T Williams - To Rome, with Love

A few minutes later she looked up and discovered that the figure already on the raft ahead of her was Miles. Not really keen to talk shop, she would have turned round and headed back to shore, but for a sense of fatigue brought on by the exertions of the day. Reluctantly, she swam the last few metres and climbed out up the conveniently located stainless-steel ladder, finding it remarkably hard work to haul herself out of the water. She gave Miles a sweet smile and sat down a discreet distance from him, her feet dangling in the water.

‘You feeling all right, Sarah? You look tired.’ His expression wasn’t unfriendly, but he wasn’t smiling. Presumably, she thought to herself, as no tourists were around, he felt there was no need. She took a deep breath and ensured that the smile on her face remained sweet.

‘I’m fine, Miles. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.’

To her surprise, he nodded. ‘Join the club. I haven’t slept well for months, years.’

‘Something on your mind?’

He didn’t answer for a while. When he did, his voice sounded as tired as she was feeling. ‘Just thinking about stuff, you know.’

‘Work stuff?’ She wondered if the anticipated restructuring of the company might be playing on his mind, but he wasn’t prepared to admit that, if indeed it was the case.

‘Just stuff. Anyway, what about you? Everybody says you never stop working. That’s not good for your health, you know.’

Sarah was secretly pleased he had heard of her efforts. ‘The bush telegraph says the same about you.’

‘Sometimes it’s the best thing to do.’ The way he said it, and the grim expression on his face, made her turn and glance at him, wondering if this was the time to repeat her offer of a shoulder to cry on, if indeed that was what he needed. Instead, she did her best to cheer him up.

‘Well, you’ve got the best part of two weeks ahead of you now to relax.’

He managed a grin that transformed his whole face. ‘Relax? Aren’t you forgetting the small matter of cycling a thousand kilometres?’

In spite of herself, Sarah’s eyes flicked across his muscular torso and powerful thighs. ‘Somehow, Miles, I don’t see you having any trouble on that front.’

He didn’t respond to the compliment, his face returning to its usual undemonstrative state. There was an uncomfortable silence before he changed the subject ‘So, are we going to have a good dinner tonight?’

‘I certainly hope so. Maybe not quite as good as last night, but it should still be good. Seeing as we’re right by the sea, we’ll hopefully get some fish.’

‘And the hotel manager tells me there’s going to be a dance band here tonight after dinner. Did you organise that?’

Sarah’s heart sank. She had forgotten about the dance. The last thing she felt like was dancing. Yes, she had surprised herself with how easily she had managed to slip into her jolly, tour leader persona today, but dancing was a step too far, pun or no pun. All the same, she slid the smile back into place and answered as cheerfully as she could. ‘No, that was the hotel. Anyway, I’m sure the group will love it.’ She glanced at Miles and risked a bit of familiarity. ‘What about you, Miles? Are you going to strut your stuff for us this evening?’

Miles glanced at her and gave a shake of the head. To underline this non-verbal statement, he wagged his finger at her, just touching her elbow briefly as he did so. This had a very unexpected effect on Sarah. As she felt his touch, a tingle ran up and down her arm. Unsure what was going on, she decided this would be a good time to leave. She turned towards him, doing her best to sound normal. ‘Now I’ve got to go back and talk to Gianluca about the route for tomorrow. See you at dinner.’ With that, she slipped forward, dropped into the cool water, and set off back to the shore, still trying to work out why Miles’s touch had affected her in that way, not least as she could still feel it when she reached the sandy beach. It was only when she was rubbing herself dry after coming out of the warm shower that the sensation finally disappeared, but her bewilderment didn’t go away.

***

The dance band put in an appearance at nine o’clock, just as dessert was being served. The dining room was surprisingly full and their group was spread over half a dozen tables, but there must have been at least fifty or sixty other diners in there as well. The meal, while not quite in the same league as the previous night, was still very good and there were a lot of clean plates at the end of it. As she had hoped, there was some excellent fish and the tuna steaks proved very popular, as did the plaice with asparagus and vine tomatoes that she’d chosen for herself.

She had resolved to try to sit down with all the members of the group early on in the trip so as to gauge reaction and iron out any problems before they developed into anything bigger. The only problem to surface at her table tonight had been Chuck’s backside. He arrived with a fleece that he folded and then proceeded to use as a cushion as he sat down.

‘If you’ll pardon my bringing the subject up at table, I’m afraid I’ve got a sore ass.’ He looked around with an embarrassed grin. The other two on Sarah’s table were Véronique, this time separated from Jean-Pierre, and Terri. As it turned out, Terri was able to use her experience of pro cycling to help resolve Chuck’s problem.

‘Tell, me, Chuck, what sort of shorts have you got?’ She, like Sarah and all the others, had opted for padded cycling shorts. Chuck was quick to confirm that he had done the same.

‘I spent a fortune before I came away buying a couple of pairs of really good, padded shorts, just like the professionals use, but it’s no good. I start sweating, my boxers get all ruckled up and then it all starts hurting.’ He looked even more embarrassed, as well as apologetic. ‘Sorry, you guys, I’m sure there are better things to talk about at table than my ass.’

‘Did you say you wear underpants?’ Terri looked aghast. Chuck nodded and Terri nodded sagely in her turn. ‘Well, that’s your problem. Take your pants off and you’ll be fine.’ Her comment coincided with a slight lull in conversation and her voice carried to the next table. Sarah saw Mike and Dan crease up with laughter. Mike looked back over his shoulder towards their table.

‘What, here? Get a room, will you.’

Terri waved him away and explained for Chuck’s benefit. ‘You should never wear any kind of pants under your shorts, especially anything cotton that’s going to get soggy and do exactly what happened to you today.’ She tapped him on the arm with her minute forefinger. ‘Promise me you’ll go commando tomorrow, and from here on in. You’ll be amazed at the difference.’

Chuck glanced round at the others and noticed their nods of agreement. ‘No underwear?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll try anything to make that damn saddle feel more comfortable. All right, Terri, I promise. And thanks for your advice.’ He was smiling now. ‘When a woman tells me to take my pants off, I take my pants off.’

He didn’t get a chance to say any more as he suddenly and unexpectedly leapt to his feet, banging the table with his knee as he did so and tipping over a couple of, fortunately empty, glasses in the process. There was an expression of agony on his face as he clutched his right thigh and started hopping about like a man possessed, swearing under his breath. Terri and Sarah both recognised the symptoms.

‘Cramp?’

‘Jee… romino, and how! Wow, that hurts.’ It took him a full minute of dancing like a dervish before the muscles relaxed and he sank back down onto his chair again. Unfortunately, this produced another grimace as his bottom reminded him of his saddle sores. He composed himself, looked round the table and apologised. ‘Sorry, ladies. It appears I started the dancing all by myself.’