They hurriedly made their way over to the gallery door, just in time to see snow softly falling in the darkness and Venetia and her childhood friend, Lucien, walking away down the cobbled street of St Anne’s Court.
‘Look!’ hissed Cassie. ‘She’s resting her arm on his! Oh, it’s just so romantic!’
‘That wasn’t what you thought a few minutes ago,’ said Nina.
‘Well no, then I was still recovering from the shock of thinking Venetia had died. But,’ she went on, craning her neck yet further to get a better view, ‘this could be the start of their happy ever after.’
Chapter Sixty-One
There was so much to say but it was far too cold to wander the streets of Cambridge so they could talk and with fat flakes of snow falling determinedly and settling thickly on the ground, they went into the nearest restaurant, even though Venetia doubted she would be able to eat a thing.
They were shown to a table by an excessively cheerful young waitress who gave them over-sized laminated menus and pointed to the specials of the day on the blackboard. ‘Anything to drink?’ she asked chirpily.
‘Brandy for me,’ answered Venetia, ‘I need it for the—’ she was going to say shock, but changed her mind. ‘For the cold,’ she said.
‘I’ll have the same,’ muttered Lucien.
‘With ice?’ the girl asked.
‘Certainly not,’ Lucien said, his bushy eyebrows raised as if in disgust.
When they were alone, Venetia said, ‘That girl probably isn’t much older than the age we were when we last saw one another.’
‘I can’t tell how old anyone is these days; I just know that I’m as old as Methuselah and ready for the scrapheap.’
‘We’re the same age, and if you don’t mind, I don’t consider myself ready for the scrapheap.’ Venetia’s voice was light and playful.
He rattled his throat. ‘Maybe you’ve been lucky in life.’
‘Have you not had a happy life, then?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘What does happy even mean?’
She studied his craggy, weatherbeaten face and felt a great surge of tender nostalgia for her old friend. Despite the many years that had passed, and which had undeniably left their mark on him, she could still discern the boy within, the proud boy she had loved so much and wanted to protect so badly. ‘What a question, Lucien!’ she remarked. ‘Are you saying you’ve never known what it is to be happy?’
‘Again, it all depends on your definition of happiness.’
How sad, she thought, sensing that maybe, even with all its many ups and downs, her life had been a lot happier than his.
‘But I must say, luxury apartments or not, I was surprised when you said earlier that you’d moved back to Hope Hall. Of all the places in the world you could have gone! Why the hell there?’ Not giving her a chance to reply, he rumbled on throatily. ‘And as for recognising me the way you did, I still don’t know how you did that.’
‘Presumably in the same way you eventually recognised me,’ she said, ‘a sixth sense of just knowing one another. I swear I felt something, a tingling up and down my spine before I’d really looked at you, as though my subconscious had already figured it out.’
‘But was there something in particular that made you know it was me?’
‘It was when I overheard you speaking to that woman who was admiring your painting, it was the gruff offhand way you spoke to her, it took me right back to being a child with you at Hope Hall.’
‘For me,’ he said, ‘it was your eyes which I recognised first. They were always so sharp and alert. You never missed anything and clearly you didn’t this evening.’
Their waitress appeared then with their drinks. Setting them on the table, she asked in her bright chirpy voice if they’d chosen what they wanted to eat.
‘I can recommend the medallions of pork with apple,’ she said, ‘and the lamb shanks are good too.’
Lucien looked askance at Venetia.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the waitress, ‘we haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet. We’ve been too busy talking.’
‘No problem, I can come back in a few minutes.’
