part0040

With the help of two Tylenol PM, sheer tension exhaustion, the lack of sleep from a wee-hours of jazz interlude with Thierry, and the foreboding dread of being a hunted alleged killer, which left her restless from Sunday evening ’til Monday morning, Havilah had slept nearly seventeen hours. She had missed the fine dining, the flawless service, and nearly all of the incredible scenery. But she was the better for it. Despite all the slapping and hitting, her hand had even felt better. When she awoke at 4 p.m., she had felt energized. The restorative aspects of sleep , she murmured.

She saw Vincenzo had made sure she had orange juice, fruit, and croissants. She was famished. She rinsed her mouth with water and then wolfed down the food. She recalled that there were no showers on those golden age trains of the Orient Express’s era. Most people bathed once a week and on Sunday. Havilah wrinkled her nose before closing the interconnecting door to Thierry’s empty room. After she brushed her teeth, she filled the basin with warm water and a foaming gel stocked on board in a well-supplied “Luxury Travel Collection.” What would have taken fifteen minutes in a shower took her thirty here, with the added ritual of draining the basin and refilling with clean water. She had also amply used the Temple Spa “Dry Shower.” All in all, her cleaning ablutions were rather effective.

She had changed into her clean undergarments and freshened black dress before launching into the hall towards the lounge where she found her traveling companions having tea. The dining area was full with other passengers chicly outfitted, per the Orient Express dress code. Havilah and her aunt ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ the last remaining scenery, as they enjoyed tea time with scones and finger sandwiches, pretending during that brief respite that Havilah’s life wasn’t in mortal danger. When the train pulled into the station a little later than scheduled, Havilah admittedly felt relieved to be carrying herself on her own two feet.

Venice’s train station was architecturally functional. Though when one stepped outside, the beauty of the city built on water was immediately captivating despite the chaos and congestion of vaporetti— the public waterbuses— and water taxis in the marshy lagoon. Thierry secured their private water taxi, while Aunt Neet and Havilah enjoyed the sun’s rays. It was still quite warm in Venice.

The ride was exhilarating. The taxi plowed the lagoon’s waters quickly, leaving traces of pink, sandstone, and yellow buildings in its wake. Havilah fell hard for Venice every time she visited. With its one hundred plus islands, canals, bridges and maze-like streets, it was a city that was all at once dreamy and filled with a history of intrigue with its power hungry and murderous Doges and shifty Casanovas. Her hours of sleep had helped her clear a hurdle. Since someone had a target on her back and probably a price on her head, she was not going to waste another moment of another day. This latest run in with murderous baddies felt nothing like Cassis. She was feeling fatalistic. And thanks to Fragonard and Temple Spa, she smelled pretty darn good, felt even better, and would make— if whoever was out there was willing to shoot to kill— a fashionable corpse. If nothing else, death will become me. She reached for Thierry’s hand, wrapped it around hers, and smiled.