Kitabı oku: «A Year of Chasing Love», sayfa 4

Chapter 5

Olivia glanced out of the window of the Boeing 737, listening to the low drone of the aircraft’s engine as they cruised their way towards the southern Mediterranean Sea. As she loosened her seatbelt and settled back into her seat, she realised that it was the first flight she had boarded since her honeymoon in Paris seven years earlier, and the only time she had ever travelled abroad alone.

She experienced a sharp stab of regret when she thought of the surprise trip Nathan had booked for their first wedding anniversary. However, she had been cocooned in a complicated contested hearing in the High Court and unable to extricate herself from its claws in time to catch the train, and their long weekend in Bruges had been cancelled. Nevertheless, it hadn’t prevented him from continuing to schedule time away in the UK – a spa break in the Cotswolds, a jaunt up to Edinburgh, afternoon tea at The Ritz – none of which had actually gone ahead.

And yet still Nathan had continued in his battle to tempt her to spend time with him. Tickets to the theatre, to the cinema, to listen to Hollie play her clarinet in a concert for ‘Help the Heroes’ in the Royal Albert Hall – which she had never forgiven herself for missing even though Hollie had – and those VIP Ed Sheeran tickets. In the end, Nathan had resorted to inviting Matteo and Hollie along in the hope that Olivia wouldn’t feel able to let their friends down as well as him. Sadly, he’d been proved wrong. Even Hollie, who was regularly ‘on duty’ for police station callouts, managed to make it in time to take up her seat at Les Misérables!

Then she cringed, and the needle-sharp incisors of guilt skewered her chest when she remembered the expression of hurt on Nathan’s face as he watched her sprint towards him as the Venice-Simplon Orient Express’s last Pullman carriage disappeared from the end of the beautifully restored station platform. The trip had been arranged at the beginning of December as part of his fortieth birthday celebrations; it was one of the items that featured high on his bucket list and they’d missed it and it was her fault. Looking back, she should have realised that that was the final candle of hope to be extinguished on the cake of their marriage.

She thanked the smiling air steward for her milky coffee, and continued with her internal monologue of self-reproach, aware that she was prodding a fresh bruise, but she couldn’t help herself. She had been a dreadful spouse – not only that, but a neglectful partner and friend to Nathan. What surprised her was that he had tried for so long. How had it ended like this when their relationship, and their marriage, had started out so well? She had to concede Rachel was right when she’d thought they would be one of the lucky ones whose marriage endured. They were ideally suited. She had adored Nathan, still did. He had been her soulmate, and, in the years they had spent together before their careers had intervened, they’d been happy.

Nathan worked hard. He travelled extensively for his job as in-house counsel for a large pharmaceuticals company, yet he always found space in his busy schedule for her. ‘A golden couple’, her father had called them on their wedding day. They may have been well-paid, able to live in an apartment overlooking the river and take exotic holidays, but they hadn’t been rich in that priceless commodity that everyone wished they had more of – time. Nathan’s recent posting to Singapore was the ultimate recognition of his career success: promotion to General Counsel for the whole company. By rights, he should be enjoying his moment in the limelight with his wife by his side, but he’d had the misfortune to choose a partner who couldn’t even spare the time to celebrate his achievement.

No wonder he had taken such a drastic step.

And would it have been easier to accept the ending of their marriage if there had been someone else? Someone delighted to share in his success, someone who would holler his accolades from the rooftops with pride in her voice and devotion in her heart? Or maybe he had found someone and was just too considerate to tell her. Ironically, she had spent more time thinking about Nathan, what he was doing, what he was thinking, where he was at any given moment, and who with, since receiving the divorce petition than she had in the month leading up to that fateful moment.

A wave of anguish and desolation engulfed her body as she realised that she had inadvertently stumbled upon the second item for Hollie’s list before even setting foot on Maltese soil.

Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 2. “To stay together, you have to be together.”

However, dwelling for too long on the reasons for her break-up with Nathan threatened to stretch the guy ropes that were holding her emotions in check to breaking point and she had no wish to succumb to a torrent of tears in the public arena of the inside of an aircraft with rows of bored passengers watching on. So she resolved, for the time being at least, to push her heartache into the deep, dark crevices of her mind and instead to savour her first aerial glimpse of the island of Malta, the great outdoor museum of the Mediterranean.

It wasn’t long before they had landed at Luqa airport, and as soon as the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ sign was switched off, she slung her holdall over her shoulder and joined the scrum in the aisle of pasty-faced holidaymakers, all eager to escape from their three-hour confinement, taste their first blast of warm sunshine and indulge in a few glasses of the local red wine.

It was the last week of February so thankfully there had been very few squabbling children on board the early morning flight from Gatwick. However, many of the travellers exhibited exuberant spirits for the start of their annual break from the minutiae of normal life or a visit to much-loved family. Couples held hands in the queue at Passport Control, overjoyed at being able to spend time together away from their day-to-day struggles and Olivia found herself adding a third discovery to the email she intended to send to Hollie.

Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 3. “Time away from the usual routine is essential to reconnect and replenish togetherness.”

As she held her passport open at the photograph page in front of the handsome immigration officer, a shard of pain sliced across her right temple. She put it down to the early morning start, mingled with the effects of her persistent battle with insomnia, which meant she was granted only snatches of respite from the contemplation of the ruins of her marriage. The last thing she wanted to do was socialise with a Maltese stranger sent to collect her from Arrivals. If it had been up to her, she would have preferred to grab a taxi to Valletta, check in to her hotel overlooking the harbour, dump her bag in her room and then plunge straight into the hotel’s huge infinity pool.

She loved Rachel, but she couldn’t stem the feelings of regret that she had succumbed so easily to her persuasion to get involved in her project. And yet she knew her friend hadn’t done it for selfish reasons but so that she wouldn’t have time to wallow in self-pity over her lost relationship or worry about what Miles was doing to her clients’ files. She hadn’t told Rachel, but Henry had already blasted her for calling Katrina, and he had extracted a begrudging promise from her not to contact the office unless the matter was of the utmost urgency. He had then used the rest of the telephone call to regale her with a long and detailed itinerary of his world cruise’s ports of call – one of which just happened to be the ancient city of Valletta – and he’d insisted she report back with a list of the best fish restaurants and ‘must-see’ attractions that he could share with Jean.

How on earth had she ended up wearing three badges? Which was she? Research assistant, love guru, or tour guide? And a trip every two months was too much – Valletta, Honolulu, Singapore, Copenhagen, Paris – especially as she also had a home to sell and a whole life to dismantle and store in her parents’ garage in Yorkshire.

But it was the trip to Paris at the end of November that concerned Olivia the most because in a cruel twist of fate, it was around that time their decree nisi would be pronounced. Would she hear about the formal dissolution of her marriage when she was visiting the same city she had honeymooned in?

However, there was one thing she was certain of – despite the heartache she was going through now, she didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. The night before, she had woken up in a cold sweat when a dream had conjured up an image of her as a lonely old spinster in a care home with no family to visit her. In fact, as she’d had more time than usual to think about her future, she came to realise that a life without children in it was unthinkable.

Had Nathan been right when he had asked his solicitor to put those allegations in the divorce petition?

The realisation that he was rushed at her and almost knocked her backwards. Perhaps these bulletins she had been tasked with sending home to Hollie and Matteo would not only benefit her close friends but would serve to teach her some valuable lessons in love as well.

With that decision made, she grabbed her suitcase from the carousel and made her way into the arrivals hall to be met by a barrage of uniformed, tanned holiday reps and locals meeting their families. She spotted a card scrawled with “Ms O. Hamilton” and she surprised herself when, despite her emotional turmoil, an involuntary gasp of delight escaped her lips as she met the eyes of the Adonis holding it between his olive-skinned fingers.

Was this her taxi driver? Or perhaps it was Nikolai Garzia, Rachel’s contact in Malta? She chastised herself for sending up a prayer for the latter.

‘Olivia Hamilton?’

To Olivia’s uninitiated ears, the way the man wrapped his voice around the syllables of her name sounded like he was rehearsing an Italian aria. His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners, and the tang of his cologne injected a shock to her pulse. Despite the ambient warmth, he wore buttock-enhancing black jeans and a pink and white linen shirt, fastened at the cuffs with golden links depicting the Maltese cross. His boldly drawn eyebrows were raised in question behind his long mahogany fringe, enhancing his matinee idol looks as he swept the hair from his face over his forehead. Ignoring the pounding across her brow, when he held out his palm to introduce himself, Olivia delved deep to replicate his welcoming smile.

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Hello, Olivia, welcome to Malta. I’m Nikolai Garzia, but my friends call me Niko and I hope you will, too.’

‘Hi, Niko, it’s good to meet you,’ said Olivia, relishing the pleasurable tingle of electricity that shot out from her fingertips as she shook his hand.

‘Likewise, Olivia.’

Niko smiled straight into her eyes before grabbing the bag from her shoulder and tucking her arm through his to guide her out into the Maltese sunshine. The heat hit her like a blast from her hairdryer, the welcome warmth caressing her skin and seeping down into her stiffened bones. She scrabbled around in her handbag for her sunglasses whilst Niko directed their route to the car park.

‘Rachel has briefed me on your requirements.’

Niko’s thick, Mediterranean accent made it sound as though her requirements were not even remotely connected to the academic and she was grateful she had managed to obscure her eyes behind dark lenses. The guy possessed a smile that would be more at home in an American toothpaste commercial, and the air of a young, hip Spanish teacher – one all the teenage schoolgirls swooned over and the boys grabbed to coach the football team.

‘Our time together is limited, so we must get straight down to business. I will deliver you to your hotel in Valletta, allow you to freshen up, and then return to collect you at 7 p.m. to take you to meet my family.’

Olivia smirked at the way his arrangements sounded as a waft of fresh lemony green fern scent met her nostrils, causing a surprise curl of attraction to invade her abdomen. Good grief, Olivia, get a grip – this is not a date!

‘You have been invited to help celebrate my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary,’ added Niko as he slung Olivia’s holdall into the back seat of his tiny red Fiat 500 and slammed the door.

‘Oh gosh, no, I don’t want to intrude on your family’s celebrations.’

Olivia balked at the thought of spending her first evening in the intimate company of Niko’s extended family. She would prefer to stick to the itinerary Rachel had devised and to interview Mr and Mrs Garzia senior in the lobby of her hotel the following morning, then spend the rest of the day indulging in the facilities of the hotel, specifically the expansive infinity pool. She could already feel the cool ripples lapping around the crevices of her body, massaging away the knots of stress that had built up over the last few months.

‘My grandmother does not travel to the city now, I’m afraid, Olivia. This is the better solution. Anyway, isn’t this what Rachel’s research is all about?’ Niko asked, flicking a shrewd glance in her direction as he navigated the narrow roads out of the airport. ‘Visiting a couple who have been together for over half a century in their home environment to ascertain the factors that contribute to such an enduring partnership? My parents also will be present, of course. They have been married for forty years.’

‘Well, in that case, it’s very kind of your family to invite me. Thank you.’

‘You are welcome. Perhaps this would be a good time to warn you in advance that my mother takes a huge amount of pleasure in complaining about the fact I have yet to settle down and enter the honourable institution of matrimony. Until now, I have preferred to focus firstly on my education and establishing my career as a lawyer. I’ve fought for years against their expectations that I would follow their example, marry early and produce grandchildren for them. But I will be thirty-four in December and I concede it’s time. Our life goals morph with the passage of time, do they not, Olivia?’

Olivia saw Niko grin in her direction with a blast of such intense suggestion in his ‘come-to-bed’ eyes that she felt her cheeks redden – and he was clearly delighted with the reaction. She ignored his question and settled into her seat to enjoy the ride into Valletta, the crumbling capital city of the Maltese islands.

Every village they drove through emerged as though seen through a sepia lens. The honey-coloured façades of the architecture, bathed in the early afternoon’s golden hue, appeared like dwellings from a bygone era. Dogs roamed the cobbled alleyways, sampling offerings in steel bowls placed on the worn stone steps by thoughtful store owners. Cats squinted on windowsills they shared with scarlet geraniums tumbling from terracotta pots.

She saw no evidence of spotty youths hanging around street corners displaying blank expressions of intense boredom. On the contrary, the adolescents she saw were helping their grandmothers with their shopping carts or zipping by on Vespas dressed in their all-black waiter’s uniform. There was also a distinct absence of the mass migration of exhausted office workers, their faces set in a grimace of determination, up against the clock, every minute to be accounted for.

Niko swung the ancient Fiat deftly through the city walls so fast that Olivia had to cling onto the side of her seat. There seemed to be no speed restrictions in place, nor any obligation to give way or use indicators, and road courtesy was regarded as a sign of weakness to be exploited, especially by the drivers of the ubiquitous snub-nosed buses who treated all other road users as either invisible or irritating flies.

As they screeched to a halt at the front steps of the magnificent Phoenicia Hotel overlooking the cinematic Grand Harbour, a whiff of salty sea breeze tickled at Olivia’s nostrils. She allowed her eyes to rest for a moment on the colourful local fishing boats, jostling for attention alongside their sleek luxury yacht cousins and cruise liner rivals, all set against a backdrop of golden spires and fortified bastions.

‘Until later, Olivia.’

Niko deposited her holdall at her feet, then seized her shoulders in a strong, vice-like grip to plant a fragrant kiss on each of her cheeks. Stunned, she watched in silence as he folded his long legs back into the tiny car and sped away, dust billowing up in his slipstream. To her surprise, a sharp blast of homesickness attacked her chest until she realised why – Niko reminded her of Matteo.

Was that why she had felt so comfortable in his company?

Collecting her bag, she strode through the hotel’s columned portico into the impressive lobby, taking in its mosaic floor, the stupendously elaborate chandelier overhead, and the sweeping split staircase that had been carpeted in crimson. The room even housed a grand piano, its keys currently silent.

Check-in was swift and efficient. When she got to her room, she swallowed two painkillers, dragged out the Caribbean-inspired bikini she had purchased especially for the trip, tied up her hair and made her way to the Bastion Pool deck. As she pushed through the wrought-iron gates fashioned in the shape of a peacock and caught her first glimpse of the twinkling aquamarine-blue of the pool set against the cobalt of the Mediterranean Sea, and the island of Manoel beyond, her headache drained from her temples.

She had taken only three steps into the pool area when the pool guy rushed over to place a mattress and drape the thickest, fluffiest, whitest towel she’d ever seen over a sun-lounger, before offering her a cocktail from the well-stocked bar. On impulse, she ordered a tall glass of rosé and soda with plenty of ice in honour of Hollie and Matteo, tossed her paperback onto the plastic table, dropped her kaftan to the floor and dived into the crystal-clear water.

Ah, pure unadulterated heaven!

After twenty lengths in the deserted pool she felt the compacted muscles at the back of her neck and shoulders loosen and her body relax. Thirty minutes later she’d completed her session of water therapy and flopped onto the sun-lounger, totally rejuvenated. She took a couple of sips of the waiting spritzer, lay back, closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep. When she woke, she had a throbbing head and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Glancing at the watch she had forgotten to remove, she shot up from her recliner. Six o’clock! No way! She only had an hour before Niko would be back to collect her.

Chapter 6

Olivia stood under the invigorating jets of the power shower, mortified that her skin had taken on an unflattering hue of post-box red. She had committed the heinous crime of forgetting to cover her lily-white skin with copious lashings of the Factor 50 suntan lotion that she had picked up from the Duty Free. Matteo would be horrified at the lapse in her skin care regime – all those wrinkles! But it was the peeling pink Rudolph nose that caused her the most immediate concern. She patted on a smudge of foundation and dusted her cheekbones with a sweep of blusher before stepping into a short, apricot-and-ivory sundress, fastening the silver-hooped belt around her waist, and then sliding her toes into her favourite sequin-bedecked sandals.

Her wardrobe decisions were not taxing – she had only had enough room to cram one outfit suitable for a family celebration into her holdall. She ran her fingers through her caramel hair, now highlighted with flaxen streaks from the sun, and tucked one side behind her ear before attaching a pair of large pearl earrings – a bon voyage gift from Rachel.

A glint of gold in the bathroom mirror caused Olivia to pause in her preparations. Was it okay to still be wearing her wedding ring? Should she remove it?

She wiggled off the band that had meant so much to her when Nathan had first slotted it onto her finger seven years earlier. A white line remained, so incongruous against her sunburnt fingers, and tears suddenly prickled at the corners of her eyes as she placed the precious symbol of her marriage into her cosmetics purse. However, there was no time to dissect the final conversation she’d had with Nathan before he had left for Singapore, or to worry about why he hadn’t returned her calls since he’d arrived because if she didn’t hurry up she would be late.

For some reason, Olivia was inordinately pleased at Niko’s reaction when he appeared in the temple-like foyer of the hotel at precisely 7 p.m. and insisted she performed a twirl in the centre of the mosaic on the lobby floor. She knew her self-esteem had taken a battering over the last few weeks and she was grateful to him for his polite attentiveness.

‘You look spectacular, Ms Hamilton.’

To her surprise, when Niko dropped a kiss on the back of her hand, an unfamiliar ripple of desire curled through her lower abdomen – the guy really was handsome, with smouldering chocolate-brown eyes, his hair neatly barbered into a quiff for the party, and a tight black T-shirt that showcased his gym-honed biceps to perfection. Olivia self-consciously re-tucked her hair behind her ear and forced herself not to blush when she saw Niko had noticed how the kiss had affected her.

Again, Niko drove his rust-blistered Fiat out of the city at speed, its ancient suspension objecting loudly to the wanton thrashing, a light breeze playing with Olivia’s hair. The roads into the interior of the island where the Garzia family’s farm and vineyard were located became increasingly narrow and winding the further they travelled and the view beyond the tiny vehicle’s path was jaw-droppingly scenic. There wasn’t a single high-rise sugar-cube of a hotel in sight, simply an undulating patchwork of scorched earth with swirls of golden wheat and barley interspersed with neat rows of green vines and potato crops.

They shot through ancient hamlets, their buildings blending in perfect harmony with the landscape, their stonework rinsed in a weak solution of ochre-coloured paint. Everywhere she looked there was an image that merited a gilt frame. There was no jarring intrusion of modern architecture, only pretty alleyways dotted with ceramic pots stuffed with white geraniums and tiny chapels in tranquil town squares trimmed with fairy lights. In no time at all, they were whizzing past a medieval walled town, rising from the meadows like a desert mirage, its skyline tinged with a golden halo of light.

‘What an amazing view!’

‘That is Mdina – you must find the time to take a trip there whilst you are here. The city was the capital of Malta until the Knights of St John arrived in the sixteenth century and chose to make Valletta their home instead. If you are interested in art, St John’s Cathedral houses a magnificent painting by Caravaggio, but for me Mdina is a truly magical place.’

Olivia pondered the town set into a low hill, wondering what secrets its walls concealed as Niko continued with his tour guide soliloquy.

‘It is necessary to explore its streets on foot as only wedding cars, hearses, and emergency vehicles, are permitted through the fortified gates, and it is for this reason it has been named “the silent city”. A visit to St Paul’s Cathedral is an absolute must; its ceiling frescoes are spectacular! I’d be happy to show you round if you like?’

‘That sounds great, thank you.’

Olivia tore her eyes away from the impressive sight and smiled across at her new friend and willing chauffeur. He clearly adored his country with a passion and she immediately regretted her faded connection with her own hometown of Leeds. Of course, she still visited her parents who lived in a small village on the outskirts as often as she could, but she hadn’t graced the city with her presence for over twenty years. Yet here she was, agreeing to visit the medieval capital of an island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea with a guy she had just met.

When the sign for Zebbug appeared, Niko slowed the Fiat to a more respectable speed and Olivia heaved a sigh of relief, loosening her grip on the side of the passenger seat.

‘This is a very picturesque village.’ Olivia smiled, surveying the miniature church that could only have room to fit a congregation of twelve. ‘Why is the bunting out?’

‘In Malta, every community celebrates the day of its own patron saint with a feast, or festa. There’s always a competition to see who can put on the biggest, the best, the wildest, the most exuberant of shows. We decorate the streets and buildings with lights and flags. We have parades and lots of fireworks. Children toss confetti from the balconies. Everyone joins in. We even have brass band concerts, which I think is a hangover from the British rule.’ Niko smirked.

‘Our food is shared and the wine flows freely. It’s a shame you won’t still be with us when my favourite festival takes place – l’imnarja. There’s traditional music, lots of dancing and a plentiful supply of fenkata – a wonderful rabbit stew. There are horse and donkey races – I can just see you perched on the back of a donkey.’ Niko nodded down at Olivia’s silver sandals with four-inch heels and she laughed – practical they were not! ‘Okay, at last, we arrive!’

Niko swung the steering wheel to the left and the little car bumped down a cypress-lined avenue, the land to either side carpeted with fennel and dotted with purple and white clover, wild irises and rows upon rows of lush green vines and vegetables. Then, just a few seconds later, the Garzia family’s three-hundred-year-old farmhouse came into view, the burnished stone of the house’s crumbling façade reflecting the final golden rays of the evening sun.

Olivia jumped from the passenger seat, a smile tugging her lips. To her untrained eye, the building’s architecture held a Moroccan feel, built around a central courtyard that would no doubt provide an oasis of shade and calm on any other day but this. Carved niches in the surrounding walls were adorned with blue-and-white ceramic pots filled to bursting with bright, fragrant geraniums. Chiselled plaques and terracotta urns completed the illusion that she had inadvertently stumbled into a film set.

The evening’s celebration was well underway. Maltese music tinkled in the background from speakers dangling from an upstairs window, and necklaces of fairy lights hung from the eaves like floral garlands. Two long wooden tables, bedecked with red and white gingham tablecloths, were laden with bowls of salad, couscous and chunks of rough brown bread, interspersed with well-used earthenware jugs filled with the Garzia estate’s red wine. At least thirty people were either devouring the delicious food at the tables or chattering at the kitchen door before delivering even more dishes to the tables. Children in their smartest shirts and party dresses, their hair combed so neatly they looked comical, chased pet cats away after tempting them forward with morsels of ciabatta dipped in home-pressed olive oil.

The rich fragrance of home-cooked cuisine drifted to Olivia’s nostrils and caused her stomach to growl, but the cacophony of laughter and high-pitched gossip, coupled with crying babies, shrieking children and barking dogs made her feel like an intruder. As she was absorbed into the throng of Niko’s family, she was surprised at the frisson of nerves that tingled through her veins, so she took a quick step backwards, her heel crushing down on Niko’s toe and causing him to expel a yelp of pain.

‘Oh, Niko, I’m so sorry!’

Olivia reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear again, her go-to reaction whenever she felt anxious. She suddenly felt as though she had no right to be there, as though she were gate-crashing a private family celebration, and envisioned the gathering falling into a horrified silence that she’d had the audacity to intrude on the joyous occasion – but of course they didn’t. Niko immediately grasped the situation, linked his arm through hers and led her to where the party’s guests of honour presided at the head of the largest food-laden table.

‘Hi, Nanna, Pops, this is Olivia Hamilton.’

‘Ah, Olivia, it’s good to meet you. Welcome to our home!’ declared Niko’s grandmother, a petite, well-rounded woman, her ash-coloured hair set into neat rows of curls in honour of the auspicious occasion. She reached up with her thumb and forefinger outstretched to pinch Olivia’s cheek. ‘My husband and I are thrilled you could join us to celebrate our anniversary this evening, aren’t we, Filip?’

Olivia couldn’t prevent a giggle from erupting when she saw Niko’s grandfather, who had an enormous linen serviette tucked into the neck of his shirt, pause theatrically, a huge barbecued chicken leg at his lips. He smiled a welcome at Olivia, rolled his eyes at his wife, then resumed his enjoyment of the family feast, every dish prepared with a well-practised hand and a soupçon of affection.

‘Thank you so much for inviting me, it looks like a great party!’

‘Ach.’ Mrs Garzia waved her arthritic hand as though it was nothing before switching to speak to Niko in speedy Maltese. From her tone, Olivia imagined her saying something along the lines of ‘Fetch the girl a glass of wine, Niko, and make sure she eats some of your mother’s fenek. She looks like one of those anorexics. A plate of your mother’s home-cooking is what she needs.’

Despite her lack of understanding of the local language, Olivia was left in no doubt as to the old lady’s dim view of her slender frame and washed-out complexion. Whilst Niko went off to do his grandmother’s bidding, she perched on the edge of a wooden bench at the adjacent table, next to a small boy who immediately fixed his dark brown eyes on her, clearly wondering who this strange woman was that his Uncle Niko had brought to dinner until he was distracted by the arrival of the anniversary cake, topped with a fanfare of candles.