They were so hard to get right. Alice had never liked them, not even in the form of presents, although he was pretty sure even she wouldn’t turn her nose up at an unexpected diamond necklace. She had hated it when he’d tried to whisk her away for a mystery weekend. There he’d been, dancing round the bedroom, triumphantly brandishing air tickets that he wouldn’t let her see and feeling slightly foolish, but, instead of swooning with appropriate delight, she’d gone into an immediate panic-flap. ‘But I have to know where we’re going!’ she’d wailed. ‘How will anyone know where to get hold of us in an emergency? What do I take? Hot place or cold? City, country, coast?’ All the spontaneity of the gesture had fizzled away like bubbles from stale champagne, so that in the end he’d simply given in and shouted, frustrated and thwarted, ‘OK then, it’s bloody Venice. Happy now?’ And she had been. Perfectly. Easy as that. And they’d had a wonderful time. He should have known better really; Alice was simply one of those people who need to feel they have complete control over everything they’re doing.
