Page 43 of The Cruise Club

Fran and Sid stopped in the old town to enjoy refreshments, and found a spot, shaded from the sun under a brightly coloured parasol at a café in the plaza’s centre.

The sunlit haven was encircled by bustling shops, colourful stalls in a fresh produce market, and buildings where balconies spilt over with vibrant pots of sweet-smelling herbs.

‘It’s grand to be here, despite the climb to get to this spot,’ Sid said as he drank a glass of sparkling water and then topped it up from a bottle on the table. ‘I feel like we’ve stepped back in time, sitting and watching the world go by.’

A nearby fountain trickled softly, its gentle sound mixing with the hum of conversation from tourists and locals. As the smell of freshly baked bread and rich espresso drifted over from a table nearby, Sid gazed longingly at the fluffy white dough.

Fran noticed Sid’s expression and reached into her bag. ‘Have a banana,’ she said, ‘keep your heartburn at bay.’

‘This is a lovely place,’ Sid said as he watched children chase each other around the fountain. ‘Can you imagine all the history over the years?’

They stared at the sturdy stone walls of the Dalt Vila, where from this vantage point, the shimmering Mediterranean could be glimpsed in the distance.

Sid, intrigued by the town’s rich history, reached for his guidebook. Flipping through the pages, he began to read aloud, ‘The old part of Ibiza spans more than two and a half thousand years and is one of Europe’s oldest towns.’

‘I expect lots of cultures have left their mark,’ Fran commented as she drained a glass of orange juice.

‘They certainly have, from the Romans, Byzantines, Arabs and Catalans. The book says that the architecture reflects all those different cultures.’

‘I think we should make the most of our time,’ Fran announced. ‘Did you say there was an art gallery and a cathedral?’

‘Aye, and a museum if we can manage it.’

‘Best get going, then.’ Fran smiled and reached for her bag. ‘That’s if you feel well enough?’

‘Of course. A silly bit of heartburn won’t stop me from enjoying as much as we can on this cruise.’

Sid and Fran set off, and hand in hand, they wandered through the vibrant gathering place. ‘I think I’m going to like Ibiza,’ Fran said, ‘it’s such a beautiful island.’

‘Me too. The cruise is like a journey through time where every port is a postcard of pictures and memories,’ Sid said as they made their way through the labyrinth of narrow, cobbled streets and charming squares.

An old bicycle painted white and supporting a wooden crate filled with fresh herbs leaned against the wall of a shop where a sign above read Curiosidades de Ibiza . Peering through the window, Fran gazed at the diverse mix of items.

‘Let’s go in,’ Sid said, ‘you might find some souvenirs.’

As they stepped into the shop, a bell jingled, announcing their arrival.

Fran’s eyes sparkled as she took in the charming interior.

The air was filled with the scent of incense and the shelves were lined with an array of hand-painted ceramics, trinket boxes and neatly folded cotton sarongs.

Fran smiled as she studied a display of puppets.

The Spanish marionettes were dressed in bright polka-dotted dresses with ruffled sleeves and carried tiny castanets.

Nearby, a rack was stacked with brightly patterned scarves, and a glass-fronted case showcased delicate silver jewellery.

‘I like these pendants,’ Sid said and pointed to silver discs of different shapes mounted on thin chains. Each carried a design of a rising sun on an open hand.

‘Oh look,’ Fran said, ‘there’s shelves full of gin. She picked up a bottle and studied the lilac-coloured label. ‘LAW – the Gin of Ibiza,’ she read. ‘I fancy a local tipple, let’s take one home.’

They moved deeper into the shop but stopped when they noticed Colin and Neeta by a table in the centre of the room.

As the pair picked up an object and turned it from side to side, Fran saw a handwritten card.

Pineapple Ice Bucket – Perfect for Parties & Summer Soirées, €45 .

The gold exterior gleamed in the soft glow of a hanging bulb, and Neeta’s face lit up as she stroked the texture that mimicked the fruit’s spiky skin.

‘Looks like you’ve found a bargain,’ Fran called out.

Colin and Neeta looked up, and when they recognised Fran and Sid, they smiled.

‘I rather like this cocktail shaker,’ Fran added, picking up the item shaped like a palm tree. ‘There are some quirky gifts in here. I think we’ll have this,’ she said, adding the shaker to her basket.

‘This ice bucket is perfect,’ Neeta enthused and moved towards Sid. ‘We can use it tonight for our party.’

‘Party?’ Fran’s ears picked up.

‘Yes, why don’t you come?’ Neeta leaned close to Sid. Her eyes were soft with mischief as her body brushed against his arm, and she flicked a strand of her long hair, skimming it along Sid’s cheek.

Like a cat caught off guard, Sid stiffened, and his shoulders rose.

‘How fortuitous that we should meet you both here,’ Colin added. ‘Do say you’ll come to our little soirée. Your friends Don and Debbie will be there.’

Sid began to inch away, but Neeta followed, undeterred.

‘Excuse me, I need to see something,’ Sid muttered nervously, ‘from over there.’ His hand waved vaguely and as he bolted, he almost knocked into Fran.

‘Don’t mind my Sid.’ Fran smiled. ‘He had a bit of a turn yesterday and isn’t quite himself, so despite your kind invitation, we’ll probably give the party a miss.’

The bell jingled, announcing the arrival of new customers. As Fran went to pay for her items, she called out, ‘Enjoy your party!’

Taking hold of Sid’s arm, Fran guided him through the shop. Depositing her wrapped items into her bag, she glanced back at Colin and Neeta and with a knowing smile, whispered, ‘Don’t forget to place the pineapple upside down…’

Ruskin was back on the ship and pounded through the corridors.

Letting himself into his suite, he headed for the bar, grabbed a bottle of malt whisky, and then poured a considerable measure.

His jaw was clenched, and his face wore an expression of barely contained frustration as he snatched up the whisky, swirling it hard.

His grip tightened, and Ruskin emptied the glass before pouring another.

Stepping out to his balcony, he stared blankly ahead, unaware of the afternoon sun casting a glow over the sea, as he placed a steadying hand on the metal railing.

The rugged cliffs appeared amber in the light, and the sky was streaked with pinks and fiery orange, promising a spectacular sunset.

But Ruskin took no notice of nature and the timeless appeal of the island, nor the sound of the music from the ship and the lively world aboard.

A storm was brewing in his mind, as was the whirlwind that had created it.

Venetia. Would the day ever come when she stopped stalking him?

Ruskin had been enjoying his sojourn in a café at the centre of the plaza in the old town. The sun was a tonic, and as he sipped a glass of chilled wine, he found the tranquil rhythm of the island infectious. As nearby tourists chatted happily, he felt himself relax.

He’d pondered his problems while climbing the meandering alleys to the cathedral.

The plot of his forthcoming novel was forming, and he was enjoying thinking about the missing jewellery, which was still a mystery he’d yet to solve.

Ruskin determined to get to the bottom of things and, who knew, maybe even use it in his next book.

Carmen, however, was a source of frustration and it occurred to him that if he really wanted to get to know Carmen, he should man up and ask her to have a drink with him.

Never mind working on her novel or any conversation over the requirements needed to pen a good story, he should heed her words that she wanted to enjoy the final days of the cruise and finish her novel once she arrived home.

What harm could it do to share a cocktail or two?

There was only one way to find out.

Despite his intentions to stay celibate and alone, Carmen filled his thoughts, and until she turned him away in person, he wouldn’t be free of her hold on his mind. And if she said yes, he might find himself ripping up his romantic rule book and risking everything to see where it led.

With his mind made up to track Carmen down as soon as he returned to the ship, he felt comfortable in the café and sipped his wine, savouring the soporific effect. Ruskin’s eyes felt heavy, and with his sunglasses shielding him from the sun’s rays, his lids began to close.

‘Darling, darling!’ a woman suddenly called out. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’

Ruskin felt his body freeze. With a suppressed dread, he slowly looked up to see Venetia standing before him.

‘Imagine finding you here!’ she said, leaning in. She cupped Ruskin’s face and began to kiss him.

‘Venetia, what the hell are you doing?’ Ruskin said through gritted teeth.

‘That’s no way to greet me,’ Venetia replied, pulling out a chair she pouted as she made herself comfortable. ‘You could at least smile.’

Venetia ordered wine and began to speak, the words tumbling out like a faucet Ruskin couldn’t turn off.

She spoke as though they were still married, oblivious to Ruskin’s new single life.

He stared at her hair, which fell in loose waves, and noted that it was streaked heavily with grey, and despite the playful hibiscus tucked behind her ear, his ex-wife was showing her age.

The short, embroidered off-the-shoulder dress wasn’t flattering and appeared far too young for a woman in her sixties.

The depth of her tan was ageing her skin beyond her years.

Venetia’s incessant rambling about their shared memories droned on, and Ruskin knew that he had to end the situation he didn’t want to be a part of.

‘Venetia. Stop!’ he suddenly announced. ‘Why are you stalking me?’

‘Well, I knew the Diamond Star would be in Ibiza today and thought it would be nice for us to meet up.’

‘Are you deliberately going out of your way to antagonise me?’ Ruskin was aghast. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve flown out here just to sit and chat?’

‘Er, sort of, well no, I mean… I have my jewellery in several shops and am going to check on sales.’

Ruskin recalled the silversmith course that he’d funded for Venetia after they’d parted.

He’d hoped that it would inspire her to settle down and channel her energy into something meaningful rather than pursuing her harebrained schemes that had occupied their lives up until the divorce.

He had to admit that her silver pendants were marketable, and he knew that she still had connections to several outlets in Ibiza, remnants of her hippy days before they met.

But checking on sales was something she could do with a phone call from home.

‘Venetia…’ Ruskin removed his sunglasses and, leaning forward, spoke quietly. ‘We are divorced, we are not together, nor will we ever be a couple again.’ He looked into her misting eyes. ‘You are a talented woman with much to offer, but not to me.’

‘How can you be so cold?’ Venetia crossed her arms, then childishly scrunched her nose. Reaching for her wine, she took a long drink.

‘I’m not cold, I’ve been as kind as possible, but you must stop this ridiculous stalking.’

‘I don’t know how to live my life without you,’ she muttered, twisting the stem of the glass in her fingers.

Ruskin thought that Venetia had lived her life exactly as she wanted when she was with him and wouldn’t find it too difficult to continue doing so.

‘Why don’t you stay out here for a while? You love Ibiza,’ he said.

‘Oh, it’s all so commercialised now with superstar DJs, electronic music and luxury hotels, I’m far too old for all of that.’

‘Nonsense, there are wellness retreats, yoga centres and cultural experiences that you love.’

‘I want to be with you, Ruskin. Please , won’t you give me another chance?’

Ruskin took a deep breath. He chose his words carefully, his voice low and gentle.

‘I need you to hear me, Venetia,’ he began.

‘We had good moments, moments I’ll always remember, and we have two wonderful sons.

We are blessed with grandchildren, our precious little girls.

But our life together is a chapter that is closed. ’

Venetia opened her mouth as if to protest, but Ruskin raised his hand. ‘You are talented, creative, and much stronger than you think.’ His voice was tinged with genuine admiration. ‘You have so much to offer, but not with me.’

Her eyes glistened, and Ruskin felt a pang in his chest but knew he had to press on. ‘I want you to find someone who makes you truly happy and will let you shine in the way that I know you can. But to do that, you must let me go.’

Leaning back, Ruskin gave her a moment to absorb his words. Then, standing, he reached into his pocket and drew out enough euros to cover the wine.

‘Take care, Venetia,’ he said softly, and, turning, began to walk away. As Ruskin crossed the plaza, he kept his gaze fixed forward and he didn’t look back.

But the words he’d spoken to Venetia echoed loudly in his mind.

I want you to find someone who makes you truly happy…

Ruskin thought of Carmen and wondered if he’d ever truly find happiness for himself.

The sun was still hot as Ruskin stood on his balcony and finished the last sip of his whisky. A tiny bird fluttered down, perching lightly on the railing beside him, its beady eyes sharp with curiosity. As if studying Ruskin, the bird tilted its head and chirped.

‘You’re not done yet,’ the bird seemed to say, ‘there’s still work to do.’

As the bird flew away, Ruskin turned his attention to Peter’s request for help. There was no clear explanation, but could there be a pattern? Was there a thread connecting these seemingly unrelated incidents?

Mentally listing the victims, Ruskin considered their backgrounds, the location of their cabins and possible movements around the ship.

Had they dined at the same table or attended the same events?

Or was there a more subtle link that Peter and his team had missed?

His years crafting mysteries told Ruskin that there had to be a common denominator, something everyone was unaware of.

Surely, if the passengers had been careless, the lost items would have turned up by now?

Yet they hadn’t.

Ruskin stepped back into his suite, the warmth of the whisky lingering on his tongue.

The steady hum of the ship beneath his feet reminded him that they were all trapped in this floating world together, and the missing jewellery wasn’t just a coincidence.

Something, or someone, was at the heart of the matter.

And Ruskin intended to find out who.