Route du Rhum or Pied á Terre, Ma'am?

Episode 18 of the Lymp Duhdashian series

“Twenty-three of the racing yachts have arrived at Pointe-à-Pitre!” announced the yacht’s captain over breakfast. “We will be berthing there in less than an hour, ma’am!”

“Ooh! Party time!” cooed Olympia, “Who won?” and the crew all smirked among themselves. “Thomas Ruyant, arrived on Monday at about 7am, but you were… erm…. indisposed!” and they showed her an article online in SailingScuttleButt.com. Khan smiled. “Were we out of it for 3 days?” he feigned shock. “Well, I never!” and the entire crew went about their business with silly grins all over their faces.

https://www.sailweb.co.uk/2022/11/22/route-du-rhum-record-breaking-imoca-win-for-thomas-ruyant/

Olympia was not even remotely embarrassed. “Must be exhausting to sail for 12 days without a break!” she mused as she read various articles. “Will they be fit to party yet?” and nobody seemed capable of speaking without laughing, so they each scuttled away, hoping that someone else would volunteer a response to her…. nobody did.

“I expect the best parties will start over the coming weekend.” offered Khan, amused by the rapidly retreating crew. “Hundred more are still at sea, Olympia! So we haven’t missed anything yet!”

“It says here that one of the skippers encountered a UFO!” said Lymp. “Whatever do they mean?” Khan shrugged and read the article himself. “Hmm, sustained some damage too, by the look of it! We will have to ask about that when we get ashore!” he suggested, but did not hold out much hope for clarification. “It’ll be chaotic in port for the next few days. Maybe some enterprising journos will get the story printed up somewhere, if we are lucky.”

The water around Guadaloupe’s capital, Pointe-à-Pitre, was full of yachts under sail and every kind of speedboat or tender, creating a very colourful scene. New records were being set as the different classes of yachts completed their exhilarating Atlantic crossing.

https://actu.fr/bretagne/saint-malo_35288/route-du-rhum-quinze-photos-inoubliables-de-larrivee-en-guadeloupe_55369727.html

The atmosphere was electric with excitement and palpable joy. Olympia was thrilled. She had never been part of the yachting scene before and was looking out for the turquoise superyacht among the many berthed in Guadaloupe’s marina and port. She dropped Tarky a text to enquire if he was around, but got no reply.

Remembering that her sister Diamond was in hospital having some ribs removed, Olympia ordered flowers and a card to be delivered to the clinic and then immediately forgot all about it, dashing to the master cabin to choose her disembarking outfit for the evening. She had caught the full frontal fiesta feeling and was literally bouncing with anticipation.

—0—

Meanwhile in Dr Dontrust’s London clinic, Diamond Duhdashian felt like she had been kicked around by Mike Tyson. She was afraid to move and was even breathing as shallowly as possible. The pain medication had made her brain do some surprising things and time was a bit elastic, or that was how it felt. She had no idea if it was morning or night and kept hearing strange buzzes in her vicinity, but could not focus her vision well enough to see where they were coming from. Occasionally a nurse would pass by murmuring incomprehensible things, but then Dim would drift into another surreal dream or fantasy featuring Dr Emil Dontrust, naked apart from his surgical mask.

Pru Dense was frantically fending off tabloid reporters who had somehow heard about Diamond Duhdashian’s latest surgery. Her phone lines had been jammed all morning, so she threw in the towel and adjourned to the pub, thinking ‘sod ‘em all’ as she downed a double vodka and quickly ordered another. She phoned her masseur and booked a ‘quickie’ as she liked to call them. All she had to do was get herself to his discreet little pied á terre in Soho without being spotted.

“Taxi!”