Looking adoringly into his eyes, she was thinking that she could, she could be much happier. ‘Wouldn’t it be romantic to be married on this ship?’ she said.
‘On this ship — you mean — on board?’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes! Wouldn’t that be amazing? Just so romantic? I read somewhere that ship’s captains can marry people!’
‘I love your wildness,’ he said. ‘How spontaneous you are! This is crazy! OK, let’s do it, let’s go and find the Purser and ask him the procedure!’
‘God, I love you so much,’ she said. ‘I just love looking at you!’ But as she continued staring at him she suddenly realized who it was he reminded her of. That faint flash of recognition she’d had on their first date.
Her father.
Below her feet she could feel the slight thrumming of the engines. She breathed in the scents, of varnish, fresh paint, the salty tang of the sea and the occasional whiff of diesel fumes. It was their first night at sea. The first port of call for the MS Organza, after departing her moorings in Dubai’s Port Rashid cruise terminal earlier that morning, was Mumbai in three days’ time. She was a handsome ship, resplendent in her gleaming white livery, barely one year old, carrying 350 passengers and from the sharp service, it felt there was double that number of crew. Rollo had already booked a four-week leg of a round-the-world cruise on the ship before they had met. It hadn’t taken much persuading for her to join him.
She’d gone home in the early hours of Friday morning to pack her bags for the cruise, and then had taken her cat to board again at Coriecollies Kennels. Tyson hadn’t been too happy about that, but then again, he was never too happy about anything. He’d get over it, and she’d make it up to him on her return. She’d also set up the timed feeds for the rest of her menagerie.
Their cabin was a glorious suite, with a balcony.
‘Did you remember to take your insulin, my love?’ she asked.
He patted the pocket of his white tuxedo, then pulled out the blue NovoRapid injector. ‘Yep!’ He put it carefully back in his pocket.
‘You gave me such a scare the other night. I thought I had lost you — before I’d even properly got to know you. What do you remember about it?’
‘Well, not much. It was a blur. That happens if my sugar levels get too low, I’m not able to think straight and then I pass out. It was my fault, I thought we were going to have some dinner, so I’d taken my jab and pill. Then somehow we never got as far as the door.’
She grinned. ‘So it was my fault, really! I just couldn’t keep my hands off you. I couldn’t wait until after dinner, I had to have you, then and there. Right there! But, Jesus, I got so scared when you collapsed on me. The paramedics were really concerned when they arrived, you were delirious. Then I got really angry with you when you refused to let them take you to hospital.’
‘I just needed sugar. I was fine. God, the thought of dying and losing you when we’ve only just met...’
She reached up and kissed him. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again, promise?’
‘I think I learned my lesson.’
‘Which is?’
‘That when we’re in the bedroom together it’s impossible to keep my hands off you.’
‘Don’t ever let that change!’
‘I won’t.’ He caressed her hair, running his fingers through her ringlets.
‘Good!’
‘You know, I still can’t believe we met. I mean, we have so many things in common. Our love of art, opera, theatre, food, wine — and travel. Do you believe in soulmates, my darling?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t, until I met you. But that’s how you make me feel.’
‘Me too! I think we met before, in a previous life, and now we’ve found each other again.’
‘It’s how I feel, exactly,’ she lied, sweetly.
36
Sunday 1 March
Shelby had stayed in bed all Saturday, vomiting regularly, and with an intermittent nosebleed. He’d vomited several times more during the night. He awoke, groggily, to see a concerned-looking Angi standing over him, dressed and holding a glass with a dark brown liquid in it.
‘How are you feeling, my love?’ she asked.
His head was swimming and he felt as if he was going to be sick again. His throat hurt from the acidic bile, which was all he had to puke up the last time, some hours earlier. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Ten thirty. It’s Mum’s sixtieth birthday today, remember?’
‘Urrr.’
‘How do you feel? Do you want to come?’
Her parents lived in Watford. It was a good two to two and a half hours’ drive away. No way could he face that. Nor her deadly dull mother who didn’t like him anyway. He shook his head slowly from side to side, feeling the roundabouts.
‘I have to leave in a minute. Try to drink some of this.’ She handed him the glass.
‘What is it?’
‘Coca-Cola. I’ve been stirring it to get the fizz out. The sugar in it’ll do you good. You’ve got to get something down you, you need electrolytes. You didn’t eat anything last night. This will make you feel better.’
She helped him sit up and stared strangely at his face.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Where you cut yourself shaving — on Friday. It’s bleeding again.’
‘It can’t be.’
‘You must have knocked it and opened it up. I’ll get a fresh plaster in a minute. First drink this.’ She guided the glass into his hands and tilted it up towards his lips.
He sipped a little and screwed up his face. ‘Yeccchhh.’
‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘This will make you feel better. You’ve got a tummy bug — there’s a lot of it going around at the moment.’
‘I hope I haven’t given it to you.’
‘I feel fine,’ she said. ‘I’ve prepared two more glasses of this. Try to drink one every few hours, it really will make you feel better.’
‘Coke?’ he said.
‘Trust me. Coke was originally created for stomach ailments.’
‘You’re kidding.’
She shook her head. ‘It was a medicine originally, then people started to like the taste. I always drink it if I’m ill.’
He sipped some more, dubiously, unsure if he would be able to hold it down, and after a few moments, he realized it was actually making him feel a little less nauseous.
‘Come on, get some more down — for me.’
He took a larger sip. Then another. ‘Thank you, nurse.’
She kissed him on the forehead. ‘Don’t go to work tonight. If you give me their number, I’ll phone them and tell them you’re still ill.’
He shook his head. ‘No — I–I’ll see how I feel. I’ll stay in bed and see how I feel later. I can’t skip work again.’
‘I’ll speak to them, explain you’re too ill.’
He sipped some more Coke. ‘This is making me feel better. If I’m not right this afternoon, I’ll ring the emergency doctor.’
‘Phone me if you’re not feeling better and I’ll leave early and come back to you.’
‘You’re an angel.’
She grinned and kissed him again. ‘I know.’
‘Bitch!’
‘You are feeling better, aren’t you?’
‘Come home as soon as you can. I’ve a feeling I might be really randy.’
‘Keep the feeling!’ She waved him goodbye and slipped out of the bedroom. Moments later she rushed back in with a plaster and handed it to him. ‘Sorry, nearly forgot!’
As soon as she was gone he pushed back the duvet. He’d kept a bandage round his ankle, intending to tell Angi he’d cut it tripping over some boxes at work, if she asked.
Gingerly he swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaned down and removed the bandage.
And stared in shock.