Chapter 16 #2
Don roared with laughter. ‘There you are, I told you. They’ve all gone to the cinema to see Death in Venice.’
It transpired that everything on the menu had ‘gone’ except for the turkey risotto or the couscous, by which we guessed they were unavailable. Perhaps the rumour was true and the chef hadn’t turned up after all.
Just as Don was starting to bluster and talking about making a formal complaint, the ma?tre d’, Bernardo, came into the dining room to calm everyone down.
‘Welcome, everyone, welcome. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I fear we have had to sail without two crew members. We will be picking up two replacements when we reach our first port tomorrow. Until then please accept my apologies.’
‘But there is an actual chef on board?’ Roy asked. ‘That’s the most important thing.’
‘Of course. What an idea,’ Bernardo said, with a reassuring chuckle, ‘there is a very fine chef on board. We will provide you with a delicious meal momentarily.’
‘As long as it’s turkey risotto,’ Roy said, topping up his wine glass, ‘or couscous, so good they named it twice.’
‘It is delightful, one of our specialities,’ Bernardo said reassuringly.
‘Is the cheese board – um – free range?’ Dawn asked.
‘Of course it is.’ Craig laughed. ‘Don’t you remember? On the way here we flew over mozzarella herds, scampering about in the hills, didn’t we?’
‘I meant organic,’ Dawn said crossly.
‘I will check to reassure you,’ Bernardo said smoothly. ‘Be of good cheer, signora. I will return momentarily.’
Having disappointed most of the diners, Mario hurried off, while Gina went around the tables with wine and bottles of chilled mineral water. Peace was restored.
‘Now then, where is that man who is here on his own? Jack? I don’t see him here,’ Evelyn said.
‘No, I haven’t seen him for a bit,’ I said, trying to sound casual, although secretly I was wondering the same thing.
‘Perhaps he’s changed his mind,’ Anna said, ‘and gone off somewhere else?’
Marjorie shook her head. ‘No, we know he must still be around, unless he’s thrown himself overboard already. I definitely saw him on the top deck earlier on. I expect he is inspecting something. Ah, no, there he is.’
Jack came into the dining room and waved at us in greeting before he went to sit by himself at one of the empty tables on the other side of the room.
‘Awfully attractive,’ Marjorie said, taking out some glasses from her patchwork bag to have a better look. ‘Reminds me of that actor who was in that thing.’
‘What sort of thing?’ Evelyn said.
Marjorie waved her hands to assist with her thought processes.
‘You know. The spy thing with the thing that kept chasing him, what was it? We all watched it and no one ever understood what was going on.’
The next few minutes were spent trying to work out what or who she meant.
‘The Prisoner. Patrick somebody,’ Marjorie said at last, and Evelyn nodded.
‘“I am not a number; I am a free man.” We never understood why he didn’t just stab that white ball that kept chasing him with a knife. Problem solved.’
Very shortly afterwards Mario and Gina started delivering plates of turkey risotto to our tables, all of which looked identical.
‘Almost,’ Evelyn said, prodding suspiciously at her plateful, ‘as though they had come out of a microwave.’
‘It won’t be the first ping dinner I’ve eaten and I’m sure it won’t be the last,’ Marjorie said cheerfully, ‘and there is plenty of vino to help it down, so what’s the problem?’
Actually, we had a lovely evening, sitting, chatting and getting to know each other.
Outside, the afternoon darkened into evening as we left Venice and headed towards the open sea.
We passed barges and dockside cranes. In the distance we caught glimpses of some of the massive cruise ships forging their way out of the Venice lagoon and congratulated ourselves on being aboard the Atalanta.
Dessert was either ice cream (five flavours) or pannacotta with fresh fruit arranged attractively around the edge of the plate.
‘This,’ Anna said as she prodded her pannacotta with a spoon, ‘is not Michelin-star anything. It has definitely been plopped out from a plastic tub. I can still see the manufacturer’s trademark embossed in the top.’
‘It will be fine tomorrow,’ I said, ‘when the replacement chef gets here.’
‘I don’t care, these things happen. As long as it’s edible and I don’t have to make it,’ Harriet said, ‘or clear it away afterwards and do the washing up.’
At the next table, Roy was grumbling about the food, while still tucking it quite enthusiastically, and even mentioned asking for a discount, until the captain appeared and told us each cabin would be receiving some complimentary Venchi chocolates to make up for any disappointment with the evening meal.
After that announcement, and two large brandies, Roy seemed perfectly happy.
We took our wine glasses out onto the deck, to see the last lights of Venice, the Atalanta ploughing a slow course out towards the open sea. Behind us we could hear Don and Belinda trying to whip up enthusiasm for a bridge tournament in the days to come.
‘We’re quite competent,’ Don said loudly. ‘We played in the Redditch league last year and did quite well.’
‘Keep him away from me,’ Evelyn murmured. ‘The last person I played bridge with was Omar Shariff in Juan-les-Pins in 1996. And with the best will in the world, I don’t think an evening with Don Marshall is going to better that, do you?’
We agreed, wide eyed, that no, it wouldn’t, and then of course we wanted to hear more about the divine actor and was he as gorgeous as he seemed on screen. It seemed he was.
The evening darkened, with just the lights from our ship illuminating the water.
Everything seemed calm and peaceful, and for the first time in a while I felt myself relax.
The journey was planned and organised by professionals and outside of our control.
Captain Rocco and his crew had taken over responsibility for getting us to our destination and the three of us were happy about that.
At around nine thirty, Marjorie went off to her cabin, and after a discussion with Harriet about arthritis, Evelyn trotted off to fetch a tube of Italian arnica cream which she assured Harriet had worked wonders with hers.
‘This is marvellous, isn’t it?’ I said, finishing off the last drops of my wine. ‘And I think I’m ready for my bed too. Tomorrow we reach our first port and some new adventures. Gentle ones. Which don’t involve repacking our cases.’
‘And hopefully a new chef,’ Anna said.
‘Breakfast starts at eight,’ Evelyn said, ‘so I will see you then.’
The three of us sat for a few minutes enjoying the sound of the sea whooshing past the side of the ship. I felt quite the adventurer.
Then I thought of Marco Polo, setting out across the same water on his twenty-four-year journey all those centuries ago.
What courage it must have taken back then.
To go exploring without any idea of what might lie ahead.
What did his mother think when the neighbours asked her where he had gone?
What did she say to him when he came back?
Where the hell have you been, Marco? Your father has run off with the woman from the bakery and I’ve redecorated your bedroom.
And yet in some way I felt the three of us were quite brave too. I didn’t think it was wrong to acknowledge that. And it felt exciting.
It was even more exciting to see the promised box of Venchi chocolates on my dressing table, accompanied with a signed note from the captain. Unusually for me I resisted opening them. I needed to pace myself.
My phone pinged with another message.
Ben
Jenna is really nice. She’s from Chipping Norton. She lives in a barn conversion. Her dad is a farmer. We’re going out for dinner tomorrow.
Me
That’s nice. I look forward to meeting her.
Ben
Mum!
Fantastic. Who knew, maybe Ben would be moving out before too long and into rural life.