Chapter 38
Venice
Molly wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the difference in Fen yesterday evening.
It had been palpable. Now, lying in bed and watching as the veil of morning mist over the lagoon fought a losing battle with the sun, Jamie could only compare it with someone unexpectedly released from prison and finding themselves free once more.
But was it entirely down to the finality of scattering the ashes, or could it in part have been due to something else?
He had no idea, and under the circumstances it wasn’t a question he’d felt able to put to her. It was one of those complicated situations where it just wouldn’t be right.
Hauling himself into a sitting position and piling the pillows up behind him, he reached for his wallet on the ornate bedside table and took out the letter.
Despite pretty much knowing it off by heart, he still felt the need to scan each word, searching for a hidden clue.
It had definitely been written by Leon – that distinctive scrawl was recognisable a mile off – but what he didn’t know was whether this was the only one he’d penned, or had Fen received one too?
And if she had, what had Leon said to her?
Unfolding the two sheets of deckle-edged writing paper bearing the Hetherton Hall address, Jamie began to reread it for maybe the twentieth time:
Hey mate,
How are you?
Time flies when you’re having fun, and I’d love to know how everyone is. I have so many questions, but you can’t give me the answers, can you?
Which is really annoying, because I want to know what you’re up to, and if you’ve found a better best friend than me. And how is Fen?
(OK, still no bloody answers from you, so I guess I’ll get on and say what I want to say.)
I always trusted you with Fen, completely.
Could you have taken her away from me if you’d wanted to?
Maybe you could, if you’d set your mind to it.
But I also knew you’d never do it to me.
And that meant a lot. Actually, it meant everything.
Best of all, by some absolute miracle I managed to find the one woman who chose me rather than you.
I also knew you liked her as a person. So what I’m letting you know now is that if you still do, and if you have feelings of more than liking her, then it would make me happy if you two were to get together.
This isn’t an order, by the way. I’m just saying if you were thinking you couldn’t go ahead because of me, then don’t worry. You can.
Only if you promise not to break her heart, though. You need to be completely sure your feelings are strong enough that that would never happen.
If I’m wrong about this and you’ve already found The One or you aren’t interested, no worries. In that case, destroy this letter and don’t mention it to Fen or to anyone else, ever.
Either way, all I want is for you both to be happy and to have great lives.
Right, that’s me done, I’ve said my piece. The rest’s up to you.
So long, mate.
He refolded the letter and slid it back into his wallet.
Once again, no clues had miraculously revealed themselves.
Would Leon have mentioned it if he’d said much the same to Fen?
Or would he have thought it better not to, allowing her instead to make her own decisions?
And once again, who had hand-delivered the letter to his address? Had that been Leon’s parents?
The only thing he did know for sure was that there was no way he could be the one to make any kind of move. If Fen was even remotely interested in him – and she might not be, might be horrified by the very idea – the initial advance absolutely had to come from her.
It wasn’t the usual order of things. Invariably, over the years, he’d known how women felt about him and had either shown his interest in return, or hadn’t.
But this was different; he was only too well aware of the strength of his own feelings for Fen.
Last night, after their dinner at La Lanterna, followed by drinks with Molly, he’d been careful to maintain the appearance of platonic friendship, because that was the only way to go.
All he could do was be patient and hope the attraction he felt towards her might be returned.
And if it wasn’t . . . well, he’d have to man up and get over himself. Being just good friends with Fen might not be what he most wanted, and it definitely wouldn’t be easy, but it would undoubtedly be better than nothing at all.
The thing about Venice was that it was small enough to be walkable, but by four in the afternoon, Fen’s feet were starting to ache.
She and Jamie had walked many thousands of steps, taken countless photos, explored dozens of narrow back streets, stopped at espresso bars for tiny coffees and cicchetti, and searched the shops for velvet gloves for Disa because she’d seen some last year and regretted not buying them ever since.
Finally the gloves had been tracked down to a dazzlingly vibrant boutique not far from the Libreria Acqua Alta.
Fen chose a parma-violet pair lined with emerald silk for Disa, and Jamie picked out a second gold-lined pair in a dazzling shade of peacock blue.
But as he flipped open his wallet to take out his credit card, Fen caught a fleeting glimpse of deckle-edged cream writing paper tucked into one of the other pockets.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Jamie.
‘Nothing.’
‘You squeaked like a mouse.’
Had she? ‘I did?’
‘You did this.’ He imitated the squeak that had escaped from her throat. ‘Like a mouse on helium.’
The elegant male shop assistant, holding out the card reader, said gravely, ‘We ’ave no mouses in thees shop, madam.’
When they’d left the boutique, Jamie said, ‘Was it his shoes? Did you see them?’
The shoes had been candyfloss pink with orange laces. For a split second Fen prevaricated; she could say it was the shoes. But no. ‘I saw the edge of a letter in your wallet.’
He looked at her. ‘So you got one too?’
‘The other day.’ She nodded. ‘How did you get yours?’
‘Hand-delivered. Dropped through the letter box while I was out.’
‘Same.’ Fen’s heart began to clatter against her ribs. ‘But I don’t know who delivered it. I wondered if it was you.’
‘Not me. Maybe Hilary. Or Greville.’ He sidestepped a tourist videoing a shopfront crowded with Venetian masks. ‘Or it could have been someone he worked with, like Andy. Who knows? Came as a bit of a shock, though, getting a letter from Leon out of the blue like that.’
Fen shrugged in agreement. ‘Kind of a shock, but kind of lovely too. It felt like he was still thinking of me. Well, it must have been the same for you.’
Jamie slowly nodded, and it felt as if the air around them was bursting with unspoken questions neither of them could bring themselves to ask.
The next moment, Fen heard someone saying his name.
As she began to turn, a family of four materialised in front of them and the father of the group said, ‘You’re Jamie Hamilton! ’
‘I am,’ Jamie agreed, and the man’s wife exclaimed, ‘Dave said it was you! I couldn’t believe it – I thought he was winding me up, but it’s actually true! You’re our favourite!’
‘That’s always nice to hear.’ He was smiling at them, shaking the man’s outstretched hand.
‘We were going to go to Torremolinos,’ his wife trilled. ‘But I said no, let’s give Venice a whirl instead! See, Dave? Aren’t you glad you listened to me now? If we’d gone to Spain like you wanted, we wouldn’t have bumped into your favourite footballer, would we?’
‘Rugby, you muppet,’ said Dave, already taking his phone out.
He handed it to Fen, who was tasked with taking photos of Dave and Jamie together, both with and without the children, then of Jamie with Dave’s wife, Donna, then a few more of the whole family with Jamie, followed by a final dozen or so because Donna hadn’t had time to redo her lipstick before the first lot.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Jamie when he’d finally waved the family goodbye.
‘Don’t worry, you made their day.’ The potentially emotional moment between them had passed and she’d had time to recover. ‘You’re a kind footballer who always has time for his fans.’
‘Poor Donna, they aren’t going to let her forget that in a hurry.’
‘But you sent them away happy, and that’s the main thing. They’ll treasure those photos for ever.’
‘Speaking of photos, we don’t have any of us yet.’ They were crossing one of the tiny bridges above a canal extending in the direction of the lagoon. Producing his own phone, Jamie said, ‘Shall we? Unless you’d rather not.’
Fen only hesitated for a moment; it would be a shame not to take a couple of selfies on the bridge with the stretch of water behind them. ‘Let’s do it. Try not to look too ugly.’
He laughed. They turned their backs on the view and he held the phone out in front of them, his shirt-clad arm resting against her bare shoulder as with his other hand he took four quick photos with the right amount of scenery in the background.
Then he said firmly, ‘Never more than four,’ and it was her turn to look at him, laughing, and say, ‘Why?’
At that exact moment he said, ‘Or maybe five,’ and took one more photo.
‘See?’ Bringing up the final one, he showed it to her. ‘The one you weren’t expecting’s always the best.’
He was right. Even with the sun bouncing off the screen, Fen could see how much more relaxed she was. The other photos were fine, but in the fifth one, the camera had managed to capture the look they’d exchanged as well as what felt like the easy unspoken connection between them.
And for the very first time it felt . . . fine. Not wrong, not embarrassing and not shameful.
‘I’m looking fabulous,’ she told Jamie. ‘Shame about you.’
He grinned and gave her arm a nudge. ‘I’m pretty good at tipping people off bridges.’
‘Can you send me the photos so I can see them properly?’
He did so, and in her bag she heard the ting as they arrived on her phone. ‘Thanks.’