Here Come the Girls (32 page)

‘Well, that was amazing,’ said Royston. ‘Thank you so much, Cap’n. That was special, truly special.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ returned Nigel before one of the officers claimed his attention again.

‘We’d best go and leave them to it,’ said Royston, checking his Rolex. ‘We’ve only got just over twenty minutes to dinner.’

‘I’ll see you at the table very shortly, all being well,’ called Nigel. ‘Gilbert will show you the way out. Glad you enjoyed it.’

After thanking Nigel profusely, they all followed the junior officer Gilbert out of the bridge, down the passage and through the door which took them back into the main body of the ship.

‘Would you like to join us for champagne?’ Ven asked the two older couples. ‘It’s on me,’ she added, because though Eric wasn’t mean, she suspected he and his wallet wouldn’t be too keen to get into rounds of champagne.

‘That would be lovely,’ said Stella.

They claimed some seats and a table in the Beluga bar, and Royston and Eric borrowed a couple more chairs so they could all sit together. The men ordered plain champagne, while Irene had her first ever Kir Royale, Ven had a Bellini and the others had champagne cocktails with brandy and brown sugar. Ven ordered a taster dish of caviar which came with tiny biscuits, and though it wasn’t something she would have had every day, she enjoyed the idea that she was in the middle of the sea on a luxury ship drinking champagne and eating caviar.

‘I sometimes ask myself, where did it all go wrong?’ laughed Royston, shovelling a cracker and caviar into his mouth. ‘Oh, isn’t this the life?’

‘It sure is,’ said Olive, as a thought of the real life she would be returning to pushed through. How could she go back to scrubbing at Mr Tidy’s toilet pan after this?

The dinner-table was covered in streamers and balloons with ‘40’ on them bobbing above the middle of the table. Ven cast narrowed eyes onto her friends.

‘You didn’t have to announce my age to the whole world!’ she growled with mock embarrassment.

‘I wish I could announce that I was forty,’ chuckled Stella. ‘You’re just a baby.’

They assumed their seats and looked at the menu. It was a beauty tonight:

Aromatic Salmon Confit Terrine
With a dill yoghurt dressing and toasted lemon brioche
Wholemeal Tartlet filled with Avocado, Tomatoes,
Quail Egg and Crispy Bacon
Vegetable Spring Rolls
With Thai salad and a sweet chilli dipping sauce
~
Scotch Broth
Chicken Consommé with Lentils and Herbs
~
Grilled Red Snapper with Wok Fried Rice
Served with sweet and sour sauce and prawn crackers
Confit of Duck Leg

Slow-braised duck leg served on a bed of creamed leeks and bacon
Pan-fried Herb-crumbed Escalope of Veal
Served with asparagus tips, crab and Hollandaise glaze
Prosciutto & Porcini Penne Pasta with Roasted Tomato Dressing
Served with chunky garlic bread
Bâtons of Root Vegetables Brussel Sprouts O’Brien Potatoes
~
Rum Tiramisu
Dark Chocolate Cake with Cappuccino Cream and
Cherry Brandy Sauce
Selection of Miniature Lemon Desserts
Lemon Cheesecake, Lemon Panna Cotta and Lemon Meringue Tart
Ice creams: Butterscotch, Melba, Madagascan Vanilla

Plus there was a cheeseboard to follow, with coffees, Italian Liqueur truffles and the special after-dinner drinks of the night – Tia Maria or grappa.

‘Not much on there for me tonight,’ sighed Roz.

‘You’re joking!’ said Frankie.

‘Of course I am, you fool.’

‘I fancy having a red snapper,’ Ven decided.

‘I bet you wish the Captain would give you a red snapper,’ Roz whispered, setting Ven off giggling.

‘What’s O’Brien Potatoes?’ asked Irene.

‘Don’t know, but they sound very Irish,’ replied Royston. ‘Oh, look who’s here – right on cue!’

‘Evening, everyone,’ said Nigel as Buzz dived forward to pull out his chair for him.

‘Good evening, Captain,’ everyone returned.

Buzz enlightened them on the O’Brien question – they were potatoes sautéed with pimiento and hot bell peppers.

Ostentatious, daftly generous Royston ordered two bottles of pink champagne for the table, but Nigel summoned over Angel and had a word in her ear.

‘My treat,’ he said, inspiring Royston to try and battle for the bill whilst Eric sipped quietly and hoped no one would expect him to make it a three-way contest.

Nigel won in the end. They toasted Ven yet again when everyone had a glass full. Irene was decidedly tipsy by the time her consommé had arrived. Then Olive made everyone nearly spit out their champagne with laughter when she excitedly told the table about ‘the man they’d seen blowing a horse’ in Murano. Even Nigel laughed like a drain at that. Ven decided that, out of his uniform, Captain Nigel O’Shaughnessy might be a very earthy man.

‘What’s Korcula like?’ Ven asked him when the hilarity had died down and Olive had stopped hiding her head in her hands.

‘Oh, it’s a charming little island,’ butted in Eric. ‘And though it’s spelled with a “c” it’s actually pronounced
Kor-chew-la
. Isn’t that right, Captain?’

‘That’s correct,’ said Nigel, happy to let Eric take centre-stage with his knowledge.

‘It’s a brilliant place for fake designer sunglasses,’ Stella informed them. ‘Ten euros a pair, but barter. And walk off if they won’t drop their prices – they’ll chase you soon enough.’

‘I got them down to five euros for my Golce and Dabbana ones,’ said Irene, a little more loudly than she usually spoke. ‘I mean Bolshy and Banana . . . Dolce and Gabbana. Oh dear, I’d better not have any more to drink, had I?’ she giggled.

‘Oh go on, live a bit.’ Royston nudged her.

‘Well, I might have just one more. If you insist.’

‘It’ll be a lot quieter than Dubrovnik. We’re the only ship in port that day,’ promised Nigel.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ replied Ven, then turned to Frankie. ‘Have you seen Vaughan yet – to thank him for us?’

‘No, still not seen him,’ said Frankie with a disappointed sigh. She had fantasised more than once that day about sharing a gondola with him.

As coffee was served, waiters started to gather around the table.

‘Oh God,’ said Ven as Supremo led a terrible chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ and the whole restaurant joined in with the clapping in the second verse.

‘I hope they never release an album,’ said Eric.

‘Aw, it’s sweet,’ said Frankie. ‘And you have to have a bit of ritual humiliation on your fortieth birthday as well as the nice stuff.’

‘I’ll remember that for your birthday,’ said Ven. ‘I’ll book my ex-husband as your strippagram.’

That was the first time she had been able to joke about him, the others noticed with a smile inside their heads. It proved the very deep wounds that Ian Walsh had caused her were healing. At last.

‘Grappa or Tia Maria, anyone?’ asked Angel, bearing a tray full of liqueurs.

‘I think I’d like to try a grappa, please,’ trilled Irene, who was distinctly glassy-eyed by now.

‘Nine grappas please, Angel,’ said Eric, whipping out his cruise card. His eyes were as glassy as his wife’s.

‘Not for me, thank you, I’m on duty,’ said Nigel. ‘And sadly I must once again leave you and get back to the bridge.’

‘Eight then, please, my lovely.’

‘Dad’s favourite,’ said Frankie, smiling at the thought of her lovely mad Italian father. If there was a disaster, grappa was his essential salve. If there was something to celebrate, it couldn’t be done without a toast of grappa.

‘Enjoy Korcula,’ said Nigel. ‘And Venice, I sincerely hope you have had a lovely day.’

‘Nigel, I think this has been one of my favourite days of my life,’ Venice beamed.

Nigel’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer than his goodbye merited, but it was enough to make Ven’s heart jump in her chest. If only he’d given her a birthday snog. The day would have been upgraded from favourite to perfect. That, and the sight of a wild dolphin.

After dinner that night, Eric and Irene went to their cabin for a lie-down.

‘That’s the last we’ll see of those two lightweights tonight,’ laughed Royston, watching them wend a very weavy path towards the lift.

‘I fancy a bit of a “lie-down” myself,’ said Stella, with a saucy look in her eye.

‘And the last you’ll see of us two as well,’ smiled Royston, rubbing his hands together. ‘Have a lovely day in Korcula, girls. See you tomorrow. Happy birthday, gel!’ And he leaned over, gave Ven a big sloppy kiss on her cheek then held out his arm for his lady to link.

‘Randy old buggers,’ said Frankie, envying them. ‘I haven’t had sex for nearly five years.’

‘Five years? You?’ said Roz. She was about to ask how come a man-eater like Frankie had been celibate for so long, then she remembered that sex hadn’t exactly been a priority for her either.

‘Well, I can’t promise you a man, but I can at least help you get a handbag. Come on, they’ve got a sale on in Rodeo Drive. Ven, Olive? That sound like a plan?’

‘That sounds good to me, Roz,’ nodded Ven. In the event of not having her face snogged off by the Captain, there were worse compensation prizes than the prospect of a new birthday handbag.

Ven lay in bed that night, grinning inanely. She was thinking of Nigel’s truffles, Nigel’s legs in his cut-off trousers, Nigel’s gentle lilting voice, Nigel’s eyes on hers as he left the table. What a lovely day she’d had. It would have been a perfect time to tell her friends
the news
– whilst they were all happy. But something had stopped her, so maybe it wasn’t meant to be today. Soon though. Ven giggled sleepily to herself.

D
AY
10: K
ORCULA

Dress Code: Smart Casual

Chapter 49

They were at anchor for Korcula, which meant a ride on the tender boats from the ship to the island. Ven opened up the curtains on yet another sunshiney day. The vista was dominated by a huge mountain studded with cream-stone houses with cheerful orange roofs. She could see the tender boats full of early-rising eager passengers crossing from the ship to land.

Her cabin phone rang just as she was blotting her lipstick on a tissue.

‘It’s me,’ said Roz’s voice. ‘We’re up in the Buttery. Come and join us. We’ve saved you an almond croissant.’

‘Go and get me another one, I’m starving,’ said Ven, grabbing her handbag and sunglasses and wishing Jesus a cheerful ‘Good morning,’ on her way out.

Eric and Irene were just going up for breakfast as Ven and the others were heading off to get their tickets for the tender boats.

‘We had a lie-in for once,’ said Eric. ‘My, I can’t remember sleeping for that long in years.’

Irene looked a bit bashful, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

‘Do you think they . . .?’ began Olive as the lift doors closed on the old couple.

‘Course they did!’ said Frankie. ‘Nice to know someone’s getting some.’

The tender boats were great fun. They bumped against the
Mermaidia
like rooting babies then, loaded with passengers, jiggled naughtily on the water, making a few passengers shriek. Not exactly a white-knuckle ride, but maybe a light-pink one. As instructed, they had ‘familiarised themselves with the location of the life-jackets’ although secretly Ven wanted to fall overboard and be rescued by a dolphin – it might be the only way she got to see one. A far too short (in her opinion) five minutes later, all the passengers were being helped onto the shore by the gallant crew taking their hands as they did a little leap from the bobbing tender boat onto the island. Behind them was a private yacht, sailing like a preening black swan and looking like something a James Bond villain would own. It had a sigh factor of at least an eight. In front of them was a huge round tower, part of the ancient defensive walls that surrounded the town. Ven thought she might just defy anyone not to fall in love with Korcula from the very first sight of it.

‘Oh, this is pretty!’ said Olive, echoing her thoughts. ‘What a lovely place.’ Café tables flanked the curving narrow road that led up to the main part of the town. Diners sat under the shade of umbrellas with large seafood platters and pizza, enjoying the view of the sea which was a sheet of blue and silver today. The grand ship was in the distance, and the orange tenders crossed in the water like playful goldfish. White cats slept in gardens, old fat dogs with collars on hovered near the café tables wagging their tails in anticipation of snack donations.

‘I spy sunglasses,’ said Ven, as they rounded the corner and strode over to the first of many stalls full to the gills with football shirts, sunglasses, hats, bags, watches, souvenirs.

‘How much do you think the real thing would be worth?’ asked Olive, picking up a huge pair of Jackie Onassis ‘Dior’ sunglasses with a white frame.

‘In that case, about three hundred quid,’ replied Roz.

‘Blimey! I’d be scared of taking them on holiday and losing them,’ said Olive. ‘However rich I got, I don’t think I’d spend three hundred quid on a pair of sunnies.’

‘But at ten euros a pair, you could take them and not worry too much, couldn’t you?’

Olive nodded, then suddenly wondered why she was even looking at more sunglasses. It wasn’t as if she would be going on holiday for a few more years. Then again, at least she wouldn’t be held back from booking one by her mother-in-law’s poor health, seeing as she was probably fitter than Olive. Or David’s claim that he didn’t want to go away because he liked to sleep on his own firm mattress at home ‘for his bad back’. There was nothing wrong with either of them that a good stretch and a few pounds off their bulk wouldn’t cure.

‘Isn’t that your mate over there?’ Roz nudged Frankie. Frankie turned round to look at where Roz was pointing and she felt her heart gallop a few strides down the road. There, in the near distance, looking at postcards like a touristy Viking, was Vaughan.