Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Indeed.”
Trewin whistles to Boris, who has sat patiently waiting for their pleasantries to cease. “In case you’ve forgotten, service starts at ten sharp.” He gives them both a nod and heads on up the lane.
“Vicar is the priest, yes?” Alessia asks as Maxim opens the door to the pub and ushers her into the warmth.
“Yes. Are you religious?” he asks, surprising her.
“N—”
“Good afternoon, milord,” says a large man with red hair and a complexion to match, interrupting their conversation. He stands behind an impressive bar that is hung with decorative jugs and pint glasses. There’s a burning log fire at one end of the pub and several wooden high-backed benches on either side of a line of tables, most of which are occupied by men and women who could be locals or tourists, Alessia doesn’t know. From the ceiling hang fishermen’s ropes, nets, and tackle. The atmosphere is warm and friendly. There’s even a young couple kissing at the back. Embarrassed, Alessia looks away and sticks close to Mister Maxim.
* * *
“Hi, Jago,” I say to the barman. “Table for two for lunch?”
“Megan will sort you out.” Jago points to the far corner.
“Megan?”
Shit.
“Yeah, she’s working here now.”
Fuck.
I give Alessia a sideways glance and she looks puzzled. “Are you sure you’re hungry?”
“Yes,” Alessia replies.
“Doom Bar?” Jago asks, staring with overt appreciation at Alessia.
“Yes, please.” I try not to glare at him.
“And for the lady?” Jago’s voice softens, his eyes still on Alessia.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask.
She peels off her hat, releasing her hair. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. “The beer I had yesterday?” she says. With her loose, dark curls falling almost to her waist, her shining eyes, and her radiant smile, she is an exotic beauty. I’m beguiled. Totally and utterly beguiled. I can’t blame Jago for staring. “Half a pale ale for the lady,” I say without looking at him.
“What is it?” Alessia asks as she begins to unzip Maryanne’s quilted Barbour jacket. And I know I’ve been gawking at her. I shake my head, and she gives me a shy smile.
“Hello, Maxim. Or should I say ‘milord’ now?”
Shit.
I turn around, and Megan is standing in front of me, her expression as dark as her clothes. “Table for two?” she says with a saccharine tone and a smile to match.
“Please. And how are you?”
“Fine,” she snaps, and my heart sinks, my father’s voice ringing in my head.
Don’t fuck the local girls, boy.
I stand aside for Alessia to precede me, and we follow in Megan’s dour wake. She leads us to a table in the corner by a window that overlooks the quays. It’s the best table in the establishment. So that’s something.
“This okay for you?” I ask Alessia, deliberately ignoring Megan.
“Yes. It is good,” Alessia responds, with a confused look at a moody Megan. I hold out her chair, and she sits. Jago arrives with our drinks, and Megan saunters off, presumably to fetch menus…or a cricket bat.
“Cheers.” I hold up my pint.
“Cheers,” Alessia replies. After a sip she says, “I do not think Megan is happy with you.”
“No, I don’t think so either.” I shrug, brushing off the subject. I really don’t want to discuss Megan with Alessia. “Anyway, you were saying about religion?”
She eyes me dubiously, as if pondering the Megan Situation, and then she continues, “The Communists banned religion in my country.”
“You mentioned that in the car yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“But you wear a gold cross.”
“Menus,” Megan interrupts us, and hands us both a laminated card. “I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.” She turns abruptly and heads for the bar.
I ignore her. “You were saying?”
Alessia watches Megan’s exit through suspicious eyes but says nothing about her. She continues, “It was my grandmother’s. She was Catholic. She used to pray in secret.” Alessia fondles her gold cross.
“So there’s no religion in your country?”
“There is now. Since we became a republic when the Communists fell, but in Albania we don’t make so much of it.”
“Oh, I thought religion was everything in the Balkans?”
“Not in Albania. We are a…what is the word? Secular state. Religion is very personal. You know, just between a person and their God. At home we are Catholics. Most people in my town are Muslim. But we do not give it much thought,” she responds with a quizzical look at me. “And you?”
“Me? Well, I suppose I’m Church of England. But I’m not religious at all.” Father Trewin’s words come back to me.
We lead by example, my son.
Bloody hell.
Maybe I should go to church tomorrow. Kit always managed to go at least one or two Sundays a month when he was down here.
Me, not so much.
That’s another damn duty I have to fulfill.
“Are the English like you?” Alessia asks, pulling me back into the conversation.
“With regard to religion? Some are. Some aren’t. The UK is multicultural.”