Sign of the Times

by Susan Buchanan

  “I’d best go. There are more guests. See you in a bit. Have fun,” and with a squeeze of his hand she was gone.

  As he watched Holly march off, he sighed with relief that he hadn’t pursued things with Shirley. He loved Holly and couldn’t wait to marry her. What had happened with Shirley a few months earlier had been an aberration. She was a lovely girl and if he hadn’t already been with Holly, who knows, but he had hurt her and he hadn’t meant to. No wonder she had been mad with him. For a while, he wondered if she would cause problems for him with Holly. But on reflection he’d decided she wasn’t like that. She was a decent woman. Tom despised himself for his betrayal and had resolved to more than make it up to Holly when he married her.

  The voice of local DJ, George Barnes burst out over the microphone. “Everyone. Could I please have your attention? I’d like to welcome to the stage, one of the UK’s most original travel writers, a woman who makes us want to literally follow in her footsteps, who brings the places she writes about to life, imbues the familiar with a sense of the extraordinary and who is here tonight to talk about her second book, Venetian Dreams. Please welcome Miss Holly Jameson.”

  Holly shone as she climbed the few steps to the makeshift stage, which was in the form of the Bridge of Sighs. She coughed nervously, sipped from the water glass provided and then began,

  “Good evening everyone. Thanks very much for coming to the Venetian Dreams launch. I’m sorry I haven’t managed to speak to everybody yet, but the night is young.” She paused as laughter pervaded the hall.

  “I fell in love with Venice one December, when it was at its least smelly.” More laughter. “So much so, that I went back in February for Carnevale with my better half,” she nodded to Tom. “I had always been captivated by the tradition of the masked ball and managed to swing us an invite, a miracle, as you have more chance of winning the lottery than getting one of those tickets. Only a select few have the privilege of receiving a much sought after invitation and I was delighted that I had managed to wangle it. The Devil is waiting on the other side for my soul.” Further laughter.

  “It was utterly captivating. Then I just kept going back. If you can see past the whiff of the Grand Canal in high season, it’s well worth the trip. I found the most amazing places in Venice. Some bargain rooms to sleep in, in people’s houses as opposed to the bank balance depleting usual suspects,” Holly glanced quickly at her notes to jog her memory.

  “I found a chocolate shop, which made hot chocolate so thick, I was able to turn my cup upside down and it didn’t come out. It was a meal, more than a drink. Absolutely exquisite, but totally sickening, in a good way,” she hastened to add.

  “I’ve been overcharged for gondola rides and not cared and been fleeced the following day and minded greatly. A lot depends on the gondolier and the weather.” I’ve done all of the cultural things, been inside St Mark’s Basilica, after being subjected to the security searches and endured the pain that is leaving your bags at a cloakroom on the other side of the square. I’d like to say I’ve chased pigeons in St Mark’s Square, but I hate pigeons and birds in general flocking me, so I didn’t actually participate in that notable pastime. Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds will do that to you. I’ve visited the Palazzo Ducale di Venezia. The carved marble façade inside the courtyard of the Doge’s Palace and the two most visible facing out onto the Venetian Lagoon and St Mark’s Square are sights worth beholding. The Bridge of Sighs to its right is one of the most contemplative places I’ve ever been. There are countless more cultural sights to explore, but for me discovering a city is not only about covering the tourist angle, but about unearthing those things only locals know about.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time with the people who live there. What makes contemporary Venetians tick? Who are today’s Venetians? How do they cope with having to get a water taxi to work? How odd would it be, if you had to stand at the top of your steps and wait for a boat to come along and spirit you away from your front door? It would be romantic for a while, but I’m sure you’d soon get tired of it. No supermarket nearby either. Some of them have their own little boats, but more often than not they don’t. The Venetians are a relaxed people. They are very proud of being in the Veneto. Many older Venetians don’t speak Italian. Many of the younger generation still prefer to speak Veneto instead of Italian. Of course at work, it’s often more difficult, as they have to speak with other Italians, in Milan, Rome, Turin and beyond and they don’t speak Veneto. In other parts of the Veneto, traditions are being lost. Grandparents speak Veneto, whilst their grandchildren speak to them in Italian. This is a proud people. Remember Italy didn’t become a unified country until around 1850…” Holly coughed and kept coughing, until she almost turned blue. The water didn’t quite do the trick. She had suddenly turned very pale. Her publicist took one look at her and said, “I think that’ll do, Holly. I’ll wrap it up. You don’t look well.” Holly stood gratefully aside, as her publicist spoke into the microphone.

  “It’s rare in travel writing that a true genius emerges. Of course, everyone is always looking for the next new thing, how to be different. Holly Jameson doesn’t need to look for that. The embodiment of the aspirations we all have with regard to understanding other cultures and visiting new, undiscovered, exciting places, Holly blends with the culture, the people and the places. She adopts the place she is writing about. It becomes her new home and that comes through in her writing. You could imagine Holly and her family living there day in day out, as that’s what she conveys to us. She provides far more than a tourist guide to the area, although she does give several off the beaten track suggestions, for those wanting to explore more than simply the top ten sights of a city. I am certain that Venetian Dreams will be a huge success.”

  As her publicist invited the crowd to applaud her, Holly remained deathly pale. She stared straight ahead at the source of her choking fit. Dario. As he leaned against a pillar, his gaze burned into hers. Holly stood rooted to the spot. Why now? How could Fate be so cruel? Didn’t he realise this wasn’t the right time nor the place? Every day for the first few months she’d pictured him and then gradually he’d ebbed from her thoughts, allowing her to think about her wedding, her future, her life with Tom. Now, the spectre of the recent past was back to haunt her. She knew she’d need to address these demons before she could move forward. But she didn’t know what to do, nor did she know how to do it. This launch was too important to her. It was a celebration of her career, but also a catalyst to the next level. Book launches and signings would give way to daytime TV slots and a world tour perhaps, maybe even her own travel programme. It was of paramount importance that nothing jeopardise that. As she stood there, feeling more zombie-like by the second, she knew she needed to speak with him.

  Dario propped himself against the colonnade and admired Holly. She looked even more stunning tonight than when he’d last seen her at the wedding. He’d come to tell her how he felt and wouldn’t leave without doing so. Arriving late intentionally, so that he couldn’t be ejected prematurely, so far his plan was on track. When Holly noticed him, her face had registered surprise, then alarm. Shortly afterwards, she’d vacated the lectern. What he didn’t know was exactly how or when to approach her. It was imperative to get her on her own. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best choice of place, but how else could he have contacted her and ensured she would meet him?

  Czeslawa and Maria were waiting just off-stage when Holly finally descended. They supported her back to her dressing room, to see if they could induce some life into her again. Maria was concerned by her pallor.

  “Are you OK, Holly?” she asked.

  Numbly Holly managed to convince Maria that she was OK, just a little faint. “Must be all the excitement,” she mumbled.

  “Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of milky, sweet tea, see if that helps.”

  “I can’t be gone long,” Holly protested, knowing that her publicist too would be daunted by her earlier display.

  “Just
a quick cuppa,” Maria insisted. “Czeslawa, you stay with her. I’ll go and make tea.”

  “No, I’m all right,” assured Holly.

  “OK, I’ll be back in a minute. Czeslawa, can you check with Anastazy just how many people we’ve had through and ensure there are plenty more books ready to be signed when Holly reappears.”

  “Of course,” Czeslawa followed Maria out.

  Holly sat forward in her chair. Oh my God, Dario’s here, he’s really here. What did he hope to achieve by coming to her launch? She couldn’t even work out if she was pleased or not. Tom was here. Surely he’d thought of that. Perhaps he had already talked to Tom. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go back out there, to face him, but she had to. She had the Press, her publisher and countless guests waiting for her. This was her career, her big night. Pondering what to do, she heard a knock at the door. Maria returning with the tea. Holly leapt up to open the door. As Holly walked away, she gasped as she saw Dario’s reflection in the mirror, looking back at her. Not Maria.

  “Holly. I am sorry to interrupt your launch, but I needed to set things right between us. I needed to tell you how I feel.”

  Holly could barely think straight. His eyes held hers. Her glance took in the urgent look in his dark eyes, his mouth, the muscles on his arms, showing through his thin jersey. Finally, she said, “Well you certainly took your time. I’ve been back for months. And what did happen to you at the wedding?” she asked crossly.

  “I’m sorry. I am here to explain. I am in Glasgow for a viticultural conference. It would have been foolish not to see you.”

  “You pick the days.”

  “I didn’t know if you would see me,” he said contritely. “At the wedding, a friend of mine had a fit. He has epilepsy. I took him to hospital, but we tried to keep it quiet, so that it wouldn’t ruin the bride and groom’s day.”

  “So why didn’t you contact me after that? You could have easily found out where I was staying,” Holly was hostile.

  “I had to go to California the next day. I had no time to explain. Then, when I got back, I thought you would have forgotten me, so gave it up as a lost cause.”

  “I did too,” Holly said forlornly.

  “But I couldn’t give up on you entirely. I have,” he stumbled, “feelings for you, feelings which won’t go away.

  “And what am I meant to do with that now, Dario?” Holly asked scathingly, all her frustrations of a few months ago boiling to the surface.

  “I-I-don’t know. I needed you to know how I felt.”

  “And you chose tonight to do it? The most important event of my career and you thought it would be a good idea to come here and turn it upside down?”

  “Well, now you put it like that, perhaps it wasn’t the best choice, but I didn’t know what else to do,” he replied penitently.

  Holly sat back heavily in her chair. She didn’t invite him to sit. Emotion coursed through her veins. What did she feel? What did she want?

  “It was one kiss, Dario. Lives together aren’t made or destroyed on one kiss,” she finally said.

  “The kiss wasn’t the important thing, Holly. It’s what it signified.”

  “You’re too unreliable. I barely know you, but already I know that about you.”

  “I can assure you, I am not usually.”

  “How can I believe that?” she asked.

  “You have to trust me,” he said softly. “That’s the only guarantee I can give you.”

  “I don’t know if it’s enough. Look, I have people to see. Maria will be back any minute. You have to leave.”

  “Not now, Holly, please. Don’t leave things like this. I’m staying at the Millennium, across the square. Come and find me when this is finished.”

  “I don’t know, Dario,” Holly wavered.

  “Holly, you need to know, just as much as I do,” he said, as his hand felt for the door handle.

  “But not quite as much as I do,” said Tom, eyes blazing, as he opened the door from the other side. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing,” said Holly guiltily, eyes averted.

  “Holly, I heard everything. I want to know who he is and what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on. He’s just a wine producer I met in Italy.”

  “Holly!” Tom barked. “I heard. One kiss. Doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Tom conveniently forgot his own shortcomings.

  Holly looked from one to the other. This was crunch time. She felt backed into a corner.

  “I can’t do this right now, Tom. My publisher is expecting me,” and she ran from the room, dress rustling behind her.

  “What the hell is going on?” Tom turned to face Dario, face puce with anger.

  “I think you should ask your fiancée,” Dario said, as he strode from the room.

  Holly was rattled and flushed as she joined her publisher at the signing table. She pasted a smile on her face and somehow muttered the pleasantries required of her. The girl from the publishing house, assigned to sort out the autographing of books, handed her post-its with names and dedications to put in the flyleaf, which she wrote on autopilot. Her heart was thudding inside her chest. Decision time. What was she going to do? She felt sick. She needed to confide in someone. She needed Lucy. But Lucy wasn’t here. Maria.

  Maria and Czeslawa were talking to Carl and Maggie. Jennifer and Ben were nowhere to be seen, or she would have asked Jennifer’s advice too. Antonia was busy at the other end of the room, talking to Oscar. As the signing queue dwindled, Holly tried to attract Maria’s attention, before Tom could catch up with her. Where was he anyway? She hadn’t seen him since she’d left her dressing room. He’d probably gone home, livid. Oh well, she’d work out what she was going to say and deal with him later.

  The last volume signed, Holly sped over to Maria.

  “Maria, I need to talk to you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “What is it Are you feeling OK?” Maria was concerned.

  “I’m fine, but I really need to talk.”

  As they made their way to the Ladies’, they heard shouting coming from the corridor. Holly sensed trouble, so changing course, walked quickly to the door, with Maria in hot pursuit. Out in the corridor, Holly couldn’t believe the scene which met her eyes. Tom had Dario by the scruff of his neck, as Dario nursed a bloody nose. It looked swollen, possibly broken.

  “Tom, what are you doing?” she shouted horrified.

  “Oh, what am I doing? What about you and lover boy? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he roared.

  “There is nothing to find out,” she hissed. “You’re causing a scene.”

  “That’s nothing. Wait till I get started,” and he launched himself at Dario again, who tried to protect his face.

  “No,” screamed Holly and inserted herself between them. Tom’s blow caught her on the side of the head, knocking her flying.

  Two security guards appeared and hauled Tom away, but not before the Press had snapped a few shots, complete with a prone Holly. Maria flew to Holly’s side, calling for water.

  “I-I-I, Holly,” cried Tom.

  “Tom, I think you’ve done enough damage for one night,” seethed Maria.

  “And you,” her glance turned to Dario. Turning to Security, she said, “Can you get them both out of here, please?”

  A first aider was identified and treated Holly. As she regained consciousness, she was woozy at first.

  “What happened?” she asked Maria.

  “It’s OK now,” her friend told her. “It was an accident.”

  The Press had been moved back not long after Holly went down, much to their chagrin. They were already writing the by-lines. It had certainly turned out to be a more eventful launch than expected. Holly Jameson was full of surprises.

  *

  Lucy went out to fetch the newspapers. For once she wasn’t the newsworthy one. Obviously there was little news in Glasgow the previous day, as her sister had made the front page in one of the
main dailies. “Lover launched at book launch!” cried one, indicating that Holly’s fiancé had tackled her Italian lover.

  “Venetian Nightmares” was the cry of another. “Italian Stallion” was the lower class comment of a cheap tabloid. Holly was distraught. Her career down the toilet.

  “Not necessarily,” chirped Lucy. “Should help sell more books. Apart from in my case, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  “Oh Luce,” wailed Holly, reading about the bust up at the City Chambers. “What am I going to do?”

  “Sit it out,” her sister said, with a knowing look.

  When the phone rang, Holly didn’t want to answer it. Lucy, also loathe to pick it up, for her own reasons, reluctantly accepted it was her turn.

  “Hello?” she asked warily, half-expecting it to be a newspaper.

  “Hi,” she said cordially, once the speaker had identified themselves. “Sure, she’s right here.”

  “It’s your publisher,” she mouthed, as she handed over the phone.

  “Hello,” Holly said tentatively, unsure if she was about to have her contract curtailed.

  “Hi, Holly. How you doing?”

  “Been better.”

  “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “the bad news, may as well get it all over at once.”

  “OK, the bad news is there is no bad news. The good news is Amazon have received a record number of advance orders for the book. Same story with the booksellers. Seems that your net worth went up overnight. Sensation sells.”

  Consoled by the fact that her career apparently wasn’t in tatters yet, she thanked her publisher and fibbing, agreed to get tucked into the champagne. She hadn’t heard from Tom, nor Dario. She’d gone over with Lucy a thousand times last night, what she wanted, what she felt. She still didn’t know. There was only one way to find out. She needed to see them both, separately. She dialled Tom’s mobile.

  They arranged to meet in town. A neutral place. He was sitting in the coffee shop when she arrived.

  “Hi,” said Tom uncertainly.

  “Hi,” said Holly, seating herself without making any move to kiss him.