Page 3 of The Cruise Club

‘If only I could write like you…’ Carmen breathed as she gazed at Ruskin’s photograph, her fingers tracing the outline of the letters of his name.

A voice in her ear whispered, and tilting her head to one side, Carmen felt sure that her dad was speaking. ‘Follow your writing dream!’he urged.

Carmen desperately wanted to follow Ruskin onto theDiamond Starcruise, to draw inspiration from his crime writing. Her heart fluttered at the thought of attending his writing workshops. Time with the talented author would surely end her writer’s block and get the words flowing again.

Shehadto go on the cruise!

Carmen’s hazel eyes sparkled with anticipation, and she pushed her heavy-rimmed glasses along her nose before running her fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair. She could almost feel the warm Mediterranean breeze on her skin and hear the gentle lapping of waves against the ship. Indeed, such a setting would inspire her to write, and it might be the remedy she so desperately needed. After all,it wasn’t as though she couldn’t afford the holiday; Carmen had a tidy sum in a savings account.

She checked the sailing date and was pleased that the cruise began in just over a week. There was no time to cancel, if she decided to go. Carmen knew that Agnes would be back from her holiday in a couple of days, and with a little gentle persuasion and extra money in her wages, she felt sure that the kindly woman would step up and help with Betty.

Betty. The roadblock in her plan.

The pitfall to the holiday would be Betty’s hysteria when she learned that her daughter was planning an exciting trip without her mother. Memories of dozens of disappointments, caused by Betty’s interference, flooded Carmen’s mind.

She mustn’t let Betty spoil her plans!

Despite the building guilt, Carmen picked up her pen and circled the cruise agent’s number. For years Carmen had allowed her mother to dictate, often sacrificing her hopes and dreams for peace. But now she felt an unfamiliar, steely resolve.

Straightening her shoulders, Carmen set her jaw with purpose and gripped the pen. This wasn’t just a trip – learning from Ruskin Reeve was a necessity, and she knew that she must seize the opportunity.

Carmen dreaded breaking the news to Betty but decided that she would deal with that disaster later. She reached for her phone and began to dial, her heart pounding with anxiety and excitement. With a hesitant voice, Carmen began the booking process. Each word she uttered felt like a brick in the foundation of her ongoing writing dream.

The friendly voice from theDiamond Starteam made the booking process seamless and told Carmen that as a member of The Cruise Club, she was entitled to discounts on future cruises, complimentary excursions and special occasion onboard cocktails. Moments later, the booking was complete.

‘I’m going on a cruise…’ Carmen whispered in amazement as she ended the call. ‘Carmen Cunningham is about to set sail!’

Chapter Two

Ruskin Reeve studied his reflection in his bathroom mirror and decided he looked exhausted. At sixty, he had the rugged handsomeness that only deepened with age, but at that moment, his chiselled features were prominent, and his piercing blue eyes lacked vitality.

Running his fingers through tousled hair, Ruskin frowned. The thick wavy locks were now more salt than pepper, but the silvery gleam was attractive. Ruskin thought he looked the part of a world-weary wordsmith and given that he’d just completed a twenty-stop book signing tour of Great Britain, he felt justified in his tiredness.

‘Any self-respecting author would now settle down, stay home and put their feet up, enjoying a break before embarking on the next novel,’ he told himself as he reached for a razor and began to shave.

Having been away for several weeks, he knew that as soon as he stretched out on his sofa, the door would pound, and Venetia would insist on making her presence felt. Only a restraining order would keep his ex-wife from bargingher way in, throwing herself at his mercy and begging for a second chance. Venetia was a force to be dealt with and still clung to the hope of rekindling their long-gone marriage. During his recent tour, a dishevelled Venetia appeared in a book signing queue and, to his embarrassment, publicly pleaded for another chance when she reached Ruskin. It had taken security to stand by the door and bar Venetia from entry as the tour progressed.

As Ruskin held the razor to his skin and stroked gently over two-day-old stubble, he felt a glimmer of regret. Venetia’s tears stirred a sense of responsibility, but he couldn’t shake the relief he’d felt when the constant arguments and misunderstandings had ended.

‘After thirty years of marriage I simply fell out of love,’ Ruskin told his reflection.

The devotion they’d once shared had faded as their two boys grew up and had families of their own and was replaced by a yearning for freedom. Ruskin wanted to be alone, live as a single man and do what he enjoyed most. Writing was his life.

Yet, despite his longing for solitude, he adored his grandchildren – two precious girls – and cherished the moments they spent together. He would often smile as he recalled their curious questions, their little eyes wide, as they listened in awe to the stories he told. Even as he embraced his new independence, he held a soft spot for his sons and those little people who called him Grandpa, and Ruskin saw them as often as he could.

The creation of a character called Detective Inspector Blake had propelled Ruskin into the limelight, and his bookswere a huge success. Adapted for television, the fictional detective was a national treasure, a character so loved that mentioning his name elicited smiles and nods of recognition. With his dedication to justice, Detective Inspector Blake was the nation’s favourite detective.

‘You made me a ton of money,’ Ruskin said and thought about his character as he rinsed the razor under the tap. ‘Now, if I could extract myself completely from Venetia, I might be able to focus on the next book.’

Ruskin stepped into the shower. Sharp needles of piping hot water pummelled his skin as he soaped his still-lithe body. His early morning runs and regular swims had paid off, and Ruskin was in good shape. He remembered that his agent was pressing for an outline, something to hand to his publisher to stay within the terms of his current contract. Unlike many high-profile authors, Ruskin didn’t give the research to a team or ask for plot ideas; he prided himself on being in control, every word his own. But he knew he needed a break, a place where Venetia couldn’t find him, where the internet was sketchy and his agent would leave him alone.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Ruskin walked into his bedroom, where a suitcase lay on the bed. He’d exchanged his usual tweeds as he’d packed and now chose lighter linens. When he’d been contacted by the marketing team at Diamond Star Cruise Lines and offered an opportunity of a luxurious Mediterranean cruise in return for a talk and a couple of workshops, Ruskin had jumped at the chance. How good it would be to trade stories of his writing life in exchange for the soothing embrace of the sea,and for days, he’d been dreaming of tranquil, sunlit decks. A space to relax, recoup and unwind.

As he dressed, Ruskin told himself that he could well afford a luxury cruise and had no need for a complimentary passage. But Ruskin was conceited and despite yearning for a break from the whirlwind of his literary life, he fed off public attention wherever he went. The promise of an eager audience, excited to listen to his tales, was almost as good as sex, and he revelled in the thrill of captivating a crowd.

Suited in pale cream linen and booted in soft leather brogues, Ruskin reached for his satchel and checked his lecture notes. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was on time for the cruise line’s driver, who would arrive at any moment. Draining a half-empty cup of coffee, Ruskin closed his case and carried it to the hallway, where his luggage was neatly lined up by the door.

Mustering the energy to charm a new audience, Ruskin gave a last-minute glance in a mirror. His eyes sparkled with the excitement of the upcoming trip and vainly, he stared at his reflection. Perhaps Ruskin would take Detective Inspector Blake with him, he thought when the doorbell rang. As he reached out to answer it, a book title popped into his head, and with a smile, Ruskin set off.

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