Rocco drew himself up with some dignity and brushed the leaves off his shoulders, and then he picked up the bowl, stalked back up the gangway and into the ship, a couple of cucumber chunks falling in his wake.
I caught up with Jack, who was a few steps ahead of me.
‘You’re not going to mention that in your article, are you?’
He chuckled. ‘Probably not, but it would be funny. Theirs is evidently a passionate relationship.’
‘Passionate? It must be exhausting. I don’t think she was expecting to be working in the kitchen,’ I said, ‘so perhaps temperatures are running high.’
* * *
The rest of the tour was delightful. Ludmilla did have a lot of knowledge and this was helped by her microphone so everyone – even people with hearing aids and the ones who had hearing aids but refused to wear them – could hear her.
‘The Romans called Rab the Happy Island,’ she said with a brilliant smile, ‘and so it remains. The island is protected by two saints. St Marin and St Christopher, and here we are blessed with four bell towers belonging to different churches, and a thirteenth-century town wall to protect the town from invaders entering the city.’
‘Well, that makes no sense at all. They could have just walked up here like we did,’ Craig said, looking puzzled.
Ludmilla stopped in a delightful courtyard and we clustered around her.
‘And the old town invites you to relax and enjoy simple pleasures. Here in front of you we have a long established Benedictine convent established in the eleventh century. There are still nuns working there today. They live a quiet life in meditation and prayer. You probably won’t see them.’
At that moment a three-wheeler motorbike pulling a trailer behind it pulled up and stopped in a cloud of dust and a screech of brakes. A young nun in a black robe and white wimple hopped off the bike, waved cheerfully at Ludmilla and started unloading some canvas shopping bags which clanked provocatively with the sound of bottles. Everyone got out their phones and started taking pictures.
‘Well, what I should have said is you don’t see them very often. Some of them have chosen seclusion,’ Ludmilla added. ‘But I know that particular nun, she is a friend of my mother’s. I know that is Sister Mary Mercedes. She used to be a professional motorbike racer until she had the call. I think she is delivering the communion wine.’
‘I’d quite like to be a nun,’ Dawn said thoughtfully. ‘I think I’d be good at it too. I expect it’s a quiet life, a room of my own with no one nagging. Or unpleasantness. Or certain people making a mess.’
‘Yes,’ Craig said rather waspishly, ‘you’d be suited in many ways. But you’d have to be Sister Mary Toyota.’
Ludmilla pressed on. ‘The nuns bake Rab cake and work in their gardens and make healing oils and creams. And they spend a lot of time in contemplation.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to do gardening,’ Dawn said, ‘I’m not much good at that. Apart from anything else I’m allergic to so many things. I wouldn’t mind being in charge of the communion wine though. It might be an opportunity to water it down. Perhaps we could job share? I could do Monday to Wednesday. And she could do Thursday to Sunday, which would be their busiest day. The rest of the time I could be contemplating.’
Craig tutted. ‘Dawn, I don’t think you’ve got the right idea about nuns at all. The last time you contemplated anything was Jennifer’s wedding when you couldn’t decide which hat to wear.’
‘Seclusion is sounding more attractive by the minute,’ Dawn said and stalked off.
Ludmilla was still talking. ‘Along here we have a beautiful black oak tree which is hundreds of years old, and there is a lovely view of the bay below. There is singing around this tree at Christmas and on special days. There are steps down to the beach over there if anyone wishes to go there later.’
We all peered at the aforementioned steps and decided not to. After all, there would be the prospect of the haul back up again later.
We walked on through the narrow streets which were enclosed on both sides by high walls and the occasional door.
‘And behind these doors there is an open-air cinema in the summer, and several beautiful gardens. There was a church here but someone stole it stone by stone many years ago to build a house. By the time it was noticed, it was too late. He was known as the bad neighbour.’
‘We had someone like that when we lived in Milton Keynes,’ Belinda said. ‘Do you remember, Don? He stole four inches off our garden when he replaced his fence. He didn’t think we would notice, but I did because the new one impinged on my miniature statue of David with the removable fig leaf. I got it from the garden centre; it’s just like the original but smaller.’
‘Which bit?’ Don chortled, and Craig joined in.
‘We come to the end of the upper street. Below us is the middle street and below that the lower street, which used to be – how would you say it? – the red-light district. Now it is very pleasant with cafés and shops.’
‘Nuns at the top and brothels at the bottom,’ Don said. ‘Pretty straightforward, at least you knew where you stood. Not much chance for a mix-up.’
We carried on a little further and then Ludmilla led us down a broad stone staircase towards the quayside again.
‘The shop where you can buy Rab cake is just along there and turn right, the lady will be expecting you either today or tomorrow. Just mention theAtalantaand my name, and beyond it is the shop where the nuns sell their produce. And religious things. Keyrings dedicated to St Benedict, and very nice notebooks and pencils. It is well worth a visit and a good cause.’
She then gave us a potted version of the history of the island, which seemed to consist of various marauding forces taking over and then being ousted by different armies, and on one occasion the preserved relics of St Christopher deflecting all the enemy arrows back at the invading troops. Which seemed pretty impressive.
