Malcolm, silent until this point, tipped his face away from the view and frowned. ‘Do they?’
‘You’re always saying how Halle Berry never gets it wrong, and she’s usually short-haired. And I’m not imagining it when I say your wife had short hair, didn’t she?’
‘You know she did. Still does. She didn’t die, Billie.’
Tad gripped at his seatbelt, then realised Malcolm’s reference to death hadn’t fazed him as badly as it used to. Honor was dead, and whereas anyone talking flippantly about dying used to cause him to shut down his emotions to protect himself, this time the jolt didn’t come. Instead, he closed his eyes for a second and saw her, but she was smiling, and then so was he.
Malcolm glanced at Tad. ‘Divorced, with three boys, that’s me.’ Turning his attention back to Billie, he added, ‘Just because my ex-wife chooses to wear her hair short, it doesn’t mean I have a fetish for women with short hair. And anyway, Halle Berry’s had loads of styles over the years. My admiration for her runs a lot deeper than the length of her hair, Billie.’
Billie tutted. ‘All right, Malc, no need to lose your shit. I’m glad you’re on this trip with us, Tad; seems like everyone’s in a bit of a grump this morning. You can be my ray of sunshine.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he replied.
‘You didn’t tell me, though, did you?’ She grinned at him, pointing to her hair.
‘No. I didn’t,’ he replied.
Billie laughed. ‘Retaining an air of mystery. Good for you. There’s no mileage in giving everything up too quickly, is there?’
‘I suppose not,’ he said. He got the feeling Billie wasn’t necessarily talking about hairstyles any longer.
‘Anyway, I booked tickets online for all of us. Usually, Amelia does all that stuff for me, but this was a bit last-minute. And it’s not like I can’t do these things for myself – Iama fully formed adult. Luckily there were some spaces in the eleven o’clock cable car, so we won’t have to wait too long.’ She checked the time on her phone, then said, rather loudly, ‘Unless we miss it – we are driving at a snail’s pace. Could we go a bit morerapido, driver, do you think?’
At the cable car station, the gondola was already filling up, swallowing dozens of people. Tad managed to negotiate his way to stand at the glass, to get the best view. As the cable car lifted from Malcesine and edged its way up and away from the town, Tad took in the array of brightly coloured buildings, typical of the area, lots of sunny, vibrant yellows alongside burnt umber roof tiles; every now and again a fresh, cornflower blue or marigold orange.
The view as they glided up the mountain was not unlike many he’d taken in during his time in the French Alps – awesome mountain-scape lifting into the ether, rocky outcrops and wooded areas becoming tiny and toy-like as they moved higher. All minus the snow, of course. But standing cheek-by-jowl in these circumstances was very different to ski gondolas. In the warmth of the summer sun people had opted for shorts and T-shirts rather than all-enveloping ski kit and it became tricky to maintain personal space. Especially when Billie ducked beneath the arm with which he was propping himself against the gondola’s frame and squashed herself beside him.
‘Ah, that’s better. I couldn’t see much from back there.’ Billie peered through the glass, using Tad’s frame as a brace as the car swung and she lost her balance. ‘Well, that’s not as impressive as the view of Mont Blanc when we were doing the Alps book.’ She glanced around, her voice gaining volume as she said, ‘Malcolm, don’t you agree? The view from that cable car out of Base de Nuages was better than this, don’t you think?’
Malcolm mumbled an unintelligible answer, which seemed to satisfy Billie, but Tad couldn’t fail to notice the swell of chatter around them. People were beginning to realise they recognised Billie and, as everyone spilled from the cable car in the middle station and headed for the next one to take them to the summit, the view was forgotten as Billie became the centre of attention.
Tad edged around to Malcolm who stood sentinel as people became emboldened and Billie disappeared into the centre of the chatter.
‘Does this happen a lot?’ he said.
Malcolm nodded. ‘Any moment now they’ll start wanting to take selfies with her. You wait.’
Almost as soon as he’d said it, phones were extracted from pockets and the process began. Although Tad had worked for celebrities during his career, either when they were dining at the hotel in Edinburgh where he’d worked alongside Honor, or during his stints as a private chef, he supposed that had always been during their ‘downtime’, private time away from the glare of the limelight. This was his first experience of celebrity up close. There was something exciting about it, the way Billie’s smile brightened every time someone crowded in to take a selfie, or when someone asked her to sign whatever they had to hand – leaflets for Monte Baldo were popular.
At the summit they disembarked, and Tad turned a circle, hands on hips, to take everything in. People milled about, those who had crowded Billie on the way up smiling and saying goodbye to her as though they were great friends. The track beneath his feet wasn’t as rough as he’d expected – it was littered with granite chips but was wide and level and gave plenty of room for everyone to stand and take in their surroundings.
‘That was nice,’ Billie said, threading her arm through his and gesturing for Malcolm to join them. ‘My photo will be all over social media within the hour – nothing like it to remind everyone how relevant I am.’
Tad was confused when Malcolm didn’t link arms with Billie as he’d assumed her gesture had meant. Instead, he unzipped his camera bag and drew out a camera with a massive professional lens. Billie gripped his arm more tightly and told him to smile. Malcolm took a few shots, asked them to move, to stand at a different angle to the view, to look at the camera, away from the camera, past the camera, until Billie pulled away and slapped at the back of her neck.
‘Ow. What was that?’ She glanced around. ‘Why is it always me? Bloody bugs. Right, does the eatery up here do champagne? I’d love a glass, maybe with some olives, or crackers. Failing that I could survive on an espresso, I suppose. Anyone else?’
* * *
Amy had the back seat to herself as she and Hugh made the drive to Malcesine. It was an extremely comfortable back seat, too, in a beautiful black sedan Hugh had magicked up within the ten minutes he’d given her to get ready. The driver had held the door for her to climb in, bathing her in a broad smile as he did so. He made her feel a million dollars, even though she was still dressed in her overworked jeans and yet another T-shirt from the tourist shop she’d found on the first day. Then he’d helped Hugh into the front passenger seat, tucking the walking cane Hugh had brought with him against the edge of the leather seat before closing the door with a satisfyingly luxurious clunk.
She smiled as she watched the scenery flow past, listening in to the snatches of conversation Hugh and the driver were having. They clearly knew one another well, the chatter flowing smoothly.
‘Luca, this is my new friend, Amy,’ Hugh said after a while, gesturing towards her.
‘I am honoured to meet you, Amy.’
‘You too, Luca,’ Amy said.
