‘In the event of landing on water, please remove all high-heeled shoes.’
Cate automatically glanced down at her trainer-clad feet. Across the aisle, a bald man in a grey suit turned the pages of his newspaper. Cate’s copy ofHello!poked temptingly from the mesh pocket on the back of the seat in front but she kept her eyes on the immaculately made-up stewardess as she completed the safety briefing. It seemed rude to ignore the woman’s unappreciated commentary and she couldn’t help thinking that the way today was going, she wouldn’t be surprised to find herself bobbing in the ocean trying to top up her life jacket through its little plastic tube and blowing on her whistle.
‘Thank you for choosing to fly with us today. We hope you have a pleasant journey.’
Easier said than done.Cate was sure to have a comfortable flight with no arguments over the armrest, but it was hard to chill out and enjoy her unscheduled ‘Me Time’ when her thoughts were fixated on Phil’s out-of-character dash from the airport.
The plane climbed higher. Cate opened her copy ofHello!, closed it again and slipped it back into the seat pocket. What was going through Phil’s head? What had happened that had escaped her notice? She stared out of the window. Nothing but blue sky.
‘Madam?’
Cate turned, surprised she hadn’t noticed the rattle of the trolley. ‘A mini bottle of Prosecco and some pistachio nuts – just a small bag, please.’ She shouldn’t really drink on top of the champagne she’d enjoyed in the lounge, but today she needed it, deserved it, dammit, for getting on this plane and facing the embarrassment of turning up in Venice alone.
The bottle opened with a satisfying pop. The man across the aisle raised his own glass of red with a grin and a wink. Cate’s cheeks heated. It always took her by surprise if anyone saw her as anything other than a wife and mother. She picked up her magazine pointedly and opened it at random. The glossy, double-page spread showed a stately home in Northamptonshire, the newly installed third wife of Lord Somebody-or-other posing in a purple ballgown in front of a vast marble fireplace. The caption said:
Lady Petronella successfully blends old and new
To one side, a blousy display of roses stood on an inlaid, crescent-shaped cabinet: one of Phil’s most iconic pieces. He’d be so proud to see it there. He’d worked so hard to revitalise the business he’d taken over from Evan’s uncle, and she’d been behind him all the way. With both their boys at boarding school, she’d been able to devote a couple of days a week to helping in his office. Had she lost sight of their marriage, become more of a colleague than a wife?
She took a sip of Prosecco, the little bubbles fizzing pleasantly on her tongue. She thought back to their last dinner party with Kiran and Mark. Cate’s new neighbours were the perfect couple, always gazing at each other adoringly, touching each other when they thought nobody was looking, making Cate feel a little bit jealous of the way Mark so obviously adored his wife, even though she’d accepted years ago that Phil didn’t believe in public displays of affection.
Her husband wasn’t good at expressing his emotions, full stop. After they’d met at university, it had taken him almost a year to say those three little words:I love you. But she hadn’t minded; she’d seen them forming on the tip of his tongue often enough. Her husband loved her. He showed her that, and sometimes even told her that, when they were home alone. Together. Safe. Phil and Kiran having an affair? It was laughable. But something was up with Phil and by the end of this trip to Venice, she would find out what it was.
She passed the rest of the flight leafing through her magazine, snapping open the fresh, green pistachios, gathering quite a pile of hard little shells in her paper napkin.
The seat belt signs went on; the plane began to descend.
They touched down smoothly, the pilot earning a splattering of applause. Despite the still-illuminated seat belt signs, the aisle began to fill up with passengers, cramming themselves into the narrow space, snapping open the overhead lockers. Cate stayed in her seat, her phone pinging with notifications:Welcome to Italy; a roaming charges update; a message from Phil that simply said:
At hotel, sorry about today, don’t worry. Love you.
There was a message from Evan’s wife, Lucy, too. Surely she couldn’t have got wind of Phil’s vanishing act and popped up to commiserate? Or dig for gossip, more like.
Cate sighed. People like Lucy didn’t just disappear if you ignored them. She clicked on the message.
Thought you should see this.
A link to a news item:
Mandy Miller Lucky to Survive.
The accompanying photograph showed the popular TV presenter propped up in a bed against an improbable amount of pillows. Cate skimmed the article, trying to home in on the facts behind the sensationalist story:emergency operation… out of danger…Mandy refused to let us issue a statement until the operation was pronounced a success; she didn’t want to worry her fans, a spokesperson said.
The steps cranked into position; the mass of passengers shuffled a few inches forward. Cate re-read the article, this time more slowly. Mandy was out of the woods but she clearly wasn’t going to be jetting off to Venice any time soon. When had this story been released? When had the TV company planned to tellher? The message from Lucy had been sent less than half an hour before they landed, moments after the news broke. She checked her emails. There it was: an email from Flo-Go Productions sent just after take-off.
‘Madam?’ The steward was hovering by the end of her row, his colleague clearing up discarded newspapers and magazines into a large, see-through sack. He had a ginger beard but still looked young, not that many years older than her Oli.
‘Sorry, just one moment, please.’ Cate’s finger hovered over the message.
‘I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave this aircraft.’
Cate looked around. The seemingly unmoveable blockage of bodies and hand luggage had miraculously cleared. She was the only passenger remaining.
‘Of course, I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realised.’
‘And try not to leave anything behind.’ The steward scooped up a small, pink teddy from the row of seats on the other side of the aisle.
‘No, I won’t. Sorry to hold you up.’ She took her small carry-on from under the seat in front and stood up.
