Chapter Twenty-Seven
We catch the bus to Cais da Ribeira, the riverside promenade by the Douro River, and wait in position for our friends.
It should be no surprise that I only like my promenading in an episode of Bridgerton, but in the interest of being a fair and democratic book club member I shut my mouth against any protestations when old Albert suggested we meet here.
It’s a scenic place where you can get right up close to hear the river lapping while you eat at one of the many cafés.
I love the view of the colourful buildings that creep up the hillsides of Porto.
It’s as good a place as any to reconvene, where a grandpa and Gen Zer riding electric scooters won’t be looked at askance.
Rabelo boats chug along the river while the Dom Luis Bridge catches the sunlight.
It’s busy with tourists, and for a moment, I’m overwhelmed by the buzzing, the noise, the cacophony of it all.
I look for escape but find none, as my breathing gets shallow.
‘Hey, hey,’ Tiago says. Taking my hands in his, he gives them a soft squeeze.
He steps close enough that the background fades and all I see is him. ‘Take a moment. Some deep breaths.’
I try to centre myself. To inhale and exhale and blow the worry away.
I can handle crowds like this, I just prefer not to, and sometimes, if my concentration slips these sorts of anxieties can take hold.
How does Tiago sense these things about me so easily?
He leads me to a patch of pavement with less of a crowd. ‘Thanks, Tiago. Really.’
He grins, making his dimples pop out. ‘Shall we find a place to sit?’
While studiously trying to block out the goings on around me, it’s impossible to ignore a team of people wearing shirts that say ‘Porto Gifts and Blooms’ setting up a huge floral arrangement around a picnic rug.
It strikes me as odd, as it’s not a picnicking place, but they set up a beach umbrella and the space becomes more private with just a beautiful view of the water.
Many marriage proposals take place here, because the famous Dom Luis Bridge makes a nice backdrop. Is that what this is?
‘How many flowers does one person need?’ I can’t help but think of all those flowers, being pulled from the soil for a brief few days in a vase. ‘Not to mention the pesticides and fungicides used to keep the flowers pristine.’
Tiago is still keeping a close eye on me, as if he’s worried I’ll flee.
I’ve never met a man who sees me for who I am, quite the way he does.
I’m simultaneously thrilled and terrified by the prospect, so I do what I do best in times of confusion.
Blurt to divert. ‘Would you look at this ostentatious display of wealth?’ I point to the romantic floral display, the scent of roses heavy in the air, as a lone florist, holding a bouquet of red roses, walks towards us.
Perhaps she’s about to ask me to move out of the way?
I understand. No one wants their romantic moment overshadowed by someone spouting about how flowers grown in an artificial climate are an environmental menace.
I should really try not to be so vociferous about the matter.
Tiago gestures to someone. I turn but only see more florists, the promenade positively teeming with them. Next a flash mob will jump out. This is why I opt for the peace of the more secluded Jardim da Cordoaria.
I lean close to Tiago, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite the heat of the day. The sting and its aftermath have me on edge. ‘Should we get out of their way?’ I point to the gigantic floral display. ‘Before whatever this is, happens. What’s your best guess, a marriage proposal?’
Confusion flashes across his face. Tiago is rather silent.
‘What? What is it?’ I dart a surreptitious glance around me but can only see florists scooping up the flowers they just spend an age staging. What on earth? Looks like the proposal is off. And is that such a bad thing?
Tiago’s appearance is rather wan, as he scrubs his face. Why is he so suddenly quiet? Oh. It dawns on me loud and clear.
‘Lucinda’s killed her husband, hasn’t she?
And you don’t have the heart to tell me.
’ A small sob escapes, not only for my new book club friend who will most likely be jailed for life and won’t be able to come to book club anymore.
There’s also the heartrending fact I failed at my very first real-life investigation.
Tiago scrunches his nose in that adorable way of his. ‘No, Lucinda hasn’t killed him yet. Not that I’ve heard. There’ve been no reports of a missing man, have there?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, no. Then why the long face?’
He waves my concerns away. ‘I – uh – thought we might celebrate our successful mission, spend some quality time together, you know.’
I grin. ‘I’d love to. How should we celebrate? Not around here, that’s for sure. Far too many people.’
‘No, definitely not around here!’ He chokes out a laugh.
‘What do you think happened?’ I gesture to where the florists were. ‘Cold feet?’
‘Something like that. I’ll check in with old Albert and Zephyr and tell them to meet us somewhere quieter? We can have a picnic, you and I. I thought we could share our favourite passages from book four of The Quill Chronicles now that I’ve finished it – how does that sound?’
Just about perfect.