Cate and Phil clinked glasses on cue. Tiny bubbles rose to the surface of their drinks, sparkling in the soft light from the antique wall sconces.
The Prosecco bottle stood on a low, glass-topped coffee table with lion’s paws for feet, its label turned towards the camera. The exclusive vineyard, located just a few kilometres north of where they were sitting, had paid handsomely for the subtle product placement.
‘To our new Venetian adventure,’ Cate said. Her face was painstakingly made up, her pink dress chosen to contrast prettily with the room’s red hues, a diamond necklace nestled in her gently tanned cleavage. She was no longer the grim-faced, angry individual who’d stormed off that afternoon.
Phil gazed adoringly at his wife. ‘Our new adventure and all our other adventures to come.’
Cate smiled. None but the most discerning viewer would spot the slight stiffness around her jaw.
‘Well done! That is the end of our filming for tonight,’ Lucia said. ‘We have an early start tomorrow morning. The most prestigious glass factory on Murano will be giving you a private demonstration of glass blowing.’
‘How early?’ Phil put the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn.
Lucia opened the folder she clutched to her chest like a newborn baby. ‘A private water taxi will collect you at six thirty. That is why I have arranged for the count’s personal cook to create a meal for the two of you here tonight. It will be less tiring for you than going out. I know it is not a long flight from London, Phil, but travel can be exhausting.’
‘Giovanni used to work at the Hotel Cipriani,’ Natalie added. ‘He’s a marvellous chef.’
‘I am so happy to be sharing a meal with my wife, I wouldn’t care less if it was beans on toast.’ Phil turned to Cate. ‘You don’t know how I’ve missed you.’
‘Me too.’ Cate looked rather bashful, as though she wasn’t used to her husband being so effusive.
‘Well, it’s been lovely to meet you again, Phil. I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal, which I promise you is not beans on toast.’ Natalie picked up her bag. The crew were packing up, careful to lift their equipment to save scratching the glossy floor.
Phil stood up. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you too. Or should I say, meet you again. I’m sorry I don’t remember speaking to you in the art gallery but I do remember trying to escape my raucous classmates! It must be fate, you and Cate meeting again like this. It’s going to make our stay even better.’ He stepped forward and planted a kiss on both Natalie’s cheeks.
Natalie stood frozen, arms pressed to her side. ‘Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ His smile reached his eyes, warm and friendly. Natalie couldn’t detect a trace of guilt.
‘Goodnight, Natalie.’ Cate’s cheek brushed hers lightly, both women kissing the air.
‘You go ahead, Natalie; do not wait for me,’ Lucia said.
Natalie didn’t need to be told twice. Stepping out into the dark street, getting away from Phil and Cate, was like casting off a heavy, itchy sweater on a warm, spring day.
A familiar figure was walking towards her. Eraldo! Without thinking, she broke into a run.
‘Eraldo! I thought you were meeting me at the osteria.’
‘I could not sit there, waiting. I was worried about you. What was it like meeting that man, Phil?’ He kissed her twice, his faint stubble rough against her cheek. How good he smelt. She wished she could fling her arms around him, lose herself in a comforting embrace.
‘It was hard, really hard. But it was really strange too. If I didn’t know what he’d done, I would have said he’s the nicest guy I could hope to meet.’
‘Perhaps that is why Cate finds your story so hard to believe… Shall we go to La Gallina Verde, if you have not lost your appetite?’
‘For risotto? Never!’
They set off through the back streets, her arms swinging loosely by her side, free of the tension she’d been holding inside for hours.
‘Careful!’ He steered her around a dropped ice-cream, a pink slick spreading across the paving.
‘Thanks! I didn’t spot that.’
‘I expect you are still thinking about this Phil.’ He took her hand in his. ‘It is not far to walk now.’
‘Good,’ she said automatically, though she’d be happy to tackle the entire length of the Grand Canal in a pair of high heels if he kept hold of her hand.
A metal sign in the shape of a hen told her the osteria was ahead of them. The narrowcalle, lit only by the lights from the row of eating places, wasn’t wide enough for outside tables, but the view through the osteria’s small window looked cosy and inviting.
