And it made me realise how nice it was to be sitting there, with him, just laughing. And there was the prospect of another few days of this, where perhaps we would find out more about each other. And the possibility of nasty habits and character flaws. Which I was sure he didn’t have. Perhaps not all men were like Fred, maybe there were some decent ones out there who were just as confused about life as women were.
What had Evelyn said? Sometimes you meet the right person at the right time and when that happens, grab them with both hands.
And then suddenly I really could see myself coming to visit him in his little rental apartment overlooking the sea because we would be friends. And maybe, just maybe, more than that.
26
We enjoyed a leisurely lunch together, another meal where we didn’t have to rush because no one was urging us out from our table so someone else could sit down, and apart from that we talked so much that we almost forgot to eat.
He was kind and polite and – a thing I’d seldom encountered – gentle. People talked about gentlemen but very few of them actually were in my experience. There always seemed to be that dominance things that was so tiresome. The alpha male wanting to impress or control or belittle.
Why was this man still single, I wondered. Why hadn’t someone else snapped him up before now?
‘You’re such good company,’ I said, feeling very bold, possibly because I’d had two glasses of wine on top of a very small salad lunch. ‘Why are you still single?’
He sipped his espresso and replaced the cup carefully into the little saucer.
‘After my wife died, I just wanted to be alone. And then as the years went by I never found anyone who could possibly have replaced her.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course,’ I said, feeling rather uncomfortable.
And if I was honest I was a bit disappointed too, because I’d heard of this before. A man who was theoretically single but still mourning the death of his beloved wife. And yet at the same time I could understand and sympathise, and his lasting loyalty to her made me respect him even more.
Still, it dashed my hopes, the possibility that we were somehow becoming – what had he called it? – an item. Of course we weren’t, and how could I really understand his loss after all?
We’d had very different experiences. He’d been happily married with a wife who was practically an angel, while I had been unhappy with Fred but stuck it out for the sake of our son and our marriage vows.
Jack had told me about his extended family who would have given the Waltons a run for their money, whereas I had a few relations who I only ever communicated with in Christmas letters and the occasional phone call, and my son was even at that moment apparently turning my house into a cat rescue centre and possibly finding a new relationship with the local vet.
Which reminded me, I hadn’t had any more messages from Ben in the last days, and I assumed that he and Jenna were still canoodling on my sofa in between brushing the kittens and emptying the wine rack.
Oh well.
‘Of course, I have met other women over the years; in fact, a couple of years ago my granddaughters made it their mission to find me what they coyly refer to as a lady friend. They quickly lost interest because I wouldn’t or couldn’t cooperate,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘But somehow you are different, I enjoy your company. I like being with you. I’m finding it very hard to get my work done because I keep wondering where you are. I like the way you look after your friends, how you laugh.’
My mouth went dry and I felt a thrill of excitement ripple down my spine. The closest Fred had come to saying anything like that was to say he liked the way I ironed his leisure shirts. And heaven knows, there were enough of them.
‘I enjoy your company too,’ I said, my lips sticking to my teeth. I took a sip of water. ‘We’ve had fun, haven’t we?’
‘We still have a few days to go,’ he said. ‘Let’s enjoy them.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ I said.
‘So shall we go and buy some Rab cake, and see what all the fuss is about?’
I took the street map out and spread it across the table, trying to remember where the shop was, and we tried to work it out, me spilling water across the table in my enthusiasm and him laughing about it.
In the end the waitress told us, putting a cross on the soggy map with her pen, and it was nowhere near where we had thought it was, but that didn’t matter either.
We strolled through the narrow streets, looking into the shop windows, past the ancient pharmacy, through the tree-lined squares. After a few minutes he took my hand to draw my attention to something, perhaps a beautiful mug in one of the pottery studio windows because I had said I wanted to take one back for Ben. And then in a way that was gentle and friendly and not at all possessive, he didn’t let go. And once more it changed from us walking the same route, to us walking together. And I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Younger people didn’t seem to hold hands, I’d noticed. Perhaps it wasn’t a cool thing to do any more. Which was a pity.
* * *
We returned to the boat just before six o’clock and he went off to do some work, saying he would see me later, and I went back to my cabin and sat outside on my little balcony overlooking the road which ran along the quayside, thinking about what he had said and what I had said and dissecting everything with the thoroughness of a hormonal teenage girl.
Suddenly, I could hear the honking of car horns and some excited shouting, and it was coming nearer every second. And then out of nowhere, a stream of perhaps fifty or sixty cars went slowly along the quayside, all of them blowing their horns and flashing their headlights. What on earth was all that about?
