Page 49 of The Little Porto Book Club

I give him a coy smile. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to your invitation.’ Am I flirting? Lucinda could very well be making the choice between someone’s life and death and I’m here attempting my hand at flirting.

‘You didn’t say no. And she made Pão de Deus.’

Pão de Deus means the bread of God, because they were traditionally served on All Saints’ Day. They’re a sweet brioche dusted with coconut, usually made for an afternoon treat when guests visit because they’re a comfort food and absolutely delicious too. ‘Let me guess, she made a batch on the off chance I visit?’ This is what happens when you’re both single and of marriageable age. The cogs are working overtime.

‘Yes, she’s been baking ever since your visit the other day.’

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, as I tilt my face in his direction. ‘You know what she’s hoping for, don’t you?’

‘Marriage, babies.’ He lifts his shoulders as if it’s just the way it is.

‘Fine. I’ll accept your invitation, but we’ll have to stop somewhere so I can buy her a thank you gift in case my mother finds out I visited twice without one.’

‘OK, sure.’

I sigh. ‘We’ll have to let her know this is strictly platonic.’

He holds up his hands in surrender. ‘I’m your humble sidekick, am I not?’

‘Humble?’ A smile tugs at my lips.

‘Humble and at your service, just like Detective Amber Quill’s faithful friend, Dr Alexander. Tell me, do they finally act on their impulses at some stage?’

I give him a long stare. ‘Are you asking for spoilers? I will never be that person, Tiago.’ They do act on their feelings and kiss under a blazing sun on a Santorini clifftop at the culmination of book ten. ‘I have high hopes there will be a book eleven, but so far, there haven’t been any announcements. The author’s website hasn’t been updated in a year. It strikes fear in my heart – what if The Quill Chronicles are finished forever? I’ll be lost without her. There’s always rereading, but it’s not the same as a new book to sink into, is it?’

‘Hmm, from that I deduce that book ten wrapped things up nicely so I’m guessing our detective and her fiercely intelligent sidekick do commit to a smooch.’ Fiercely intelligent sidekick, more like creator of chaos, but I let it go.

‘A smooch?’

‘A long, well overdue smooch, under a glittery sky of stars.’ He’s not far off.

‘You’d have to read faster to find out. Don’t do that though. Savour every word.’

We stop at a frutaria so I can buy some fresh fruit to gift Zeliá. The small family-run greengrocers in Porto sell the best quality fruit and vegetables. The colourful displays of fresh fruit outside always pull me in. There is nothing quite as tasty as organic fruit grown under the Portuguese sun. I choose a section of plump, juicy alperces and pêsegoes; apricots and peaches, which are in season over the summer, and ripe and ready to eat.

Back at Tiago’s home, his mum Zeliá lavishes praise on me for the fruit and bustles off to the kitchen to get us some drinks. She soon returns with a fruit platter and a jug of iced limonada. ‘So, Tiago tells me you’re investigating a book club friend who’s gone rogue! How interesting. You don’t think she really offed her husband, do you? Nothing that exciting ever happens in our lives.’

My mouth falls open. He told his MOTHER? His Portuguese mother! This is unacceptable, especially for a sidekick. ‘Ah, excuse me, Tiago, can I speak with you privately for a moment?’

Zeliá stands. ‘I’ll slice some bread and cheese to go with the fruit. Back in a minute.’

Tiago’s complexion pinkens and so it should. I hope his toes curl in panic. ‘What happens in book club, stays in book club, yes?’ I say, my jaw clicking.

His poor lip is at risk of being bitten clean off. ‘You know what mums are like! She had me on the ropes, quizzing me about you, Viviane. Wanted all the juicy details. How long you’ve been back in Porto, where you live, what you do. If you like boats.’

‘Boats?’

‘She has a thing about boats.’

‘OK, and … ?’

‘And I panicked! She’s already texted your cousin Catarina and asked her for your mother’s phone number.’

‘Oh no.’ This is suboptimal! ‘Did Catarina give it to her?’ My minx of a cousin who’s married to the walking red flag wouldn’t think twice about giving out my mother’s phone number.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tiago! Now we have two disasters on our hands! Firstly, our mothers meeting and planning our upcoming nuptials, never mind we’re not even dating, and second, that there’s a possible murderer in our book club and a Portuguese mum knows, which means before long everyone in Porto will know.’ This is a disaster, an unmitigated disaster.