Chapter Two
Olivia knew that if Christopher had been on his own, he’d have got the water bus, but he had been grinning from ear to ear as they stepped down into the sleek boat with its gleaming wood and padded white leather seats.
And now he stood next to her as they bounced across the waves and headed towards the Grand Canal, nodding in quiet approval.
‘Okay,’ he said, eyes wide at the sight of the staggering vista, ‘I get it now. It’s worth every penny, even if it is four times the price.’
‘It’s insane,’ breathed Olivia as they glided between ancient palazzos and faded hotels, the soft crumbling brickwork and peeling plaster in every shade of red and pink – salmon, coral, vermilion, burnt sienna – mixed in with creamy yellow and ochre, and the occasional flash of turquoise or emerald or cobalt on a shutter or a door or an awning.
Christopher wrapped his arms around her from behind and she leaned back into him as they watched the gondolas bobbing in their docks at the sides of the canal and people finishing long lunches at outside tables, even in November. It was like being in a dream, or a film, or someone else’s life.
Eventually they turned off into a narrow canal.
Here, the sunlight could barely get through, and shadows danced on the petrol-blue water as they passed arched windows and wrought-iron balconies and carved doorways, the buildings either side so close they could almost touch them.
It felt like another world, eerie, beguiling, timeless – they could have been in any century, for there was no sign of modern life.
Halfway down, they pulled up to a tiny landing stage marked out by red-and-white-striped poles. As the driver took Olivia’s hand and helped her out of the boat, her coat billowed out behind her. The air smelled of oysters and damp and history, and a faint mist kissed her skin.
They were here.
The hotel had been in the same family for three generations and felt like a well-kept secret, with none of the flashy impersonal glitter of its more expensive competitors. They were greeted with effusive warmth and chilled glasses of Franciacorta, which they drank on their balcony.
With its ornate wallpaper and elaborate wooden headboard, their room was the perfect honeymoon suite.
Olivia glanced into the speckled mirror covering one wall.
Behind her, she saw Christopher flop on to the bed, kicking off his shoes.
One big toe poked out of a hole as he waggled his feet.
She was sure she’d bought him new socks.
No doubt they were sitting unwrapped in the chest of drawers in their bedroom at home.
She shook her head in fond exasperation.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘It’s perfect,’ he said, stretching out with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Shall we get room service?’
‘No way!’ She looked at him in mock horror. ‘I want to go out for Bellinis. And squid ink risotto.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and held out his arm for her. ‘Come here. Let’s just have forty winks before we go.’
She jumped on to the bed, resting her head on the pillow beside him. He loved a nap. She supposed he needed respite from everything going on in his head. All those numbers. Numbers that would have no meaning for her but held huge significance for him, as a forensic accountant.
‘They tell a story to me,’ he’d explained when they first met. ‘I can look at a spreadsheet and see exactly what’s been going on in someone’s life. I can spot the anomalies a mile off. Just as you would be able to spot a fake painting.’
Olivia couldn’t imagine. As a fine art auctioneer, she dealt with numbers every day, but her own bank statements made her go cold. She looked at them as little as possible.
‘That’s called hiding from the truth,’ he’d told her. ‘The truth is always there. Numbers never lie. Not in the way words and pictures can.’
They’d only just managed to squeeze in the wedding and honeymoon between cases.
Christopher was in high demand as an expert witness.
He’d finished in court two days before the wedding, and was due back in the day after they got home.
So Olivia didn’t begrudge him a lie-down before they wandered out for dinner.
She curled her arm around him and nuzzled into his shoulder.
This man, she thought, as her eyes closed. This wonderful, wonderful man.