Page 58 of Hook, Line and Single

‘Yup.’

Having done that, he turns his attention to the transport. Again, there’s lots of scrolling and fiddling before he speaks again.

‘This isn’t much cop either,’ he remarks. ‘There aren’t any direct flights to Pisa from Nice. We have to go via Paris.’

‘Paris? That’s miles in the wrong direction. Can’t we go by train?’

‘Nope. Apparently there’s a big strike tomorrow, so nothing will be moving. I’ve looked at car hire too, but that’s silly money. Flying is our only option, and the flights aren’t cheap either, probably because everyone who would normally go by train is doing the same as us.’

I sigh. ‘Just book it. I tell you, the bloody ship had better wait for us in Livorno. I can’t afford to carry on at this rate.’

‘At least it’s stopping there for two nights. Gives us twice the chance of actually catching it.’

A few minutes pass while he navigates his way through the booking process. ‘All done,’ he announces as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. ‘Let’s find a taxi. I can feel the shower calling me.’

The hotel turns out to be on the other side of Cannes from the cruise port, so the taxi takes us along the coast and I study the view as we drive. After a short while, we come across a long sandy beach. Even though it’s early evening, it’s still busy with families and the after-work crowd. There are people playing beach volleyball, and the sea is full of bobbing heads.

‘That looks amazing,’ I sigh. ‘I’d love a swim in the sea.’

‘We could stop,’ Cameron suggests.

‘Nice thought, but I don’t have my swimsuit with me. Do you?’

‘No, but we could improvise. Just swim in your bra and pants.’

‘Absolutely not. For a start, this is Cannes, and everyone else out there is looking effortlessly chic in swimsuits that probably cost a fortune, so I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb in my mismatched bra and pants. Second, I’m wearing white cotton knickers. What do you think happens to those when they get wet?’

‘No idea.’

‘They go pretty much transparent. I’ll come out of the sea looking like I’ve been skinny dipping, and I don’t even have a towel to wrap round me.’

‘Hmm.’ Cameron pulls out his phone again and fiddles with it for a couple of minutes, before leaning forward to speak to the driver.

‘Pardon monsieur, pouvons-nous aller à une autre destination s’il vous plaît?’

‘Bien sûr, où aimeriez-vous aller?’

‘La plage de la batterie.’

The driver looks sceptical. ‘Vraiment? Êtes-vous sûr?’

‘Oui. Merci.’

‘Where are we going?’ I ask Cameron as he settles back into the seat.

‘It’s a surprise. You’ll see.’

After a short drive, the taxi pulls into a petrol station and I look at Cameron quizzically.

‘Par là, monsieur. En bas des marches,’ the taxi driver tells him, pointing at a set of steps on the other side of the road as Cameron pays the fare.

‘What is this place?’ I ask as we descend the steps and walk through a tunnel.

‘It’s a beach where nobody will worry about your mismatched underwear,’ he tells me cryptically.

As we emerge from the tunnel and I glance around, the reality of what Cameron has done suddenly dawns on me. I’m reminded a little of one of those seal colonies that you see on nature documentaries, inasmuch as all the best sunbathing spots are occupied by basking bodies. The difference is that these bodies are both human and completely naked.

‘Cameron,’ I ask in a horrified whisper. ‘Have you brought me to a nudist beach?’

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