There’s another knock at the door. Princess peers in, her make-up expertly applied, her eyes bright, even though last night she sank enough champagne to fell an elephant. How does she do it?
‘Speak of the devil,’ I say with a smile.
‘And she shall appear! How are you, my darlings?’
‘Tired,’ Sabrina says. ‘I wish I could skip today, to be honest.’
‘Why don’t you make up my room?’ Princess says. ‘And instead of doing anything, take a nap? No one will ever find out!’
That brings the sparkle back to Sabrina’s eyes. ‘Don’t tempt me, Princess. I’ll be all right once I’ve mainlined some caffeine. Now, can I get you ladies anything before I head off to help at breakfast service?’
‘Actually, darling, yes. Can we bring Aubrey’s breakfast to the dining carriage, please? I’d never miss breakfast in the dining room unless my life was falling apart – too much gossip to eavesdrop on, and too many handsome men that need staring at. And I happen to know a thing or two about grief, and eating alone is a slippery slope into the depths of despair. Next she’ll be wearing an ankle-length Victorian nightgown and roaming the halls at midnight. We can’t have that, not with all those exit doors. We don’t want her pancaked along the route now, do we? Her beloved will have to hold on and be patient for her join him in heaven.’
I shake my head. I’ve explicitly told them that Miles is not dead; in fact, I’ve tried several times now and they don’t listen.
‘I don’t even own an ankle-length nightgown, Princess, Victorian or otherwise.’
‘Not yet.’
There’s nothing I can say to convince her that I’d rather eat alone because Princess has a way of sweeping everything up in her path, like a hurricane.
‘Come on, darling! Get yourself ready and meet me in the dining carriage.’
12
19 DECEMBER, BRUGES, BELGIUM
After breakfast, I return to my cabin under strict instructions from Princess to ‘not mess about’ and meet on the platform for our day in Bruges. For someone who is a few decades older than me, she has a surprising amount of energy. Will I be able to keep up with her for another full day of sightseeing? Surely at some point she will slow down. Still, I’m delighted to have found a travel buddy so early on. It stops me ruminating about Miles and the fact he’s still uncontactable. He’s a ghost, which fits with his backstory of being dead and all.
I hurry to my cabin and don a few more layers for the frosty air outside and rush to meet Princess at the designated spot on the platform.
‘Oh, darling, there you are! How are your ankles?’
‘My ankles?’
‘Must you repeat everything?’
I grin. ‘Sorry, it’s just a bit of an odd question. As far as I’m aware my ankles are… fine.’
‘Great! If you’re amenable I’ve sorted a plan for us, a horse-drawn carriage ride through the cobblestoned streets of Bruges, including a stop at Rozenhoedkaai, the picturesque quay on the Dijver Canal, with medieval architecture as a stunning backdrop.’
‘Wow, that sounds great. I read up about the history of Bruges last night actually.’ Rozenhoedkaai translates to the Quay of the Rosary, a place where rosaries were once sold but now is more famous because of its instagrammable allure. ‘How does this relate to my ankles though?’
‘Well.’ She waggles a brow. ‘After that we can check out the Grote markt, the Christmas market in the main square, and then… have a swish around the ice-skating rink! What do you say, are your ankles up to a bit of dancing on ice?’
‘I’m not sure I can dance on ice but I’ll give it a red-hot go.’
‘I’d also like to visit the belfry in the town square. You can climb to the top for a panoramic view of the city.’
‘Great. Although maybe we should leave the ice skating for last in case I do break an ankle.’
‘Good plan.’ She blows out her lips. ‘Let’s go.’
The horse-drawn carriage ride is a delight as our mare trots slowly around the charming cobblestoned streets and hidden laneways of Bruges while we sip on a glass of jenever, a juniper berry drink, the Dutch version of gin with a botanical fragrance. It warms me up on the inside as I take small sips under the cover of a fluffy blanket, all generously provided by our coachman.
We take photos at every remarkable stop. Princess hams it up for the coachman, who doubles as a photographer and has a lot of knowledge about camera angles and how to crop other tourists out of the shot.
Our coachman delivers us back to the market square and points out the belfry. Yikes, I have to crane my neck to view all eighty-three metres of it as it dominates the city skyline. And no doubt that means there’s a lot of steps. He gives us directions to other Christmas events taking place as part of Bruges Winter Glow festival, including the pop-up floating ice skating rink situated by the Lake of Love.
