Part 2 (1/2)
”Of course not!” I retort, barely missing a beat.
That is, actually, kind of what I'd pictured. Except I'd be there too, with a bottle of champagne and maybe some party poppers.
”I'm not quite that stupid,” I add witheringly.
”Good.” Luke grins at me. ”Why don't you order us some drinks and I'll be out in a moment.”
As I sit down at a table on the shady terrace, I'm just a tad preoccupied. I'm trying to remember all the things I've bought and had s.h.i.+pped home without telling Luke.
I mean, I'm not worried or anything. It can't be that much stuff. Can it?
Oh G.o.d. I close my eyes, trying to remember.
There were the wooden giraffes in Malawi. The ones Luke said were too big. Which is just ridiculous. They'll look amazing! Everyone will admire them!
And there was all that gorgeous batik art in Bali. Which I did intend to tell him about . . . but then kind of never got round to it.
And there were the twenty Chinese silk dressing gowns.
Which . . . OK, I know twenty sounds like quite a lot. But they were such a bargain! Luke just didn't seem to understand my point that if we bought twenty now, they would last us a lifetime and be a real investment. For someone who works in financial PR, he can be a bit slow off the mark sometimes.
So I snuck back to the shop and bought them anyway, and had them s.h.i.+pped home.
The thing is, s.h.i.+pping just makes everything so easy. You don't have to lug anything about-you just point and s.h.i.+p: ”I'd like that s.h.i.+pped, please. And that. And that.” And you give them your card and off it goes, and Luke never even sees it. . . .
Maybe I should have kept a list.
Anyway, it's fine. I'm sure it's fine.
And, I mean, we want a few souvenirs, don't we? What's the point of going round the world and coming back empty-handed? Exactly.
I see Chandra walking past the terrace and give him a friendly wave.
”You did very well in cla.s.s today, Becky!” he says, and comes over to the table. ”And now I would like to ask you something. In two weeks' time I am leading an advanced meditation retreat. The others are mainly monks and long-term yoga pract.i.tioners, but I feel you have the commitment to join us. Would you be interested?”
”I'd love to!” Then I pull a regretful face. ”But I can't. Luke and I are going home!”
”Home?” Chandra looks shocked. ”But . . . you are doing so well. You are not going to abandon the path of yoga?”
”Oh no,” I say rea.s.suringly. ”Don't worry. I'll buy a video.”
As Chandra walks off, he looks a little sh.e.l.l-shocked. Which actually, isn't surprising. He probably didn't even realize you could get yoga videos. He certainly didn't seem to have heard of Geri Halliwell.
A waiter appears and I order a beer for Luke, plus a mango and papaya c.o.c.ktail, which in the menu is called Happy Juice. Well, that just about suits me. Here I am in the suns.h.i.+ne, on my honeymoon, about to have a surprise reunion with all the people I love. Everything's perfect!
I look up to see Luke approaching the table, holding his handheld computer. Is it my imagination, or is he walking faster and looking more animated than he has for months?
”OK,” he says. ”I've spoken to the office.”
”Is everything all right?”
”It certainly is.” He seems full of a suppressed energy. ”It's going very well. In fact, I want to set up a couple of meetings for the end of this week.”
”That was quick!” I say in astonishment.
Blimey. I'd thought it would take about a week just to get ourselves organized.
”But I know how much you're getting out of this yoga retreat,” he adds. ”So what I propose is that I go on ahead, and you join me later . . . and then we return to Britain together.”
”So, where are your meetings?” I say, confused.
”Italy.”
The waiter appears with my Happy Juice and Luke's beer.
”But I don't want to be separated from you!” I say as the waiter retreats. ”This is our honeymoon!”
”We have had ten solid months together. . . .” Luke gently points out.
”I know. But still . . .” I take a disconsolate sip of Happy Juice. ”Where are you going in Italy?”
”Nowhere exciting,” Luke says after a pause. ”Just a . . . northern Italian city. Very dull. I recommend you stay here. Enjoy the suns.h.i.+ne.”
”Well . . .” I look around, feeling torn. It is pretty nice here. ”Which city?”
There's silence.
”Milan,” Luke says reluctantly.
”Milan?” I nearly fall off my chair with excitement. ”You're going to Milan? I've never been to Milan! I'd love to go to Milan!”
”No,” says Luke. ”Really?”
”Yes! Definitely! It's the fas.h.i.+on capital of the world! I mean, it's got Prada . . . and Dolce-” I break off as I catch his expression. ”And . . . er . . . it's a place of great cultural interest which no modern traveler should miss. Luke, I have to come.”
”OK.” Luke shakes his head ruefully. ”I must be mad, but OK.”
Elated, I lean back in my chair and take a big slurp of Happy Juice. This honeymoon just gets better and better!
Two.
OK, I CANNOT believe Luke was planning to come to Milan without me. How could he come here without me? I was made for Milan.
No. Not Milan, Milano.