‘Nonsense. I’ve just been catching up with Evelyn. Do you know this is her fifth cruise this year? She always seems to be on one boat or another. She and Douglas travelled all the time with his work when he was alive, and she says there is no good reason to stop now. A few years ago she took a cruise all the way to Sydney to visit her sister Wendy who lives out there.’
Gina led us along a walkway around the outside of the boat and at last we found the doors to our cabins. There was a great deal of varnished wood and the scent of polish. The brass fittings were gleaming from recent buffing and everywhere looked wonderful.
With a sigh of relief, I reached my cabin and went in. I gave a sigh of pleasure; it was compact but gorgeous. That was the only way to describe it.
There was a reasonably sized double bed, fitted wardrobes and two nightstands with a drawer. I tried to imagine what it would be like to share it with someone else. With Fred for example. A man for whom the phrase ‘light packing’ didn’t exist. Who was capable of filling any space to the exclusion of anyone else. I could imagine his dozens of shirts, sweaters and pairs of trousers crammed into the cupboards, and my stuff relegated to remaining in my suitcase under the bed.
Anyway, my case was already there on a stand waiting to be unpacked. A glass door opened out from the room onto a balcony and a lovely view of the port in the dusky light. There were two soft wool blankets neatly folded on the bed and a small but immaculate en suite bathroom to one side complete with fresh blue towels. There was a blue cotton laundry bag to use so that our travel-stained clothes could be laundered and samples of various expensive toiletries and creams in the bathroom cabinet.
Now this really was the life. And at that moment despite the long-held dream I had held on to for so many years, this was looking a lot more fun than jumping on and off trains.
15
My first impulse was to drop everything and go back upstairs to join the party, but in a rare moment of sanity I decided I would change out of my travel-stained dress and have a quick shower, and although the water pressure wasn’t great, it was reasonable. And I hadn’t had any time to spend on my appearance for quite a while, and I didn’t want to appear looking as though I had been living out of a suitcase for a week, even though I had.
There might be some nice cultured and interesting people on board. I didn’t want to feel like a slightly battered divorcee from the country, I wanted to look like one ofthem. The thought did cross my mind that Jack might be there too, but I dismissed this almost immediately. Who cared what he thought?
I lathered up some lovely lavender-scented shampoo and, feeling almost like the girl in the shower advertisements who was almost always ecstatic, I tilted my head back to enjoy the feeling of the water sliding through my hair.
I was a mature woman, I reminded myself. I was gradually gaining control of my life. I was looking forward to a glamorous week of interesting chatter, meeting new people and seeing lovely places.
At that precise moment the temperature of the water cut out to freezing and I yodelled quite loudly with the shock. It took me some time after that to rinse off, dithering, trampling about and fiddling with the temperature knobs on the wall and putting my head under the cold water as much as I dared. This wasn’t nearly so much fun. And then something else happened and the water was boiling hot again. And then just as quickly it went back to cold.
I staggered out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my wet hair and dragged on the dark-blue towelling robe hanging behind the door. Then, wrapping it around me, I sat down heavily on my bed to get my breath back. This was when I found out that the lovely wide bed was in fact two smaller ones pushed together, and as I sat down they moved apart and I fell through the gap.
For a moment I was stranded, wedged on my bottom with my legs in the air, and I had a horrible vision of what it would be like if someone eventually noticed I was missing and had to come and find me and drag me out.
I did some energetic wriggling and tugged on the bedclothes, managing to drag the wool blankets down onto my head. Things were undoubtedly getting worse by the moment. At last I got onto my hands and knees and pulled myself up. The towel around my head had fallen off over my face, and I pushed it away, spluttering with irritation. This was not in the least bit mature, controlled or glamourous.
Still, I told myself, trying to put a positive spin on things, I was certainly refreshed and awake even if my head was still cold. I would find out what I had done wrong and never do it again.
I pushed the beds back together again and straightened the blankets out for later and then looked for some clean clothes. I eventually decided on some new smart blue trousers and a white shirt patterned with little blue dots. And some white trainers, which I believed were still in vogue.
I hoped I looked elegantly stylish, and I toyed with the idea of a casually knotted scarf at my neck. After a few minutes fussing about in front of the mirror I eventually gave up on that. I still believed that only French women could achieve the proper look. They must be taught that in school along with attractive hair tousling and pouting. Three things that were probably a lot more useful in life than algebra or learning the dates of Royalist battles.
I dried off my hair and applied some makeup, the first time I had done that for days. Actually, for weeks if I was honest. I had long ago decided there was no point trying to impress myself or my son on the few occasions when I caught sight of him.
And I rather enjoyed it, the rituals of patting on foundation and blending in some blusher and eyeshadow. I chose a brighter lipstick than I was used to and sprayed on a perfume sample I found in the bottom of my makeup bag.
I took a deep breath and a last hopeful look at myself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. I looked okay, not bad actually. Then, feeling very excited, I made my way out of my cabin, following the sounds of the party coming from the top deck.
* * *
It was an attractive space, some sunbeds, a retractable canopy overhead, glass and metal balustrades around the edge to stop us from falling into the sea below. There was even a small pool at the far end, the water sparkling and blue in the evening sunshine. I imagined myself in there on a hot day, perhaps with a cocktail waiting for me on one of the tables. It was a lovely prospect.
The first person I saw was Anna, in a red dress that made the most of her sculptured bosom, sitting, laughing, accompanied by two men, and behind her were two women with sour expressions I took to be their wives. I’d forgotten about that, Anna’s ability to turn the flirt switch to warp factor five when it suited her. Harriet was further away, deep in conversation with Evelyn, and they waved me over to join them.
As I made my way forward through the chattering groups of people, a man, rather stout and red faced, caught my arm.
He waved an empty champagne glass at me.
‘Couldn’t get me a refill, could you?’ he said with a wink. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
I took his glass, rather puzzled. But then perhaps this was the happy, carefree atmosphere that theAtalantaencouraged? I saw a young woman behind a bar in one corner who was busy opening a new bottle and I went to patiently wait while she dealt with the foil and the cork.
She looked rather confused until I explained what I was doing.
‘But madame, we will deal with that,’ she said, horrified, snatching the glass away from me.
