Chapter 4 Kate

4 KATE

NOW

The seaplane lands, and Kate finds herself drawn in by the postcard-perfect view that greets her at ground level. Such purity in those shades of blue! The plane door is opened, and just feet away from the small ladder is a vast sea that gently sways in warm gradients: turquoise, cerulean, lapis. The tide that nudges up to her feet is clear as glass, and along the creamy sand red hermit crabs scuttle about. A few islands are visible on the horizon. Emerald Island, home to the smaller sister resort, sits about a quarter of a mile to the west, a bank of palm trees as green as its name.

A large black bird shoots out of the trees behind, but when it swoops by she realizes it’s not a bird at all, but a bat with a furry brown body and leathery wings.

A group of staff uniformed in black trousers and white tunics with SAPPHIRE ISLAND RESORT tatty, oversize hand-me-downs; of a teacher asking in concerned tones about “the situation at home.” She worries she hasn’t packed appropriate clothing. No, not worries—she knows she hasn’t. There is nothing in her wardrobe that would be suitable for a night of champagne on a private sandbank. Come to think of it, she doesn’t even know what kind of outfit would be appropriate for something like that, or where she’d begin to look for one.

Perhaps she should have asked Camilla for advice. At the very least, she should have ironed.

Rafi invites them to climb into a golf cart, and they huddle up close together, knees to chests, as he drives them through a miniature jungle of sandy paths toward their accommodations. Everyone is barefoot here. There are wooden signs to things like SERENITY SPA and PEACE DEN , jewellike glimpses of the main restaurant, of a smaller, more intimate bistro, and of enclosed beaches through the trees. Rafi shows them the meeting place for excursions, like the manta ray adventure or the turtle cruise. He points out the bar, which is on the edge of the island and housed under a large white pergola, an assortment of chairs and tables gathered by a crystalline pool.

A woman’s high-pitched shriek breaks the calm, a man’s voice shouting something in a language that Kate can’t place. German, or perhaps Dutch—she isn’t sure.

“What’s going on?” Darcy asks Rafi, and as they pass by a break in the trees Kate spots a couple of guests on a beach, screaming at uniformed staff. A boat pulls up to the jetty, the word POLICE written across the side.

“Sometimes we have visitors from the Emerald Island Resort,” Rafi says. “And sometimes they are problematic.”

“God, an arrest?” Camilla says with interest, lifting her phone to film it. “How exciting.”

“It doesn’t happen very often,” Rafi says with a smile.

“Can I ask a favor, Rafi?” Camilla says then. “I teach Pilates, and I emailed a few days ago to offer a free Pilates class to the guests. Do you think you could follow up on that? I wouldn’t charge anything so long as I can stream it to my socials.”

Rafi gives a gracious nod. “I will speak to the manager.”

“Thanks.”

Kate watches as Camilla lifts her phone again to photograph the scenery before pulling her and Darcy in for a selfie. Camilla sticks her tongue out as though she’s having a dental examination; Kate attempts to smile but looks like she’s sucked a lemon. She notices Camilla editing her out of the picture before posting it to her Instagram page.

In a few minutes, they arrive at a row of overwater huts.

She knew they were all getting individual villas instead of sharing, but she assumed this was because the beach huts were too small for all three women to stay in one comfortably. Not so: the villas that seemed shedlike from the plane are positively enormous.

Outside the sixth villa, Rafi hands each of them a key card. “Your room key,” he says. “You are our guest at villa two,” he tells Kate. “Miss Darcy, you are at villa six, and Miss Camilla, villa four.”

“What time is it now?” Darcy asks, once Rafi heads off in the golf cart.

Camilla checks her phone. “In Maldivian time? Just half after eight in the morning.”

“Let’s meet up for drinks?” Darcy says. “That’ll give us time to freshen up. Maybe have a nap.”

KATE PRESSES HER KEY CARD against the digital panel on the wooden door of the villa. The door springs open with a whirr. Inside, she finds soaring ceilings with wooden beams, an open-plan living room with soft white linens and macramé wall art, a ceramic sculpture of a dolphin on a side table. Upstairs, the master bedroom contains a four-poster bed draped with mosquito netting and sprinkled with rose petals. A monstrous TV, walk-in wardrobes, and a glass wall that parts seamlessly at the touch of a button, opening out onto the ocean.

She steps onto the balcony and pauses for a moment, breathing in the warm, salty air.

“Kate!”

Darcy waves excitedly from the balcony of her villa to the right.

“This is stunning!” Kate calls back.

Darcy raises a glass of champagne and laughs in agreement.

Turning back to the vast spread of silky ocean before her, Kate holds her smile, forcing herself to lower her shoulders. But beneath her delight is the feeling she can’t get rid of, twisting away in her gut now that she’s here.

It’s fear.