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‘I would like you and your friend to come and take a look at some of the pictures I have taken, before I release them.’
For a moment I foolishly imagined dozens of photographs flapping off the side of the ship like seagulls, and back towards England.
Unless he was a really clever photographer, the Radio Wonderful publicity department would squint at them with puzzled expressions. Diana falling over the balloon arch, both of us tripping over our feet in the line dancing, me whacking the fruit with a meat tenderiser, both of us with our faces covered in chocolate. It didn’t exactly say sophisticated cruising. But then, I realised, perhaps that was what they were hoping for, something for the younger clientele who would see that one could make a complete fool of oneself, whatever one’s age? In which case, we were more than fulfilling their expectations.
Diana was fidgeting and blushing, which made me think she was rather pleased at this unexpected encounter. She darted a look at me, and I nodded.
‘Absolutely, that would be fine,’ she said. ‘When were you thinking?’
‘This evening? And then perhaps I could take you to dinner?’
Diana gaped a bit, and I interrupted.
‘That’s a great idea, but I have a prior engagement, I was planning to have dinner with Evelyn. She was going to tell me all about her travels in—’ where would it be, quick, think fast ‘—America. She had a sister who married a rancher in Texas. Burt.’
‘Burt?’ Diana said. ‘I don’t remember that.’
‘Yes, she said he could lasso a pig from twenty yards away and he always wore a Stetson hat. And spurs. Even in the house.’
‘Burt or the pig?’ Diana said, ducking her head down and trying not to laugh.
‘Burt,’ I said. ‘So we will be fine. But you must go.’
‘Then I will see you later, perhaps we could all meet in the Art Lounge at six o’clock, and take it from there?’ he said, and went away, back to his developing room I expect, and hopefully an hour or two working some Photoshop magic on my hair.
‘Well, that’s weird,’ Diana said after few minutes when I pretended to read my book, ‘don’t you think so? Why on earth would he want to take me to dinner?’
I put my book down.
‘Why shouldn’t he?’
‘It’s nearly forty years since a man has asked me out anywhere other than to a pub quiz or a neighbourhood watch meeting at home to discuss the bin collections.’
‘Diana, why shouldn’t you go on a date?’
Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘It’s not a date! Women my age don’t have dates with strange men on swanky cruise ships sailing to the Mediterranean, or with any sort of men, for that matter.’
‘Apparently they do,’ I said, ‘and why shouldn’t they? Women of our age know lots of things, we are interesting. We’ve had the sort of adventures that the younger generation would not expect. We weren’t born sixty-something, remember? We fought with our mothers about hem lengths and unsuitable boyfriends just as the younger generation do, we just didn’t roll our eyes so much or send anguished texts.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘My brain is still processing the information, and those particular synapses haven’t sparked up for years.’
‘Then it’s about time they did,’ I said firmly. ‘You didn’t have anything else planned for this evening, did you?’
‘No, not really,’ Diana said thoughtfully. ‘Is that true about Evelyn’s sister and Burt?’
‘No, of course not. I made it up, but I wouldn’t be surprised, would you?’
We had already found the Art Lounge on deck 12 during our meanderings through the ship. It was more of a long, white corridor actually, with big, gilt-framed canvases on display for travellers whose holiday memories would be improved by an oil painting of the blue cupolas of Santorini, or a cartoonish Aberdeen Angus cow with a flower tucked behind one furry ear. We knew that Raphaël had a studio somewhere behind the linen-covered walls, presumably where he worked magic with negatives, special effects and hopefully Photoshop.
‘Here we are,’ she said, ‘I wonder how terrible my pictures will be. Do you think he does this on every cruise?’
‘What? Take pictures? Yes, I expect so, it’s his job.’
‘No, I mean attach himself to some unsuspecting female traveller who looks in need of some attention.’
Interesting comment, I thought. ‘Are you in need of attention?’
Diana shrugged and started to examine a painting of a flamenco dancer with unfeasibly thin legs.
