‘This is so pretty,’ Rebecca said. ‘I love the statues.’
‘Our Olhos ladies,’ said Felipe, patting one of the life-size, elegant steel hollow statues of a young woman. ‘They’re made by the sculptor Carlos de Oliveira Correia.’
‘They’re so striking.’
‘We’re very proud of them. There’s a new one up on the viewpoint. Come on, I’ll show you.’
He led her along the path to the end of the promenade, past busy bars spilling over with people laughing and chatting in the evening warmth. They climbed the wooden steps that wound up to the deep-red clay cliffs until they came to the viewpoint. They had it to themselves, apart from the statue gazing out over the Atlantic.
The sun was starting to dip, spreading pinky golden stripes across the sky and sending amber light dancing on the sea.
‘What a view,’ said Rebecca. To their left, Falésia beach curved away, bounded by the colourful cliffs sprinkled with the twisted pines bent by the wind, all the way down to the distant outlines of the tall buildings in Vilamoura and beyond to Quarteira. It was a view he’d never tire of.
They sank onto one of the wooden benches. There was a brisk breeze which tossed Rebecca’s ponytail, and he reached for a loose tendril that had escaped, tucking it behind her ear. Sitting in silence, he observed her quiet, thoughtful profile and guessed she was miles away. Hershoulders drooped slightly, and he scooted closer, wanting to offer her comfort.
‘So, this man…’ He turned to Rebecca and saw her shoulders stiffen.
‘How did you know I was thinking about him?’
‘Lucky guess.’ It wasn’t that lucky. He remembered when she’d first mentioned him on the beach, the same defeated body language.
‘You’re in love with him?’
‘Yes,’ said Rebecca with a sigh, still looking out to sea, avoiding his gaze.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘What?’ Rebecca swung around to face him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ she retorted.
‘So why doesn’t he know you exist?’
‘He does know I exist, but he just sees me as a friend.’
‘And you want to be more. Friends are good.’
She tilted her head and looked at him. ‘Have you ever been in love with anyone aside from yourself?’
He pretended to give it some thought, then shook his head, pulling his mouth down in mock regret. ‘No.’
He had no time for love and didn’t want the responsibility of looking after another person.
‘Well then. What would you know about it?’ Her directness challenged him and he admired her no-nonsense approach. Would she talk to him like this if she knew he was the one that held the financial purse strings?
He answered her honestly. ‘I think you would know if someone was in love with you. How could you not? If I knew agirl was in love with me, I’d let her down gently and be honest with her. Are you telling me he has no idea you’re in love with him?’
Rebecca lifted her shoulders in silent defeat. ‘No. Maybe… I don’t know.’ She sighed and her face crumpled in sadness and Felipe found himself laying a hand over hers. She didn’t seem to notice. ‘I thought he might but… It’s complicated. Really complicated.’
‘It’s always complicated,’ said Felipe, not meaning to sound quite so dismissive. He understood complicated. There had been someone in the Netherlands before his father died. Estela. She’d been a cyclist too. Funny, it dawned on him that her lithe, strong athletic body had not been dissimilar from Rebecca’s. Estela had not wanted the added complication of long distance and hadn’t been able to comprehend what he was facing. The relationship had fallen apart as abruptly as a plug pulled from a sink. Whoosh, gone in no time at all.
‘His wife died,’ said Rebecca, unexpectedly breaking the silence.
‘Ah.’ Felipe had a glimmer of understanding. Yes, that was complicated.
Rebecca didn’t look at him, instead stared down at her knees, where his hand lay on hers on her lap.
‘But I was in love with him before. I think I’ve been in love with him for half my life. We were at school together. Friends– and then he went away to university and came back with a girlfriend, Alicia. They got married and they were happy for five years. Soulmates. I knew I could never match her and I genuinely thought I was cured.’ She hissed out a derisive laugh and sounded so sad that he shifted closer so that they were shoulder to shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton shirt she wore, and he hoped that she felthis and it gave her some comfort, an anchor against the loss and loneliness he heard in her voice.
‘Then she died and it was awful. He loved her so much. He was a mess.’ She laughed, sadly this time. ‘Such a mess. We were still friends and I… guess I liked being a good friend. A shoulder to cry on. I never intended to… I don’t know… take advantage of the situation. I wanted to help him.’
