Chapter 15 Camilla

15 CAMILLA

NOW

“You’re going to draw your abdominal muscles right in, as though there’s an elastic band tugging your navel to your spine.”

Camilla is leading a sunrise Pilates class on the wooden half-moon platform on the far end of the island, overlooking the ocean. A domed roof provides shade for the group of seventeen, the high ceiling lending the space a sacred quality. Not yet 7 a.m. and it’s already eighty-six degrees, but the sea breeze is drifting inside the space. Camilla’s phone is propped on a tripod nearby, capturing the class live for Instagram, where another eighty-four participants from around the world follow along. The scene is idyllic—swaying palm trees, the gentle wash of the ocean all around them, Camilla looks fresh-faced in a white yoga outfit, her black hair pinned up in a bun, though her signature gold hoops are still in place. She’s always calm when she teaches Pilates, and when she practices; the fluidity of the movements switches off the part of her brain that is, as her husband, Bernie, likes to say, always gearing up for a fight.

“Now, gently raise your legs up at a forty-five-degree angle, pointing your toes at the sky. Try and keep the knees soft while maintaining straight legs. You’re using your abdominals here to hold the pose.” She scoops in her belly, then lifts up her arms. “Keep legs and arms nice and straight without locking your knees or elbows.”

She glances over at the guests while holding the pose, still as a rock. She’s a bit annoyed that Darcy and Kate didn’t join in. But she recognizes a couple of faces—Antoni is at the back of the group, and Jade is in the third row, sunlight falling on her blond hair. She is the only participant under forty, and the only guest to wear a bikini with a sarong instead of workout gear. The gentleman next to her wearing a red bandana has yet to turn his eyes to Camilla, preferring instead to study Jade, his eyes glued to her chest. If Jade notices, she doesn’t let on, her gaze on Camilla.

“Hold it for thirty seconds,” Camilla says. “If you need to lower your legs, that’s fine, but maintain the contraction in your abdominal wall. Think of yourself as holding a beach ball between your feet and your hands. That’s it.”

Several guests topple over, and someone farts.

“That was not me,” Antoni announces, laughter rippling throughout the group. Camilla smiles at him, hiding her displeasure at the break in the serenity. Hopefully the camera didn’t pick that up. Antoni is the only guest able to follow along properly, and she’s glad that he showed up this morning. Several guests won’t stop yawning. Maybe it was a bad idea to do an Instagram Live. She makes a mental note—do another Live instruction for her followers tomorrow morning, without the guests. The yawning is starting to grate.

She notices Antoni getting up. “Apologies,” he says, heading up the platform. “The sun is in my eyes.”

She nods approvingly, and he relocates next to Jade, squeezing in between her and Red Bandana Man.

“And now we’ll just move our hands beneath our knees and gently rock like a ball,” she says, smiling a little at the visible displeasure creeping onto Red Bandana Man’s face. “Let the lower back touch the mat first, then the middle, then your shoulders. Then slowly up again, controlling the movement.”

She rises to help one of the older participants return from his backward motion, pressing her hand gently on the man’s spine to guide him up from the roll. He struggles. Christ, the man has no core strength. This is why people need Pilates , she thinks.

“That’s it,” she coaxes, striding back to the front. “Now, with your legs on the ground in front of you, you’re going to stretch your arms out at either side, turning from the waist. Again, use the core to help you rotate. Slowly, slowly. Good.”

For a moment, the class seems to have gotten it, rotating in one motion, like synchronized puppets. She tells them to lift their legs and hold again before pumping their arms up and down.

She turns to the camera, beaming. “How are all my followers at home doing? Remember to always engage the core. Try and think of yourself sitting in a puddle, slapping the water with the palms of your hands.”

“Why would we be sitting in a puddle?” a voice says. She turns to see that another guest has joined the class, despite it being half over. It’s Jade’s husband, Rob.

“Welcome,” Camilla says, stretching her face into a wide smile.

He stands against a pillar in the middle of the space, next to Jade, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. A dark look on his face.

“Please, join us,” Camilla says, holding out her hand to invite him to sit down. He shakes his head and holds up a hand as if to say, I’m good . She frowns. Is he really just going to stand there, watching over his wife like he’s her bloody bodyguard?

Apparently, he is. He keeps his head turned to Jade, who smiles up at him uneasily.

“Up on our feet for this next one,” Camilla says. “You’ll need a bit of space, so spread out just a little. That’s it.”

The crowd shuffles outward, Red Bandana Man finding himself in touching distance of Rob.

“Right hand behind the head,” Camilla says, demonstrating, “left leg to the side, and we’re just going to tap the toe of that leg on the ground before lifting it upward, left knee to right elbow. Like this.”

She performs the move very slowly, explaining the little muscle in the right side that people want to feel with this move.

“Good!” she says, clapping. “We’ll do ten of these before moving to the other side.”

Some participants are unsteady, but after a moment or two most of them begin to synchronize the movement.

“Now the other side. Right leg, this time, and left elbow.”

Jade wobbles on this one, almost toppling over. Antoni is there to catch her, and she rights herself.

“Are you all right?” he says, a hand still pressed flat on her stomach, the other on her back. Camilla notices Rob unfold his arms, his face dropping. The tension is immediately palpable.

“I’m fine,” Jade tells Antoni.

Antoni holds his hands on her body a second longer, as though to make sure she isn’t about to topple, but Rob is having none of it.

“Hey!”

A booming voice, echoing off the domed roof. Everyone’s head turns to him, then several turn to Camilla. She smiles, as though this is all part of the routine. Jade’s face is tight, her eyes fixed on Rob. Antoni holds his hands up as if to say, No big deal , and resumes the movement. Jade leaves the group apologetically to approach Rob, full of appeasement. She takes his hand and presses it to her cheek as though consoling a child. Camilla sighs angrily to herself. Another forty-year-old toddler. So insecure he can’t even let her attend a bloody Pilates class.

“All right,” Camilla says in an upbeat tone, clapping her hands. “This next move is really spicy.”

She shows them how to curtsy, one leg behind the standing leg, lowering and rising, hands on the hips. Jade and Rob are still standing at the side of the space having a heated conversation, and although she can’t hear what they’re saying, the drama is drawing the participants’ attention away from her. She imagines people online watching this unfold, a lovers’ tiff upsetting the professional, calming atmosphere she prides herself on creating. Not at all the way she wanted her first Instagram Live from the Maldives to go.

Bloody men.

AFTER THE CLASS, CAMILLA CHATS briefly with the participants, giving advice on how to alleviate their sore backs or sort out that nasty pinch in their shoulder. A normal part of teaching. Some promise to follow her online, which makes her happy.

Back in her villa, she showers, makes coffee, texts Darcy and Kate the same message.

Morning! How are you feeling? xx

Her phone dings, and she lifts it, expecting a reply from Darcy. But it’s an email notification. Another message from Jacob Levitt.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I need to speak to you about Adrian Clifton. My number below—call anytime.

Jacob

She stares at the message for a long moment, reading it slowly and carefully, as though the words are some kind of code. How does Jacob know about Adrian Clifton?

Did Darcy tell him?

They swore, all of them, that they would never mention Adrian to anyone else.

And Jacob is the very last person she’d expect Darcy to tell.

Her hands shaking, she selects filters from the menu and searches for a way to block Jacob’s email. She begins to enter his address, then falters. Perhaps she ought to call him.

Her uncertainty is overwhelming. She is seized by blind panic, trying to work out Jacob’s meaning, his strategy.

Why would he ask about Adrian Clifton?