Chapter Thirty-Six Venice Friday 12 January 2018
Chapter Thirty-Six
Venice
The dress was pale yellow silk with long bell sleeves, a sweeping skirt, a high neck with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, and a low cowl back.
It was what Stella would call a showstopper, and when Olivia had packed it for the Final Dinner, she’d shaken her head at herself with a smile.
This was not a ‘get in, get out and get home’ outfit. This dress was a statement.
Her hair was in a low side ponytail, her make-up subtle but with plenty of glow.
Her reflection in the mirror surprised her, but she was Olivia Sackville and she deserved to look and feel like this.
She deserved to be celebrated as an author tonight, and not to shy away in navy jersey just because Leo Greene was going to be there.
She would get through the evening and then she would go home.
She’d been playing with fire since she’d got here and soon it was time to walk away.
There was a knock at the door, and another glamorous woman, in a red sequinned number and a voluminous fur coat, was standing in the doorway.
‘Well, it’s safe to say I caused quite the stir in the water taxi,’ Stella said with a smile, giving Olivia a quick and gentle hug so not to crush either of them. ‘I thought I’d come ready. You look amazing!’
‘So do you! I’m so glad you’re here.’
Stella threw her suitcase in the corner of the room, then flung open the curtain at the large window, revealing the night lights of the Venice skyline.
‘Bloody hell, it’s beautiful here!’ she exclaimed. ‘Tell me again why I’ve never been?’
‘Because you prefer Verona, or Capri, with some fleeting, irresistible man or another.’
‘Ah, Capri . . .’ Stella looked wistful. ‘My belle epoque, even though I know that’s the wrong language – and “fleeting” is the best policy.’ Stella had recently returned to her original philosophy of fun and freedom. ‘Can I borrow some lip gloss?’
They sat side by side on the dressing table stool, facing the mirror.
‘How’s Gillian?’ Stella asked. ‘Did you get to see her?’
Olivia pulled a face at her own reflection.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Once. We didn’t talk much.
I mean, I tried to, but she wasn’t very receptive.
I might go to the hospice again in the morning, or I might not.
I haven’t decided yet.’ The only reason she might, she thought, was the piece of writing she had found in Gillian’s papers. A possible white flag.
Stella nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You know I’m always sorry about your godmother. How’s Leo?’
Olivia had sent her friends several SOS text messages about Leo. Annabel had told her to be careful; Stella had told her, very unwisely, to go for it.
‘He’s . . . well, he’s still here. He’s going to be there tonight. Last night, we kissed at the Guggenheim.’ Her words were flat.
‘Kissed at the Guggenheim? How bloody romantic!’
Olivia shook her head. ‘No, it was downright disastrous.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘We got locked in an office. We got too close. It happened – it shouldn’t have done.’
‘But was it good?’
‘Of course it was good!’ But Olivia could not allow herself a smile in the mirror.
‘And now . . . ?’
‘Now, nothing. There is nothing. Nothing to go on. Everything to try to forget.’
‘Oh, Liv.’ Stella touched up her left eyebrow with a stubby pencil. ‘I’m so sorry. You haven’t talked?’
Olivia blotted her top lip with her finger.
‘No. Well, we’ve talked, but we haven’t got anywhere near the truth of us.
We’ve kissed, but where has kissing ever got anyone?
There’s too much history. Too much of everything.
’ Olivia shook her head. ‘So, I’ll see him tonight, I’ll say goodbye and I’ll go home and try to forget about him, all over again. ’
‘That seems eminently sensible, which is very you, of course. But tell me something.’ Stella pulled the scrunchie from her hair and Olivia watched it cascade down in waves. ‘How do you feel when you look at him?’
Olivia fixed her eyes on her friend’s in the mirror and gave her a rueful smile. ‘Like I want to cry! Like I’m all lit up inside . . . Damn, you’re really not helping! You’re supposed to be my reality turning up,’ she complained. ‘Giving my head a wobble, helping me to see clearly.’
‘You know me, I think reality is overrated.’ Stella flashed that familiar, much-loved smile. ‘Now, shall we go and paint the town?’
Olivia stood up and let her dress swish to the floor. ‘Let’s do it,’ she replied. Her last night in Venice. She would get through it all and then she would go home.