Chapter 22
22
I have no idea how I got through Cameron’s massage without jumping on him, but I just about managed to maintain my composure, thank goodness. The downside is that I had an incredibly filthy dream about him and woke this morning still feeling distinctly flustered. Thankfully, the bed was wide enough that there was no possibility of a repeat of erection-gate, as I don’t think I could have been held responsible for my actions. One thing is in no doubt: I’m looking at Cameron in a totally different light today. Despite my best efforts, however, I can’t work out whether he feels it too; if he does, he’s doing a good job of concealing it. It’s probably for the best. This is a temporary hormonal setback, nothing more. If I’d given in to temptation, it would have undoubtedly been fun in the moment, but it would also have led to a morning of incredible awkwardness and regret. I like him. I fancy him even. But I can’t cope with the mess of what that would mean in reality if we acted on it.
We’re now back at the airport, waiting to catch our flight to Paris. We’re still pink, but the lotion has done a good job of soothing the worst of the sunburn, and I’m feeling much more human, having had a long shower and dressed in clean clothes this morning. I’m just about to switch my phone to flight mode when it pings with a message. It’s from Sam, and my heart sinks. If she’s going to tell me something’s gone wrong and they’re not docking in Florence, I might react badly.
GOOD NEWS! We’re docked in Livorno, and we’re here for two nights so you’ve got plenty of time to make it here. Robin and I are off to visit Florence today, but really hoping we’ll see you later. Sx.
The relief is intense as I turn the phone and show Cameron the message. ‘All we need now is for the flights to behave and we’re home and dry,’ I tell him.
‘Don’t jinx it,’ he warns me. ‘Bad luck comes in threes, remember, and we’ve only had two doses so far.’
‘You’re a barrel of joy this morning,’ I observe. ‘Did you get out of bed on the wrong side?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be negative.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll be blaming you if we get stuck in Paris.’
‘There are worse places to be stuck,’ he remarks.
‘Paris is probably even more expensive than Cannes,’ I retort. ‘Not being funny, but I have a fully paid-for cabin that I’d like to get some value for money out of.’
‘It has been an adventure though, hasn’t it? Can you believe we’ve only been away from the ship for two nights?’
‘Is that really all? So much has happened that I can’t believe it was only the day before yesterday that my phone was stolen in Barcelona.’
‘I know it’s been a faff, but we haven’t actually missed out on anything, have we? In fact, we’ve done better because we got to see some of Cannes, which nobody on the ship did. Do you think you’ll keep in touch with Claudine?’
‘I don’t know. She wasn’t going to let me go without getting my number but what have we actually got in common?’
‘Who knows, when you’re a fully-fledged member of the nudist community in the UK, you might want to invite her and Philippe over.’
‘That’s not going to happen. It was strictly a one-off, under duress.’
‘If you say so.’
Thankfully, further debate on the subject is prevented by the announcement that the flight is ready to board. Annoyingly, we had to leave the toiletries behind at the hotel as they wouldn’t have been allowed in the cabin, so our hand luggage consists of a single carrier bag with a few clothes in it. On the plus side, this allows us to sit back and enjoy the spectacle of the other passengers, most of whom are trailing wheelie cases, jostling for position so they can get on first and secure the all-important overhead locker space. By the time we wander down the jetway to the aircraft, pretty much everyone else has boarded and there’s carnage as the cabin crew try to explain to the unlucky passengers who weren’t quick enough that their bags will have to go in the hold.
‘But I’ve paid to have bloody hand luggage,’ one particularly irate English-sounding man is practically yelling at a stewardess. ‘It’s my right to have my bag with me.’
‘Uh-oh,’ I murmur to Cameron. ‘Angry Brit alert. Why is it always us?’
‘ Monsieur ,’ the stewardess explains, remarkably patiently in my opinion, as the rest of the cabin goes quiet to listen. ‘The aircraft is full. There is nowhere for your bag to go. Either you can let me put it in the hold, or you can get off and try a later flight. Shouting at me is not going to change anything.’
‘This is an absolute joke,’ he rants, unmollified. ‘That man there had two bags. Why aren’t you getting him to put one of his in the hold?’
‘Because he has one in the locker and one under the chair in front of him. He’s not taking any more locker space than anyone else.’
‘For fuck’s sake. This is totally ridiculous. I demand you find me a space for my bag.’
‘There is space. In the hold.’
‘I don’t want it in the fucking hold. I’ve got meetings when I get to the other end. I haven’t got time to wait around for your lazy-arsed baggage handlers to come off whatever strike they’re currently on and load it onto the wrong sodding carousel, like they always do. And that’s assuming the useless bastards haven’t lost it first. I’ve specifically paid to have hand luggage, and it’s not my fault your aircraft doesn’t have enough storage. Piss off and find me a solution.’
‘ Certainement, monsieur ,’ the stewardess tells him before marching up to the front of the plane, where we all watch agog as she engages in conversation with one of her colleagues. A few moments later, a stern-faced woman wearing a badge identifying her as the cabin manager approaches the man.
‘ Monsieur ,’ she begins in a steely tone of voice. ‘My colleague informs me that you have been abusive to her. I must ask you to leave the aircraft at once. We do not tolerate this behaviour.’
‘I haven’t been bloody abusive,’ the man retorts, turning an even darker shade of purple. ‘I merely explained to her that I’ve paid to have hand baggage, and therefore it’s the airline’s responsibility to find space for it.’
‘ Monsieur ,’ she repeats in an even more dangerous tone. ‘You have reduced one of my staff to tears. I have no interest in what you believe to be your rights, and you are welcome to take that up with the airline once you have disembarked. I do, however, have a great deal of interest in the well-being of my crew, who are responsible for the safety of everyone on board during this flight. I cannot and will not allow them to be subjected to abuse. I will therefore ask you once more to leave the aircraft immediately, taking your belongings with you.’
‘Yeah, well, good luck with that, darlin’,’ the man says, adopting a mutinous tone. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘So, just to be clear. You are refusing to disembark, yes?’
‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I see.’ Again, we all watch as she marches up the aisle and disappears onto the flight deck. Moments later, the captain’s voice comes over the intercom.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to inform you that there will be a short delay to our departure this morning. My cabin manager has explained to me that we have an abusive passenger on board who is refusing to disembark. I’ve spoken to our ground crew and we’re just waiting for the police to come and remove him. As soon as that’s done we’ll close the doors and be on our way.’
‘He’d better not make us miss our connection,’ I say to Cameron. Entertaining as the exchanges have been, the seriousness of the situation is now becoming clear.
‘What did I tell you about bad luck coming in threes?’
‘Stop it.’
It takes around ten minutes for the gendarmes to arrive. There’s palpable tension on the plane as the cabin manager points the man out to them and they advance down the aisle.
‘Please come with us, monsieur ,’ one of them says to the man.
‘Why? What have I done?’
‘We will discuss that in the terminal building once you have disembarked.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘ Monsieur . Either you come with us or we will remove you by force.’
The man sits there for a moment, evidently considering his options, before yanking off his seatbelt and getting up.
‘Fine,’ he says furiously, grabbing his bag and setting off up the aisle with the gendarmes behind him. He’s just by the door when he suddenly turns.
‘This is a joke fucking airline ,’ he yells loudly enough that the whole cabin can hear. ‘I’m never flying with you bastards again, and I’m going to tell everyone I know not to fly with you either. You’re fucking scammers .’
As the gendarmes bundle him off, the cabin manager gives a small farewell wave, and a ripple of relieved laughter runs down the cabin. The main door is closed and, to my relief, the pushback starts very soon after that.
‘We’re half an hour behind schedule,’ I murmur to Cameron as we finally climb into the air. ‘Are we going to have enough time?’
‘It’s going to be tight. We might need to run.’
‘I’ll bloody sprint if I have to.’
* * *
In the end, the captain managed to make up a bit of time, even though it was a short flight, so we were able to transfer to our connecting flight without breaking into anything more than a brisk walk.
‘We’ve bloody done it!’ I say to Cameron as we touch down in Pisa late that afternoon. ‘All we need now is a taxi, and we’re back in business.’
‘I don’t know whether to be pleased that we’ve made it or miffed that you didn’t fancy spending a night in Paris with me,’ he says with a smile.
‘Another time, perhaps,’ I tell him with a grin.
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
As the taxi makes its way towards the port, Cameron’s words are echoing around my head. Did he mean what he said? Is he expecting us to actually schedule a whole trip to Paris, just the two of us? I mean, I like him and everything, and I’d like us to keep in touch after the cruise, but a weekend away in the self-proclaimed ‘city of love’ seems a bit intense. A scenario forms in my mind, and I let it play. Cameron and I are in a hotel room very similar to the one we stayed in last night, except we’re in Paris, obviously. I’m lying face down on the bed and he’s massaging my back, my buttocks, as well as the backs of my thighs and calves. I close my eyes, remembering the sensations from last night and feeling myself becoming aroused again. However, the fantasy isn’t finished with me. With a sigh of pleasure, I roll over and he begins to massage my shoulders, working down to my breasts, lowering his head to kiss them…
‘We’re here,’ he announces, puncturing the daydream and causing me to snap open my eyes. Although the fantasy was extremely pleasant, the reality of seeing the Spirit of Malmo up close in the flesh again is even better.
‘I can’t believe it,’ I murmur as we pass through security and walk up the airbridge. ‘We’ve made it.’
‘Yup. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to have a long shower and then head up to the pool for a well-earned drink.’
‘I think I’ll join you. For the drink, I mean. Not the shower, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ he agrees, looking at me quizzically. ‘Are you all right, Ruby?’
‘Yes, fine. Just, umm, overcome by finally being back on board. See you shortly.’
I turn and flee in the direction of my cabin, blushing furiously. The idea of sharing a shower with Cameron was way more attractive than it had any right to be. I need to get this situation under control, and fast.