Working as a stewardess onboard a superyacht was rarely easy. Though judging by the façade might suggest a life of luxury and glamour, the reality was far from it. The hours were relentlessly long, the guests were relentlessly demanding; days were spent cleaning cabins, scrubbing toilets, grappling with mountains of laundry, serving food, making drinks. It was a never-ending cycle to ensure the boat stayed sparklingly perfect and that the rich and famous guests, who’d paid a sizeable fortune to be onboard, received seven-star service and had nothing to complain about- although usually they managed to find something.
For six consecutive years I spent the summers travelling around the Mediterranean, from Croatia to Spain and back again stopping along the way in various lavish locations from Monaco to Capri and many others in between. It may sound like a dream, but in actuality you only ever saw those places through the odd glimpse of light that streamed through portholes as you wrestled with the sheets on a super-king-sized bed. But the monetary perks made it all worthwhile and getting to live alongside some of the wealthiest people in the world, even if only for a week, served to provide a lifetime’s worth of juicy (and in this case raunchy) stories.
It was mid-July in the summer of 2021 when the Karmichael family arrived onboard for their weeklong cruise along the French Riviera. Mr and Mrs Karmichael were a greying couple who stood out as British in that way that can often be spotted long before hearing one’s accent. Their wide brimmed hats covered faces of sallow skin and red-tipped features that suggested a lifetime lived somewhere inherently cold and windy. I was initially delighted at the prospect of having what seemed to be relatively normal fellow Brits onboard as after many months away from home surrounded by other nationalities, slipping back into my estuary English without modification felt like being wrapped in a clean towel fresh out of the tumble dryer.
‘Thank you all ever so much’ Mr Karmichael said in his manicured Queen’s English as he beamed at us crew members as we stood lined up obediently on the yacht’s aft deck to welcome the new guests. We were docked in a busy Cannes port on that bright afternoon, the pavement behind us was filled with a stream of tourists who gawked at the intense display of wealth before them as the deckhands hauled suitcase after suitcase from a black Mercedes van and onto the yacht’s narrow passerelle. Mouths hung agape amongst the hot and sticky air that was laced with the scent of sun cream, salt water, and superyacht fuel. As the guests settled into the large sofa on the main deck, I gave them my best stewardess smile as I passed around perfectly polished flutes filled with ice cold Dom Perignon.
‘Cheers to a wonderful voyage!’ Mr Karmichael announced to the group as he raised his crystal cut glass towards the afternoon sunlight.
Mr and Mrs Karmichael were joined by their two daughters who were introduced to me as Candy and Coco, upon hearing this I began to second guess my previous hopes for a good trip, but despite the silly celebrity names, the two sisters seemed genuinely down to earth and made sure to adhere to the strict British politeness they’d no doubt been taught at whatever prestigious private education that surely dominated their younger years. The two sisters were in their early to mid-twenties and had that satisfying attribute some siblings possess in that each was a direct copy of one parent. In this case Candy, the elder, had the mousy brown hair and slight features of her mother, whilst Coco had the wispy blonde hair and aristocratic nose of her father. The family were joined by Candy’s boyfriend, an especially posh young man named Felix, and their two friends, a young and equally as posh couple named Sarah and Benji.
The week passed by without much fanfare as the family fell into a reliable routine of 9am breakfasts and 7pm dinners with shore excursions and swimming in between as the boat trundled along from port to port across the deep red rocky bays and brilliant turquoise inlets that made up the heart of the southern French coastline. I’d come to understand the family to be incredibly normal, even slightly boring, as their sensibly timed dinners were followed by cocktails and cigars on the sundeck every evening as they laughed and bickered in the way families do whilst still loving each other fiercely.
The years had taught me that there is often alarmingly obvious red flags when working for people of such disgusting wealth- it could be that they’re completely detached from their children after a lifetime of nannies and boarding school, more often it’s an overbearing rudeness after being so accustomed to having their every need catered to, but the Karmichael’s had none of those qualities and as such I had begun to enjoy their presence onboard as they reminded me of the peaceful English countryside I hadn’t seen for almost a year. The only quirk I had noted was that Mr Karmichael was especially strict on those around him in a way many Christian men of his age are in that he had a strong belief of absolutely no sex before marriage. He even insisted that his daughter Candy and her friend Sarah sleep separately from their boyfriends, although it was noticed quickly by us crew that this rule was being consistently broken after he’d gone to bed each night.
It was the penultimate evening of their time onboard, and we’d just docked in St Tropez after a three-hour sail from the island of Porquerolles. I had been to St. Tropez many times before and had come to understand that with its rowdy bars, steamy nightclubs, and bikini clad dancers, it served as the de facto Magaluf for the rich and famous. The guests had dinner booked onshore at one of the many ostentatious restaurants that lined the otherwise quaint French streets with prices that diligently assured it was not for people like me. There was a certain buzz about the boat as the Karmichael’s got dolled up in their lavish suits and gowns as they requested cocktails and champagne to be frequently delivered to their cabins as they got ready. I was on the late shift that particular evening and after looking up the restaurant’s closing time of 3am, I geared myself in for the long night ahead.
After waving the family off and wishing them a wonderful evening, I stood watch on the aft deck scanning the many wealthy faces that stormed the small town every summer. It was custom to greet guests onboard with cold lemongrass towels after every outing, and I was determined not to miss their return as the prospect of a large tip loomed in my future like a carrot dangling on a string. Around midnight, I spotted the high arching nose of Mr Karmanson as he led his family through the crowds. I helped them onboard as we exchanged pleasantries about their evening.
‘Oh yes the food was wonderful!’ said Mrs Karmichael as she wiped her décolletage with the cold towel I’d just handed her from a solid silver tray.
‘The drinks were even better’ Mr Karmichael said as he prodded his wife playfully in her side.
‘Anyway, that’s enough for an old git like me! I’m off to bed.’ he announced. The others hummed in agreement and I bid them goodnight, but something about the look on the two young couples faces told me they had other plans, so I made my way to the bar upstairs and obediently anticipated their impending arrival. Sure enough, a few moments later I heard giggling footsteps come up the silk carpeted stairs.
‘Oh, you’re still up!’ Candy said as she looked at me in alarm as I stood behind the bar busying myself with folding napkins for breakfast the next morning. The group were all in their bathrobes which told me they had plans to make use of the hot tub on the top deck.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ I heard myself say in my best stewardess voice.
‘Let’s do shots guys!’ Felix called from behind in his pompous drawl as the others flapped their approval. I set about pouring their shots plus an extra for myself as they made their way up to the top of the boat.
‘Can you bring up another round every 20 minutes or so?’ Felix whispered to me as I passed him a chilled shot of Patrón. Before I had time to answer, he necked the shot in one smooth motion, slammed the empty glass down on the tray I held steadily in my hands and jumped cannon-ball style into the hot tub, splashing myself and his friends with a small tidal wave of water as they laughed and jeered him on.
It was about an hour later, on my fourth or so round delivering drinks up to the top deck that I began to notice things were heating up. I quietly placed their shots on the edge of the hot tub as the two couples passionately kissed with such determination as only comes about when a person is either deeply in love or violently intoxicated. I went downstairs to set another twenty-minute timer when I heard drunken footsteps messily make their way toward the bathroom on the middle deck, which was right next to the stewardess pantry where I was dutifully hiding out in my twenty minutes of reprieve. I could hear what sounded to be two voices giggling and moaning, which before long turned into much louder moaning accompanied by a faint banging. I sighed to myself and hoped there wouldn’t be too much of a mess for me to clean up after they’d finished. After a few minutes, I heard the unlocking of the bathroom door and peered my head a touch from behind the pantry door to see Felix run back upstairs as he tied his bathrobe loosely around his waist. Following behind him was not his girlfriend Coco, but a flustered and blushing Sarah. And with that, my night became a whole lot more interesting.
On my next trip upstairs, I was greeted with what at first I worried was all out war, a mess of bare torsos and arms flayed about like sharks thrashing in the water. But as I went closer I realised that the four of them were engaging in a different sort of combat. I did my best to subdue my laughter as I quickly retreated and opted to leave them to it. I cancelled their future shot orders and instead stayed put in the comfort of the pantry and listened out for any movement signalling their departure to their cabins. I’d check on them every so often by peering my head around the top of the stairs, and sure enough, the four of them would still be making waves in the steamy hot tub water. They eventually called it a night at 4am.
After clearing up the mess of bathrobes and towels they’d left behind, I went to bed feeling like a child the night before Christmas as I couldn’t wait for the next day when I could tell the rest of the crew members what had happened and revel in watching the shock on their faces. My peaceful sleep was woken by a knock on my cabin door at 8am,
‘Lucy, do you still have the phone number for that doctor?’ My colleague Hannah called from the doorway.
‘Sorry to wake you up honey but it’s important’.
‘Yeah sure, one sec’ I said as I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of that confused feeling of being freshly awoken.
‘Who needs a doctor?’ I asked once I’d regained my consciousness.
‘Candy and Sarah, they’re both crying in pain saying they think they have infections or something’ Hannah said through gritted teeth.
‘What? Infections where?’ I asked as I begrudgingly began to sit up.
‘You know…’ she whistled as she motioned to her crotch. It was then that I began to think about the hot tub, more specifically the water in it. We’d had a problem with the drainage system that summer and so the water was only being emptied and refreshed once a week, normally an occurrence that would happen daily, depending on usage. As this was the end of the Karmichael’s weeklong trip and they’d used the hot tub every day, the deckhands had tried to counteract the murky water with a plethora of chemicals and diluents, so much so that I remember being concerned the water would change the colour of the guest’s swimwear if they sat in there for too long. My face must have given away my thoughts as Hannah asked,
‘You alright? Why’d you look so shocked?’
I took a moment to gather my thoughts before launching into my tale of the night before.
‘Well... this is going to make you laugh’.
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