Vanity. Lucy Lord
pines to palms and bougainvillea, was lit up with fairy lights, and candles in jewel-hued Moroccan glasses illuminated every path.
It was all breathtaking, but what really made it, in Sam’s eyes at least, was the pool. It actually went all the way around the house, like an enormous turquoise moat, with waterfalls gushing down in stages from the back, where it was higher up the hill – and according to Bella, the coolest place to escape the fierce midday heat. At the front, the infinity pool seemed to stretch right to the edge of the cliff. Sam, who’d come up from the beach with the others after dark, imagined that in daylight it would be difficult to know where the pool stopped and the sky or sea began. In the middle of the pool was an island with a bar on it, and three palm trees, now silhouetted gracefully against the horizon.
The view, even at night-time, was phenomenal. Bella had told her you could see Formentera from here too. She was looking forward to taking the ferry to Formentera with Mark. She’d read that the water was unbelievable there and that there were loads of nudists. She was happy baring her body, as she’d done it for the cameras enough times, and thought it would be really sexy to be skinny-dipping with her gorgeous hunk in the beautiful sea. She felt happiest with him when they were both naked – that was when she knew he loved her. Even though she thought she was probably as clever as he was, he and his friends seemed so sophisticated that she always felt a bit out of her depth in their company.
His friends at lunch today had been lovely, of course. Bella had always been particularly kind to her, and even that weird Natalia didn’t treat her like some kind of tart.
But loads of the guests today, just like other friends Mark had introduced her to, looked her up and down in two very distinct, and very obvious ways. The blokes looked as if they just wanted to shag her, and she could deal with that, really, because blokes had wanted to shag her ever since she hit puberty. What peed her off was the way they nudged Marky and came out with their not-so-subtle innuendos, just as if, because she had big tits, she wouldn’t understand a bloody word they said.
It was the women who were the worst though. Sam was savvy enough to realize that women in their thirties felt a bit threatened by her young, nubile body, but all she wanted to do was scream at them, ‘I don’t want your bloody boyfriends! If it wasn’t for Marky, I wouldn’t be here anyway and he’s more than enough for me.’ But she just had to smile politely at their bitchy comments and get the odd bit of satisfaction at their looks of surprise when Mark boasted about her philosophy and psychology studies. Though one particularly hatchet-faced old bag did mutter something about ‘dumbed-down Britain’ and ‘of course, everybody has a degree these days.’
She wished Mark would hurry up with her drink. Three blokes had already tried to get her into the pool, saying she’d win any wet T-shirt contest going, and she felt a bit of a pillock, really, standing around on her own in her uncomfortable glittery platforms.
Andy and Bella were floating on blow-up armchairs towards the infinity edge of the pool, which was so brightly lit that the people swimming naked underneath could be seen in all their glory. Sadly for Bella, her father was one of them, but she’d seen it all before; for as long as she could remember, he’d been partial to swimming and sunbathing in the altogether.
‘Daddy, can’t you put your willy away?’
‘What’s that, sweetheart? Sorry, water in my ears, can’t hear you.’ And he went back down to ogle a bit more.
‘Don’t worry about him, darling,’ drawled Jilly from the bar on the island, wiping white powder from her nose. ‘He’ll never change.’
‘But it’s so rude to you, Jilly. He makes me so cross – why do you put up with it?’
‘Your father is what he is, sweetheart. We have a damn good giggle, he’s kind to me, unlike some of the arseholes I’ve known, and he’s never promised me anything. Besides, Jorge here is far more handsome, don’t you think?’ She guffawed and, as Bella refocused her eyes, she realized that Jilly was fondling the barman’s tanned and muscular naked buttocks. All the barmen were wearing g-strings and little white aprons.
Natalia, who was perched on one of the island’s white linen upholstered bar stools, long legs elegantly crossed, winked at Bella. She had changed out of her Pucci minidress into a Schiaparelli pink high-cut swimsuit and a crystal-embossed, rainbow-hued sarong.
‘You want some naughty dust?’
Finding Poppy nearly dead from a cocktail of coke, ecstasy, Temazepam and vodka last year had put something of a dampener on Bella’s enthusiasm for the hard stuff. But in such a ridiculously bacchanalian setting, who could say no, really?
‘Yes, please.’ She suddenly sounded embarrassingly jolly-hockey-sticks, as though Joyce Grenfell had been her favourite teacher at Malory Towers or St Clare’s. She looked at Andy. ‘Darling?’
‘Well, I have never been in a pool with an island and a bar before, so I think, yes, please, too!’
Taking advantage of one of her beloved’s rare moments of frivolity, Bella manoeuvred her floating armchair towards his to kiss him. As she reached out she accidentally launched herself into the water, knocking Andy out of his chair too. They were both laughing as they re-emerged and hauled themselves up onto the island.
‘What an amazing place you have here, Natalia,’ said Andy, handing her back the silver-plated coke straw. She put it onto the mirrored bar top, next to the absurdly over-the-top silver coke urn, and Andy went to the edge of the island to look out at the view, shaking the water out of his short black hair.
‘Yes, it’s just fabulous,’ said Bella, following his lovely tall body with her eyes. He wasn’t excessively muscular (Andy had far more important things to do than waste time in the gym), but he still made her weak at the knees with his long legs and broad shoulders. All at one with the world, she tried to focus on the view too. ‘Isn’t that Formentera over there?’ She pointed in the direction of the Old Town.
‘No, no, sweet Bella, that is Old Eivissa,’ said Natalia.
‘Bugger, I’ve never been any good at directions.’ Bella laughed. ‘But this really is out of this world, and it’s so great of you to do this for Poppy and Damian.’
Natalia waved her bejewelled hands around impatiently.
‘Pouf, I haf money and small villa! What use is it for me on my own?’ Then she looked at Bella curiously. ‘Anyway, do you not think it is great for you to do this for Poppy?’
‘What?’ For a moment, Bella hadn’t a clue what she was on about. ‘Oh, you mean the Ben stuff. Well, he was an absolute wanker anyway, and I’m happy with Andy now, so …’
‘So …’ Natalia patted her on the shoulder. ‘You are a good and strong woman, like my old mamushka.’ She looked sad, and Bella was torn between sympathy, curiosity and an unedifying desire to be compared to something more glamorous.
Mark, Sam and a load of people she didn’t know, but who all seemed to know Marky, were lounging in Natalia’s rainbow chill-out room, which wasn’t as awful as it sounded. An enormous, circular area, half open to the sea a long way beneath, with every bit of floor covered in cushions of all colours, fabrics and sizes, at least three layers deep, it gave new meaning to the concept of chilling out.
The only pieces of furniture were several low white stone tables, essential for the balancing of ashtrays and glasses. The expanse of semi-circular whitewashed wall was hung with around fifteen vividly coloured, apparently abstract paintings. Once you got closer, you could see that they were more impressionist than abstract, all depicting the same view at different times of day, night and year. Individually, each painting would have been nice to have on your wall, thought Sam, but all bunched together like this they were incredible.
‘Bella really got lucky when she met old Nat.’ Mark laughed, drawing on a badly rolled spliff.
‘Don’t be nasty, Marky!’ said Sam, then snuggled up to him again, not wanting to put him off her. ‘Bella’s a brilliant artist.’
‘Oh,