Читать книгу A Greek Affair - Linn Halton B. - Страница 13

Life doesn’t get any more surreal than this, I reflect. The stewardess looking after my suite is aware that I’m a travel blogger, which takes me by surprise. If the welcome she gives me is the same welcome she gives to all her passengers, then I’m very impressed. She also hands me a folder with lots of information about the ship itself, which I assume is to help inform my article.

As for the suite itself, well, it’s way beyond any expectations I had. Obviously, everything is new but the marble-lined bathroom has what the stewardess referred to as a rainforest shower experience and a separate bath. It also has low level lighting for nighttime use. The walk-in storage space for my clothes is more than adequate for quite a long stay, but then it is a double suite. Everything feels sumptuous – in shades of cream, keeping it light and bright, but with vivid splashes of lime green and rich purples to give it a contemporary feel.

An even bigger surprise is the balcony, with floor to ceiling glass doors, which I wasn’t expecting. It’s a generous size at probably around ninety square feet. Totally unbelievable! I feel spoilt, as if this is all too good to be true.

I’m conscious that time is slipping away and I don’t even bother to investigate the minibar, or try out the impressively-sized TV. I glance longingly at the crisp, white bed linens with the furry purple throw and cushions. I feel like collapsing down onto it and drifting off into a peaceful sleep, but instead I spritz my face with some cold water and apply a little lip gloss.

The route back down to the Observation Bar to meet Harrison isn’t quite as straightforward as I thought it would be and I’m a few minutes late.

‘I thought you’d stood me up,’ he calls out, walking towards me.

My face must reflect the panic that starts to rise in my stomach, then he begins laughing.

‘Sorry, I’m teasing and it’s confession time. I do have a vested interest in making sure your report covers all bases. When I said I work in finance, I do: for the parent company which owns the entire fleet of cruise ships. For me it’s a cheap break away, I’m afraid. It’s a hard life, isn’t it?’ He grins at me and he has no idea how glad I am to hear that in one way, although maybe not the other.

‘Did you know I was coming?’ I ask, relieved that at least he’s not looking for an onboard romance. But also a little puzzled as to why he didn’t say something earlier on.

He stops laughing and gives me a frown.

‘No, of course, not.’ He sounds a little offended. ‘I started speaking to you because I was simply being friendly. When you travel alone you learn to make an effort and I find that people are generally very receptive. But when you told me why you were here I thought you, too, might appreciate a little company. I’m guessing that you don’t often travel without a companion, to be so suspicious of my motives?’

Am I being just a tad paranoid here?

‘Rarely. My companion is usually my nine-year-old daughter. It’s just that my report will need to be totally independent and I can’t be influenced in any way. I mean, everything I’ve seen so far is top quality but I’m also here to discover any potential downside to what’s on offer.’

He strokes his chin, his eyes filled with laughter once again.

‘You think I’m trying to influence you? I’m afraid I’m not that clever; my skills lie with getting the numbers to work. I’ve always wanted to walk the F1 circuit; just the bit from the start of the tunnel up through and around the infamous Grand Hotel hairpin bend. With that in mind, I put together a little sightseeing programme to while away a few hours before I head back to the ship for dinner. It involves some walking and a bit of jumping in and out of taxis. Seriously, there is no catch and sitting next to you on the shuttle bus was a total fluke, I promise. I’m a nice guy, really. Recently divorced, no kids and a big mortgage so I can’t do anything to jeopardise my income. I’d be silly to try to meddle, now, wouldn’t I?’

My eyes scan his face and, in fairness, he has an innocent look about him. He is very attractive with his light-brown hair and those murky-grey eyes. I’m guessing he’s maybe ten years older than me, so early forties. Relax, Leah, because this is what you do for a living now and you can hitch a ride here with someone who already has a little tour put together. What possible harm can it do?

~

We walk back along the quayside to the terminal, where there’s a taxi waiting for us. Harrison gives the driver some directions and settles back in his seat.

‘Prep for the race starts about six weeks before the day, so they are already nearly a month into it,’ he informs me.

It isn’t long before the driver pulls over to park up and Harrison points to the start/finish line. Today the traffic is free flowing, but busy. It’s hard to believe that in two weeks’ time it will turn from a normal, busy road into a starting grid. Harrison taps the partition and asks the driver to wait nearby for us, giving him a thank you nod. Maybe inspired by his position on the grid, the guy then rams the car into gear and pulls away from the kerb a little too fast for my liking. Aside from some marks on the road where the cars line up, there isn’t very much to see, but Harrison seems satisfied.

‘Now we’re heading off to the tunnel. It will probably take us a couple, maybe three hours with coffee stops, before we jump in a taxi to take us back to the ship. Are you happy?’

I’m already snapping away, taking as many photos as I can in the hope that at least a couple of them will be useable.

‘Perfect. The coffee is on me and let me know what the taxis cost and I’ll split it with you, it’s the least I can do.’

He grimaces. ‘I’m a man who has learnt the hard way that it doesn’t pay to argue with a woman.’ He defers to my request and I can see he isn’t really happy but then, this isn’t a date. I know he works for the company but it is always a comfort to have someone to chat to when you are on your own, and it’s still a generous offer.

It’s clear that while everything is functioning normally, preparations for the race are well underway. There is a hive of activity going on with staging and scaffolding being set up at various points on our journey.

Getting back in the taxi, it’s only another short ride before Harrison taps on the partition again and we pull up in a layby. Proceeding on foot, the trek through the tunnel is great fun and it turns out to be surprisingly ordinary and very narrow, so there isn’t much to see. However, as we walk along on the right-hand side we catch views out over the sea, a constant reminder of our stunning location. Looking down onto the hypnotically blue ocean there are some craggy rocks and a seagull stands surveying the scene. Simply knowing F1 cars will be whizzing through this section again soon is a little thrill.

‘I can’t believe racing cars drive through here,’ I exclaim.

‘I think their speed drops down to around thirty miles per hour as it’s so tight. There is a long list of cars that have hit into the walls on the bend, or in the tunnel itself. Overtaking isn’t an issue because it’s impossible; keeping your wits about you and getting a good steering lock on is what this part of the race is all about.’

I guess he’s a big fan. I do watch the highlights as I have a passing interest, but only because I think Lewis Hamilton is so charismatic that he’s well worth watching.

As we climb higher and higher the views are unbelievable. It’s steep, tight and must be very difficult to navigate given the length of the cars. My calf muscles are screaming already and I struggle to keep up.

Because it’s so tiring on the legs we stop twice for coffee. The highlight for me is the Place du Casino, a lavish public square in Monaco’s most famous of neighbourhoods. Also on the square is the Monte Carlo Opera House. Two stunning buildings in a perfect setting, as the square features an impressive fountain and a terrace with jaw dropping views of the coastline.

This leads us on to the Jardin Exotique, which is in the more modern section of Monaco and borders on the older, historic centre. Perched on a steep cliff it, too, looks out across the dazzlingly beautiful sea vista. Lush vegetation and a climate that doesn’t have wildly diverse extremes means that the hillside conditions are perfect for tropical plants and succulents. The craggy mountainside is covered with a plethora of species from Africa, Latin America, Cape Town and even Mexico.

Being away from the roads the air is sweet and clear; only the slight breeze gives a little relief from the balmy heat. Breathing in the warmth and the tang from the sea, it’s intermingled with little whiffs of fragrances given off by the blooms on some of the luscious and more exotic plants. I can see that Harrison is equally impressed.

‘If I was wealthy, I’d probably be fawning over the rather expensive shops we’ve walked past on our way here. But I’ve seen everything I need to give my readers a tiny glimpse into the delights on offer and I’m thrilled about that. I’m so glad you talked me into doing this today,’ I admit.

Harrison is not only a good companion, but he’s knowledgeable. I feel like I have a tour guide accompanying me. I’m surprised how quickly the afternoon passes before it’s time to flag down another taxi and return to the ship.

We arrive back at the quayside shortly before half past five, after a very enjoyable few hours. My notepad is full of jottings and I have taken probably thirty, or even forty, photographs.

When we part, I thank Harrison and shake his hand. He’s interesting and I’m really enjoying his company but it’s disappointing that I’m not feeling any chemistry between us. Even though he is a head-turner. But then I haven’t really looked at a man since Antonio left. I assumed that was because getting my life back onto an even keel required all my focus. But what if I’m never going to feel that flush of excitement over someone again? What if it wasn’t just my pride that was shattered when Antonio left? What if there’s something permanently damaged inside of me? Maybe I’m just not worthy of having someone’s love because I can’t seem to hold onto it.

‘Ah, is this my dismissal?’

‘No, more of an apology,’ I admit. ‘I will still need to be taking notes and photographs to record the details ready for my write-up. It’s too easy to forget this isn’t just a holiday for me. So, it won’t be the usual relaxing dinner and leisurely browse around the ship, I’m afraid. I don’t think it’s fair that I inflict that on you.’ And I don’t want to mislead you in any way, my conscience is urging me to add, but I instantly dismiss that thought.

A part of me is hoping he’ll brush it off and suggest we meet up anyway, just for the company, but he doesn’t. Suddenly I find myself feeling the teensiest bit disappointed.