Page 31 of The Cruise Club

She remembered their brief encounter in Maxos.

She’d been wearing a frumpy outfit and had been invisible to Ruskin.

Carmen remembered how discourteous he’d been.

But in the piano bar, having revamped her appearance, the great man spoke to her, as he seemed to want to do now .

Why should her appearance make any difference?

Was he only interested in what he could see on the surface?

Was she only worthy of Ruskin’s attention when she fitted into his idea of attractiveness?

Carmen’s frustration bubbled and she wanted to ask if he even cared who she really was or if he was playing a game to create a scene in one of his novels.

She bit back her irritation. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Carmen said coolly, ‘and I mustn’t keep you, I’m sure you have a busy schedule.’

‘No, please,’ Ruskin’s tone softened, ‘stay and tell me about your work.’

Carmen was about to hurry from the room, but common sense suddenly got the better of her.

Ruskin Reeve, the famous author, wanted to know about her writing and she would be crazy to walk away.

She watched Ruskin pull out a chair as he suggested they both sit down then lowered herself into the opposite chair and placed her hands on the table.

‘My debut, The Rainbow Sleuth , topped Amazon’s cosy crime charts, and I secured a three-book deal. ’

Ruskin nodded. ‘Impressive. Have you started the next one?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your deadline?’

‘Er, I’ve written the first draft but it’s not good and I have a little over three months to submit.’

‘So why are you here on a cruise?’

Carmen saw Ruskin reading her movements and sensing her discomfort as easily as reading one of his own manuscripts.

Carmen swallowed. ‘I booked the cruise last minute because I needed to clear my mind.’

Ruskin tilted his head, waiting for more, but Carmen was tongue-tied.

‘You have writer’s block.’ Ruskin’s gaze was intent.

‘I… I…’ Carmen stammered and felt her cheeks flush.

‘You are staring at the page, and it remains blank.’

‘Well…’

‘You saw this cruise, noted that a famous crime writer would be hosting a couple of workshops, and thought it might spark something, giving you the push you needed.’

Carmen was caught off guard. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she shifted in her seat. Fearing that her voice would falter if she attempted to respond, she scrambled to regain control, wondering how Ruskin had sussed her out.

‘It’s all right,’ Ruskin smiled. ‘Your reaction tells me everything, and I see it all the time.’

Carmen’s shoulders slumped. He thought she was wasting his time. Damn him! He was going to kick her out of the workshops. She’d blown her opportunity to spend time with a mentor, and now she was back at square one. Her wretched book would never get written.

‘You look very pretty when you blush,’ Ruskin said.

Pretty? Seriously? How condescending. Now, he was patronising her.

Feeling trapped and unable to meet his stare, Carmen pushed back her chair, ‘Thanks for the workshop.’ She reached for her bag, longing to escape her humiliation.

‘Carmen, wait,’ Ruskin spoke firmly. ‘Sit down.’

She blinked. ‘But…’

‘I know that you think I’m a smug bastard.’ Ruskin’s eyes scanned her face. ‘My books sell like hotcakes, and I make a lot of money. It all seems to come to me so easily.’

Carmen sat. He was right. At that moment, she did think that.

She wondered how soon she could put an end to this torture. Ruskin must be inwardly laughing at this excuse of an author who acted like a groupie. She braced herself, glancing towards the door.

‘All of that is true,’ Ruskin continued, ‘but I didn’t start off that way.’

Carmen waited for the inevitable lecture on her lack of progress, laziness and stalling.

Ruskin placed his elbows on the table and made a pyramid with his fingers. ‘I was like you once, full of ambition and writing dreams, hoping that one day my dreams might come true.’

Carmen’s chest tightened. Ruskin’s words echoed those of her father’s talk of dreams.

‘But no one helped me, and it was a lonely life. I hadn’t a soul to turn to in the early days and only my own determination kept me going.’

Carmen bit her lip and nodded.

‘I was married to a woman who was deeply committed to lost causes.’ He paused. ‘I found it inspiring initially, that Venetia could give her time to battles only she saw as winnable.’

‘Did you have a family?’

‘Yes, two boys, grown up now with families of their own.’ Ruskin stared absently at a wall. ‘It wasn’t that she didn’t love us, more that her heart always prioritised whatever do-gooding mission she was leading. Even though we craved her presence, Venetia’s full attention was reserved for others.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Ruskin turned to Carmen. ‘My point is that despite the circumstances, I felt determined, like her, to be passionate about a subject too, and writing not only gave me an escape from tolerating Venetia but became my ultimate passion, filling the gap in my marriage and eventually taking over.’

‘I see,’ Carmen said, ‘and does Venetia support you now?’

Ruskin gave a slow smile. ‘We’re divorced. I’d had enough. Strangely, Venetia misses what she took for granted and is keen for us to reunite.’ He shrugged. ‘But tell me, how do you feel when you write?’

Carmen didn’t hesitate. ‘I feel alive.’

‘How badly do you want this?’

Carmen thought of the career teacher at school, who’d smirked when she told Carmen that she didn’t have the talent to write novels.

‘More than anything,’ she said, ‘I write because there are stories within me that I want to be heard. Stories provide that escapism, for both the writer and the reader.’

Ruskin studied her, his furrowed brow smoothed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Then I’ll help you,’ he said.

‘What?’ Carmen tried to process Ruskin’s words.

‘I said that I will help you.’

‘B… but how?’

‘We’ll work together.’ Ruskin stood. ‘Early mornings, no distractions.’ He pushed his hands into his pockets and began to pace the room.

‘We’ll meet in my suite at five tomorrow and begin to map out the framework of your novel.

Beginning to end.’ Ruskin stopped and faced her.

‘You’ll have your plot revitalised before this cruise ends, and when you get home, you’ll rewrite the damn thing. ’

‘Oh….’

Ruskin’s words sank in, and Carmen’s astonishment suddenly gave way to joy. Clasping her hands, she raised them to her flushed face.

Ruskin picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. ‘My suite is on the Bridge Deck, a steward will show you. Don’t be late!’

Without a backward glance, he left the room.

Frozen, Carmen tried to process what had just happened. She wanted to call out and thank him, but the words didn’t come. As she rose, her gaze fell on a poster of Ruskin promoting his latest book, and with a soft smile, she whispered, ‘I won’t let you down.’