Chapter 18
Other guests were appearing in a steady stream as we reached the harbour, attracted by the excited chatter of other people and the scent of the fresh coffee.
Marjorie, dressed in a flowery sundress, arrived, barging through the doorway with her patchwork bag, eager to trade stories of how well or how badly we had all slept.
‘Opatija. What a nice looking town. Doesn’t this look splendid? There’s an accompanied walk at eleven thirty,’ Marjorie said, ‘or a twelve-kilometre walk along the Lungomare if anyone is feeling energetic.’
‘What’s that in old money?’ Evelyn asked.
‘About seven miles,’ Jack said as he placed Evelyn’s third coffee refill beside her.
‘And then seven miles back again. Not my idea of fun,’ Harriet said, sitting down next to me with a plate of fresh fruit and three mini pastries. ‘A gentle stroll I think, in the sunshine followed by some coffee and an ice cream.’
‘Count me in,’ Evelyn said, ‘we’ll definitely do that too.’
‘I’d like to find some souvenirs,’ Anna said. ‘I promised Rupert a present.’
‘There’s a famous statue near here, Maiden with a Seagull,’ Jack said. ‘I want to see that.’
‘That’s one thing I do remember from the little research I did,’ I said.
The dining room was becoming noisier then as more people arrived for breakfast. After a while, Jack finished his coffee and stood up to leave.
‘Have a great day,’ he said, ‘I have notes to type up. Perhaps I will see you later.’
I watched him go rather regretfully, and then the conversation returned to what we intended to do with the day ahead.
Outside, the lure of the town, resting contentedly between the blue sky and the dazzling sea, began to tug at me. The others might have been content to spend time chatting and discussing where they wanted to go and what they expected to eat later on.
I had the sudden realisation that this could and probably would continue for ages, until it was time to go on the guided walk. I wanted to be out there straight away, exploring and finding out more about this new place. And in a rare, new moment of decisiveness, I decided to do just that.
I made my excuses, went back to my cabin and changed my shoes for something more comfortable. And then, feeling very daring and excited, slid the marker from In to Out on the board with my cabin number by the gangway, and stepped off the boat.
I had found a little map of the town already in my cabin, and I knew which way to go.
There was a pathway leading through the grounds of a beautiful hotel and onwards, under a leafy and shaded walkway alongside the sea.
It was quite possibly one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, and my quick start was rewarded by the fact that there were few people about.
The sun was warm on my shoulders even that early in the day.
Perhaps I should have put on some sunscreen or worn a hat?
I walked on, past other impossibly glamorous, pastel-painted hotels where waiters were putting up parasols and preparing for the day ahead.
I would have willingly stopped in any one of them.
How had I missed this place? How had I not been here before?
I didn’t know what I had expected from Croatia, but this exceeded everything.
There was a smart stone wall on one side, the gentle sounds of the sea on the rocks below on the other and a smooth and well-maintained path beneath my feet. Occasionally, there were enticing glimpses through iron railings into secret gardens and gorgeous houses. It was glorious.
And then suddenly I rounded a curve and there in front of me was a little viewing platform, right by the statue Jack had wanted to see, the Maiden with the Seagull. It was lovely.
I sat down on a bench and took a deep breath. This then was freedom. I had the time and the will at last to do what I liked.
I knew I would never forget this moment, when I was on my own in a new place, with no one to worry about and nothing particular to concern me.
I sat there for a long time enjoying the sunshine and the marvellous view across the sea.
There were a few swimmers, and a small fishing boat chugged across the bay in front of me and disappeared around a rocky headland.
Occasionally someone walked past, phone ready to take a picture and capture the glorious scenery. It was perfect.
‘You got here before me,’ said a voice, and I looked up, squinting against the morning sun to see Jack there, and despite myself and my enjoyment of being alone, I was happy to see him.
I patted the seat next to me.
‘Come and sit down,’ I said. ‘Isn’t this lovely? And everywhere is so clean and beautiful. No fast-food wrappers, no splodges of gum on the ground, no graffiti.’
‘The captain was telling me that the people here believe if you have culture you do not need discipline. If they see rubbish they pick it up, they don’t just complain about it and hope someone else will do something.’
‘I wish it was like that where I live,’ I said, ‘we could learn a lot. Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you had work to do?’
He grinned. ‘I’m skiving off on the first day. Terrible, isn’t it? But then I can also call it research.’
I leaned back and gave another deep sigh.
‘Nice work if you can get it.’
‘Trust me, it’s not always this glamorous,’ he said. ‘I’ve written about some awful places.’
Away from the others it seemed he was willing to relax a little more.
‘How long have you been doing this?’
‘Five years. I used to work for a paper years ago, writing about politics and all sorts of dreary stuff. And then my wife was ill, and I gave it up. I needed the time to look after her. And then after she died, I found a lot of doors had closed behind me. I was literally yesterday’s news. I needed to find a new direction.’
‘I’m sorry to hear you had a bad time,’ I said, ‘but how wonderful that you cared for her like that.’
I’d had a perforated appendix years ago just after Ben was born, and Fred had chosen to attend a week-long pensions conference in Hastings rather than spend any time looking after me. I didn’t say that though, and of course I had managed with the help of my friends and neighbours.
He gave a little smile. ‘Naturally I did. Why wouldn’t I?’
We sat in silence for a while looking at the matchless view and enjoying the warmth of the Mediterranean sunshine.
‘And what about you?’ he said at last. ‘Tell me more about yourself.’
What should I say? That I had spent most of my adult life looking after my small family unit, working and for the most part deferring to Fred? It sounded pathetic.
‘I’ve been divorced for nearly eight years; I have an adult son.
I use the term adult advisedly. He’s back with me at the moment while he recovers from his own breakup, although I have a feeling there is something of a romantic nature going on with the local vet.
I worked for the civil service for many years and now I am retired.
I’m on a trip with some old school friends.
This is the first time I have been somewhere new in decades. ’
That sounded desperately sad, to be able to sum up my life in a few short sentences. And almost everything I had said referred to someone else. I had hardly mentioned myself, as though I was just a support act for other people.
‘You made a good choice,’ he said. ‘Have you seen those glorious hotels further along? They have their own beaches and even roped-off areas of the sea solely for their guests to use. What a cheek!’
I laughed. ‘I don’t think one could do that in the UK. I can just imagine swimmers getting tangled up in them.’
‘Probably, but then the sea here is so calm, and so much warmer. Do you like to swim? I’ve seen there’s a lovely pool on the top deck.’
I did love to swim; in fact, last year I had joined a local health club and went two or three times a week.
Then I imagined myself in my chain store tankini, unsure of my levels of cellulite, worried about my back view as I tried to haul myself up the ladder back onto the deck afterwards.
And I suddenly lost the little nugget of confidence I had been enjoying.
‘Oh, I’m not sure, I’ll see how I feel,’ I said vaguely. I looked at my watch and started fidgeting. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you have a lot to do. I mustn’t monopolise you.’
He gave a funny little smile. ‘Trust me, Lizzie, I’m enjoying your company. If I didn’t want to spend time with you I wouldn’t.’
‘Oh. Okay,’ I said.
Fancy that. I wasn’t used to such comments. It made me decidedly happy.
The last few years with Fred had gradually made me feel I must be very disappointing company.
My cakes weren’t as good as his mothers, I didn’t seem to iron his shirts properly, I didn’t understand about the trade deficit or why the council tax kept rising and the potholes in our road only got worse.
Perhaps I wasn’t as daft as he implied after all.
And maybe there were more important things in life.
‘In fact, I think we should go back along the pathway to that hotel with all the tables outside, overlooking the sea. And have a coffee and an ice cream. What do you say?’
I looked at my watch again. It was only ten o’clock.
‘Is it a bit early for ice cream?’
I don’t know why I said that. I loved ice cream and Fred had always sneered at it, saying it was just fat, air and chemicals. For another man to be actively encouraging me…
‘It’s never too early,’ he said, ‘not in my opinion anyway.’
We walked back the way I had come and sat at one of the tables he had mentioned.
At a nearby table, an impossibly attractive woman dressed in white with a huge gold watch on her brown wrist was sitting with a companion.
They were drinking espresso out of tiny china cups and smoking thin cigarettes.
She lowered her huge sunglasses, flicked a glance at me and took a long sweeping look at Jack.
I leaned back in my chair with a smile and thought about Audrey Hepburn again.