Wait. Did Jasper mention he was travelling solo too?
‘Last year my wife left me for her personal trainer. That didn’t feel too good at the time,’ Jasper says matter-of-factly. ‘They’re spending this Christmas in Aspen and asked me to pet-sit their schnauzer for them, which I declined.’
‘Declined because of this trip?’ Their split must’ve been amicable if they’re still in touch and she’s asking him to pet-sit her schnauzer.
‘Yeah, that and the fact that we’re now officially divorced, so a clean break is for the best.’
What woman would trade this love god in? She must be mad. Or…
It’s more likely that Jasper is faulty. Yes, that’s it. He’s got some huge flaw. Probably a gaslighter. And so what if he’s good with schnauzers. Is that really enough in the scheme of things?
‘Perhaps she’s still in love with you?’ I mean, I’m not one to pry but the signs are all there. Who asks their ex-husband to look after their schnauzer? Is that actually a breed of dog or some kind of euphemism?
Jasper shakes his head. ‘No, she’s in love with her personal trainer, and I’m happy for them.’ Really? If this were me, I’d be visualising all the ways in which karma might bite her for leaving out of the blue.
I find myself feeling sympathetic towards Jasper. Divorce is heavy. And being alone over the silly season while taking a romantic holiday for one amid a sea of couples isn’t easy either. ‘Leaving you for her personal trainer, sorry, but that’s just’ – I make a face – ‘such a massive cliché.’
‘Yeah.’ Jasper grins, which makes his dark eyebrows dance, his expressive eyes twinkle. Who knew eyes actually twinkled? He looks like one of those all-American Abercrombie model types with a rugged edge that saves him from being too perfect. Really, he’s quite disarming. With a loose shrug he says, ‘You never know, he might break a leg skiing.’
I return his grin. That’s more like it. ‘There might be an avalanche.’ I sound like Rox with the whole ‘vengeance is mine’ mindset. The difference is Jasper and I are using gallows humour for a morale boost. At least, I hope we are. ‘The world is an unpredictable place.’
He flashes his pearly whites. ‘It sure is.’
Sabrina coughs to get my attention. My cheeks pinken at the thought I’ve held up the line for so long and they’ve all been too polite to hurry me along.
Am I flirting with Jasper? The day after I was supposed to be a Mrs. Trauma will do strange things to a gal. No, it’s not flirtation! I’m simply comforting a fellow singleton because I empathise with his pain. There will be no flirting for the rest of my natural-born life. Men are not just paused, they’re cancelled. I’ll get my fix with book boyfriends who, so far, have never let me down.
‘Follow me, Aubrey.’ Sabrina breaks the spell. ‘And I’ll show you to your cabin.’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘See you around, Jasper.’Don’t make goo-goo eyes at the damn man. God, maybe Rox put some kind of love drug in my coffee. I wouldn’t put it past her. He’s probably a regular guy, regular height with regular-sized muscles, and she’s put a potion in my cup of Joe that morphs Mr Average into a buff, brawny mountain man. That girl is always concocting evil.
‘Bound to.’ He gives me a look I can only call sizzling. Maybe he’s not aware of his off-the-chain super-stud energy. I don’t hold it against him. When I travel, I always make friends. It’s one of the best parts of any trip, connecting with strangers and hearing their stories. Jasper and I have our singledom in common, so if I can get my overworked brain to stop misfiring and behave normally, then he just might make this couples holiday a little easier to stomach.
5
17 DECEMBER, CALAIS, FRANCE
I follow gingerbread Sabrina through the well-appointed interior of the train carriage. The design is luxe with an air of timeless grandeur, with decadent velvet upholstered seating, rich navy and gold carpets with matching drapes. Brass lamps are dotted along the carriage, giving the space a warm glow. If that wasn’t enough, it’s elevated by the addition of elegant Christmas decorations, delicate festive garlands made of Swarovski crystals.
We exit the lounge area and enter the dining carriage, which is just as elaborate and features the same navy and gold colour scheme. Cut-crystal wine glasses sparkle under the lights, waiting to be filled. Sabrina manages to swish her gingerbread body just enough to swipe leatherbound menus and gold cutlery from tabletops, but she’s walking too fast for me to point this out.
Making our way past the dining carriage, we enter a small hallway with windows to one side and cabins on the other with sliding wood-panelled doors with ornate brass handles.
It’s like being on the Orient Express, transported back in time to another era. The more I get swept away in the beauty, the better I feel. This five-star treat holiday can be a reset, a rejuvenation. New motto of the trip: ‘Miles who?’ How hard can it be to wipe it all from memory?
Close to the end of the hallway we come to a stop.
‘Here we have number twelve, your cabin, Aubrey.’ Sabrina slides the door open, revealing a double bed decorated with Christmas baubles that spell out: JUST MARRIED! Above the bed, glittery Mr & Mrs bunting drapes prettily across. Two fluffy dressing gowns hang on a hook, and I make out a patch of embroidery that saysNewlyweds.I gulp. Wow. OK, slight setback in the ‘Miles who?’ thing.
Sabrina rushes in and tries to scoop up the baubles from the bed, but her little gingerbread arms just aren’t long enough. ‘I’m so sorry! I’ll get this fixed right away. Can I bring you a glass of champagne in the meantime?’
I nod as pesky tears start again of their own accord. Poor Sabrina thinks I’m crying over a dead guy. If only it were that simple! The hurt is amplified because Miles hasn’t even bothered to reply to any of my calls or texts. Am I that unimportant that I don’t even deserve a response?
Sabrina dashes off, tripping over her awkward gingerbread feet while I try to push all thought of Miles deep down into a lock box in my mind and instead focus on the beauty of the cabin. It’s travel agent crack, if I’m honest.
The suite is compact, as you’d expect on a train, but elegant, and it’d be oh-so-romantic if you were cosying up with the love of your life. There’s a pulldown writing desk with a chair. A tiny bookshelf is tucked into the corner. I run a finger along the spines, delighted to find they’re all travel memoirs and holiday romances, the type of novel to awaken your wanderlust and your regular lust, as the train chugs from one exotic clime to the next.
I’ve always found escapism in two concrete forms – travel and books. For me, they go hand in hand. There’s a lot of downtime in travel, and being in transit is when I like to lose myself in the pages. I read a wide variety of genres, but travel memoirs or destination romances are my favourite. I love learning about new places through the eyes of another explorer or by a fictional couple holidaying in a patch of paradise.
