‘You see, it’s a fabulous opportunity,’ Cate said firmly. ‘Look, our flight’s on time and there doesn’t seem to be too bad a queue at Bag Drop. Let’s get rid of this lot. We’ll be sitting in the lounge before we know it. I could murder a glass of champagne.’ Perhaps it would help Phil to relax; she couldn’t remember when she’d last seen him so tense.
The line for the bag-drop machines moved painfully slowly, a family with a pile of huge, monogrammed trunks causing a commotion in front of them. At last, a woman in a short-sleeved shirt beckoned them forwards.
‘You first.’ Phil heaved Cate’s case up onto the belt. She scanned the boarding pass on her phone and attached the luggage tag, amazed the bulging case was several kilograms under the limit. It wobbled slightly as the conveyor belt carried it out of sight.
‘Now yours.’
Her husband didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes roaming an area beyond her head.
‘Phil?’
‘Just hold on a moment. I’ve got a message.’ He pulled out his phone, an odd look crossing his face.
‘What is it? Can’t you check that once we’ve found the lounge?’
‘No, no, I can’t… This is important. I’m sorry, Cate. I can’t come with you right now. You’ll have to go on ahead.’
She bit down her impatience. ‘It’s okay, I’ll wait. But let’s get rid of your case.’ She sensed the stares of the queuing families boring into the back of her head.
Phil slid the phone back into his pocket. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t come with you to Venice today. There’s something… a problem at the workshop.’
‘Phil, what the heck! I’ll have to get my case back. Where’s one of the airline staff when you need one?’ Cate swivelled her head.
‘No, Cate, you have to go on ahead. We can’t let the TV company down; think of the bad publicity. I’ll get a flight out tomorrow. I can’t hang around here; I’ll have to go and find a taxi.’
‘Phil! Where do you think you’re going?’ Cate’s voice rose. ‘You can’t go back to the house; the TV crew is due any minute. The count and countess are arriving tonight.’
Phil threw his hands up in the air as though she were the one causing the problem. ‘I’ll get a hotel somewhere… There’s one two streets from the office.’
‘But that’s a Premier Inn!’ She couldn’t remember Phil ever booking anything less than a four star in all the years they’d been married.
‘Who cares? That’s not important.’
‘I’m coming with you.’ Cate waved at a passing air steward. ‘Please, are you with BA?’
‘Cate!’ Phil actually shouted at her. He never shouted.
‘Is everything all right, madam?’ The steward’s brow wrinkled.
‘Err, yes, thank you, it was nothing.’ Cate would try and retrieve her suitcase as soon as she’d calmed Phil down.
‘Phil…’
‘Please, Cate. This is just one day, I promise you. Your seat’s booked, your case is on its way, the TV people are meeting you at the other end. Go and buy yourself something nice in Duty Free, have a glass of champagne in the lounge, read a book. You’re always saying you don’t have enough “Me Time”.’
Phil pecked her on the lips, grabbed the handle of his suitcase and headed towards the yellow sign for taxis.
She stood watching his departing back, aware that her mouth had literally dropped open.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, madam?’ The steward had reappeared. His brass-buttoned blazer and polished shoes emitted a calm authority.
Cate smoothed down her dress, flicked a strand of Ted’s hair off her sleeve. ‘Yes, I’m quite all right, thank you.’ The sooner she got moving, the sooner she’d be sitting down with a much-needed glass of champagne.
She walked briskly across the tiled floor, made her way through security and headed for the lounge, ignoring the bright lights and alluring scents wafting from the World of Duty Free.
The young woman behind the desk swiped Cate’s card with the minimum of fuss. She sank down onto a comfortable leather seat, still seething with irritation. She’d spent weeks getting everything ready for their trip – not to mention organising their summer party – so that all her husband had to do was jump in a car to the airport. But she wasn’t going to waste her energy on righteous anger; she was going to enjoy a cold glass of champagne and then she was flying to Venice. This was just a blip. Tomorrow, Phil would be getting on a plane. They’d meet up at the palazzo on the Grand Canal and everything would be fine. She wouldn’t let her mind wander back to her conversation with Lucy, nor think of her neighbour Kiran alone in her big house whilst her husband was away. Phil’s message was from work. It had to be. And now she’d use this sliver of ‘Me Time’, as he called it, to sit and think. To decide once and for all if she had the courage to sneak away during a break in the filming to do what she’d been putting off for the best part of twenty-five years.
7
