The closer they got to Venice the next morning, the more excited Shelagh became. Her glee was infectious and Patrick could not help sharing her joy.
Unable to drive all the way, they found a small hotel on the mainland, and leaving the car, took a boat towards the heart of the city. The boat glided down a series of canals, winding its way through the tall buildings. As they entered the Grand Canal, the city seemed to open out in front of them.
"Oh Patrick," Shelagh said dreamily, staring all around her, "isn't it lovely, it's beautiful, it's…"
"Rather romantic."
"Yes," she giggled, "Patrick, I was wondering, whether you would like to go out, just the two of us, for dinner, tonight?"
"Are you asking me out on a date Mrs. Turner?"
"Well, I, I, yes," she said, stressing the final word with an almost uncharacteristic air of confidence, "I mean," she continued in her more usual manner, "when we were courting either you took me out, or I came to the house, I never took you anywhere. I want to make that up to you, and this seems as good a time and place."
Patrick took his wife's hand and pressed his lips gently to it.
"I would be honoured."
The disembarked near the Rialto Bridge and wandered through the rows of shops towards the Piazza San Marco. The contents of one of the shop's window suddenly gave Patrick an idea. He just needed to find an excuse to go back, to slip away unnoticed.
After crossing the Piazza San Marco, they entered St Mark's Basilica. The interior of the church with its fine decoration and golden mosaics sparkled in the late summer sunshine. They continued to wander round, and soon Patrick was presented with an opportunity to escape back to the Rialto Bridge. Shelagh and Timothy said that they wanted to climb up into the church's four choir lofts, so Patrick said that he would take the baby and wait for them in the church. He watched them disappear then headed out of the church back into the Piazza. Moving as quickly as he could, he found the boutique where he had seen what he wanted. Finding the right sizes, he purchased them and asked for them to be delivered to their hotel that afternoon. He then rushed back to St Mark's, hoping that his absence had not been noticed. He got to the main door and saw Shelagh and Timothy heading towards him.
"Where did you go?" Shelagh said, a flustered tone to her voice "we've been looking everywhere for you."
"Sorry, I needed a breath of fresh air, so we went for a walk," he lied.
After a lazy lunch of bruschetta, prosciutto, cheeses and salad, they took a gondola ride back to the hotel. On the way back Patrick and Shelagh explained to Timothy that they were going to be going out together that evening and that they trusted him to look after himself and his sister while they were gone.
"What about my dinner?" Timothy asked.
"You can have these," Patrick said handing him a few lira, "and you can order something at the hotel."
Timothy looked down at his sister, who was snuggled half-asleep in his arms. "And what happens if she starts crying?"
"You know what to do," Shelagh said, "I've watched you with her lots of times."
"But you've always been there Mum."
"And I've seen enough to completely trust you Tim. I'll make sure she is fed and settled before we go, hopefully she will stay asleep. Have confidence in yourself."
"Alright then," he hesitantly agreed.
Later that evening, Patrick and Shelagh were getting ready to go out. Patrick was wearing a white shirt, dark trousers and the one and only tie he had brought, but Shelagh was struggling to find something she considered appropriate. She rummaged through the rucksack, trying to find something that was not too casual or crumpled. Patrick stood watching her, before saying.
"Shelagh, these are for you, to wear tonight." He reached under the bed and handed Shelagh a large bag, a designer boutique's name printed across it that he had hidden there when they arrived back at the hotel.
"Patrick, what's…" she began, but he interrupted her.
"As you know, I'm not very good at picking colours, so I thought that I would be safe with these." Shelagh opened the bag, and gasped at its contents. Patrick smiled at the look on her face, her eyes widened and sparkled. She pulled out a black satin dress, and held it out in front of her. It had neat capped sleeves and a rounded neckline. It was nipped in at the waist, and then flared out gently to the hem. She then pulled out a pair of black leather shoes, with a delicate heel and little bows on the uppers.
"Do you like them?" Patrick asked.
"They're, they're beautiful, but why and when…"
"When I went for that walk. And because, I love you, Shelagh, and you told me the other day that you always wanted a beautiful dress, like the ones the other girls went dancing in. Well, here you go, here's that beautiful dress, your beautiful dress," he put his hands on her waist, "why don't you try it on?"
Shelagh kissed Patrick's nose, then began to undo the zip of her day dress. Letting it slip to the floor, she put the black satin one over her head. Before she could do it herself, Patrick did up the zip, so eager he was to see her transformed. It fitted her perfectly, finished several inches above her knees and the neckline skimmed her cleavage, showing enough to be alluring yet remaining modest. She slipped on her new shoes. The heels were higher and thinner than she usually wore, she wobbled a little on them at first, but like the dress, they fitted perfectly.
"There's just one thing this ensemble needs," Patrick said. He reached out and unpinned Shelagh's hair, teasing it out with his fingers, draping it across her shoulders. "You look breathtaking, the most beautiful woman in the world." he finished.
He watched her staring at herself in the mirror, running her hands over her waist, checking the length at the back, adjusting the front so that she was comfortable. Noticing him watching her she turned round and said,
"Thank you Patrick for making me feel so special."
He kissed her neck, and then said, "Now, I think you were taking me on a date."
They made their way back to the old part of town, and a restaurant on the water's edge which they had spotted earlier in the day. They took their seats at a table in a quiet corner by the window. There were tall, thin candles on the tables, the flickering lights mirroring the movement of water outside. The waiter asked, in English, what they would like to drink. Before Patrick could say anything, Shelagh said.
"Could we have a bottle of Prosecco, please, and some water."
"Prosecco!" Patrick said grinning, "Are we celebrating something Mrs. Turner?" he teased.
"I suppose you could say that we are celebrating," she said, her blue eyes staring into his, "we're celebrating our love, our faith and trust in each other, the journey we have been on, both this adventure, and the adventure of our relationship, and the beauty of it all. I think all that is worthy of a bottle of something bubbly, don't you think?"
"You always know exactly what to say," Patrick smiled, his wife's words warming his heart.
"And as this is the first time I've ever taken you out, I want us to have the best of everything."
The waiter returned with a heavily laden tray. He placed the bottle, jug and glasses on the table and asked if they were ready to order starters.
"Uno minuto, per favore," Patrick replied.
"Prego!"
"Exactly how many foreign languages do you speak?" Shelagh asked after the waiter left.
"None fluently," Patrick replied, "I've just picked bits of French, German and Italian up over the years. Now let's open this bottle!"
He picked the Prosecco up out of the ice bucket, popped the cork, and poured first into Shelagh's glass and then into his own. Shelagh raised her glass and said.
"To us!"
"To us!"
They took sips of their Prosecco, and laughed at the sensations in their mouths caused by the bubbles.
"Oooh that's really nice," Shelagh giggled, taking another mouthful.
"Good choice," Patrick agreed, "now, let's see what's on this menu."
The waiter returned and Patrick chose gnocchi followed by sardines, polenta, and grilled vegetables whilst Shelagh decided to try Carpaccio of beef followed by mushroom ravioli in cream sauce. The starters arrived just as Shelagh began to pour each of them another glass of Prosecco.
"Bon appétit!" she said. Patrick giggled at her.
"Wrong country my dear, you mean buon appetito!"
"Shush, show off!"
They began to eat, and both agreed that they had made good choices. Patrick's gnocchi were feather-light and the sauce rich and buttery and Shelagh's Carpaccio melted in her mouth.
"Do you want to try one?" Patrick asked, pointing at his bowl.
"If that is alright?" she replied, but before she could move her fork towards his bowl, he had picked one up on the prongs of his own fork and began moving it towards her. Instinctively she opened her lips and felt prongs resting on her tongue and the potato dumpling warming the inside of her mouth. Patrick's eyes met hers as he removed his fork.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"That was wonderful," she replied, with such wistfulness to her voice that Patrick wondered whether she was just talking about the gnocchi.
Their starter plates were cleared and they returned their attentions to each other.
"I don't think I will ever be able to thank you enough for this dress," Shelagh said.
"It is a small token of my gratitude that you are my wife, my beautiful, compassionate, wonderful, selfless wife, who has allowed her husband to drag her and her children half way across Europe, with very little complaint, not knowing where she's going or even where she's going to be eating and sleeping each night. I could buy you every beautiful dress in London, Paris and Milan and I still would want to thank you more."
"Patrick, if you needed me to, I would go to the end of the earth with you. I know I was not happy about this trip when you first suggested it, but now I am so glad that we are seeing it through. The more I learn of you, the more I love you."
"Really?"
"Yes of course." She leant across the table, cupped his chin in her hands and kissed him. "That much," she said.
The waiter arrived with their main courses, and topped up their Prosecco flutes. They began to eat.
"I didn't think I could ever love you more than I did when we left London," Patrick continued once they were alone again, "but every day since, I too have learnt more of you, and yes, my love for you has grown. My love for all three of you has grown."
"We were always a family, but now, I feel that we are so much closer. I feel I know Timothy so much better too, how intelligent, astute and caring he is. I was aware he had all of those characteristics, but not to the extent that he has shown them, towards us both. He really is a wonderful son."
She paused for a moment, and when she noticed that Patrick was watching her said "How's your fish?"
"That was a subtle change of subject," Patrick sniggered, "it's lovely and really fresh, how's yours."
"Fantastic, try some," Shelagh replied, placing a ravioli delicately into Patrick's mouth as he had done with the gnocchi earlier.
"Yes, that was fantastic," he replied with an air of wistfulness almost as pronounced as his wife's.
When the waiter had asked them if they wanted pudding, they decided that they could probably only eat half one each, so agreed to share a Tiramisu. Almost unaware of what they were doing, they spooned the coffee-flavoured concoction into each other's mouths, their eyes unable to tear themselves away from their opposite pair.
Shelagh paid the bill and then her and Patrick left the restaurant and walked along the canal side arm in arm. They began to cross the Ponte degli Scalzi when from a café in front of them the sound of a pair of violinists began to drift across the canal, a lilting waltz floating through the night. They stopped at the apex of the empty bridge, their eyes meeting.
"I know it's not Jim Reeves," Shelagh began "but…"
She took Patrick's hand in hers and placed the other on his shoulder, his spare hand found the small of her back. They waltzed round the bridge, and the longer the violinists played the more blissfully unaware of anything else in the world they became. For that moment was just for them, them, their love and their devotion to each other. Safe in each other's embrace, their movements as one, the strength of their love in visual form. Only when the violinists stopped and took their applause did they return to earth. Patrick held Shelagh tightly to him.
"You always said you wanted to go dancing in a beautiful dress."
"And I always wanted to take a gentleman out for a romantic dinner," Shelagh replied, "it seems that two more of my dreams came true tonight."
They arrived back at the hotel to find Timothy sat up waiting for them. He was wearing his pyjamas and looked very tired.
"Did you have a lovely time?" he asked.
"Yes we did," Shelagh replied, "were you both alright?"
"We were both…" he yawned, "…tickerty boo." He pointed to where his sister was still fast asleep.
"I think it is bedtime for you young man," Patrick said, "thank you for looking after her while we were out."
"Goodnight Mum and Dad," Timothy said hugging them both and getting into bed.
"Goodnight son" they said together.
Patrick and Shelagh climbed into bed and snuggled together.
"Thank you for today," Patrick said.
"No, thank you Patrick," Shelagh replied, "this has been a perfect day."
"I hope that nothing will ever happen to change that."
"Nothing will Patrick, whatever happens tomorrow or indeed any day, nothing will ever change what happened today, nothing."
"I do hope so. I really do"