The Secret Cove in Croatia. Julie Caplin

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      ‘It was pretty lively along here the other night,’ said Maddie, feeling a little guilty that she’d given him such a hard time and that he’d seemed lost in brooding thought for the last five minutes. ‘Are you headed anywhere particular?’

      Nick shrugged. ‘No, I just wanted to stretch my legs and see something of Split.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘My brother and his wife are avid armchair travellers. If I don’t take the chance to see the city while I’m here, I’ll never hear the end of it. According to TripAdvisor and Dan and Gail, I need to see Diocletian’s Palace, otherwise I might as well have not come.’

      ‘Yeah, Ivan said it was worth seeing.’

      ‘You’ve not seen it?’

      ‘Only a tiny bit the other night and it was impressive,’ she admitted, feeling she ought to try and see a bit more while she could. ‘I might take a quick diversion once I’ve bought the fish from the market and found this bakery and picked up the pastries for breakfast.’ She pulled out her phone and opened up the maps app, trying to work out which direction to head in. The bakery was one Zita had recommended. ‘See you later.’ Holding up her phone, she began to pace back the way they’d just come, then frowned and turned around. Bugger, the little blue dot kept heading in the wrong direction.

      ‘Do you know where you’re going?’ asked Nick.

      ‘Yes,’ she said defensively, looking down at her screen. Oh, damn, she was going in the wrong direction again. Map reading, even with GPS, was not her forte. Her sense of direction was woeful.

      ‘Why don’t I come with you to the bakery and then we can both go to Diocletian’s Palace? I’ll help you find both. You don’t even have to talk to me.’

      She gave him a considering look. ‘All right then. I might even let you select a couple of buns, if you’re good.’

      Nick laughed, his face lighting up. Bugger, he was a good-looking sod after all. Yesterday she’d been too pissed off to take it in properly. He took her phone from her hand and began to walk across the street to one of the small side streets.

      ‘Buns.’ He emphasized the northern ‘u’. ‘What happened to pastries? I bet you don’t call them that in front of Nina.’

      ‘God, no, Nina would scalp me.’ She grinned at him as they walked along the narrow stone paved street. ‘She’s rather particular about her patisserie these days.’

      ‘Yeah, she’s done well.’ He nodded, a proud smile tipping his lips.

      ‘She certainly has. Her éclairs are to die for. You know they sell out by lunchtime every day?’

      ‘No, I didn’t.’

      They smiled at each other.

      ‘So how come you don’t have such a strong northern accent? You sound quite posh for a sheep farmer.’

      ‘Nina been filling you in?’

      ‘Well, it stands to reason – if she grew up on a sheep farm, you must have done too. Don’t worry, I wasn’t asking about you.’

      ‘Never thought for a minute you were. And, to answer your question. I got a scholarship to a local independent school. They were big on rugby and it just so happened that all of us, Nina excepted, were pretty handy with a rugby ball.’

      ‘Ah, that explains it. Public schoolboy.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘Nothing!’

      ‘You do have a bit of a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?’

      ‘No,’ said Maddie a shade too defensively. It was just that posh people … well, they made her feel stupid, clumsy and uneducated. On her History of Art degree course there’d been an awful lot of very wealthy people who’d grown up being taken to galleries and museums. It had taken her a lot of study and travel to catch up.

      ‘Up here,’ said Nick, indicating a street corner.

      It was a good job Nick was with her, as her basket was quickly filled with delicious Croatian delicacies and she needed a second bag to carry the bread she’d stocked up on because they might not be mooring up again for a few days. Without asking, he took the bulging carrier bag from her.

      They wound through tiny streets flanked by white stone buildings which were blinding in the sunlight.

      ‘I had no idea it was like this,’ exclaimed Maddie when they rounded a tiny corner and found themselves in what looked like a ruined Roman palace, with tall stone columns and windows high in the walls.

      They wandered through a maze of tiny streets, munching on a croissant each; neither of them had been able to resist the delicious smell in the bakery and had succumbed as soon as they’d left. The quiet lanes at this time of day were peaceful and shady with interesting little shops, sunken doorways and large stone flags. It was easy to imagine you’d slipped back in time until, turning a corner, they came to a big open square full of cafés and restaurants.

      ‘Have we got time for a coffee?’ asked Nick.

      ‘A quick one, but, like you say, they can’t sail without me and as you’re a guest I can blame you if I’m late back.’

      ‘Or we could grab a cab. It’s quite a long walk back.’

      ‘If you’re paying,’ said Maddie cheekily.

      ‘I’m guessing I’m paying for the coffee too,’ said Nick with a roll of his eyes.

      ‘If you’re offering.’

      They chose one of the pavement cafés and sat outside. As it was still early the square was busy with tradespeople pushing trolleys loaded with boxes of fruit and vegetables, waiters laying up tables ready for the lunch crowd and a few eager tourists with sensible walking shoes and guidebooks, clearly anxious to make the most of the day.

      ‘This is nice.’ Maddie lifted her espresso and toasted Nick. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘No problem. You like espresso?’

      ‘I acquired a taste for it in Paris.’ It also, she liked to think, made her look more sophisticated but she wasn’t about to admit that to Nick.

      ‘What were you doing in Paris?’

      ‘I was there on my year abroad, as part of my degree.’ She still got a kick out of saying that. The first in her family to go to university.

      She saw the quick flash of surprise cross his face. ‘Yes, I’m quite old. Thirty. I was a mature student; I didn’t go until I was twenty-six.’

      ‘I sometimes think it’s better to be a mature student; at least at that age you have a better idea about what you want to do. Rather than fall into the obvious.’ His mouth flattened. ‘What did you do?’

      ‘History of Art.’

      ‘Interesting. Did you enjoy it?’

      ‘Yes, I bloody loved СКАЧАТЬ