Last Voyage of the Valentina(119)
“It’s all rather baffling. But if you ask me, since Alba went to Italy to find her mother’s family, she must have discovered something else. I don’t know what…” Verity was staring at her with the eyes of a snake. “Oh, Verity,” she said suddenly. “I can’t keep it from you. I have to share it with someone. I heard the word…” She paused, then added in a loud whisper, “Murder.”
When the word had been absorbed and digested, Verity gasped. “Good God. You don’t think the captain murdered his first wife, do you?”
Cook wrung her hands. “No, I don’t. But what else could it be?”
“Why would Alba apologize for that?”
“Dear Verity, Alba was apologizing for finding out.”
“Of course.”
“I’d never imagine the captain capable of murder,” said Cook.
“Remember, there was a war on. He was killing Germans left, right, and center and a jolly good thing too! And if Valentina was anything like as temperamental as Alba, I wouldn’t blame him!”
“May God strike you down!” chided Cook.
“Not until I’ve had the last scone,” said Verity and she popped it into her mouth.
Cook felt relieved to have unburdened her secret to her friend. Verity didn’t enjoy the same sensation. Her nausea had had nothing to do with Cook’s revelations and everything to do with the scones. To her shame, on her way home, she had to stop the car at the end of the drive and vomit into the bushes.
When the taxi that carried Fitz and Alba into central London swung into Earls Court, Alba forgot the sorrow of leaving Incantellaria and wriggled about in her seat with excitement. It was a clear October day. The sunshine tumbled in through the window and fell on the engagement ring that twinkled on her hand.
“I can’t believe we’re home,” she said with a sigh, watching it sparkle and moving her fingers to catch the light. “To think of my cupboards full of beautiful clothes. I could die of happiness.” Fitz worried about the state of her boat. Knowing Alba, she wouldn’t have emptied the fridge before leaving and the place would smell horrible. “I feel I’ve been away for an age.”
“I hope your boat is still there.”
The taxi drove into Cheyne Walk. Alba sat up and looked through the front window.
“There she is!” she announced, pointing. Then, “Bloody hell!”
Fitz leaned forward, his heart sinking at the thought of her desiccated home. He paid the taxi and followed Alba down the pontoon with the suitcases.
“I barely recognize it,” she said in delight. “It’s even had a new coat of paint!”
“Viv!” he said, dropping the cases. “She’s covered the deck with plants and flowers. It almost looks as immaculate as hers, except yours is more eccentric, like you.” Alba put the key in the lock and opened the door.
“It even smells of Viv,” she said with a laugh, sniffing the incense that hung in the air. Viv had washed and ironed all the clothes she had found hanging in the bathroom and cleaned the place from top to bottom. Alba opened the fridge. “She’s bought milk!” she shouted. “We can have a cup of tea!” Fitz carried in the suitcases, then walked up the shining corridor to the kitchen.
“How did she get in?” he asked.
“She has a key. I gave it to her eons ago, in case it caught fire or something when I wasn’t around.” Fitz pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“Forget the tea,” he said. “I’ve got a much better idea.”
Alba shot him a mischievous look. “You and I aren’t so dissimilar after all,” she laughed. She led him upstairs to her bedroom beneath the skylight. The room was neat and clean; the leak had been mended. On the bed lay a note.
As this will be your first port of call, I decided to leave the note on the bed. I probably won’t be there on your return as Fitzroy didn’t seem to know when he would be coming home. I only hope that you have done the decent thing and agreed to marry him. Poor darling, how he has pined! I took the liberty of dusting down the boat, it was a terrible mess and putting me off my breakfast every morning I suffered the sight of it. Not to mention the smell of squirrel excrement. Why they can’t do it somewhere else is beyond me. Welcome home, darling, and forgive an old bird for being bitter and twisted. The goat was a hoot and I forgive you too?! Back soon. In France with Pierre (ask Fitzroy). Love has never been so good. Kisses in abundance, Viv
Alba looked steadily at Fitz. “Love has never been so good,” she said and caressed his bristly face with her hand. “Did you pine?”