flattered by Mohammed's attention and willingness to showcase his status symbol to me, I find myself unimpressed with it. In my career as a journalist I've seen many a yacht like his. Bored, but not wishing to hurt his pride with my indifference, I respond politely to his excited utterances and explanatory comments.

Fortunately, oblivious to my inner struggle, his eyes sparkling, he keeps showing me numerous en-suite cabins and rooms of his naval ‘palace’.

My eyes gliding over polished, gleaming surfaces of his yacht, I search for something that could help me channel our conversation into more emotionally engaging communication. But find nothing: not a photograph, not a single piece of art, not even a book.

Finally, I give up and think that perhaps a walk around the picturesque village of Saint-Tropez will lift up my spirits, and I'll soon forget all about my visit to ‘Boreas’.

'I'd like to ask something of you.' Mohammed addresses me.

'Yeah?' I reply absentmindedly.

'I'm throwing a New Year's Eve party here, on my yacht ... ' he says.

'Splendid idea,’ I reply, thinking of the impending walk.

'Glad, you think so. I'd be delighted if you could attend it.'

'Yes, of course,’ I agree.

'Perfect! Here, take it,' he says, handing me an envelope.

'Thank you,' I say, putting it into my handbag, 'And what's this?'

'An invitation to the party.'

'Oh, yes, of course!' I say with a laugh.

His mobile rings.

'I have to take it, I'm afraid,' Mohammed throws and disappears into one of the rooms.

I go out on to the deck and light up a cigarette. Smoking, I flick my eyes over the neighbouring yachts. The one, anchored right opposite ‘Boreas’, a name ‘Rosalinda’ written on its board, catches my attention. How poetic: a yacht-flower, I think, gazing at it, admiring, wondering what kind of a man owns it and why he has chosen the name ‘Rosalinda’ for it.

A man in a white sweater comes out of the glass doors on to the yacht’s deck. Not wishing to appear curious, I turn away and pretend to study radar installations on the roof of the ‘Boreas’.