Chapter 2
Oxford
‘There you are!’ Hattie was in the process of placing the more valuable jewellery in the safe and closing up for the night when Kayla burst into the antiques shop, her spiky red and gold hair making her look like a cockatiel on high alert.
Right now she was actually hyperventilating.
‘I hate it when your phone’s switched off.
Guess what’s happened? You’ll never guess! ’
Hattie gave it her best shot. ‘George Clooney turned up at your front door and you’ve got him tied to your bed. There’s no escape.’
‘What am I, sixty? I’m over George now, he’s too old. Wouldn’t say no to a Hemsworth, mind you. Anyway, you didn’t guess, so I’ll tell you. I’ve won a competition!’
Hattie blinked, taken aback. ‘You never enter competitions.’
‘I did today. And I only went and bloody won, didn’t I? I still can’t believe it.’ Kayla fanned herself vigorously. ‘I think I’m in shock.’
Kayla had a history of believing everything she was told.
If a man said he’d definitely call her again after a first date, she was always surprised when it didn’t happen.
If a bizarre fad diet guaranteed the loss of ten kilos in a week, Kayla would launch into it with gusto.
Taking a deep breath, Hattie said cautiously, ‘How did it happen? Did someone call you out of the blue?’ If it was con artists, she prayed Kayla hadn’t handed over her bank details so they could – allegedly – send her the prize money.
‘Look at you, being all suspicious! I’m not completely stupid .
. . I haven’t fallen for some scammer. I called into the radio station and got picked to enter, so I was live on air and they asked me a question about rugby, and God knows I have no clue about rugby, but it was about how many points were scored in the last season, so I blurted out a random number.
’ Clutching at Hattie’s elbows, she yelped, ‘And I only went and got it bang on!’
Hattie gasped. ‘That is mad.’
‘I know! The only thing I’ve ever won before in my life was a bag of dog biscuits in the hospital Christmas raffle, and I didn’t even have a dog.’
‘What’s the prize?’ Something rugby-related, at a guess. But even if it was only tickets to a match, Kayla could sell them, and from her reaction, it might even be season tickets. At any rate, it was better than dog biscuits.
‘Nothing much . . . only a week’s holiday on a five-star cruise ship sailing around the Venetian islands.
Waaahhh!’ Kayla shrieked, jumping up and down.
‘I’ve always wanted to visit Venice and now it’s actually going to happen.
Honestly, my heart’s still going like the clappers. It hasn’t sunk in yet.’
A holiday? Hattie’s jaw dropped. And if it was a radio competition, it had to be genuine.
She and Kayla had been friends for eight years now, since first meeting by chance at a yoga class that had turned out to be run by a sadist and not their sort of thing at all.
Having got chatting during the half-time break, they’d promptly escaped to the nearest wine bar and discovered they got on like a house on fire.
At the age of thirty, Kayla had been almost exactly two years older than Hattie.
They found other classes to go to, enjoyed each other’s company, always had fun together and never argued.
Eighteen months after that fortuitous initial meeting, Hattie’s marriage to Guy had bitten the dust and Kayla, happily divorced herself and living her best life, had been an absolute rock during the ensuing difficult months.
Their friendship had been further cemented when Kayla’s mother and Hattie’s father had died within weeks of each other.
If anyone deserved to win a fabulous holiday, it was Kayla. Hattie gave her a massive hug. ‘I’m so happy for you. And don’t worry about Bandit, I can pop in twice a day and feed him, make sure he’s OK.’
Kayla hesitated, then pulled a face. ‘Thanks, but I’ll probably ask Tony from over the road to look after Bandit.’
‘OK.’ Hattie was confused; did Kayla not trust her to take proper care of her beloved cat?
‘Come on.’ Kayla burst out laughing. ‘Don’t you get it? I’ve won a trip for two people. How can you look after Bandit when you’re going to be in Venice with me?’
It took a long moment to sink in. Hattie stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Kayla’s spiky hair swayed as she shook her head. ‘Who else would I want with me? We have to share a cabin, but that’s no problem and you know I don’t snore. So let’s do it. Unless you’d really rather stay behind and feed my fussy cat instead.’
What a choice. Her last holiday had been a long weekend spent in a musty-smelling caravan in Dorset, made longer by the rain that had fallen non-stop. Giddy with joy, Hattie said, ‘We’ll send Bandit a postcard. He’ll be fine.’
Bristol
Was there a more stylish woman in this city than Disa O’Toole? If there was, Fen hadn’t met them yet. To spend time with her grandmother was simultaneously blissful – because she loved her to bits – and a tiny bit daunting, because you always felt scruffy by comparison.
Toot toot went the horn of Disa’s beloved white soft-top Mercedes as she pulled up at the kerb, and Fen marvelled at today’s outfit.
The silver-blonde hair, courtesy of her Dutch heritage and cut into a long choppy bob, fell in precisely the right way to her shoulders, the colour exactly matching her high-collared shirt, loose jersey top and slender cigarette pants.
There were long strings of pearls around her neck, her eye make-up was dark and her lipstick pale, and diamonds flashed in the sunlight as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.
Leaving her flat, Fen ran down to the pavement and jumped into the passenger seat.
Leaning over, she planted a kiss on her grandmother’s velvety cheek.
‘You look fantastic.’ But what was new? Even when Disa was up a ladder, energetically painting a ceiling while wearing faded jeans and an emulsion-splashed overshirt, she still managed to look elegant.
‘Darling, so do you.’ Disa waved at a middle-aged man across the street, put the car into gear and accelerated up the road.
‘Did you know that guy?’
‘Don’t think so. I just waved in case he knew me.’ She was accustomed to being stared at by strangers.
They reached the restaurant Disa had booked for lunch and were shown to their table. ‘So,’ Disa announced, once they’d sat down. ‘I’m booking a trip to Venice and wondered if you’d like to come with me?’
‘Oh my God, are you serious?’ Fen almost knocked over the tumbler of water she’d been about to pick up. ‘That sounds incredible. When?’
‘In three weeks. Sunday the twelfth of May, back on the nineteenth. If you can make those dates?’
Fen thought for a moment, then nodded. Working online and having the ability to be flexible definitely had its advantages. ‘Yes, I can do that. Thank you so much, it sounds fantastic. What’s brought this on?’
‘Well, I’ve been to plenty of places in my life, but never Venice.
And neither have you. I watched a documentary about it the other evening and it reminded me that I’d always planned to visit.
Then last night I happened to come across this advert online.
’ Disa took out her phone, clicked on the bookmarked page and showed it to Fen.
The holiday was a luxury river cruise aboard the SS La Violetta, mooring within a short walk of St Mark’s Square for most of the week while also visiting the islands of Torcello, Murano, Burano and Chioggia.
A brief video of the ship showed it to be small but wildly glamorous, capable of carrying a hundred and twenty-five guests and with every last aspect, from the glittering Murano glass chandeliers to the luxurious Italianate furnishings, like a fabulous five-star hotel.
The prices included everything, but they still made Fen blanch when she saw them.
Observant as always, Disa said crisply, ‘Don’t even think about it. I’m inviting you, not asking you to go halves. This is my treat.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’ As if she could have afforded it otherwise. But still, what a relief.
‘I spoke to the travel agent this morning. There are two adjoining cabins left. Are you up for it?’
‘Definitely, I’d love to. Thank you so much.’ What a trip to be able to look forward to. ‘We’ll have the best time.’
‘Right, give me five minutes. I’ll make the call and book it now.
’ Taking back her phone and rising from her chair, Disa left the restaurant.
To pass the time, Fen took out her own phone and looked up the same website.
This time, scrolling further down the page, she saw that the cruise ran weekly from late March to early November, and once a month there would be a celebrity guest on board to enhance the experience – maybe a famous chef, a popular TV presenter or an actor, that kind of thing.
Scrolling down further still to the list of upcoming dates with accompanying headshots, Fen recognised a gardening expert with an impressive handlebar moustache, the shouty host of a TV show about cars, and a successful thriller writer who’d been married six times.
The next photo stopped her in her tracks, because this time it was someone she knew. OK, not actually knew. But he lived here in Bristol, in the same part of the city that she did, and she’d seen him in person. Twice.