Šipan
It never ceased to amaze Ana that whatever else was going on, Lloyd was always able to smile and laugh with the children – really, properly, belly laugh by the sound of it.
As she approached, she could see that his face was no longer grey beneath his tan, but glowing with what looked very much like happiness.
“Ana!” he called, “come and meet Marta and Mila. Their mum’s sent some of her gorgeous kro?tule again.”
“Except,” said the girl with her hair in a ponytail, “there are not as many as there should be, because our dog found them when they were cooling. Wow, Mama was cross.”
Her sister mimed running and finger wagging with lively enthusiasm, and Ana remembered Lloyd telling her that Marta was deaf and adored reading because it took her into worlds created simply from words she could see on the page.
It only went to show how important the library was, and the thought sent Ana’s heart plummeting.
After leaving Lloyd a fresh bottle of water and his lunchtime sandwich, Ana continued to wander through the village.
Children played on the town beach behind the harbour, splashing each other noisily, and music drifted lazily from the bar nearest the water.
The only shop on the grassy square was the minimarket, and although she could have bought wine there, she was after something more local.
The narrow inland streets felt forgotten, the only living creature a cat sunning itself on a doorstep.
She thought she remembered a wine shop, but when she reached it, it was closed.
Very closed, given the dust gathering on the bottles in the window.
Just beyond, some enterprising soul had set out a wooden sign.
“Wine tasting 500 metres. Buy direct from the vineyard.” It wasn’t far, so it was definitely worth a punt.
And if she could taste before she bought, so much the better.
You could never be sure with these small producers.
The wine was a displacement activity. She knew it was.
She hoped that by walking away from Dida Krila she might be able to forget herself, just a little.
It was a completely new feeling, one that left her mouth dry with angst, but somehow her problems had become tied up with the boat…
No, that wasn’t right. It was just at the moment that it was hard to think of life onboard without remembering the gloom that had wrapped around them last night, both from Natali’s situation and from her own abject failure to deal with Ivana.
Not that she’d admitted exactly how badly she’d stuffed up the meeting.
It had been hard enough to break it to Lloyd that she hadn’t been able to clear his name.
That he hadn’t been believed. To be fair, he’d been pretty sanguine about it and told her she needed to do whatever she needed to do.
But from the look of him first thing this morning, he hadn’t slept very much either.
Everything about yesterday had knocked sideways her fragile confidence in her ability to do this job.
Of course, when she’d woken in the night she’d thought of a hundred better ways she could have dealt with Ivana.
Things she could have and should have said.
Things that would have certainly improved the outcome for Lloyd.
The same with Natali, really. She’d looked to Ana for guidance about her mother and the cupboard had been pretty much bare.
At least she’d been able to help Meri, but she knew Meri so well she’d instinctively known what her friend needed.
She needed Ana to be the strong one for a while; to be her rock, when it was so very often the other way around.
She’d called her first thing this morning, listened while she sobbed over Zac going home to find Tomi high as a kite, then later called again to check that she’d actually eaten something before leaving for work.
Meri had sworn at her then, but she’d had an almost laugh in her voice when she’d done it.
Already the houses lining the footpath were thinning out.
To her right was a high stone wall, and on the left the ground fell away into a small, dry valley, a couple of villas nestling near the bottom, one surrounded by hives.
The still air was filled with the smell of charcoal, herbs, and meat cooking, so typical of peka, and sure enough a small konoba came into view, deserted now, but if the delicious aromas were anything to go by it would be buzzing by nightfall.
A little way beyond the konoba’s rickety tables the path became a road, and at the bottom of a track angling back on itself was another sign for the tastings, “Winery Ra?ica”. She smiled at the use of English – eminently sensible if you wanted to attract the tourists.
Turning past a small plot of vines, Ana found herself walking between olive trees, some so old their thick trunks were twisted and gnarled into rope-like patterns beneath the whispering leaves.
To her right, an impressive vegetable garden was set out in front of a characterful old farmhouse, green-shuttered outbuildings making up the lowest floor beneath its stone-balustraded terrace.
She was almost in front of it when a man wearing a checked shirt and denim cut offs emerged, blinking in the sunlight. She knew him immediately. The guy from the beach. What were the chances? But he wouldn’t recognise her, surely?
“Had your coffee today?” he asked, dark eyes twinkling.
Oh, so he remembered her all right. And as a grumpy old cow, rather than a fellow moonlight bather. Just her bloody luck.
“You have a mighty good memory,” she replied, with her best cheerful smile. “And yes, for the record, I have.”
He nodded. “Even so, I’ll refrain from corny comments about not being sure it was you with your clothes on.”
Oh, so he’d noticed her underwear on the beach that night, had he? She had to call him out. “To be fair, I wasn’t entirely sure I recognised you. Clothed, I mean.”
“Perhaps I’m not as memorable.” But he was. And there was a spark about him that Ana found infectious, despite knowing it was probably just a prelude to his sales patter. He didn’t disappoint.
“Right. I guess you’re after some wine? Would you like to try it first?” Straight down to business.
“Please. I’m looking for something good.”
“Oh, I’m good. And the wine’s even better.”
How could she not respond? She would look so churlish if she didn’t, and anyway, she found that she wanted to. This harmless banter was making her feel better already.
“So are you sweet or dry?”
He didn’t laugh, didn’t blush, just looked her straight in the eye. He understood the game, all right.
“Well-balanced. I hope. Taste and see, then you can decide. What to buy, I mean. I assume you are interested in buying?” A very slight arch of his eyebrows.
“I need a few bottles to restock the catamaran.”
“You charter? Is that why you’re back on the island?” His tone was different now – interested, friendly. Maybe she’d exhausted his supply of one-liners.
She shook her head. “We’re running a children’s library over the holidays. Mainly books in English and German as part of the county’s literacy programme, and Wednesday is ?ipan day.”
“Then I must bring my daughter when she comes back next week. She’s a great reader and a book in English would be a good challenge.” He started into the outbuilding, and Ana followed. “Divorced dad, you see. Co-parenting though. I’m lucky.”
The room he led her into was windowless and smelt a little musty. Racks of bottles lined the walls, all neatly labelled, and a barrel stood next to an old-fashioned oak dresser whose shelves were filled with glasses, wine stoppers and stacks of small plates.
Corkscrew in hand, he looked over his shoulder. “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Luko Ra?ica, but most people call me Ra?.”
“Ana Me?trovi?. Nobody calls me Me?.”
“I’m not that brave, so Ana it will have to be. Now, what would you like to try? Personally, I think the reds are better, and anyway, I don’t have much rosé left.”
“I like a pragmatic man. Guess it’ll be the reds.
” Chatting to him was as easy as he was on the eye.
He wasn’t conventionally good-looking. His face was too angular, his nose a little bent, but there was something about him all the same – sparkle, an inner confidence – that was making her fizz with attraction.
There was no point trying to rationalise the feeling.
This was nothing but a very welcome slice out of time, so she’d better give in and enjoy it.
“OK. Our wines are a little different to the norm. Since taking over from my father, I’ve been replacing the local vines with more internationally recognised varieties like cabernet and merlot. They grow very well here and, just as importantly, foreign tourists recognise them on the labels.”
“Where are your vines? I only saw a few rows by the gate.”
“Those are for show, mainly. Most of them are in the island’s central valley. It’s the perfect microclimate. But honestly, I can get very boring about soil and grapes, so let’s just taste.”
Ra? uncorked a bottle and poured them half a glass each, walking into the shaft of sunlight from the door and swirling his around. Ana did the same, then lifted the wine to her nose to inhale the aromas.
“Wow! That’s almost like chocolate.”
“It’s the merlot. Try it.”
Ana took a sip and an explosion of fruit hit her mouth. “That’s good,” she said.
“Only good? I was hoping for exceptional at the very least.”
“I’m no wine buff.”
“Would you like to learn?”
“Do lessons cost extra?”
“Well, let me see … it’s Wednesday, and that’s when I give free classes, but only for women of impeccable taste.”
“Looks like I lucked out. Unless calling your merlot good rather than exceptional disqualifies me?”
He laughed. “Oh no. That tells me you have potential, but still a great deal to learn.”