Читать книгу To Rome, with Love - T Williams A - Страница 12

Chapter 4

‘Blimey. And they say prayers don’t get answered and wishes don’t come true.’ Polly looked as amazed as Sarah felt.

Sarah checked her watch once more. It was dead on half past seven and there, standing before them in the hotel lobby as they came down for breakfast, was Gianluca. But this time, it wasn’t vampire-eyed, alcohol-soaked Gianluca, but a neatly turned out, athletic-looking man with freshly combed hair, wearing an immaculate yellow Hall’s Tours jersey and black cycling shorts, his muscular thighs almost twice the circumference of hers. On his face was an apologetic look.

‘Signorina Sara, I’ve come to apologise. I don’t know what you must have thought of me yesterday. I’m really, really sorry for letting you down and I promise it will never happen again.’

Sarah was still trying to come to terms with this stunning transformation. ‘Gianluca, good morning, it’s good to see you.’ She almost found herself adding how good it was to see him sober and cleaned up, but managed to stop herself in time as he went on to explain.

‘You see, my grandfather died on Wednesday. He was buried on Saturday afternoon and I spent the evening with my family and friends. My grandfather was famous round here for his homemade grappa and he told my grandmother before he died that he wanted the family to have a drink and celebrate his death, rather than mourn him.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m afraid we rather took him at his word.’ He paused, dropping his eyes. ‘As a result I’m afraid I felt like death yesterday and, like I say, I’m really sorry.’

By this time Sarah had got over her shock and felt a wave of relief spread over her. She reached out and caught his wiry arm with her hand. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about your grandfather, Gianluca. Apology accepted. We’re delighted to see you.’ She released her grip on him and checked the time again. ‘Now, have you had breakfast?’ He shook his head so she beckoned. ‘Come and join us for breakfast and, by the way, I’m not Signorina Sara, I’m just Sarah, and this is Polly.’

They walked into the breakfast room and Sarah got a second surprise. Already in there, sitting at a table, was Miles, surrounded by the Welsh girls, chatting affably, a friendly smile on his face. He was wearing his Hall’s cycling top, which clung to his strong, hard chest, and his bare forearms were remarkably muscular, covered by a thin coating of wiry brown hair. Glynis, now firmly reunited with her phone, and Jo couldn’t take their eyes off him and Sarah felt an inexplicable flash of what could almost have been jealousy. She instantly chased this off with a mental shrug as just some sort of crazy, mixed-up result of the pounding her emotions had taken over the last few weeks. She led Gianluca up to their table and introduced him. This was when she got her next surprise of the day, as the Italian replied to their greetings in English.

‘Hi, everybody, it’s good to meet you all. I’m really looking forward to what should be a great ride. Come and see me any time if you need help with your bikes.’ He spoke really good English, with hardly any Italian accent at all.

As they made their way over to a free table, Sarah looked across and addressed him in English. ‘Hey, Gianluca, your English is amazing.’

‘Like a native…’ Polly was obviously as surprised as Sarah.

He waved away their compliments. ‘Actually, French is my first foreign language. I picked my English up on the road. Cycling’s a really cosmopolitan sport these days. I was with a Dutch team for a good few years and everything was in English.’ As he spoke, Sarah could hear a faint, almost American twang in his accent. ‘Besides, Sarah, your Italian’s really good, and your grammar’s a hell of a lot better than mine. Where did you learn to speak like that?’

‘I did Spanish and Italian at university.’

Sarah was feeling surprisingly good now. She had slept a bit better last night, without so much of the soul-searching she had been doing for the past week. Although she felt she had been getting better at keeping a lid on her emotions during daylight hours, her subconscious had still been giving her a hard time at night. For days now, she had found herself questioning if she was somehow to blame for the sudden end of her relationship with James. Yes, she knew she worked hard and was often away at conferences and travel shows. Yes, she had her hobbies and came home late a few times a week, and often went for long bike rides at the weekend. But then, so did he. And she had never objected to his hobbies and outside interests while, given his way, he would no doubt have preferred her to do nothing but stay in the house and cook him dinner. The more she thought about it, the more she was coming round to thinking that maybe marriage to James wouldn’t have been such a great idea, after all. Armed with that thought, she had managed a clear four or five hours sleep for once.

She looked round. The sun was shining outside, her hungover guide had emerged, butterfly-like, from his scruffy chrysalis, and Miles was actually remembering her advice and smiling for a change, although not at her and not at his brother. The fact that he was smiling at a bunch of pretty girls was unimportant. He was smiling and that meant, surely, he was satisfied with the way things were going so far. And if he was happy with the way things were going, that meant he had to be happy with how she was doing. After the staring contest of the previous evening, she felt a sense of relief that her future boss appeared to be settling down and relaxing.

She spotted Terri sitting all on her own and led the other two across to her table. ‘All right if we join you, Terri?’ She got an enthusiastic nod in return. ‘You already know Polly, and this is Gianluca, our cycling expert. He used to be a pro.’ The morning of surprises hadn’t finished. Terri’s reply was really unexpected.

‘So did I.’ In response to the looks on their faces, she explained. ‘Only for six months, almost eight years ago now.’ She looked across at Gianluca. ‘Women’s cycling was only just taking off in those days and the team I was riding for couldn’t get sponsorship for the following season so, before we knew it, we were all out of a job again. I know you, Gianluca. I’ve seen you race.’

‘You have?’ Now it was his turn to look surprised, and pleased.

‘We were training in the Alps and we caught a couple of stages of the Critérium. You’re a climber, and a very good one. I remember seeing you leading the peloton up the Col du Galibier.’ She grinned. ‘We climbed it the next day, but we didn’t go up there anything like as fast as you guys.’

‘Well, well, well, it’s a small world.’

Sarah left the two of them exchanging cycling stories and went off to get herself a bowl of muesli and a glass of orange juice. She mentally ticked off Terri on her list. It looked like she was well introduced to the group. And, even better, she was definitely one who wouldn’t need a ride in the minibus.

‘Good morning, Sarah. Sleep well?’ She looked round to find Lars smiling down at her. He, too, was wearing his official jersey and cycling shorts, his lanky legs sticking out like poles. She gave him a big smile and found herself thinking that this definitely hadn’t involved any strain to the face muscles at all. Yes, she thought to herself, maybe she was going to enjoy this ride, after all.

‘Hi, Lars. Yes, thanks, I slept like a log.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but her problems were hers, not his. ‘You all ready for the ride?’

‘Hopefully. I maybe had a bit too much grappa last night, but I’ll live. I’ve asked for a bike with a big frame, otherwise my feet are going to be touching the ground. As for the fitness side of things, we’ll see. I’ve had a busy few months so I haven’t got round to doing as much training as I would have liked.’

‘You look fit enough to me. You’ll be fine, you’ll see. As for the grappa, ask Gianluca to tell you about the grappa his granddad used to make. I’ve seen the results. It’s scary stuff.’

***

They set off shortly after nine. While they were waiting around, Sarah had the opportunity to chat to all the participants and was delighted to hear everybody sounding positive about the hotel and the trip so far. She was also delighted to hear from Jo that Glynis had been checked and was carrying her phone. Sarah gave them both a grin. A few people were apprehensive about what awaited them, but she was able to allay their fears by telling them that their route that day was going to be dead flat.

‘From the map, the highest point we reach is seven metres.’ She grinned and pointed to a fine palm tree in the hotel grounds. ‘That tree over there’s higher than that.’

The route that day, from a logistical point of view, was complicated. The plan was to cycle all the way round the Venice lagoon and they would need to take no fewer than three ferries to help them complete the circular ride. Although it was possible to take bikes on two of the ferries, the third was only for pedestrians so Sarah had had to book a boat specially for their group. She was fervently hoping it would arrive as planned and be big enough, otherwise they were likely to find themselves marooned on a long, thin island for the night.

They set off along a busy main road, but soon turned off onto quieter country roads, riding only a few metres from the waters of the lagoon. Big, tall Lars got a better view than anybody else, but even little Terri must have managed to glimpse the vast extent of water, dotted with little islands, most little more than swampy islets, some with clumps of cypress trees. There were numerous elegant white ibis and occasional statuesque grey herons in the shallows, accompanied by a variety of ducks and geese. From time to time they caught sight of boats, mostly flat-bottomed punts being sculled along, gondola-style. It was a really beautiful, and a very easy, ride.

After a while, they emerged onto the coast road, riding alongside a vast, sandy beach facing south, punctuated by wooden groynes to protect the precious sand from being washed away. Already now, in mid June, there were quite a few tourists to be seen, and the beach was a hive of activity as the owners of the never-ending succession of private bathing establishments set out their sunbeds and umbrellas ready for the onslaught that would start in less than a week, when the school holidays began. Sarah was glad they would be well away from the seaside by then.

It was just as they were setting off again after their coffee break, so as to catch their first ferry, due to leave at half past twelve, that Sarah heard a voice from behind her.

‘Sarah.’

She immediately recognised Miles’s voice. She braked and fell back alongside him. The bright-yellow bike the rental company had supplied for him was unmistakable.

‘Hi, Miles. How’s it going?’

‘Fine, but I think your saddle might be a tad high. I can see you rolling from side to side, and the received wisdom is that your bottom should be fairly immobile. Otherwise you’ll get saddle sores.’

‘Well, thanks, Miles.’ She took a good look at his face, surprised, but somehow not displeased, that he had been looking at her, and gave him a little smile, but it wasn’t returned. ‘You may well be right. This is my own saddle. I brought it from home and Gianluca fitted it for me this morning. I thought it felt a bit strange. I think I’ll fiddle with it next time we stop.’ She decided, seeing as the two of them were together without anybody to overhear their conversation, that she would do as he had asked last night. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

He looked across and caught her eye, but she saw comprehension dawn on his face before she had to remind him. ‘Ah yes, the obligatory smile. How’s this?’ His sunglasses prevented her from seeing his eyes, but the rest of his face definitely split into an altogether convincing smile and, as it did so, she found herself smiling back.

‘That’s the way, Miles. I know I said you’d smile if you were happy, but maybe the opposite applies. The more you smile, the happier you’ll become.’

His smile didn’t waver, but she sensed the strain he was experiencing in keeping up the appearance of happiness. ‘That would be amazing. Yes – you keep bullying me, Sarah, and maybe it’ll work.’

The smile was still on his face so she risked something a bit more personal. ‘The other thing they say is that talking is good. If you ever want to talk, I’m a good listener.’

This time he didn’t reply.

Soon they reached their first ferry and pushed their bikes on board, stacking them against the sides of the open car deck. From the upper deck, they got their first really good view of the city of Venice itself as it hove into view on their right, a packed mass of tall palazzi with all manner of spires and domes reaching up through the roofs into the hazy blue sky.

Sarah was leaning against the rail, chatting to some of the others and watching as the outline of the city came ever closer, when she felt a touch on her arm. It was Paul.

‘Not a bad view, eh, Sarah?’

She nodded. ‘You can say that again.’ The sun was reflecting on the tiny wavelets that sparkled cheerfully across the water of the lagoon. Paul also looked cheerful this morning and, for a moment, Sarah remembered the previous night and wondered about asking him if there was some sort of antipathy between him and his brother, but thought better of it. The only thing worse than getting involved in a family feud was when that family happened to be her employers.

The ferry took them to the Lido and by the time they stopped for a late lunch break they had already racked up almost sixty kilometres and the mood of the group was buoyant. Sarah hoped this would still be the case when the terrain started getting hilly in a few days’ time.

The café restaurant alongside the road that ran round the edge of the lagoon had tables outside in the shade of an awning. As they sat down, directly in front of them across the water was Venice, now revealed in all its majesty. Hefty wooden posts, arranged in tripods, marked the channel through the shallow waters of the lagoon towards the city, which was now clearly visible in the middle of the broad expanse of water. From where they were sitting, the city was a complex pink and white mass of buildings with, rising from their midst, the pointed red and white tower of St Mark’s Basilica. Everywhere they looked there were boats, ranging from what looked like a huge cruise liner, to the utilitarian green and white vaporetti – the water buses – to numerous smaller craft, with what might have been a handful of gondolas in the far distance at the entrance to the Grand Canal. As views went, this one was something very special.

Some of the riders chose to have a full meal with wine, but most people, including Sarah, just opted for a sandwich and a soft drink, followed by a coffee, deciding that two big Italian meals a day might be excessive. She had just sat down when Paul came along. ‘All right if I join you?’

‘Of course, help yourself.’

He pulled out a chair and sat down at right angles to her, side on to the water. They chatted a bit as they both relaxed and admired the view. He took off his sunglasses and gloves and ran his fingers through his hair. He had nice hair, Sarah had to give him that. It had evidently been freshly cut in preparation for the bike ride, and, even after a hot day crammed into a helmet, it sprang back into place obediently. Sarah envied him that. Her hair inevitably looked bedraggled when she removed her helmet. Although they had been riding along on the flat, the temperature had climbed steadily and all of them were sweating. She hoped it would cool down a bit by the time they reached the hills in three days’ time.

When the waitress came along, Paul ordered the same as Sarah and then sat back. ‘So, you’ll have to tell me how I can help out. It’s pretty clear you’ve got it all under control, but I’m here and I’d like to make myself useful.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘In spite of what my brother says, I do know how to work.’

Sarah decided not to follow up on that particular topic, choosing to let the brothers sort out their own differences. ‘Thanks, Paul. There’s nothing very specific, really. Just keep an eye on the group, encourage anybody who looks to be having trouble, try to get everybody talking and any lone wolves integrated into the pack.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Just turn on the charm.’ She hesitated, before adopting a more serious expression. ‘But not too much charm, all right?’

‘Yes, boss, leave it to me.’ He was still smiling and Sarah realised she rather liked him. He had definitely matured over the past couple of years and, although she was still quite sure she wasn’t interested in getting involved with another man under any circumstances, she was enjoying his company. However, his next remark made her realise that this particular leopard hadn’t totally changed its spots. He looked round at the rest of the group. ‘So, who’s going to be bonking who, then?’

‘Who’s going to be doing what?’

He grinned across the table at her. ‘Which of our companions are going to take advantage of this break from home, work and family to indulge in a bit of howsyourfather? You know, the chance to enjoy themselves with other people, have other experiences.’ As he spoke, the image of James’s letter appeared in Sarah’s head, every word indelibly burnt into her memory. Paul’s choice of language was almost exactly the same. She felt a strong sense of indignation growing, but Paul hadn’t finished. He leant across the table towards her and dropped his voice. ‘My money’s on our French friends.’ He nodded across to the table where the couple from a big Parisian tour operator were sitting. Jean-Pierre was a charming man in his early fifties, while slim, dark Véronique had to be a good ten, maybe fifteen, years younger. She had told Sarah they worked together, and it was pretty clear they were close friends, but that didn’t make them lovers. Besides, Sarah told herself, so what if they were? Paul looked back across the table and winked. ‘Fancy a bet. Shall we say a tenner?’

‘What they do in their private life is up to them, Paul.’ Sarah took a deep, calming breath before continuing. ‘And there’s nothing funny about infidelity. I wouldn’t dream of betting on something like that.’

‘All right, all right, the bet’s off, but I still reckon they’re not just here for the cycling.’ The arrival of the waitress with their drinks interrupted him and gave Sarah a bit more time to regain her composure. She picked up her glass and drank deeply, letting a couple of ice cubes slowly melt in her mouth. This further settled her and she was able to reply in quite normal tones.

‘Like I say, their private life’s their own. As long as they don’t cause trouble or hold the group back, it’s up to them how they spend their time.’ She now decided it was better to change the subject. ‘So, how do you think our guide’s working out?’

‘Gianluca? He’s great. He’s been telling us a few of his tales about riding on the professional circuit. They have to be phenomenally fit. To guys like him, a short training ride is a hundred miles.’

Sarah had done a few hundred-mile rides in her time and she knew she would never be able to consider any of them short. ‘And the other members of the group? Any potential troublemakers? Anybody been grumbling about anything?’

‘Nope, they all sound happy. Touch wood, I think this looks set to become another Hall’s Tours success. Well done, you.’

Sarah soaked up the compliment and hoped Paul would say something of the sort to his big brother to help convince him she really was good at her job. She glanced to her left and spotted Miles walking slowly up and down the waterside, his phone glued to his ear. She shook her head sadly. Some things never changed.

***

They arrived at their destination at four-thirty. It had been a long, hot day, although everybody had been enchanted by the views. Their hotel, a large, modern construction, was right by the beach at Chioggia, the town that marked the southernmost limit of the Venetian lagoon. From tomorrow, they would be moving inland. They dumped their bikes in the underground garage and went up into the lovely, air-conditioned interior of the hotel. Once she had supervised the allocation of the rooms, Sarah, like most of the others, went upstairs, slipped into her bikini, grabbed a towel and headed for the beach across the road.

First, she had to fight her way through a massive funfair under construction, complete with roundabouts, bouncy castles and what might have been a fortune teller’s stall. She saw a heavily tattooed man juggling brightly coloured clubs while a pretty, dark-haired girl sat on a bench combing what looked like a clown’s unruly wig. Occasional bursts of cacophonous music told her they were testing the sound system, which looked as though it was all still being set up and wasn’t fully functioning. As her bedroom looked out directly across the road to the funfair, she was thankful for that. She really didn’t want to be kept awake until the small hours by hurdy-gurdy music.

In common with most of the hotels strung out along the coast road, theirs had its own piece of private beach beyond the fairground, fenced off and meticulously raked, furnished with stripy sun beds. There were changing rooms along with showers, and even a bar serving drinks. Sarah dumped her towel on a sunbed and slipped out of her shorts and T-shirt, heading for the sea. The sand was hot under her feet and she ended up running the last few metres to the shallows. She found American Mike and his companion, Dan, standing in the water up to their thighs. She splashed up to them.

‘Hi, guys, had a good day?’

Mike was quick to reply. ‘Great. We were just saying what a great ride it’s been. Fabulous views, easy riding and wonderful weather.’

‘Couldn’t have been better.’ Dan sounded equally enthusiastic. ‘A lot of organisation for you, though. How did you manage to rent that boat?’

‘It was surprisingly easy. Boats are to Venice what coaches are to the rest of the world. A few phone calls and that was it.’ She glanced around. ‘Where’s your boss?’ Her initial assumption that Chuck was calling the shots had been confirmed that morning in conversation. Mike grinned.

‘He’s feeling a bit sore and he didn’t think the salt water would be too comfortable on the raw areas.’

‘Saddle sores already? That’s tough.’ Sarah was surprised. ‘Has he got some cream?’

‘Yeh, loads of it. Apparently it always happens to him.’

‘Poor guy.’ Sarah bent her knees and dropped down until the water covered her shoulders, before straightening up again, loving the cool sensation as the water ran over her skin. In spite of the hot sun, the temperature of the water wasn’t very high, presumably as they were just at the start of the warm season, but it was just what she needed after a day in the saddle. She decided to head on out a bit.

‘I’m going for a swim. See you later.’ She spotted a raft a little way out, with a figure sitting on it, and headed for it, using a slow, gentle breaststroke. The seabed sloped very gradually and she found that her feet could still touch the bottom even after almost a hundred metres. This reminded her of the last holiday she had had with James, in Cancun at the end of the previous year. If everything had gone to plan, she should have been back there with him now, on her honeymoon. She gave a sigh and ducked her face into the water to clear her head before rolling over onto her back, staring up at the pale blue sky. This, she told herself, had been a great day, just like old times. And, she reminded herself, old times meant the days before she had finally given in to James’s constant moaning and had transferred to an office job. She had been on some amazing trips and had made lasting friendships with people from all over the world. Now James had removed himself from her life, she found herself free to pursue her chosen career once more. Somehow, this thought cheered her a lot. Maybe James’s cowardly little letter really had done her a favour.

A few minutes later she looked up and discovered that the figure already on the raft ahead of her was Miles. Not really keen to talk shop, she would have turned round and headed back to shore, but for a sense of fatigue brought on by the exertions of the day. Reluctantly, she swam the last few metres and climbed out up the conveniently located stainless-steel ladder, finding it remarkably hard work to haul herself out of the water. She gave Miles a sweet smile and sat down a discreet distance from him, her feet dangling in the water.

‘You feeling all right, Sarah? You look tired.’ His expression wasn’t unfriendly, but he wasn’t smiling. Presumably, she thought to herself, as no tourists were around, he felt there was no need. She took a deep breath and ensured that the smile on her face remained sweet.

‘I’m fine, Miles. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.’

To her surprise, he nodded. ‘Join the club. I haven’t slept well for months, years.’

‘Something on your mind?’

He didn’t answer for a while. When he did, his voice sounded as tired as she was feeling. ‘Just thinking about stuff, you know.’

‘Work stuff?’ She wondered if the anticipated restructuring of the company might be playing on his mind, but he wasn’t prepared to admit that, if indeed it was the case.

‘Just stuff. Anyway, what about you? Everybody says you never stop working. That’s not good for your health, you know.’

Sarah was secretly pleased he had heard of her efforts. ‘The bush telegraph says the same about you.’

‘Sometimes it’s the best thing to do.’ The way he said it, and the grim expression on his face, made her turn and glance at him, wondering if this was the time to repeat her offer of a shoulder to cry on, if indeed that was what he needed. Instead, she did her best to cheer him up.

‘Well, you’ve got the best part of two weeks ahead of you now to relax.’

He managed a grin that transformed his whole face. ‘Relax? Aren’t you forgetting the small matter of cycling a thousand kilometres?’

In spite of herself, Sarah’s eyes flicked across his muscular torso and powerful thighs. ‘Somehow, Miles, I don’t see you having any trouble on that front.’

He didn’t respond to the compliment, his face returning to its usual undemonstrative state. There was an uncomfortable silence before he changed the subject ‘So, are we going to have a good dinner tonight?’

‘I certainly hope so. Maybe not quite as good as last night, but it should still be good. Seeing as we’re right by the sea, we’ll hopefully get some fish.’

‘And the hotel manager tells me there’s going to be a dance band here tonight after dinner. Did you organise that?’

Sarah’s heart sank. She had forgotten about the dance. The last thing she felt like was dancing. Yes, she had surprised herself with how easily she had managed to slip into her jolly, tour leader persona today, but dancing was a step too far, pun or no pun. All the same, she slid the smile back into place and answered as cheerfully as she could. ‘No, that was the hotel. Anyway, I’m sure the group will love it.’ She glanced at Miles and risked a bit of familiarity. ‘What about you, Miles? Are you going to strut your stuff for us this evening?’

Miles glanced at her and gave a shake of the head. To underline this non-verbal statement, he wagged his finger at her, just touching her elbow briefly as he did so. This had a very unexpected effect on Sarah. As she felt his touch, a tingle ran up and down her arm. Unsure what was going on, she decided this would be a good time to leave. She turned towards him, doing her best to sound normal. ‘Now I’ve got to go back and talk to Gianluca about the route for tomorrow. See you at dinner.’ With that, she slipped forward, dropped into the cool water, and set off back to the shore, still trying to work out why Miles’s touch had affected her in that way, not least as she could still feel it when she reached the sandy beach. It was only when she was rubbing herself dry after coming out of the warm shower that the sensation finally disappeared, but her bewilderment didn’t go away.

***

The dance band put in an appearance at nine o’clock, just as dessert was being served. The dining room was surprisingly full and their group was spread over half a dozen tables, but there must have been at least fifty or sixty other diners in there as well. The meal, while not quite in the same league as the previous night, was still very good and there were a lot of clean plates at the end of it. As she had hoped, there was some excellent fish and the tuna steaks proved very popular, as did the plaice with asparagus and vine tomatoes that she’d chosen for herself.

She had resolved to try to sit down with all the members of the group early on in the trip so as to gauge reaction and iron out any problems before they developed into anything bigger. The only problem to surface at her table tonight had been Chuck’s backside. He arrived with a fleece that he folded and then proceeded to use as a cushion as he sat down.

‘If you’ll pardon my bringing the subject up at table, I’m afraid I’ve got a sore ass.’ He looked around with an embarrassed grin. The other two on Sarah’s table were Véronique, this time separated from Jean-Pierre, and Terri. As it turned out, Terri was able to use her experience of pro cycling to help resolve Chuck’s problem.

‘Tell, me, Chuck, what sort of shorts have you got?’ She, like Sarah and all the others, had opted for padded cycling shorts. Chuck was quick to confirm that he had done the same.

‘I spent a fortune before I came away buying a couple of pairs of really good, padded shorts, just like the professionals use, but it’s no good. I start sweating, my boxers get all ruckled up and then it all starts hurting.’ He looked even more embarrassed, as well as apologetic. ‘Sorry, you guys, I’m sure there are better things to talk about at table than my ass.’

‘Did you say you wear underpants?’ Terri looked aghast. Chuck nodded and Terri nodded sagely in her turn. ‘Well, that’s your problem. Take your pants off and you’ll be fine.’ Her comment coincided with a slight lull in conversation and her voice carried to the next table. Sarah saw Mike and Dan crease up with laughter. Mike looked back over his shoulder towards their table.

‘What, here? Get a room, will you.’

Terri waved him away and explained for Chuck’s benefit. ‘You should never wear any kind of pants under your shorts, especially anything cotton that’s going to get soggy and do exactly what happened to you today.’ She tapped him on the arm with her minute forefinger. ‘Promise me you’ll go commando tomorrow, and from here on in. You’ll be amazed at the difference.’

Chuck glanced round at the others and noticed their nods of agreement. ‘No underwear?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll try anything to make that damn saddle feel more comfortable. All right, Terri, I promise. And thanks for your advice.’ He was smiling now. ‘When a woman tells me to take my pants off, I take my pants off.’

He didn’t get a chance to say any more as he suddenly and unexpectedly leapt to his feet, banging the table with his knee as he did so and tipping over a couple of, fortunately empty, glasses in the process. There was an expression of agony on his face as he clutched his right thigh and started hopping about like a man possessed, swearing under his breath. Terri and Sarah both recognised the symptoms.

‘Cramp?’

‘Jee… romino, and how! Wow, that hurts.’ It took him a full minute of dancing like a dervish before the muscles relaxed and he sank back down onto his chair again. Unfortunately, this produced another grimace as his bottom reminded him of his saddle sores. He composed himself, looked round the table and apologised. ‘Sorry, ladies. It appears I started the dancing all by myself.’

As if on cue, the band struck up and Chuck immediately persuaded Terri to join him on the dance floor. Sarah looked across at Véronique. ‘You going to be dancing, Véronique?’

‘I reckon so. Jean-Pierre loves to dance.’

Just at that moment, Sarah intercepted an exchange of glances between Véronique and Jean-Pierre on the next table. ‘I get the impression Jean-Pierre likes you a lot.’

Véronique blushed. ‘I’ve worked with him for years. He’s a lovely guy.’ She leant across the table towards Sarah. ‘He went through a horrible divorce a while back and this is just about the first time I’ve seen him relaxed and happy for ages.’

‘That’s the thing about fresh air, exercise and good food. Somehow, you can’t avoid feeling happy under these circumstances.’ As she spoke, Sarah found herself wondering if her boss would also begin to reap the benefits of the open-air life. Certainly, he needed to.

Gradually a few more people began to get up and dance and it wasn’t long before all the women, Sarah, Terri and Véronique included, found themselves in demand. Very reluctantly, Sarah accepted Chuck’s invitation and made her way out onto the dance floor. In fact, her first dance with Chuck was so hilarious, it put her in a good mood for the rest of the evening. As he threw himself enthusiastically into his dancing, it was difficult to work out whether his grimaces and jerky movements were an attempt to follow the rhythm or a painful reaction to the discomfort he was feeling in his nether regions. Sarah had a fit of the giggles and, from then on, actually started to enjoy herself. Almost everybody came out onto the dance floor and Sarah noticed Polly spending a lot of time dancing with Dan, the quietest of the trio of Americans. Glynis was well away, dancing with, as far as Sarah could see, every man in the group. Paul was much in demand and, in particular, she noticed that Diana spent a lot of time with him.

Sarah danced with almost all the men in the room, even waltzing with a couple of elderly Italian gentlemen who were dining there that night. There was no doubt in her mind that the best dancer of all was Lars. He had a way of moving that looked so natural and his sense of rhythm was infectious. Sarah danced with him more than with anybody else.

The one person who didn’t ask her to dance and, as far as she could see, didn’t ask any of the others either, was Miles. In fact, although Sarah and most of the others were still dancing right up to just before midnight, by then she realised she hadn’t seen Miles for well over an hour, maybe longer. Presumably he had disappeared up to his room to carry on working. At least, she hoped he was working. There had been one moment, early on, passing near his table in search of a drink, when her eyes had met his and, just for a second, she had again read something on his face that bothered her. What she had seen, she now felt sure, was sadness.