Claire oohed and aahed over Remy photos, laughing at Remy’s foibles, all the while vowing to never hurt Luca again. She would have to figure out a way to help him with his grief like Marti helped her with hers.
Gilbert paid the bill and thanked the waiter. “Ready for a boat ride?”
Claire’s hands trembled. She ran a lipstick over her chapped lips, smiled, and gripped Gilbert’s elbow. She hoped she had the courage to board the vessel.
Chapter 20
Asleek,glass-roofedpleasurecraft bobbed on the river, awaiting them. Claire inhaled a muddy scent. A wariness pricked its way up her spine. She forced herself to concentrate on the festive white lights outlining the boat and reflecting off the water. She longed to know Luca better, and this was what he wanted to do, so she’d do it.
Gilbert and Luca held her hands and guided her up the ramp onto the crowded craft and into a row of seats at the very back.
“Want to sit next to the window?” Luca asked. The window stretched from the seats up to the glass roof, exposing a view of water everywhere.
“Oh, no.” She clutched her scarf. “You sit there, please. You can be my guide.”
Luca sat next to the window and pointed. “We’re going to turn right toward Petite France. If we don’t, we’ll be swept into the Rhine and out to sea!”
Claire gripped her handbag strap, wishing it were a life preserver. She should have brought her prototype and hoped it worked.
Gilbert placed his hand over hers. “The Rhine is very wide, no danger of being swept to sea. Boys of this age delight in the prospect of danger.”
His hand was comforting, and she was glad for its warmth. She pushed out a breath, wishing she could call Marti, but she had to figure things out for herself. Besides, Marti would tell her she was falling in love with Gilbert, just like she told her she was falling in love with David. Good grief, what was she thinking. She’d known the man for less than two days.
“You’re a wonderful father.”
He shrugged, trying for humility, but he smiled broadly.
Safety instructions in myriad languages crackled over the speakers, a buzzing muddled the English words. Claire pushed her hat from her ears and looked for the safety card airlines provided in the seatback, but there was no pocket. Swiveling her head, she searched for a sign with the universal red cross.
Gilbert’s arm encircled her shoulders. “They are saying that life preservers are under our seat cushions, but I can assure you, we will not need them. Should there be a problem in the canals, we could walk in the shallow water and step up onto the seawall.”
She took a small breath and forced a smile against her anxiety, but she was also enjoying the weight and warmth and security of his arm. She hoped he’d keep it there.
The vessel’s engine whined, and the boat pulled away from the dock and floated down river.
Luca pummeled the seat. She grasped the edge. He jumped up. “That’s the…Onc, what is, la Tour du Bourreau?”
“Executioner’s Tower.”
“Right.” Luca laughed. “They tortured people up there! Cool, huh?” He slammed himself back into his seat, shaking her and dislodging Gilbert’s arm.
“Cool.” She nodded, thinking the boat ride was enough of a torture. Anxiety knotted her stomach. She wished she could ask Gilbert to put his arm back on her shoulder, but that would definitely be too forward.
“The channel will take us around the oldest parts of the city, Petite France and Quartier des Tonneliers—the Coopers’ Quarter,” Gilbert pointed, “where they made hoops for barrels in the sixteenth century. We have an ancient barrel at the winery, and I imagine it was made there. I’ll show it to you.”
“I’d like to see it.” She’d love to be in the winery rather than on the river.She kept her eyes on the land, focusing on the distant cathedral spire. The boat bounced along turbulent water, and she gripped Gilbert’s arm.
“The currents can be rather tricky, due to the channels and locks. The water powered the mills and drew water for the tanneries in the old town.” He rubbed his hand along her arm, and it calmed her for a second until a wave broke against the window next to Luca.
She nodded, feeling like an empty-headed puppet. They turned into a narrow passage, bordered on both sides by Tudor-style buildings. A pair of swans glided below a willow tree overhanging the canal. “The swans seem to like it.”
“The current churns up food for them.”
“Swans mate for life.” Why she said that, she did not know. “Sorry, that was an irrelevant, stupid thing to say.”
“Not at all irrelevant or stupid.” Gilbert released her grip on his arm and patted her hand. “David was my good friend, and he spoke often of you, with great admiration and affection,” he whispered. “He has been gone for more than a year, now?”
“A year and almost four months.”
