Page 78 of The Cruise Club

‘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 woodencrate filled with fresh herbs leaned against the wall of a shop where a sign above readCuriosidades 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, sheglanced 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 themeandering 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.

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