Every so often there was a glimpse of a garden through some railings or an open door. There were flowers spilling out from cracks in the walls and over fences and in terracotta pots that lined the simple steps up to sun-bleached front doors. Unusual colours and shapes, olive trees and twisted black oaks, tumbling sage and rosemary bushes that released their scent as we passed. Butterflies dodging from flower to flower among the bougainvillea. And the further away from the harbour we walked, the simpler the streets became.
At last, we stopped, in front of us a round tower which looked almost like a chess piece.
‘The last watchtower, built by the Venetians,’ Jack said. ‘There used to be others, but I think the stone was taken away to build other things. Feel up to a little climb? There should be a great view.’
I agreed I was, and he paid the small entry fee. Once at the top, I turned away, leaning on the guard rail for a few minutes, pretending to be overawed by the outlook, but in fact trying to disguise how out of breath I was, and then I gazed down at the wonderful view of the town.
A patchwork of terracotta roofs stretched away below us and the sparkling sea beyond.
‘A good vantage point,’ he said. ‘People always like to be high up, don’t they? To keep watch for invaders or maybe just to enjoy the sight.’
‘It’s glorious,’ I agreed, ‘so tranquil, away from everyone and everything. Perhaps that’s another reason?’
‘Do you like that?’ he said. ‘So do I. It can be so much easier to be on your own sometimes. To have time to take things in. I think that’s perhaps one thing I’m not so sure about, being on the boat with a lot of other people, constantly hearing the same stories of why they are here, the delays they had with their travel, what their cabin is like, what they think of the food. Never really getting to know them. And by the way, you are not the only one who has had problems with the water temperature in the shower.’
‘I have people I do know with me,’ I said, ‘so I’m lucky.’
‘And yet for some reason they are at pains to scurry off and leave you,’ he said, smiling.
‘They think you and I are…’ I tailed off, not quite knowing what to say.
‘A thing? And of course we aren’t,’ he said with a comical look.
I grinned back at him, thrilled that he had understood the situation and neither of us were bothered what other people were assuming.
‘Absolutely not,’ I agreed, and he laughed.
‘Good, glad we cleared that up,’ he said.
He took my hand as we walked back along the road, quite naturally, as though perhaps we were indeed ‘a thing’. And I realised I had a foolish smile on my face, that I was happy, and occasionally he looked down at me to see if I was all right, and then he smiled too, and I felt a new and unexpected contentment begin to grow in me.
We carried on along the road until we reached an unassuming building with a modern-looking statue outside. Inside, we could just see into the church, and then we walked around the stone cloisters, enjoying the shade and the scent of the old stone mingled with herbs that grew in the garden. There were pomegranate trees, tumbling roses and beautiful flowers everywhere. It was quite magical. Jack told me some interesting things about the place, pointing out a very rare book in the little museum, and explaining the history of the place.
We carried on with our walk. The road was wider with more cars and an actual pavement, and then we turned left down an enticing-looking little alleyway, which brought us back down to the water and the walk beside the sea.
‘Let’s get lunch,’ he said. ‘It’s two thirty and that coffee was a long time ago. What do you think?’
Actually, I thought it was an excellent idea.
‘Only if we split the bill,’ I said, holding up an admonishing finger.
He gave a funny little bow. ‘Of course.’
We wandered along, finding each place looked more appealing than the last until eventually we settled on a place with an outside pergola. It had plastic windows for when the weather was bad, but this afternoon they were tied back and we sat at a table with a lovely view out over the boats and the water.
A few minutes later a crocodile of familiar people walked past us, a young man at the head of the line holding up a stick with a red flag attached. Near the end of the line, I saw Anna and Harriet, and of course they saw us too. Anna gave an exaggerated thumbs-up sign and Harriet waved.
‘First we will make our way to the Franciscan monastery where we will explore the twelfth-century church, the cloisters and the lovely gardens. After that we will go to see the Venetian tower and one of the best views on the island…’
Jack and I looked at each other and laughed.
‘You see,’ Jack said, ‘we have already had those places practically to ourselves. They will have to cluster around trying to hear what he is saying.’
‘We’ve been spotted; you do realise that?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘That’s fine by me, I’m happy with it.’
Me too, I realised. Perhaps the tour guide would know more about the history of the town than we did, but we had taken it all at our own pace, and I had liked listening to Jack’s deep voice, telling me little details about statues and carvings. I was enjoying myself so much.
