‘Oh, sorry!’ She scrambled to her feet and took a seat at the kitchen table. The pasta, as she’d suspected, was limp but Joe had tried and that was what counted. Once they were married, she’d gently take over the cooking. She’d makemesciuawith chickpeas and grains, veal belly stuffed with vegetables and cheese and she’d chop great green bunches of basil to make bright fresh pesto the way she’d learnt back in the village. Back in the days when her mother’s kitchen was still a place of energetic endeavour, warmth, joy and love.
She realised he was looking at her expectantly.
‘Delicious,’ she said.
‘I’m glad I decided to cook tonight. I hope this wedding planning isn’t tiring you out.’
She bit back a yawn. ‘No, I’m glad of something to do.’
‘More fun than working in a supermarket.’
Stella smiled weakly. She could hardly believe it when they’d called everyone in to announce the redundancies. They hadn’t even wanted her to work her notice, that was how little they valued her.
‘It’s a blessing in disguise, you know.’ He patted her hand. The weighty diamond ring glittered under the kitchen spotlights. Ithadlooked a little out of place with her nylon uniform, but she’d enjoyed working on the till at Save Mart, a fact that mystified Joe, who’d been dropping heavy hints for weeks about cutting her hours.
‘I’ll look for another job,’ Stella said firmly. ‘Just as soon as I’ve finished this wedding admin. Every time I cross something off the list Carol or Lauren think of something else I need to do.’
‘Perhaps I should have whisked you off to Gretna Green.’
‘You could whisk me off anywhere.’ She took a welcome break from the spaghetti to squeeze his hand.
‘Funny you should say that…’
‘Why? Have you booked the honeymoon already?’ They’d talked about the Maldives, Portugal, even a safari.
‘I’ll tell you – show you – after we’ve finished.’ He mopped up the remains of his pasta sauce with a small piece of bread. Conscious her bowl was still half full, Stella chomped through the rest, glad she had a couple of Rennies in her handbag.
He swivelled round and took an envelope from the drawer behind him. She recognised the logo of the high street travel agent at once.
‘Open it.’ He smiled.
She scanned the printed itinerary. So, he had booked their honeymoon.
‘Two weeks in the south of France? How lovely.’
‘Look more closely.’
‘But that’s in less than a week!’ Her voice came out in a squeak. Had he changed the date of the wedding without even asking her? Carol would be furious; she’d booked the two of them in a for a whole raft of hard-to-get hair and beauty appointments.
‘This isn’t our honeymoon, you daft thing. It’s for your birthday. You didn’t really expect us to celebrate your sixtieth down the local Chinese like I said we would? Take a look at the hotel.’ He held out his phone.
She expanded the screen: an exclusive-looking yellow villa with bottle-green shutters perched on a cliff; a terracotta tiled roof; vivid pink bougainvillea cascading down one wall; small tables lit by lanterns on a long terrace. An infinity pool. Absolutely dreamy. It certainly beat the shiny wallpaper and slightly limp pot plants at the Yin Court. And a celebratory meal locally hadn’t seemed quite so special once Lauren had cried off to go to some super-important conference in the States.
‘It looks like Italy.’
‘Portofino.’
‘Portofino, of course! I recognise the harbour now.’ She’d seen pictures of the exclusive Ligurian resort, but never visited. Never been back to Italy, save for Florence and Rome, since she’d left. ‘But surely it’s easier to fly into Genoa than Nice.’
‘It’s not a one-destination holiday. We’re going somewhere else first.’ Joe grasped her hands in his. His eyes were shining.
‘Where?’ Stella tried to push down the feeling of dread. She extricated her hand and took another, very large, mouthful of wine.
‘I told the woman in the travel agent’s the name of the little village you came from but she said there weren’t any hotels there.’
Stella let out a breath. No Airbnbs either, she hoped.
‘She told me San Remo was the nearest big town and when she showed me the pictures of the palm trees on the seafront I couldn’t resist booking us in for a few nights. I know you’ve probably been there a million times but I hope you’ll indulge me.’
