Chapter Seven
Outside the hotel, Olivia stood shivering on the dock.
Christopher would have taken the water bus, she was sure, so there might be time to catch him before he got on a flight.
A nasty little wind had picked up and was whipping itself down the canal.
She didn’t have time to go and retrieve her coat, as there was the taxi, furrowing through the water and pulling up with a flourish. She jumped in.
‘Can we get to the airport as quickly as possible?’
The driver nodded, used to this request from customers leaving at the last minute. He turned the boat around so fast she nearly lost her footing.
They were off. Would they get there in time? She called up the details of the next flight to London – it was leaving in just over two hours. Christopher was probably half an hour ahead of her, but if he’d taken the water bus, she could catch up.
She tucked herself into the seat as they swept across the lagoon, hiding herself from the elements.
She had no interest in the panorama this time.
No interest in seeing the city recede behind her.
All she could think about was how foolish she had been to try to take an eye for an eye.
She should have trusted her first instincts and walked away.
But it had been too gloriously tempting. Too easy.
Her phone beeped with a text, making her heart leap.
Was it Christopher? She felt a rush of hope, but it wasn’t from him.
It was a message with four emojis: an artist’s palette, a euro sign, a thumbs up and a laughing face.
She stared at it for a moment before answering with her own thumbs up and two glasses chinking together.
Revenge did not taste sweet at this point. It had a bitter aftertaste.
The ride out to the airport felt like an eternity.
She felt none of the excitement of their earlier trip, just a churning sensation in her stomach as she willed the boat to speed up as it cut through the waves.
It was getting gloomy; the darkening sky felt portentous.
Venice without the sun was a different proposition, the colours merging like paints running into each other until they were a uniform grey.
All the joy of the past couple of days receded, to be replaced by a gnawing anxiety.
Had she really jeopardised the best thing to happen to her in her quest for retribution?
At the airport, she raced from the docks along the walking escalators and up to the departure hall.
If he had already gone through, she’d be too late.
They wouldn’t let her through, even if she bought a ticket, as she hadn’t brought her passport with her.
Hot panic burned inside her as she searched amongst the crowds for him – for that dear, familiar figure, that mop of unruly hair, the tortoiseshell spectacles.
Nowhere. She looked up to see what time the flight to London was boarding, but the numbers were all blurred and she realised she was crying.
And there! There he was, at the departure gate, scrolling through his phone to find his boarding pass, his face screwed up in concentration, for despite his genius with numbers he still struggled with tech sometimes.
Her heart buckled with love as she watched him, then she leapt forward as he found what he was looking for.
He was reaching out to scan the barcode so he could pass through the barrier when she grabbed his arm.
‘Stop!’
He looked up in alarm. ‘Seagull?’
‘Don’t go. Please don’t go!’
He stared at her and she saw all the hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. And the confusion.
‘I saw you both,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘You were holding hands. He stroked your face. You were kissing.’
‘I can explain everything,’ she said. ‘I know that’s what people always say, but it’s true. He was someone who treated me very badly once.’
Christopher frowned, looking down at his boarding pass and his passport, then back up at her.
‘You were looking at him as if he was the only man in the world.’
She grabbed his lapels. ‘You’re the only man in the world,’ she said urgently. ‘He means nothing. Less than nothing. It was all part of my plan. I wanted revenge.’
‘Revenge?’ Christopher looked shocked.
‘When I tell you what he did, I think you’ll understand.’ She gripped his lapels a little tighter. ‘Come back with me and let me explain. Please. We can’t let this ruin our honeymoon.’
He looked at her, his wife of less than a week.
The love of his life. Of course he should listen to what she had to say.
He didn’t want to lose her. She was trembling with emotion.
Or was she shivering from the cold? She didn’t have a coat on, just a thin polo neck tucked into jeans.
He shrugged off his coat and held it out for her.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘And put this on. You look half frozen.’
She pushed her arms into it obediently. She was freezing, and as she felt the warmth of his coat wrap itself around her she realised how close she had come to losing him.
Five more minutes and he would have been on the other side of the gate, uncontactable.
He picked up his case and she put her arm through his, wondering just how much to tell him.
All of it, she thought. He needed to know exactly what had driven her to meet up with Marcus.
They decided to take the water bus back.
‘This caper has cost us enough already,’ Christopher pointed out wryly. ‘One wasted flight. And a water taxi.’
They sat out of earshot of the rest of the passengers as Olivia took him back in time, to Paris – to a young girl arriving in all her innocence and a man who could see her for what she was: vulnerable, naive and trusting.
She took him right up to the point when Marcus had tapped her on the shoulder in the gallery gift shop the day before.
‘I’d have punched him if I’d known,’ said Christopher stoutly. ‘And I’ve never punched anyone in my life.’
‘Punching’s too good for him,’ said Olivia. ‘I had a much better solution. I knew exactly how to hit him where it hurts. In his pocket.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘It’ll be better if I show you.’
Christopher was intrigued, and was finding it hard to imagine just how Olivia had wreaked her revenge. Should he be worried?
Once they’d disembarked from the water bus, he was surprised when she led him back to the shop where they’d been the night before.
‘This is the shop where you bought the painting.’
She nodded. ‘It is.’
Lucia looked up as they came in. She descended on Olivia with a wide smile and open arms. ‘Olivia!’ She embraced her with enthusiasm, then looked at Christopher uncertainly.
‘It’s all right,’ said Olivia. ‘I’m going to tell him everything.’
Lucia looked around to check there were no other customers listening, then turned to Christopher, narrowing her eyes. ‘We have done the right thing. He was a bad man. I could smell it on him.’ She breathed in and wrinkled her nose in distaste.
‘What exactly have you done?’ Christopher looked between the two women, feeling a sense of unease. He certainly wouldn’t want to come up against the pair of them, and for a moment he felt a twinge of sympathy for Marcus.
Olivia crossed her arms. ‘Before I met Marcus earlier, I came in to see if Lucia had another of Federico’s paintings.’
‘And I did. I always keep several in the storeroom,’ Lucia explained.
‘We chose one, and put a price tag on it. Then we put it at the back of the shop.’
‘Okay . . .’ Christopher frowned, not sure where this was going.
‘When I met Marcus for coffee, I told him I’d found a sleeper. I told him I was ninety-nine per cent sure it was a Francesco Bertorelli, and that it could be worth five figures. I asked him if he would look at it for me, and give me his advice before I bought it. He said he’d be delighted to help.’
Lucia clapped her hands in excitement as she picked up the story. ‘He came in straight away. He found the painting. He told me it was the perfect present for his wife, and bought it. He did not even try to bargain, he was in such a hurry.’ Her eyes glinted with mischief. ‘Eight hundred euros!’
‘You are joking.’ Christopher pretended to be shocked, but he couldn’t help but be admiring.
‘I did not force him. I can charge whatever I like.’ Lucia looked defiant.
‘I knew he’d come straight in and buy it, after our conversation,’ Olivia added. ‘I know exactly how he works. He’s greedy, and dishonest, and out for everything he can get. I won’t hear from him again. He’ll be out of town by tomorrow.’
‘And good riddance,’ said Lucia.
‘Eight hundred euros is about the equivalent of what he took from me, in today’s money,’ said Olivia. ‘Though it’s not about the money. We’re splitting it between us.’
‘No, no,’ said Lucia. ‘Just give me the eighty euros I would have sold it for.’
‘That’s not what we agreed.’
‘No. But I want you to have the money you lost. It was a pleasure to make him pay. Men like that are . . .’ She made a disgusted face.
‘In that case,’ said Olivia, ‘come out for dinner with us tomorrow night. To celebrate.’
‘But you are on honeymoon,’ objected Lucia. ‘I don’t want to be . . .’ She waved her hand to indicate superfluous.
‘We don’t mind,’ said Christopher. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘It’ll be fun.’ Olivia grinned. ‘I feel sure this is the beginning of a great friendship.’
Olivia was elated by the success of their sting.
Every time she thought of Marcus heading out of the door with the painting under his arm, thinking he was sitting on a gold mine, she couldn’t stop laughing.
And, of course, her relief at getting Christopher back in her possession added to her euphoria.
Lucia nodded graciously. ‘I would be delighted,’ she said. ‘And maybe I will ask Federico to join us for a drink afterwards?’
‘Oh my God,’ said Olivia. ‘We would absolutely love that. And tomorrow night, we are going to order everything we want at Marcus’s expense. We are going to feast in his honour and enjoy every mouthful. As they say, revenge is a dish best eaten cold.’