Page 18 of The Cruise Club

‘He sells honey, you should buy some,’ Ruskin said. ‘The old boy keeps bees, and they forage on herbs and thyme on the hillside.’

‘I see.’ Carmen felt starstruck. She’d unexpectedly come across her idol twice in one day, and now, in his presence, she hadn’t a clue what to say. Unsure whether to speak orsmile, she stood frozen, her eyes flicking from Ruskin to the older man.

‘Are you all right?’ Ruskin asked and leaned an arm along the length of the bench. ‘You look awfully hot.’ He tilted his sunglasses and stared. ‘Don’t I know you, have we met?’

‘Y… yes,’ Carmen stuttered, ‘we bumped into each other on the jogging deck this morning.’

‘Of course.’ Ruskin patted the bench. ‘Take a seat, this heat is terribly tiring.’

Obeying Ruskin’s command, Carmen’s feet felt like lead as she moved forward. She wished she’d worn something pretty and feminine, perhaps a cool kaftan like Fran’s. Her khaki shorts and shirt hardly cut a dash in front of this handsome and educated man. Even her walking sandals were granny-like, and she knew that the floppy old hat she’d chosen to shade the sun had more of a boy-scout look than anything remotely fashionable, making her feel even more out of place on this picturesque beach.

‘I mustn’t disturb you,’ Carmen said as she nervously sat on the edge of the bench.

‘Don’t worry, I was only jotting down a few thoughts.’ Ruskin yawned.

Carmen knew that he was probably wishing that an attractive female had chosen to stop by. It was just his luck to be saddled with a dreary soul whose thickly framed glasses made her look like a 1950s librarian.

Staring beyond the beach where a fishing boat glided to the open sea, she heard Ruskin announce, ‘I’m a writer.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Carmen wanted to tell him that he was the sole reason she’d come on the cruise but thought he’dbelieve her to be some sort of groupie and instead asked, ‘What are you writing?’

‘I’m not sure, but this place combines mystery and history, pirate legends and the ruins of an old fortress which gives it an inexplicable aura.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ Carmen stared ahead, too, suddenly caught up in Ruskin’s vivid imagination. ‘It’s easy to imagine how this atmospheric setting could inspire stories with all the legends that must be woven through the ages.’

‘Youshould be a writer,’ Ruskin added cynically and yawned again.

‘But I am!’ Carmen blurted out.

As soon as the words had left her lips, she wished that she could bite them back. What on earth would this world-famous man think of the mousey, drab woman dressed like a camp ranger about to go into the wilderness?

‘Really?’ Ruskin sighed.

He was losing interest, and Carmen could see that Ruskin was restless. He probably thought she’d self-published a cute little book of short stories that sold only to a handful of friends.

‘Well, I mustn’t keep you, and I’m going for a swim.’ Ruskin closed his notebook and rose to his feet. ‘Don’t forget to buy some honey. It’s terribly good for the mind.’

Placing the notebook alongside a jar nestling in his satchel, Ruskin wandered off without so much as a glance at Carmen or a wave goodbye.

‘How discourteous,’ Carmen mumbled as Ruskin’s figure disappeared down the lane. She was annoyed that she’d been so quickly dismissed. ‘But then,’ she sighed, ‘why onearth would a man like that want to stick around and talk to a woman like me?’

The old man had begun to stir, and Carmen saw him open one eye as he slowly raised his head from the table. Knobbly fingers reached for a jar, and he pointed to a sign that read,Ten Euros.

‘Very well,’ Carmen sighed and reached for her money. ‘But, at that price, it had better be good.’

Chapter Ten

Fran and Sid enjoyed their walk around the village and now wandered along a path that bordered a horseshoe-shaped beach. Having stopped to buy souvenirs in a gift shop, Fran was pleased with her purchase of an embroidered tea towel, a glow-in-the-dark statue of Adonis, and a bar of olive soap. For Sid, she’d bought a T-shirt with the logoOpa!and insisted he wear it.

‘You haven’t needed your Greek phrasebook,’ Sid said as he spotted a shady bench beneath a fir tree and guided Fran to the spot.

‘You’re right, and I think we’re managing very nicely with my Greek greetings,’ Fran agreed.

She placed the little book on the bench, then kicked off her sandals. Taking the bottle of water from her cleavage, she drank thirstily and offered it to Sid. Wriggling her toes, she looked up to see a couple approach. ‘Kalimári!’ Fran called out.

The couple, tall and tanned, wearing hiking boots and shorts, looked bemused. They stared curiously at themiddle-aged woman, colourful in her vibrant kaftan. ‘Kalimera,’ they replied.

‘Folk are very friendly,’ Sid mused, ‘those two look like serious walkers and must be heading up to the fort.’

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