Here Come the Girls

by Milly Johnson

  Ven felt as if the hotel was ‘hers’ in some way. How nuts was that? Did that make her really part-Italian, being conceived in this lovely city? More Italian than Frankie who was actually born in Sheffield?

  She sat down on one of the pale golden slipper chairs. The furniture looked terribly old but beautifully preserved. It all fitted so perfectly into its surroundings that she wondered if the hotel had been built around it. She suddenly shivered, because it was as if her world had sailed close to one in which her parents were now, and the thin skins between them had brushed. She gave her head a little shake to get rid of the rising emotion. It was a ridiculous thought, of course, because once you were dead you were dead. She wished she believed in a heaven, but she didn’t. There were no ghosts, no after-life and so such thing as reincarnation. Anyway – every programme she’d seen about reincarnation involved someone who ‘used to be’ an Egyptian priestess. Oh, for the days when she couldn’t get to sleep in anticipation of Father Christmas or the Tooth Fairy because Ven knew she had lost the ability to see magic, after all the events of the past few years. She badly needed to believe in some, but the luxury eluded her.

  Venice took a final long look around the stucco walls, the dark portraits in their heavy gilt frames, the chairs and huge glass tables with the intricate legs, the beautiful kind receptionist, the views from the tall windows.

  ‘Grazie, signorina,’ she said.

  ‘Prego,’ the receptionist replied with a sweet smile.

  Ven opened the front door to the sunshine, and the real world once again. Her memory was made and she would take it home and treasure it. More than one memory, in fact, because there was also the interlude with lovely Nigel who had rescued her from a sadness that she hadn’t anticipated. She just wished that every time she felt lonely from now on, he would leap out from nowhere to treat her to ice cream and coffee. Yeah, like that was going to happen to someone like you, Venice Smith!

  Now she had to get back to the ship and face a grilling from the others as to why she’d been spotted in an ice-cream parlour with a handsome Captain when they’d left her to go hotel hunting.

  Chapter 48

  Nigel was waiting for them when the four women arrived in Reception at half past four and he was back in his uniform. Ven had to suppress a low growl in her throat. It put the cheap fake uniform her ex-husband had in his ‘stripper’s closet’ to shame. She had a sudden vision of Nigel stripping off to the Full Monty theme tune and had to pull herself to order. The dress code for that evening was semi-formal, but as it was Ven’s birthday, they had upgraded it and were all in long evening dresses.

  As Ven had anticipated, the others were gagging for details when she got back to the ship and Ven was forced to explain – right down to what flavour sauce she had on her ice cream.

  ‘That Italian you taught me wouldn’t have been understood, by the way,’ said Ven, wondering why Frankie’s eyes seemed to suddenly dilate. ‘Apparently the Venetian dialect is different to the rest of Italy.’

  ‘Oh, who told you that?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘Nigel,’ said Ven. ‘He said he’d do the talking for me when we were looking for the hotel. He can speak fluent Italian and Venetian.’

  ‘Did you . . . did you try your newly learned Italian out on him then?’ Frankie asked, whilst doing her best to look innocent.

  ‘I did,’ said Ven proudly. ‘And I think he was secretly impressed by my accent, you know.’

  ‘Thank You, God,’ said Frankie silently when Ven’s back was turned. The gentlemanly Captain went up even further in her estimation.

  Eric and Irene, Royston and Stella joined them five minutes later, also dressed for dinner as there wouldn’t be a long time after sailing out of the Grand Canal before the restaurant bing-bong sounded. They brought cards for Ven, and Stella had bought her a gorgeous pink Venetian mask too. The group was twittering like kids on a school trip. It was a first for all of them, apparently, going on the bridge.

  They went up to deck twelve in the forward lift, then through a Staff Only door and along a passage. Nigel drew back a curtained door and gave them all a glimpse into his office. Then they travelled up a steel set of steps, along a passage and cleared a security door. Then they were on the elusive bridge, which was nothing like any of them had imagined.

  The space was remarkably clear, except for a concentrated bank of telephones and computers in a central console, where two officers sat with the Venetian pilot happily drinking tea. He was the man who would help guide the mighty ship out of the Grand Canal and into the open sea, without actually touching the controls himself. Nigel explained that there was less than three-foot clearance under the ship in the canal. It was a complicated manoeuvre getting out.

  Aided by tugs, the Mermaidia began a long and laboured three-point turn in the shallow waters. The whole ship juddered as she struggled through the mud, but eventually, they were on their way. The pilot’s job done, he headed downstairs to take the boat back to Venice, and the Mermaidia began a smooth cruise down the Grand Canal.

  There was little conversation from the party who stood in true awe enjoying the scenery.

  Ven could feel Nigel directly behind her, looking over her head. She imagined him leaning forwards, placing his lips on the side of her neck, his hands around her waist. Then Roz rudely awoke her from her fantasy with a sharp nudge to alert her to the last view of Saint Mark’s Square.

  ‘It’s absolutely beautiful,’ said Stella breathlessly.

  ‘Stunning,’ added Eric. ‘What a treat.’

  Ven gulped down a surprise of tears as the ship nosed into the open sea on course for the Croatian island of Korcula. It would have sounded daft had she said it aloud, but she felt that she had left something of herself in Venice – that part of her would be forever anchored there. Her mum and dad had been so lucky being there as lovers. Ven only hoped she would return to it with a lover of her own. She knew it would be too hard to come back to alone.

  Then Eric’s ecstasy levels went into overdrive as Nigel highlighted a small blob on one of the screens.

  ‘That’s actually the ship over there,’ he said, pointing through the window to the real-life vessel ahead of them. All the details of the ship flashed up on screen – the name of it, how long it was, where it was destined for and that it contained some hazardous material – it was surprisingly fascinating stuff. Eric’s questions for the Captain came thick and fast, and Nigel answered them all quite happily.

  ‘Quick, look!’ cried Irene, pointing to a pod of dolphins, lifting and diving into the sea as if trying to outwit the ship. However, by the time Ven had moved from the control bank to the window, all she saw was a slight splash in the water. She so wanted to see some dolphins in the wild and had been terribly unlucky so far on that score.

  Olive too was standing, looking out to sea but her eyes were unfocused because she was quietly thinking. Her life with David and Doreen felt like a million light years away. And a million planets away. And from one of those planets the full picture of her marriage was clearly visible and it wasn’t a pretty one. Looking at everything from a distance and gaining perspective was frightening. What she had wasn’t a life – this was living. Having holidays, going out for meals, taking the time out to sit and read a book, having a laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed, or even smiled, in 15, Land Lane.

  ‘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, w
atching 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.

  DAY 10: KORCULA