The idea of a Venice jaunt had come to her as she drove back from Scarborough after they’d scattered Jonathan’s ashes. A sudden clear, simple solution to what she was going to do with the money the children had given her from their inheritance.
She’d chosen a different hotel of course, a nicer, much more expensive one, in the beating heart of the old city. A proper ‘establishment’, with a marble-topped bar and an internal courtyard, perfect for an early evening cocktail; multiple airy reception rooms and two liveried doormen, one of whom had just held open the heavy mullioned glass door and tipped his hat at her. This was what Jonathan’s money was buying: the trappings of elegance and old world charm. Eloise hoped he would have approved. She thought he might – though he would have been surprised by her choice of holiday destination. She turned left and began strolling through the narrow streets, joining the tourists and locals promenading between the pools of yellow light cast by the street lamps.
Out of respect to her late husband, she had not invited Alex along on the trip. He’d been disappointed and had sulked, quite badly. She’d been secretly pleased by his show of pique. If he missed her while she was away, so much the better. Theirs was a fairly new relationship. Their joy and delight in each other was fresh and exciting, but it was still good to hold something back. The slow reveal was half the fun, after all.
In truth, it had never been an option to travel with her new lover.
Venice was a city that would always belong to Jonathan.
Eloise checked the street name on her phone and turned down one of the paths that took her deeper into the back streets, away from the shops and bars, into the realm of overflowing dustbins and graffiti – the still-vibrant, but far seedier side of Venice. At one point she came to a dead end, had to double-check the directions and retrace her steps. This was not, after all, an aimless wander. Then suddenly there it was, the restaurant they’d eaten at all those years ago. It was still a going concern, although at this late hour it was closed and shuttered. Its survival pleased Eloise: proof of life. She knew she was being sentimental, but that was the purpose of the trip – for her to make her peace with her past.
She walked past the restaurant slowly. It looked the same, from what little she could remember. A local neighbourhood trattoria. No frills, good food, cheap, or at least as cheap as it got in Venice. She recalled that they ate outside, at one of the few tables crammed onto the narrow strip of paving in front of the restaurant. They’d been on a tight budget, so she guessed they’d had the prix fixe menu and the second least-expensive bottle of red on the list. What they talked about she couldn’t remember, but that they had talked, and talked, and talked, she was fairly confident.
After their meal Jonathan had casually suggested a stroll.
Perhaps they held hands, perhaps not, she couldn’t remember, but she did have a clear memory of the darkness and the sense of being the only couple on earth. That had been a good feeling, one she now didn’t regret – the certainty of being loved.
She walked on beyond the restaurant, deeper into the darkness. Two men approached, appraised and passed her with a ‘Buona notte’. She smiled, but didn’t reply. The slap of the water told her she was close.
The bench was still there.
She sat on it, facing the inky water of the canal. Thirty-five years of marriage began on this spot. A lifetime of experiences, arguments and compromises. A home. Three children. Three grandchildren. Not a failure. Just not a complete success. She looked at the crumbling beauty in front of her and let herself love Jonathan again, without recrimination. It was a relief finally to be able to think of him without bitterness. Him and her, before him and Megan. Two separate relationships. One replacing another, but the second not obliterating the first. Because it hadn’t. Jonathan had loved her first. Loved her properly, fully, wholeheartedly. And she, for many years, had loved him.
She reached into her bag and took out the small gold-edged ring box. He had chosen well. A simple, classic diamond solitaire. The facets caught the light from the street lamp. The diamond shone as bright as new – as if Jonathan had just bought it, after haggling at length with a jeweller on the Rio Terà Cazza, bids and counterbids being scribbled on the back of a receipt. Jonathan had shown her the receipt when they’d returned to their hotel room – proud of his negotiating skills. The ring glittered. She returned it to its box. She placed the box on the bench, stood up and walked away, leaving the ring on the exact spot where he’d proposed, for someone else to find and do with it whatever they wanted.
Chapter 59
CHLOE WAS working a twelve-to-eight shift.
She adjusted her chair; if you didn’t, you paid for it with backache. She tidied up the pile of food order leaflets and threw away the shreds of receipt paper that Lynne had ripped off and left scattered around the till when she put in a new roll. Lynne was an untidy bugger. Branded fleece on, to keep out the chill from the fridges, Chloe was good to go.
She smiled. This new, more organised version of herself was still taking some getting used to. But although she was a different creature, she was a definite improvement on the previous model. Chloe Mark II had been born out of the events of the awful weekend just after her father died. It was a weekend that had changed the dynamic within the family, for ever, and for good.
At the time, of course, it hadn’t
