Still he held her gaze and she couldn’t look away from the soft depth of his whisky-brown eyes, flecked with tiny touches of gold.
‘I think I’m going to love Lisbon,’ she told him, taking his hand and nipping the pad of his thumb, gratified to see his eyes widen.
Chapter Thirteen
Felipe had been right. The view from the Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara was worth visiting, although it did highlight just how far away the castle was on the other side of the valley.
Although only ten o’clock, she was very grateful for her sunglasses that shielded her eyes from the brilliant light reflected off the pale walls of the buildings lining the city in palettes of creams and yellows, all topped with the distinctive umber of the terracotta tiled roofs.
She enjoyed the freedom of roaming the streets on her own, being able to stop whenever she wanted, visit any shop she wanted and be as selfish as she liked. Not being at the beck and call of someone else. Today, she didn’t have to compromise at all.
With sudden insight, she remembered how hard she worked to please Will when he was around. Making sure she found a coffee shop he’d like or a bakery that sold his favourite sourdough bread. ‘You’re the practical one, Rebecca,’ he’d told her many times.
Maybe, because he was so hopelessly impractical, that was part of the reason she’d fallen for him. Unlike her brothers, if he didn’t know how to do something, he was honest about it. She liked being able to come to his aid.
‘Rebecca, the fuse box has blown. Do you know anything about trip switches?’
‘Rebecca, I need a plumber, do you know anyone?’
It had been easy to look after him, because she wanted him to value her.
He’d had so much to deal with after Alicia died. She’d been there for him, supportive and helpful, always hoping that one day he might look up and really see her.
Now she wondered, had she made it too easy for him? Been too useful? Or had she liked being needed? Had it suited her ego to be the rescuer, to look after him, to make him rely on her?
She wrinkled her nose, not liking the direction her thoughts were taking her. But it was too late. The little burr was embedded, a little insight that maybe loving Will was self-indulgent, that it gave her something she craved rather than what she wanted or needed.
Following the map on her phone and watch, she wiggled her way through the ruler-straight streets of the lower city to the base of the hill and climbed the first set of stairs as her journey now zigzagged through narrow streets where racks of washing hung from beneath the windows.
Once she joined the queue for tickets, she was almost tempted by the nearby stall selling piña coladas but instead sipped the cold water in her bottle.
The castle was everything a castle should be, with huge defensive cannons ranged across the terrace looking out over the city and over to the wide River Tagus, as well as proper crenelated walls and old stone floors. Rebecca had never been particularly fanciful but there was an aged patina about the walls and stones that made her think of the hundreds of people that had lived here in the years before. Will would be proud of her. It was the sort of thing he would talk about. She could picture him leaning against the wall, one hand pressed against the surface, and in her head she could hear him saying in a low awe-struck voice,What stories these stones could tell us! I can hear them talking to me, don’t you? They’re vibrating with emotion, feelings, the very fabric of history– it’s right here in my hands.
She stared at the wall, tempted to touch it, to see if she might feel the vibrations. She closed her eyes, feeling the rough, cold stone beneath her fingers and felt a right idiot. Someone like Will had the soul of a poet, the imagination of a writer– of course he’d feel something.
She was an idiot. Hopefully no one had seen her making such a twit of herself. She moved on, climbing a flight of stairs up onto the castle ramparts. From up here, walking along the castle walls, she could see the whole of Lisbon. In each direction she looked, there was so much to marvel at. One aspect showed the neat gridlines of the city rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1755, which Felipe had told her about over breakfast this morning.
Breakfast this morning. A warm glow lit up inside her and she hoped no one around her could interpret the silly smile on her face. Felipe wasn’t the least bit fanciful. He was all action, as he demonstrated so well before they’d even finished eating.
On the other side of the castle, the roads were a hotchpotch of narrow lanes with sharp bends and steep inclines. Here, beautiful buildings with dormer windows were tucked intothe steep sides of hills, latticed balconies decorating many-storeyed houses painted in pastels, blue, pale pink and lemon, like bridesmaids waiting on the marble bridal beauty of the magnificent church perched on the hilltop above. Her eye was drawn to the horizon and the white clouds dotted against the brilliant blue sky serving as the perfect backdrop to the beautiful twin bell towers of the church of St Vincent de Fora.
Thoroughly enchanted by the castle, Rebecca stopped for a drink at one of the cafés a few streets below the castle and watched the trams rattle past, taking her time to watch the other tourists. Most were in couples or groups, although there was the odd solitary backpacker, which reminded Rebecca how much she was enjoying her own company.
Remembering that she had several unanswered WhatsApp messages on her phone, she sent a picture of the castle to her cousin Anna in Prague and promptly received one back– a selfie of Anna with her boyfriend, Leo, both of them clutching a pint of lager in front of a view of the city from Prague Castle.
Snap, read Anna’s message. How’s Portugal?
Portugal is great. Warm. Friendly. She paused for a moment and then added, Great food.
Anna responded with a wow, shocked emoji.
Rebecca smiled. When it came to food, her relatively quiet cousin had always been the most adventurous one in the family but she before she’d come to live with their family, she had the advantage of early years with her mum and dad who’d been positively bohemian in contrast to Rebecca’s parents. Anna had definitely been the cuckoo in the nest, poor thing. But now look at her, she’d really spread her wings. Rebecca studied hercousin’s smiling face, the obvious happiness shining in her eyes. She felt a pang of sadness that her cousin had been so stifled by the family. It made her wonder what her own life would have been like if she’d broken free earlier. She might have moved out into her own flat, currently sublet, but she still worked with her dad and brothers every day. Now, with distance, it chafed and she didn’t want to go back. But what else would she do? She’d landed on her feet at Quinto do Mar, but it was temporary. After the summer, she’d be going back to the same old… but in the meantime, she was going to make the most of her newfound freedom.
For a moment, she daydreamed about what it might be like if she could persuade Inês to let her trial a Pilates retreat. Or maybe she should have a go at building up a local client base, perhaps hire a church hall– did they have such things in Portugal?
The thought of running her own classes dug in. It was something she wanted to do and she had the time. She’d ask Felipe if he had any ideas about possible local venues. If she ran them in her own time, no one could object to that… Suddenly, it all seemed so simple. She finished her drink and with a pep in her step, left the café to continue exploring.
For the rest of the afternoon, she wandered through the streets of Alfama, enjoying the sun on her face, popping into tiny craft shops and artists’ galleries. At one point, she stopped to listen to a man singing a soulful jazz song from his balcony, a handy bucket on a rope dangling below to collect tips. Happily entertained by him, she was more than ready to drop in a few euros to show her appreciation. The catchy song further lightened her day as she gently wound her way through the streets down to the commercial area.
