Chapter Twenty-Five
The argument had started in the water taxi. Ajax had taken an earlier plane than Esme and, like the lovelorn suitor he was, had spent some time in the business class lounge at Marco Polo airport, kicking his heels waiting for her, filming some content, and buying her gifts.
When Esme arrived, she had taken her time finding her way to him.
She had stopped, inexplicably, for a coffee, and to call a friend.
By the time she found Ajax, her suitor was annoyed, to say the least. Fuming, the couple boarded the water taxi with Jacob and Olly, who had rebelliously taken the same flight.
Ajax wondered aloud at Esme’s ingratitude.
Esme wondered aloud at his attitude. And the rest was, apparently, a mixture of shouting, sarcasm and expletives.
I’d agreed to meet Jacob at La Cantina so he could have lunch and decompress, but when I got there – early, obviously, because it is physically impossible for me to be late – I found Olly, who looked about as happy to see me as a man who’d ordered roses and received a manure delivery instead.
‘Hi there!’ I gave him my perkiest smile.
‘Hi. Shall we go in?’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m sure Jacob and Amber will be here in a minute.’
Amber, I thought. Obviously Olly’s invite – Jacob hadn’t mentioned she was coming. Ouch.
‘Jacob said there was an issue between Ajax and Esme,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, holding the door open for me. ‘I hopped on Esme’s flight. One of my less stellar decisions. You had the right idea travelling alone. When they started on each other, if there’d been any possibility of me not being run over by a vaporetto, I would have jumped into the canal.’
I gave a cry of laughter, and saw his eyes unexpectedly shine in response, giving me a feeling of happiness so sharp it made me catch my breath. ‘Also, you would have died of hypothermia in approximately ninety seconds,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s just a lover’s tiff, a bit of drama for the sake of it.’
‘Grand passion on the Grand Canal?’ said Olly briskly. ‘It didn’t seem like it. They were bickering like children. Like they’d been married twenty years, and they were sick of the sight of each other.’
In that case, shouldn’t we all go home? I thought. I remembered Chiara’s advice. I should have bailed before it got to this.
‘What are they doing now?’ I said.
‘Don’t worry. I put them down for their naps,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Oh, hey.’ He waved in the direction of the entrance. ‘Here’s the gang.’
I watched the two Finance Directors picking their way awkwardly through the tables. I couldn’t help a slight feeling of sadness that I wasn’t going to get to have lunch alone with Olly. Which made no sense.
‘Hey!’ Olly said. Amber was smiling a little too brightly for my liking, and flicked a gimlet-eyed glance at me before homing in on Olly.
Jacob, as ever, looked glum, but managed a smile for me as he dropped a comradely kiss on my cheek.
‘It’s like I envision pound signs leaving the EKArts account all the time,’ he said. ‘It’s on a loop, even in my dreams.’
Olly clapped him on the back. ‘Try to relax. Let’s sit down.’ He herded us towards one of the small high tables.
‘I thought the Venetian way was to eat standing at the counter?’ I said. It was probably a good idea if we got lunch over with, sharpish. Amber was looking at Olly as though he was a Venetian small plate that she very much wanted to consume. And I did not like the way that was making me feel.
Moreover, I knew why she was looking at him like that. He was out of his suit and looked ridiculously good in a black denim shirt with snap fittings and black jeans. Double denim. Which he made look double good. Never mind the fact he hadn’t shaved and his dark hair was ruffled.
‘I’m a lazy tourist,’ he said, sitting at one of the small high tables. ‘Humour me. Do you like my shoes, by the way? I just bought them as a present for myself for enduring the journey.’ He swung a foot to reveal glossed leather loafers.
‘Very Resilience Needs,’ I said, and we held each other’s gaze for a moment.
‘They look fucking gorgeous,’ said Amber, so intensely that even Jacob looked up from his phone.
Olly didn’t seem to notice the intensity. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and started talking to the waiter.
‘You’ll all be delighted to know there will an acqua alta today,’ said Jacob. He showed us his phone screen, and the alert that had popped up. High water.
I looked down, straightening my dress self-consciously.
It was a recent charity shop purchase which I’d saved for Venice: a short sleeveless knit dress, stretchy but suitably demure (and black, of course) with a rounded neckline, white trim and metal buttons.
I’d also brought the big guns out in terms of footwear: my blue velvet Maysale Manolo Blahniks.
I was approximately their third owner, but they worked very well indeed, if viewed from a reasonable distance.
I caught Olly looking at me for a moment too long and felt a curl of satisfaction deep in my stomach.
‘It’s great that we’re in Venice and everything,’ said Amber. ‘But what is this app even about? Apart from art and love? Does anyone have the foggiest?’
‘Lizzy knows,’ said Jacob, glancing up from his phone then looking back at it.
It was true. I’d dedicated a truly tragic amount of time to working out what, concretely, Chroma was all about. Sighing, I pulled out my notebook and pen.
‘Aye aye,’ said Olly. ‘Work in progress.’
‘So,’ I said. ‘Here you are, the user. When you set up your profile, you swipe right or left on a series of works of art.’ I drew a box around ‘art’, then an arrow. ‘Then you answer questions on your preferences, hobbies, etc.’ I wrote ‘questions’. ‘Then, an AI component or some kind of algorithm…’
Jacob rolled his eyes. I glared at him.
‘… creates a brief paragraph on you,’ I continued.
‘Sums you up on the basis of the choices you’ve made.
And produces your matches, which you then select from.
Oh, and your profile picture can be styled according to your preferred type of art – so, you can look like you’re sitting in Renaissance Italy, for example.
Finally, we’re going to try and broker partnerships with some galleries, for reduced price access to exhibitions – so you can have a discounted arty first date. ’
‘So you don’t see pictures of people, until you’re matched, at stage three?’ said Olly.
I nodded.
Jacob put his phone on the table. ‘Huh.’
Olly nodded. ‘It’s… what’s the word?’
‘Weird?’ I said. ‘Yes. But it will be a novelty – surely there’s always space for a new app? And both Esme and Ajax have big audiences.’
‘Listen to Pollyanna over here,’ said Jacob.
‘I suppose it’s kind of nice,’ Amber said, ‘trying to connect people through something intellectual.’
I swallowed hard. I’d been on dating apps, even though ice ringed my heart at the thought of trying them again. And the point was… people wanted to see each other. Sometimes attraction really was that immediate, that visceral.
Like the first time I saw Olly. I looked up and our eyes met, and for the briefest moment, I felt as though he could read my thoughts.
The food started arriving. Amber began an animated conversation with Olly, twirling her fingers in her hair.
Jacob offered me some aubergine swimming in olive oil, and I refused it with a sad shake of the head.
Seeing Olly and Amber side by side, conversing cheerfully, robbed me of hunger.
I felt hollow and full at the same time; restless, glitchy.
I was attempting to eat a piece of bread when my phone rang and Dad’s name popped up on the home screen.
I snatched it up; he never called me unless it was urgent, preferring to message.
Frantically, I looked around for somewhere I could dart to, to take the call, but we were surrounded by people in the small cantina.
I hit answer. ‘Hang on a minute, Dad,’ I said, as softly as I could, putting him on hold mid-sentence.
Beneath the table, I felt Olly’s hand on mine, the briefest brush which sensitised my skin. ‘You can take it back here,’ he said quietly, not looking at me. ‘Behind me in the corner. Might be quieter.’ He nodded at something Amber said. A plate of oysters arrived.
I hopped off the stool but, in my haste, turned my heel.
Olly’s hand caught my elbow, to steady me.
His eyes met mine and just for a moment I flashed back to the night we had kissed; finishing each other’s sentences, laughing together.
The tiniest glimpse of a familiarity, a connection that hadn’t gone.
I nodded at him in thanks as I scooted around the table into the corner, turning away from the group and hit the button to unhold. ‘Dad? Is everything okay?’
He was talking so quickly I could hardly keep up, especially with the noise of the cantina around me. After a moment I realised it wasn’t a medical emergency – both he and Alex were fine – and I put my hand to my chest as I caught my breath.
‘Dad, slow down. What exactly is the issue?’
It was money. Alex had had some extra physio sessions and somehow, I’d missed the notification for it; as a result, I hadn’t put the money to cover it in Alex’s account and the payment had bounced.
Normally the physio’s office would have called me, but I’d been travelling, and Rebecca, the office manager, hadn’t thought to leave a message. Dad was panicking.
‘Dad, it’s fine. I just have to move some money.
Their call didn’t get through to me because I was on a plane, okay?
I told you, I’m in Venice. I’ll sort it when I get back to the hotel.
Yes, I will call Rebecca about it. She won’t think it’s your fault.
She won’t.’ On I went, soothing like a mother hen, trying to keep my voice low so my colleagues didn’t hear me.
Eventually I was able to end the call, and took a breath to process the dissonance I was feeling.
It was as though I wasn’t in Venice: I was in my flat, in my pyjamas, several spreadsheets open at once, trying to work out how to keep my family safe, and everything paid for, without drilling into the nest egg I’d been saving as ‘plan C’.
Thank God I had my back turned to the group, so they couldn’t see my face.
‘Sorry.’ I went back to the table and took a sip of my white wine.
Two minutes before I had tasted every note in it, now it tasted like ditchwater.
‘I’ve got some stuff to sort out. I need to get back to my hotel.
I’ll see you all this afternoon for the first brainstorming session.
’ I looked at them, all in jeans, and decided I’d get changed, too.
Going glam for brainstorming was clearly overkill.
Olly nodded, raised his hand and turned back to Amber, who didn’t even manage a ‘bye’.
‘See you later, Lizzy,’ said Jacob, tearing off a piece of bread.
I waved to nobody in particular and weaved my way through the other diners, pulling my coat on.
Venice, Venice, beautiful Venice. I said the words to myself like a meditation, clattering down the narrow streets and small squares that I loved so much, the calli and campielli.
Time seemed to slow, noise seemed to soften.
Down a short flight of time-hollowed steps and onwards.
I shook off the thought of Olly. Olly laughing with Amber, smiling at something she said.
She was the perfect match for him, objectively speaking.
Amber definitely had her shit together. She always looked great, she always spoke precisely and assertively at meetings.
She was chill. I would lay money on the idea that she lived in an elegant flat with cashmere throws on her sofa and an entire room which was an actual bedroom.
Don’t think about the bedroom, Lizzy.
Don’t think about how Olly’s lips felt. How he tasted.
But somehow it was impossible to forget the sensuality of that kiss. I had the sense it was going to be scored into my memory for all time.
I gave a little squawk of frustration, startling a passerby. ‘Sorry,’ I said. I was turning to walk on, when I saw a figure ahead. A man dressed in a cream linen suit, walking with a certain gait that was so familiar, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Was my mind playing tricks on me?
The man looked around and I turned away, instinctively hiding, staring into the window of a bakery and putting my hand up to shade my face. When I looked back, he was gone. It had been a few seconds that I’d looked at him, a snatched glance; I told myself I must have imagined him.
My phone buzzed. A message from Dad asking if I was dealing with things. I swore under my breath and picked up my pace, still wary. Was I hallucinating? Being haunted by past memories in the midst of intense stress?
One minute I was imagining myself in the arms of Olly. The next minute I was being haunted by visions of my ex walking down the street in Venice. Both of these things were clearly impossible.
This afternoon we were going to be brainstorming Chroma, so I needed to get my game face on. Never mind Venetian fantasies, called up by the echoing streets and the reflections on water.
I needed to get a grip. Fast.