Chapter 37
Venice
‘Shall we get a coffee now?’ said Fen once they’d cleared security and thoroughly explored the perfume section in duty-free.
Jamie wagged a finger at her. ‘No. Needs to be champagne.’
She laughed. ‘Really?’
‘Has to be done. Orders from on high.’ He pointed the same finger skywards. ‘Well, from Leon.’ Steering her towards the stairs, he said, ‘Come on.’
‘Are you going to drop a Scotch egg down the escalator?’
‘No, don’t worry.’ He smiled and shook his head.
‘What other orders did he give you?’ She still had no idea if he’d had a letter sent to him, or if he’d been the one who’d delivered hers.
‘He asked me to make all the arrangements. Paid a lump sum into my bank account a few weeks before he died and told me I’d get my instructions in due course. Which I did, through his solicitor.’
When they’d been served their glasses of Pol Roger, Jamie raised a toast. ‘To Leon.’
Fen clinked her glass against his. ‘To Leon.’ There was no need to say any more than that.
Then Jamie added wryly, ‘And thanks for all the paperwork.’
‘Was there loads?’ He’d been tasked, she knew, with making the necessary legal arrangements with the civil registry office for the ashes to be scattered at a particular point in the Venetian lagoon. It had sounded pretty complicated.
‘A fair amount.’ He shrugged. ‘But what Leon wants, Leon gets. And it’s all sorted now.’
‘He’s kept you busy. Which hotel are we booked into?’
‘The Danieli.’
‘Right. And does it look OK?’
‘No need to worry.’ Jamie’s mouth twitched at the corners. ‘I think it’s quite nice.’
An hour later, as the plane left the ground and soared into the clear early-morning sky, Fen said, ‘You know, two glasses of champagne for breakfast is definitely the way to go.’
Arriving at the Danieli by water taxi from the airport, she discovered that the hotel was indeed quite nice.
This was also the understatement of the year.
The place was unbelievably glamorous. Her room overlooked the lagoon, glittering in the bright sunshine, and lunch was served in the Terrazza restaurant on the top floor, giving them an uninterrupted view of the bobbing row of gondolas tied up below them, as well as the ever-changing boat traffic criss-crossing the water that separated them from the smaller islands of Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore.
At two o’clock, Leon had decreed, it was time to take the canister containing his ashes to the pre-booked water taxi waiting for them outside the hotel.
Tiny puffball clouds dotted the turquoise sky, and gulls were crying overhead.
The speedboat bounced like a skimming stone across the water as they headed out into the lagoon.
When they reached the appointed spot, seven hundred metres from the shore, the boat slowed to a halt and its driver waited in respectful silence while Jamie and Fen took it in turns to shake the ashes out of the container into the water.
She’d worried there might be a breeze and they would end up flying back onto them, getting into their hair and clothes.
But no, on this day of dream weather, there was no breeze at all.
The pale grey ashes floated for a while, spreading out across the surface of the water, then gradually dispersed, began to sink and finally disappeared from view.
They’d said their goodbyes, shed a tear and done what they needed to do. Now it was time to make their way back to the hotel.
When they reached the dock, a larger boat drew up to the right of them as Fen was stepping out of their water taxi, causing it to lurch dramatically to the left. If Jamie hadn’t grabbed her in time, she would have tumbled backwards.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you.’ He steadied her until she’d regained her balance.
Fen caught her breath; he hadn’t deliberately made contact. Thanks to his lightning reflexes, he’d saved her from landing flat on her back in the bottom of the boat. She hung on to his arm and took the driver’s proffered hand in order to climb out onto the stone steps.
‘OK?’ said Jamie, behind her.
Fen turned, grateful for his speedy reaction. ‘I am now.’
‘Tired?’
He’d caught her trying not to yawn. She flapped a hand by way of apology. ‘Sorry, didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I need a nap.’
‘You do that. Call me later, when you’ve woken up.’ He gave her an assessing look. ‘And if you don’t feel up to going out this evening, just say the word. It’s fine.’
But when Fen did wake up, almost four hours later, she felt much better.
From her room, she could see the sun beginning to set over to the west, drenching the sky with shades of cranberry and orange.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, she guessed where Jamie would be and made her way up onto the terrace.
And there he was, chatting with an older couple seated at an adjacent table.
Fen watched from a distance as they continued their conversation, the husband gesturing as he spoke and his wife laughing at something he’d said.
The next moment, Jamie’s hands began to move too, and after a few seconds Fen realised he wasn’t randomly gesturing, he was signing.
And now all three of them burst out laughing, and something flipped in her chest, because she’d never known he could do that, and it was revealing yet another unexpected side of him.
A few tables away, a group of elegant women were observing him too. One of them called out something in Italian that sounded admiring, and Jamie briefly acknowledged them with a nod and a smile before turning back to continue his conversation.
Then the older couple’s food arrived, and he spotted Fen watching him from afar. Excusing himself, he made his way past the group of women towards her.
‘Who was that you were chatting to?’ said Fen as they headed down the staircase.
‘Mary and Donald from Edinburgh, celebrating their wedding anniversary. It’s their third time here in Venice.’
‘And Mary’s deaf?’
He nodded. ‘She is.’
‘You were signing with her. Like, actual proper signing.’
Jamie looked amused. ‘It’s the best way. She can’t hear me if I shout at her.’
‘But I didn’t know you could do that!’
‘There’s lots about me you don’t know. I’m full of surprises.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m fluent in Russian.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘I can knit.’
‘What?’
‘And I can tell what you’re thinking right now.’
Fen raised her eyebrows at him. ‘I’m thinking you’re a terrible liar.’
He grinned. ‘And you’d be right. I can’t speak Russian and I can’t knit. But I was friendly with one of our neighbours at university and she had a young son who was deaf. I taught myself BSL so I could chat to him. I’m no expert, but I can get by.’
They’d left the hotel and begun to walk around the corner into St Mark’s Square. ‘It’s a nice thing to do,’ said Fen. ‘I wonder where he is now?’
‘We’re still in touch. He’s a neuroscience graduate working in a medical lab in London. Anyway.’ Jamie paused for a moment to look at her. ‘How are you feeling now? Better?’
‘Much better. Kind of . . . lighter. Did you email those photos to Hilary and Greville?’
He had taken a couple of photographs of the scattered ashes on the surface of the lagoon, with the sunny Venice skyline behind them, so they could see the beauty of Leon’s final resting place.
He nodded and steered her out of the path of a small girl chasing a pigeon.
‘I did, and they messaged back to thank me.’ Another pause. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling lighter.’
Fen smiled. ‘Me too.’
They reached La Lanterna fifteen minutes later, and as they walked through the ornate iron gates, Molly greeted them with delight. Giving Fen a tight hug, she said, ‘How are you? How did it go?’
It was her last fortnight working at the restaurant.
Next weekend, Kayla was flying out to be with Angelo full-time.
The following week would be spent here in the restaurant with Molly, learning the ropes and fine-tuning her Italian.
Then Molly would return to the UK and move into the flat she’d bought in Gloucester, while Kayla and Angelo moved into her old apartment – small but completely adequate – in the Cannaregio district, a short walk from here.
Angelo’s mother, Ariana, hadn’t been too happy at first at the idea of her beloved son living in sin with a spiky-haired divorcee from England, but miraculously Kayla had managed to win her over and persuade her that it was the only possible answer until they were married.
And yes, Molly and Andy were still going strong as well; since that first evening in Clifton, the relationship had been coming along in leaps and bounds, and Andy’s wild auburn hair remained her favourite hair in the world.
‘I’m fine,’ Fen told her. ‘And this afternoon was beautiful. It’s all done, and Leon’s where he wanted to be.’
‘You’re looking well.’ Molly gave her a squeeze, then said cheerfully to Jamie, ‘OK, before you start feeling left out, so are you. Come along, let’s get you to your table.
And just a heads-up, Disa called an hour ago.
She sends you both her love and says dinner’s on her tonight, so feel free to go wild and order everything on the menu. ’
‘That’s kind of her,’ said Fen. ‘She’s so thoughtful.’
‘To be honest, she sounded a bit tipsy. Or maybe, like, really happy. She was laughing a lot and sounding quite giddy. I asked her what she was up to this evening, and she said she could tell me but then she’d have to kill me.’ Molly looked bemused. ‘God knows what she meant by that.’
‘Interesting.’
Molly’s eyebrows shot up. ‘D’you think she’s met someone? And it has to be a massive secret, so that means it could be a celebrity. You never know with her!’ Excitedly she grabbed Fen’s hand. ‘What if it’s a royal? Or even better, Rod Stewart?’
Belatedly, Fen recalled the chance meeting at the airport earlier today.
‘Hang on, she did bump into someone this morning, a guy she hadn’t seen for years.
I wonder if that could have something to do with it?
’ Then another thought occurred to her. ‘You were with me the last time we saw him! Remember the really nice limo driver in the airport drop-off zone, the one with the really stroppy passenger?’
‘Ooh,’ breathed Molly, her eyes widening with interest.
‘You never know,’ Jamie said cheerfully, ‘she could be seducing him as we speak.’
Bristol
Disa wasn’t seducing Marcus yet, but she was definitely looking forward to something of that nature happening later.
What a day this was turning out to be. She still couldn’t get over the way life might appear to be continuing along a pre-set pathway but at any moment it could take off and go corkscrewing in all sorts of different directions.
Up until five p.m., she had been seized with panic that Marcus might have second thoughts and decide not to meet her after all; might block her from his phone and disappear for good.
Even while she’d been trying on a dozen different outfits like a teenager, she was terrified he wouldn’t turn up.
But he had, he had, he had. The doorbell had rung at just before five, and when she’d opened the door, there he was, brandishing a huge bouquet of ranunculus, roses and antirrhinums in one hand and a bottle of Bollinger in the other, and with the most enormous smile spread across his face.
When they’d finally finished kissing in the kitchen and she’d told him about her earlier panic, he’d said, ‘Are you kidding? I’ve been counting the minutes. This is the best day of my life.’
And now, several hours on, they were still talking non-stop, catching up with every aspect of each other’s lives, drinking champagne, discovering that last year they’d both attended performances of Les Misérables at the Bristol Hippodrome, just twenty-four hours apart . . .
Disa was still shaking her head at the realisation that they’d had another narrow miss, and goodness knows how many more since he’d been back in the Bristol area, when Marcus reached for her hand.
He said, ‘I really want us to carry on talking. I want to know everything about you. And apologies for being a bit forward, but do you think we could maybe also do something else that feels long overdue?’
There it was, the delicious quiver of anticipation down her spine that had been missing from her life for so long.
Earlier, despite knowing she was in good nick for her age, she had briefly wondered if he would still find her physically attractive all these years on, but from the way he was looking at her now, any such doubts floated away.
Tilting her head back as she finished the last inch of champagne in her glass, Disa kissed him again and traced teasing fingers down the side of his dear face.
‘Oh, Mr Rochester, I thought you’d never ask. ’