Page 30 of The Little Porto Book Club

I’m at risk of losing her to fantasyland, but risk it I must. ‘Mother, he’s not a boy. He’s a thirty-three-year-old adult. Now, I have to prepare for bed but let me ask you this, is it not a little forward feeding your dining companion petiscos?’

She tilts her head at the question. ‘No, it’s sweet. It’s more that the person wants you to feel their excitement for the food, it can be a sign of respect, or even a way to flirt, to be intimate. What did you think it was?’

‘A way to break down defences?’ If so, I fear it worked. Sure, holding hands is not exactly a show of clothes-ripping passion, but I felt protective of Tiago, softer towards him after whatever happened with the choking incident. I thought of a world without Tiago in it and that world seemed so colourless, so quiet.

Chapter Fourteen

Old Albert

My wife is out for dinner again with her family. My old knees just aren’t up to all the hilly climbs day in and day out so I’ve taken a rain check. She assures me she’ll bring dinner home so I won’t starve. She’s good like that, my darling wife. I open a bottle of wine, content with time alone in our little apartment with its glimpse of the Douro River. That’s the beauty of Porto, almost everywhere has a stunning water view.

While I’m alone like this, I fire up the laptop and rub my hands together. Down the rabbit hole of conspiracy theories I go. My wife, bless her, frowns upon this bad habit of mine. Says it shows I’m lacking something bigger in my life. I’m sure it’s not that at all! I’m not lacking anything in my life. I’ve got the book club now. Although I know I need to tread carefully there. Don’t want another nasty incident where my comments get twisted. Artisanal bread. No such thing! Yet another scam so they can charge three times the price and people just believe it? Not on my watch. But I’d never say that in front of my wife. She’s got a thing about the fancy bread. Bless her heart.

Chapter Fifteen

It’s finally book club again. My mind has been stuck on a loop about Tiago and our dinner date. I have to face the real prospect that my closed-for-business heart is fluttering and that is a problem. No matter how hard I try to concentrate, I find my thoughts drifting back to Tiago and it’s rather distracting. My plan is to ignore those feelings completely because I don’t want to ruin the budding friendship between us. Not to mention we have a mystery to solve. Will Lucinda appear or not?

My fellow book club members trickle in, postures relaxed, as if they’re not concerned at all about the Lucinda dilemma. Over the top of my book, I stare out the window. Hoping I’m wrong about everything and that our missing book club member will turn up with a perfectly reasonable explanation.

‘I’m like lowkey struggling after that hill climb,’ Zephyr says, flopping into a chair, perspiration beading her brow. ‘Porto is one of the prettiest cities I’ve visited, but it’s also a bit oof, to walk.’

‘A bit oof ?’ old Albert sputters in dismay. ‘Can’t you use real words? What does oof even mean? That’s simply a sound you make when you trip over.’

‘Is it?’ Zephyr laughs. ‘Maybe if you got your bunged up knees looked at, you wouldn’t trip over so much.’

Albert ignores the insult and moves on to a lengthy laundry list of every physical ailment he’s currently suffering. ‘And then there’s the tennis elbow and I don’t even play tennis!’ At this rate we’ll be here all day and not one of them have noticed the fact that it’s now precisely 4.27 and Lucinda is still not here. And worryingly, neither is Tiago. My stomach flips. How unlucky could I be losing two book club members so early into the piece? It’s his almond allergy that concerns me. And this outcome was clearly foreshadowed. What if he ingested—

There he is. The relief at seeing him is immense, my shoulders that were up around my ears soften. Tiago appears healthy as he navigates the cobblestones, a spring in his step as he smiles to himself about something. He really is a sight to behold, with his mussed black hair that catches the sunlight and those dark arresting eyes that contain galaxies. I’ll even forgive him for being woefully late because I’m thrilled he’s alive, he’s survived yet another day living in a world where a simple almond is a murder weapon.

‘Hello, everyone. Viviane.’ He gives me a nod and takes a seat beside me, his cologne drifts over, a summery citrusy scent, which is so Tiago, in that uplifting mood-boosting way. In romance novels the hero is always wearing some leathery, cedar, peppery perfume that’s only heightened by his rugged manly musk, which makes me think of dead animals and sweaty bodies – no, thank you. I’ll take Tiago’s bright sunshine scent any day of the week.

How are my thoughts being diverted like this? Tiago’s bright sunshine scent? I’m failing my missing book club member at the very first hurdle. I will myself to concentrate on Lucinda, to hyperfocus on the matter at hand.

The book club are mellow today, they’re absorbed in their novels, pausing every now and then to sip coffee or eat a forkful of cake. Even Tiago is gripped by book four of The Quill Chronicles, although I do catch him peeking over the cover at me occasionally. When I catch his eye, he quickly looks away, which doesn’t help when I’m trying to send him subliminal messages. Does he not notice we’re a member short for the second consecutive week?

I’m going to have to do the unthinkable and broach this once more with my fellow introverts and make them understand the gravity of the situation. Sure, it could be any number of things keeping Lucinda away.

But it’s not.

When you read whodunnits as voraciously as I do, you sense these shifts in the natural order of things. And I can sniff out a murder plot a mile away, even if I didn’t have a veritable treasure trove of clues pointing the way. I almost feel bad interrupting their peaceful reading, but I have so much to say that I’m about to burst. Wildly out of character for me, but here we are.

What if Lucinda killed her husband, a cruel and vicious man, and needs our help hiding the body? You read about this kind of thing all the time. And should it be illegal if it was self-defence? He could leave empty milk cartons in the fridge or hog the TV remote. We need answers.

Something is afoot. And I wouldn’t be actively talking to people, especially those following the book club rule of silence, if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

‘If I can have your attention for a moment, fellow bookworms. Tiago, will you join me?’ He stands tall and proud, as if he’s found his calling. ‘Gather close. What we’re about to tell you can go no further from this table. We all need to follow the rule; what happens at book club, stays at book club.’ I manage to control the shake in my voice but only just. It’s nerve-wracking, speaking up like this with so many eyes on me. I’m not one to crave the spotlight so I channel Detective Amber Quill and do my best to appear in control. ‘It may or may not concern murder, so if you’d rather leave now, then please do.’

Zephyr’s mouth falls open.

Old Albert’s eyes widen with glee.

Sad-eyed Thomas straightens his posture.

Tiago gives me a supportive thumbs-up. Honestly.

Dammit, my keen observational skills must be on hiatus because I didn’t see The Man in the Blue Beret sitting close by, the man who now leans closer as if to eavesdrop. We may need to have these meetings on the move so there’s less risk of being overheard.

No one in the book club leaves.