‘No, let’s carry on, I’m looking forward to it.’ She didn’t want the evening to end. But she couldn’t help feeling from the brief nod of his head that something between them had shifted.
21
Cate clapped so hard, her palms were stinging. Some of the audience had leapt to their feet.
Lucia wiped away a tear from her eye. ‘That was marvellous!’
The company of singers finally left the stage, the switching on of the lights signalling that this time, there would be no further encore. Cate picked up her glossy programme and Dior bag which had in fact enjoyed a seat of its own up in their box. Slowly, they made their way back out of the theatre.
‘Thank you so much for coming with me, Lucia.’
‘No, thank you. It is my dream to see an opera here.’
‘I can see why.’ Cate had seenLa Traviataseveral times but to experience it here in Venice was something else. And the tragic story of Violetta and Alfredo had taken her to another dimension where concerns about Phil’s odd behaviour and worries about whether Natalie would truly accept her friendship didn’t exist.
‘You wish me to show you the way to the vaporetto?’ Lucia’s face was earnest. It hadn’t taken her very long to switch back to professional mode. Despite the carefully applied make-up, the young woman looked exhausted; she’d been up with the film crew since dawn.
‘No, I know the way,’ Cate said. Well, she could guess. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the Rialto Bridge.’
‘I am so sorry that we start so early but the crowds…’
‘It’s no problem, really.’ Cate planted kisses on Lucia’s soft cheeks. ‘Bye, Lucia. I will see you in the morning.’
Lucia crossed thecampo; a quick glance over her shoulder, a wave and she was gone.
Cate stood outside the opera house trying to get her bearings. It didn’t matter if she got a little lost; she’d still wake up early whatever time she got back to the palazzo. She never slept in. Back home, she’d come downstairs to the sound of claws on the front doormat, Ted waiting patiently, lead in his mouth. And even if she hadn’t been an absolute pushover where Ted was concerned, she always woke when she felt the mattress shift very slightly as Phil got out of bed. Boarding school had instilled in him the habit of rising early as surely as it had created his drive for perfection, his need for success. And that had given them their wonderful old, rambling house, an enviable lifestyle mixing with the great and the good. But, Cate suspected, those years at Hillingdon had left another legacy. They’d taught her husband to seal his feelings away, encased in an outer shell of worldly success and bonhomie, his emotions carefully protected like the little, green kernel inside a pistachio nut. On very rare occasions, she’d sense that he was about to let her in but then the moment would slip away from her as though she had tried to nail a gelato to the wall.
But Phil wasn’t the only one keeping his cards close to his chest. She hadn’t been entirely honest with him either.
* * *
Natalie slid her card key into the slot by the door. Two wall sconces and the central chandelier sprung to life. She slipped off her shoes, rubbing the back of her heels and wiggling her feet. Her stomach felt uncomfortably full; the seafood snacks at Eraldo’s last choice ofbacarohad been an unnecessary burden on her digestive system. But she couldn’t blame a single one of the deliciouscicchettifor the way their perfect evening had turned into a dud. The easy intimacy between them had evaporated the moment she’d shrunk away from his touch.
* * *
Phil perched on the mustard-coloured bedspread, his case – which had been taken back off the plane – resting on the fold-out rack. The airport hotel’s tiny room was a masterpiece of design in its own small way. Clean, an en suite bathroom, an incongruous mango fragrance coming from the plug-in air freshener in the corner. His parents would have been happy to stay in a place like this. They’d be all at sea in the swanky hotels he and Cate stayed in, walking around with invisible we-don’t-belong-here signs.
Next-door’s television hummed through the walls, men with American accents shouting over staccato gunfire, but it couldn’t blot out the noise in his head. He’d been all set to get on the plane this time. He needed to feel Cate’s arms around him, bury his face in her neck, inhale her soft fragrance that promised everything would be all right. Now, thanks to the eco-warriors of Europe, he was stuck in this hotel room, the only oneLuxe Life Swapcould secure in all the mayhem. They hadn’t wanted him to go home and get driven back again, not with the police blocks holding up the traffic as they tried to tighten up security around the airport too little too late. They couldn’t even guarantee his flight would take off as scheduled tomorrow. The planes were all out of sync and new cancellations were being added by the hour. Yesterday, he hadn’t wanted to go back to Venice, the scene of his shameful secret. Now he just wanted to get it over and done with.
He took out his phone, clicked on the Facebook app and tapped in his eldest son’s password. Oli wouldn’t care, he didn’t use the app any more; he said no one his age did.Wrong password. He felt a surge of panic. Oli wouldn’t have closed down his account, surely? He couldn’t have. Phil tried something else: Ted110378. Their beloved pet and the birthday of Didier Drogba, Oli’s favourite footballer. Success! Phil clenched a fist. What a fool he must look if anyone were spying through the window.
His fingers shook as he typed in Raj’s name, prayed he’d find a recent picture, something to show his old school pal was okay. And – yes! A beautiful photograph: Raj, his wife Neelam – still with that long plait that nearly reached her waist – and the three children. For once, he could see all their faces clearly; usually at least one child was half-hidden behind a huge puff of candy floss, buried under a pile of balls at a soft play centre, or bent down stroking a goat at a petting zoo. Raj – his blood brother (they’d pricked their thumbs with a compass in Maths class and rubbed them together) – was happy and well. Tears filled Phil’s eyes.
He scrolled down the photos Raj had posted since Phil last dared to look. It seemed he was still running the Costless Coffee franchise, his sister had adopted another child, his parents were still alive. Phil’s finger hovered over the phone. He couldn’t help it. He had to look, had to torment himself. He scrolled all the way down to the pictures of Raj and Neelam’s wedding day. Raj was wearing a white sherwani, his parents beaming with pride. The best man was someone Phil didn’t recognise.
22
Cate and Natalie strolled across the Rialto Bridge side by side, backs to the camera. The morning’s shoot was over; Natalie no longer had to worry about whether a shadow was creating a double chin effect nor whether the camera was zooming in on the fine hairs above her top lip. Presenting wasn’t as much fun as Natalie remembered; perhaps she’d been less self-conscious in the days ofPanda’s Place.
Despite Phil’s temporary absence, the Venice leg of the series was shaping up nicely. Cate was the perfect, camera-friendly contestant. The backdrop of the palazzo, not to mention the city itself, was advertising catnip and was certain to send their viewing figures soaring. The only thing preying on Natalie’s mind was the fizzing out of her evening with Eraldo. Trying not to dwell on it was as futile as wishing she had Mandy Miller’s natural warmth and charm.
‘That is all for today.’ Lucia glanced at her clipboard for confirmation, though she doubtless had the entire fortnight’s schedule committed to memory.
‘Thanks, Cate, you did a great job,’ Natalie said.
‘No problem, it was fun.’ Cate smoothed her hair back, sending a waft of Chanel perfume Natalie’s way. Today, she’d teamed a blush-pink blouse with an elegant pencil skirt and a dotty scarf tied just-so at the neck: a look that would scream cut-price air hostess if ever Natalie tried to emulate it.
‘We are so lucky you persuaded the crew to take the rest of the day off and add a little time on at the end, Lucia. It will make it much less of a rush once Phil is here,’ Natalie said. ‘Poor fellow, it can’t be fun being stuck at that airport hotel all day but at least he’s not sleeping on the departure-lounge floor.’
