Page 16 of Escape to the Sun

‘Oh, Nath, what do you think?’ Ruth replied.

10

Louis had expected the audience to be a complete blur to him – had kind of hoped he wouldn’t be able to make out any faces. He thought it would make it easier to answer the questions, if he could pretend that he and Hamish were alone in the room.

To be honest, he’d been more concerned about whether the patches of nervous sweat he knew he had no hope of controlling would show through his shirt. It had been bad enough to know he’d wandered around the ship sporting a blob of blue paint. Something his crew had been delighted to point out once he’d made it back to the safety of the bridge.

But more faces in the Q&A auditorium were visible than he would have liked, and it took a few minutes before he’d settled down and focused on Hamish and the questions. And then his Head of Entertainment had thrown a curveball at him, asking if he was single. As Louis had cast around the room to give himself time to decide how to answer, he’d realised Hannah Maynard was right there, in the second row of the audience, and it had completely thrown him. He’d struggled to speak at all, blurting something out about the ship being his priority. Made himself sound like some kind of paragon of professionalism, boring as hell to boot.

Why did he care what Hannah thought of him? Why had he felt the need to hide behind the ship and his job? What did it matter if Hannah knew he was single? He didn’t even know why she was on board the Ballygowan alone. Didn’t know anything about her except she must have lost someone precious very recently and that she was an artist. A good one if the piece he’d seen in the gallery, now taking shape with colour from some skilfully applied watercolour, was anything to go by.

He’d taken a sneaky peek, trying to flush from his memory the fact he’d managed to go and get blue paint on himself when he’d talked to her. He must have looked like a complete idiot as he walked away – she must have seen it.

It didn’t mean anything, Louis told himself.

So why did this woman keep percolating her way into his thoughts? Now he was behind the auditorium, in the safety of the dressing room, changing into casual clothes as Hamish suggested they head to a bar for a drink.

‘Mine will have to be a pint of something non-alcoholic,’ Louis said.

‘Wouldn’t expect anything less from the captain of the Ballygowan.’ Hamish leant in and lowered his voice. ‘Captain Crowther hates these evenings, not that the audience ever guesses. That guy can really turn on the charm, but he never socialises afterwards, so you’re already one up in my book.’ He straightened. ‘You were great, by the way. Sounded like you’ve been doing these things forever.’

Louis shook his head. ‘Didn’t feel like it.’

‘Never does. I’ve been performing for ten years on cruise ships, and I still feel like I’m about to vomit before I go on. Every time. Never been able to stop the feeling, so I embrace it instead. Now it would feel weird if it didn’t happen.’

Hamish led the way, and they scaled the stairs to the deck above the theatre, then headed for the Ocean Bar. Hamish’s favourite, apparently. Popular with the passengers, too, if the crowded space was any measure of the place.

Louis nursed his pint of ‘Elf and safety cola’ as he and Hamish chatted, the ice long since melted when Hamish drained his beer and headed off with his trademark grin and another upbeat reference to the delights of ‘the stage’.

‘Can I get another glass of “Mrs Claus’ Merlot” and one of those elderflower cordial things, please…?’

The voice behind Louis was familiar, and he turned to see Hannah pointing at bottles in one of the fridges behind the bar.

‘Oh. Hi,’ she said as she clocked him. ‘You’ve changed your shirt.’

‘Flying under the radar, or trying to, anyway,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just get the drinks and leave you to it.’

‘No, please. Don’t.’

She stayed put, as did the gaze of her watchful eyes. Like it had that very first day on the bridge, it felt to Louis as though she could see right into him, past all the noise and bluster and see him for who he really was. It was a strangely reassuring sensation – especially strange because he knew next to nothing about her, or her about him.

‘How are you getting on with your painting?’ he asked.

‘It’s good to have so much time just to focus on it. I haven’t spent this much uninterrupted time on a piece of art since I finished art school – which feels like a million years ago, to be honest.’

‘What do you do that keeps you so busy?’

‘I work in my parents’ deli in a little town near Southampton.’

‘And you enjoy it?’ he asked.

Hannah shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

The guarded expression returned, and Louis took a sip of his drink as Hannah took charge of her own drinks order. She wasn’t in the bar on her own – that much was clear from the fact she’d ordered two drinks – but while Louis was expecting her to take the opportunity to give him a polite brush-off and return to her table, she didn’t. Instead, she lingered a moment longer.

‘The girl who was painting with me when you visited the gallery, do you remember her?’