bumping into anyone who might know Rick.
The light refreshing breeze cooled her down and cleared her mind as she walked along the Strand. On her left was the Albert Dock and she caught a glimpse of a bright yellow boat packed with tourists. The thought of the tour guide giving his running commentary on the sights as well as the history of the Liverpool docks brought a smile to her face. She had taken Charlie on the boat tour with her parents when he was a toddler and he had loved it. They all had, her dad most of all because he had quickly discovered a captive audience and regaled his fellow travellers with stories of his adventures on the high seas. Her mum had been mortified and felt sorry for the poor guide, who could barely get a word in, and had held back to speak to him when they were disembarking. âItâs such a shame,â she had told him kindly, without the hint of the lie she was about to impart: âthe biggest boat heâs ever been on is the Mersey ferry.â The look of shock on the tour guideâs face was nothing compared to Harryâs when she confessed a short time later.
The laughter and the sunshine from that day were hard but not impossible to recall as Elle neared the waterfront. The wind began to intensify until eventually she was struggling to walk in a straight line. It was going to be a real challenge for anyone less sprightly and she wondered if her choice of venue had been a good idea. But then the whole meeting could prove to be nothing but a big mistake.
She arrived at the Brasco Lounge with ten minutes to spare. Once through the doors, the contrast with the outside world was stark. The shabby-chic decor with its bare-wood tables and mismatched chairs was warm and welcoming, although not quite relaxing enough to quell Elleâs nerves. She checked the scattering of windswept customers who were holding onto steaming cups and chatting to their companions. No one appeared to be anxiously awaiting her arrival.
Elle stood at the bar and stared at the wine list. A glass of pinot was tempting but she would be driving later. Besides, she didnât want to leave any lingering smell of alcohol for Rick to pick up on. She ordered a latte and, like her fellow refugees from the storm, hugged it to her as she settled into a worn leather sofa in a far corner of the glass-fronted restaurant.
She had the perfect vantage point to people-watch and spent her time second guessing who would stumble on by and who would be drawn into the warmth of the restaurant. She pitied the trail of schoolchildren in bright-red blazers who were being shepherded towards the waterfront and she hoped for their sake that they were heading for the nearby Museum of Liverpool and not a brisk walk along the promenade. She was so preoccupied that she almost missed the elegant woman in a dark blue woollen coat with matching hat that she kept in place with a leather gloved hand. She seemed sophisticated and Elle guessed her to be about sixty. She was about to dismiss her as a possible candidate when the woman stepped through the door, took a deep breath and then looked straight towards her. A flicker of recognition crossed her face.
âElaine?â she asked as she drew nearer.
âI havenât been called that for years,â Elle said. It had been Rickâs idea to reinvent his wife. He would have loved her to complete the transformation by being as well-spoken as Corinne, but although her accent had softened over the years, she clung to her roots out of loyalty and a good measure of obstinacy.
There was polite argument about getting drinks, which Elle won. By the time she returned with two coffees and a couple of slices of cake, Corinne had slipped out of her woollen camouflage. She looked more elegant than ever, with silky, straight white hair pinned back neatly in a French twist and a simple shift dress with matching midnight blue jacket. Elle felt decidedly underdressed in her jeans and oversized
The light refreshing breeze cooled her down and cleared her mind as she walked along the Strand. On her left was the Albert Dock and she caught a glimpse of a bright yellow boat packed with tourists. The thought of the tour guide giving his running commentary on the sights as well as the history of the Liverpool docks brought a smile to her face. She had taken Charlie on the boat tour with her parents when he was a toddler and he had loved it. They all had, her dad most of all because he had quickly discovered a captive audience and regaled his fellow travellers with stories of his adventures on the high seas. Her mum had been mortified and felt sorry for the poor guide, who could barely get a word in, and had held back to speak to him when they were disembarking. âItâs such a shame,â she had told him kindly, without the hint of the lie she was about to impart: âthe biggest boat heâs ever been on is the Mersey ferry.â The look of shock on the tour guideâs face was nothing compared to Harryâs when she confessed a short time later.
The laughter and the sunshine from that day were hard but not impossible to recall as Elle neared the waterfront. The wind began to intensify until eventually she was struggling to walk in a straight line. It was going to be a real challenge for anyone less sprightly and she wondered if her choice of venue had been a good idea. But then the whole meeting could prove to be nothing but a big mistake.
She arrived at the Brasco Lounge with ten minutes to spare. Once through the doors, the contrast with the outside world was stark. The shabby-chic decor with its bare-wood tables and mismatched chairs was warm and welcoming, although not quite relaxing enough to quell Elleâs nerves. She checked the scattering of windswept customers who were holding onto steaming cups and chatting to their companions. No one appeared to be anxiously awaiting her arrival.
Elle stood at the bar and stared at the wine list. A glass of pinot was tempting but she would be driving later. Besides, she didnât want to leave any lingering smell of alcohol for Rick to pick up on. She ordered a latte and, like her fellow refugees from the storm, hugged it to her as she settled into a worn leather sofa in a far corner of the glass-fronted restaurant.
She had the perfect vantage point to people-watch and spent her time second guessing who would stumble on by and who would be drawn into the warmth of the restaurant. She pitied the trail of schoolchildren in bright-red blazers who were being shepherded towards the waterfront and she hoped for their sake that they were heading for the nearby Museum of Liverpool and not a brisk walk along the promenade. She was so preoccupied that she almost missed the elegant woman in a dark blue woollen coat with matching hat that she kept in place with a leather gloved hand. She seemed sophisticated and Elle guessed her to be about sixty. She was about to dismiss her as a possible candidate when the woman stepped through the door, took a deep breath and then looked straight towards her. A flicker of recognition crossed her face.
âElaine?â she asked as she drew nearer.
âI havenât been called that for years,â Elle said. It had been Rickâs idea to reinvent his wife. He would have loved her to complete the transformation by being as well-spoken as Corinne, but although her accent had softened over the years, she clung to her roots out of loyalty and a good measure of obstinacy.
There was polite argument about getting drinks, which Elle won. By the time she returned with two coffees and a couple of slices of cake, Corinne had slipped out of her woollen camouflage. She looked more elegant than ever, with silky, straight white hair pinned back neatly in a French twist and a simple shift dress with matching midnight blue jacket. Elle felt decidedly underdressed in her jeans and oversized
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