Chapter 25
‘We will be arriving in Rab in about two and a half hours,’ Rocco said the next morning at breakfast. ‘As you know, Rab is famous for cake.’
‘I like the sound of that already,’ Harriet murmured.
‘Rab cake was invented by the nuns in tribute for the visit from a pope back in the twelfth century. It is mostly made from almonds and maraschino cherry liqueur,’ Rocco continued.
‘Do they do one that is gluten free and non-alcoholic?’ Dawn wondered out loud.
‘Unlikely, but you can ask,’ Rocco said patiently.
‘While we are here you can visit the place where it is made. The tour guide is a very old friend of mine, Ludmilla. She will take you through the old town, to the monastery, to magnificent viewpoints. The rest of the day is yours to do as you please, and we are here most of tomorrow too, so plenty of time to enjoy this lovely island. This evening dinner is on board at seven as usual. The menu is up on the information board.’
‘Hmm,’ Evelyn said sometime later as we went to see what the chef had in mind for our evening meal.
‘Stuffed peppers and beef stew with prunes. I hope it’s better than it sounds.
I haven’t had a prune since the day I left boarding school.
And then we only ate them so we could count off the stones on the side of our bowls.
Tinker tailor soldier. Mine said the day I left school that I would marry a spy, which in fact was probably true, although I never did get to find out exactly what it was that Douglas did.
He seemed to know a lot of important people and made a great deal of money.
Eleanor, a friend of mine, married a man called Douglas too, but he was the dullest man on earth.
Still, it was a popular name back then. You wouldn’t do that to a child these days, would you? ’
‘Oh, I don’t know. All those old-fashioned names are coming back. My great-niece is called Winifred and her brother is called Herbert,’ Marjorie said.
‘Good heavens, poor little chap. I stand corrected,’ Evelyn said. ‘Now then, we have half an hour before we have to meet up on the quayside for our walking tour, so I shall go and get ready.’
By eleven thirty, we had docked in Rab, alongside an impressive and very high town wall made of huge chunks of golden stone. Heaven knows how they built it. It was another bright, sunny day, and this time a lot of people wanted to join the tour group.
We disembarked a few minutes later and our guide Ludmilla was waiting for us by the side of the boat.
She was a petite, attractive woman of about forty, and she greeted Rocco with a broad smile and a very fond hug, while Anjelica looked down on proceedings from the upper deck of the boat, leaning perilously over the rail with narrowed eyes and a rather intimidating twist to her mouth.
‘Here she is,’ Rocco said, ‘the best tour guide on the island. Ludmilla knows a lot of things.’
‘She certainly does,’ Anjelica called out from her vantage point, ‘many things. Take full advantage of her as others before you have done.’
Rocco ignored her.
‘Ludmilla will take you up through the town walls, to the upper street and the monastery and describe some of the history of Rab through the centuries.’
‘History,’ Anjelica snorted. ‘She has a lot of history, I can assure you.’
Rocco sent his wife a furious look and she disappeared back into the ship.
‘So now, I will leave you in Ludmilla’s capable hands and look forward to hearing all about it when you return.’
Our little group shuffled off, following Ludmilla, who was heading towards an archway into a garden.
Looking back, I saw Rocco still watching from the quayside for a few minutes, with a rather wistful expression on his face.
And then Anjelica appeared at the side of the ship and threw a bowl of salad over him.
And then she threw the metal bowl as well, which clanged at his feet.
‘Ti si lasica,’ she shouted, ‘you weasel!’
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 the Atalanta and 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.’