Julie Caplin - The Secret Cove in Croatia

‘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 it. I’ve always liked art … I know, imagine – me, Maddie Wilcox from Selly Oak, wanting to study art.’

‘Why shouldn’t you?’ asked Nick with a curious smile.

‘Because it’s not much bloody use to man nor beast, as my mum likes to remind me.’ She pulled a face and mimicked her mother’s strong Brummy accent. ‘How you going to get a job with a Mickey Mouse subject like that? Not much call for History of Art down Tesco, love.’

‘She has a point, I guess,’ conceded Nick. ‘But what do you want to do? I take it, by the last-minute nature of this job, crewing on a yacht is not your long-term career ambition.’

‘Given I’ve not done a full proper day yet, who knows? But it certainly wasn’t part of my plan.’

‘Do you have a plan?’ Nick’s question sounded almost plaintive.

Maddie stared at the rooftops on the opposite side of the square, wondering what he’d say if she told him what she really, really wanted to do. He followed her gaze and they both stared at the line of the terracotta roof tiles creating a horizon against the pure blue of the sky.

‘Not exactly. I know what I want to do, but …’ She shrugged almost fatalistically. ‘What about you? Did you go to university?’

‘Yes –’ he gave a short self-deprecating laugh ‘– Harper Adams. It’s an agricultural college.’

‘And what’s wrong with that? It sounds eminently practical if you wanted to be a sheep farmer.’

‘Who says I wanted to be a farmer?’ said Nick, suddenly candid, his blue eyes holding hers, and she saw in them a mix of emotions: anger, sadness and confusion.

‘Family expectation?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ said Nick hurriedly. ‘It’s in my blood. I enjoy it.’

Their eyes met and then slid away from each other and Maddie got the distinct feeling that perhaps Nick was being as circumspect with his true feelings as she was.

‘Well, this has been nice, but unfortunately one of us has to get back to work and real life, otherwise I will turn into a pumpkin. Whereas you have got to get back for a life of decadence and leisure.’

A shadow crossed Nick’s face. ‘Yup, I guess so.’ He peeled some Croatian kuna from his wallet and laid the notes in the saucer with the bill. ‘Back to real life.’

For someone who had nothing to do but laze around being looked after for the next few weeks, he looked remarkably ungrateful about it.

At exactly nine-thirty Ivan turned on the engines, taking his place at the wheel in the small cockpit area just off the lounge, and the yacht puttered its way out of the marina, heading for the open sea. The boat scythed through the waves, heading towards the green-covered islands in the distance as the sunlight sparkled on the water like silver sparklers.