Chapter 31
31
Eraldo leant across the table. ‘I do believe you, Natalie, I promise you. I believe that a man – a boy – assaulted you. But how can you be so sure this was the husband of your friend? You told me he was wearing the costume of the Plague doctor: a mask over his face, a cape up to here…’ He raised one hand to his chin. ‘A black hat, like so.’ He put the other hand to his forehead.
‘I knew it was him, the boy I’d spoken to in the gallery. He was the same height; he knew my name. He called my Natalie.’
‘But his voice, you said it was strange, you did not recognise it.’
‘It was strange, distorted, a fake creepy voice. Okay, I admit that voice could have been anyone’s but he was wearing those fancy trainers. They had bright-yellow laces; that’s why I noticed them straight away.’
Eraldo scratched his forehead. ‘Those trainers were expensive, aspirational, I guess. To you, these were something you had only seen on pop stars or footballers, in fashion magazines, something kids at your school could only dream of, but this school Phil attended…’
‘Hillingdon.’
‘Yes, Hillingdon: an exclusive boarding school that costs a fortune. Those pupils were sons of lawyers, tech millionaires, even people related to your royal family. Is it not possible that one of those rich pupils had an identical pair? Another boy who overheard one of your friends calling you by your name.’
Natalie let out a sigh; it was as if all the fight had gone out of her. ‘Maybe you’re right; any one of the boys from that school could have seen me leave the masked ball, slipped away and followed me. I was convinced it was the boy I’d spoken to at the gallery; that’s why I couldn’t get over it: that it was someone who’d seemed so nice. What with that, and Cathy – I mean, Cate – not believing me, it stopped me from trusting anyone for all these years. I’ve always feared I was a bad judge of character, that friends and boyfriends would let me down. I’ve carried that with me my whole life.’
Eraldo leant across the table, picked up her hand and squeezed it. ‘But you think highly of Floella, one of the best people I know. And you are here with me tonight. I am not a bad person, I hope.’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Maybe I’ve developed better judgement with age.’
‘I do not think that is it. You thought the boy in the Plague-doctor costume was someone you knew but when he suggested you walk down that sottopassaggio , you were scared; you told me you went with him for fear of looking silly… You were a good judge of character; your gut instinct was right.’
She let go of Eraldo’s hand so the waitress could put down their plates of fish.
‘You’re right. My gut was telling me to run… All these years, I’ve had a problem trusting other people but maybe what I needed to do was trust myself.’
Eraldo cut into his fish. ‘I know how hard that is. For years, I blamed my ex-wife for our break-up but if I look back with a clear head, I can see there were signs from the start that we would not be happy together, things I chose to ignore… and also things that I should have said or done differently.’
‘Regrets are so hard to deal with. I wish I hadn’t said anything to Cate. She was the best friend I ever had. We had the chance to start over and maybe I’ve wrecked our friendship over nothing.’
‘It certainly was not nothing. You can explain to her, give her time… Come, eat your fish; it is so fresh.’ He picked up the wine bottle, distributing what was left between the two of them.
She ate a forkful of fish, simply grilled, the flesh cooked just so. Her appetite had returned. Neither spoke as they ate but each time she glanced up, his eyes met hers.
‘I am glad to see you eat like this. You were looking so pale. Would you like dessert or just coffee?’
‘Coffee, then could we walk for a while, if you are not in a rush? It is such a beautiful evening.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded to the waitress.
The espresso was dark and rich as melted chocolate, giving her brain a little kick that woke it from the pleasant fuzz induced by the wine.
Eraldo paid the bill. They stepped outside. The calle was quiet, their only companions a couple emerging from the restaurant next door. Eraldo took her hand in his. They crossed a small campo boarded by a narrow canal. He stopped by the bottom of a flight of stone steps at the base of a small, brick bridge. He stood and looked at her. Her pulse was racing; she felt as though she was holding her breath.
‘Shall we cross over?’ he said.
Did he just mean the bridge or was he thinking of some other line?
She forced herself to be brave. ‘That depends on whether I follow my gut instinct.’
He slipped his arms around her. ‘What is your gut telling you?’
‘Not to talk any more.’
He lifted a hand to her face, his fingers traced her cheek, his thumb finding the line of her jaw. ‘Is that all?’
‘And to trust what I’m feeling.’ She tilted her head towards his.
His lips brushed hers. ‘And what are you feeling?’ he whispered.
‘Good.’
He kissed her properly this time. She wrapped her arms around him, eyes closed, lost in the moment.
Eventually, they pulled apart.
His eyes glowed in the semi darkness. ‘Still feeling good?’
‘Better.’ She laughed.
‘Good. Because my gut is telling me to do that again.’
* * *
Cate and Phil sat at either end of the magnificent antique table as though they were paranoid dictators meeting to discuss an arms trade, not a long-married couple reunited after several days apart. Cate would have rearranged the seating if Nunzia hadn’t gone to so much effort: white plates rested on golden chargers, wine was poured in finely etched glasses, urns trailed foliage onto a lavishly embroidered linen runner. It felt as though she and Phil had stepped into an oil painting at the Accademia. Phil seemed relaxed and happy but it was hard to read his face; the Murano glass chandelier cast peculiar patterns across his features.
‘Tiramisù.’ Nunzia put down dessert in pretty glass bowls.
‘ Grazie ! Would it be possible to take our coffee in the library?’ Phil said.
‘That would be nice,’ Cate agreed.
‘Of course.’
Cate ate her tiramisù as quickly as was decent, keen to leave the resplendent dining room for the cosier library. Nunzia ushered them down the long corridor and held open the heavy door. Cate sat on a high leather armchair, glad she was wearing heels so her feet could just touch the floor.
‘You look like you’re sitting on a throne.’ Phil laughed. He didn’t sit down, wandering around the room whilst they waited for the coffee to appear, running a hand over the wooden carvings, screwing up his eyes to see the details on a tapestry, peering at a table lamp.
Nunzia put down a tray, dimmed a lamp and glided from the room.
At last, Phil sat down on a matching chair. ‘Just the two of us. I thought it would never happen! Oh, Cate, I’m so glad not to be spending another night on my own. I was hopeless without you, I felt like old Ted with his face pressed up against the window when there’s no one at home.’
Cate frowned. It was so out of character for Phil to gush like this. Was he feeling guilty for something he’d done when they were apart? No, Lucy had to be wrong. Phil wouldn’t play away. But something was making him more emotional than usual.
‘Ted must be missing us,’ she said. ‘I’m glad the TV company has been sending us some updates. He looks happy enough, but who knows what’s going through his doggy head.’
‘Ted will be fine. Now get off that huge chair and come and squeeze up with me; there’s room for two on this.’
She clambered down, kicked off her heels and squeezed on next to Phil, between the arm of the chair and his familiar body. She snuggled into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his cologne, the smell of his skin. They were in a fancy palazzo hundreds of miles from the old vicarage, but now it felt like home.
‘Tell me everything,’ he said. ‘All about your trip to the Guggenheim Collection, and you didn’t tell me much about Burano; did you get to the Lace Museum? I’m so glad about you meeting Natalie again; it must have been so much fun doing those things together.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Cate was glad he couldn’t see her face. She so much wanted to tell him about her fruitless trip to find Mum but she knew he’d urge her to try again and she just couldn’t face it. ‘The Guggenheim collection was amazing,’ she said instead.
‘Not my thing but I’m glad you liked it. Did you see the Kandinsky?’
‘You remembered! He’s one of my favourites.’
He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. ‘Of course I remember.’
She twisted around in the chair, slipped her arm around the back of his shoulders, looked into his grey-blue eyes. Could she risk telling him about what Nat had said? They could laugh together at the absurdity of it all. But how could he carry on filming with a smile on his face knowing what he was accused of? He might even demand they go back home and she couldn’t let him sacrifice the publicity opportunity for the business he’d poured his heart and soul into because of Nat’s groundless accusations. But there was something she could ask him, something that might set her mind at rest.
She planted a kiss on his lips. ‘I missed you. It got me thinking… about Kiran.’
‘Kiran? Our neighbour?’ He repeated her name without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Why her?’
‘I was thinking she must get lonely when her husband goes away on those business trips of his. Maybe we shouldn’t just have dinner with the two of them; maybe sometimes, we should invite her over.’
‘That’s kind of you. Why not? Even better, why don’t you and her go out for a coffee or lunch or something? She could probably do with a friend and… maybe, tell me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I know you see Lucy and some of the others from time to time but I’ve got the feeling that if they weren’t wives of my friends, you probably wouldn’t see them at all.’
‘So, you’re happy for me to spend more time with Kiran.’
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’ He pecked her on the nose.
‘No reason.’ She laughed with relief.
‘What’s funny?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all… I love you, Phil.’
‘I love you too, you daft old sausage. I don’t know about you but I’m getting cramp squashed up in this chair. Shall we go and stretch out somewhere more comfortable?’
‘Are you thinking of that huge great bed of ours? Did you see the painted cherubs and grapes on the headboard? They’re incredible.’
‘It’s not the cherubs I’m thinking about.’ He gave her a cheeky grin.
Cate slipped down from the chair. ‘Come on then, what are we waiting for?’
* * *
Phil rinsed his toothbrush and put it back in the silver-plated tumbler. The edge of the bed where Cate lay was just visible in the corner of the bathroom mirror above the pair of his and hers basins. His wife’s long, smooth legs poked out between the two edges of a sumptuous, velvety robe identical to the one he was now wearing. Cate was humming to herself, a habit he never pointed out in case it made her self-conscious.
He ran a hand over his jaw; he’d shaved that morning and being pale, he didn’t get much of a five o’clock shadow.
‘Phil, are you okay?’ Cate called.
‘Sure, everything’s fine, I won’t be long.’ It was half-true. He didn’t feel as bad as he had feared. Why had he thought that coming to Venice would make things harder? It wasn’t the city that was to blame; it was his own cowardice. And he carried the guilt and the shame wherever he went. No change of location could make him feel worse. Or better.
He splashed some water on his face. Sometimes, he hated the sight of himself in the mirror. This marble bathroom, the basket of expensive unguents he could massage into his body or rub on his face, even his beautiful Cate waiting for him on the bed, who looked like a goddess and whose skin smelt like sugar and roses, had all come at a terrible price. Cate didn’t deserve someone like him, his touch on her skin like toxic pesticide drifting across a meadow.
‘Phil?’
‘Coming!’
He padded over to the bed, his feet cosseted in the complimentary monogrammed slippers the TV company had provided. He perched on the edge.
‘You look tired, darling,’ Cate said.
‘I think the travelling has just caught up with me. And it’s a really early start tomorrow for this glass-blowing trip.’ He gave a yawn he hoped sounded realistic. ‘I don’t think I can stay awake another moment.’
‘Don’t worry. There’s always another time.’ She pressed her soft lips against his. ‘Goodnight, Phil.’
He shrugged off the dressing gown and crawled under the covers. Cate switched off the bedside light and snuggled back against her pillow. She closed her eyes.
Her breathing became heavier as she drifted off to sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling.