Some Like It Greek - Sue Roberts Page 0,72

shared still makes me feel weak at the knees when I think about it. Dara is wearing knee-length combat shorts and a white t-shirt so isn’t asked to cover up.

‘That’s very fetching,’ he teases, eyeing the long brown robe and taking his phone from his pocket to take a photo. ‘Maybe one for Facebook,’ he says, laughing.

‘Don’t you dare!’ I’m mortified at the thought.

‘I’m just teasing,’ Dara laughs and places his phone back in his pocket. After paying the small entrance fee, we walk through the cool inner courtyard of the monastery into the main building.

It’s breathtakingly beautiful, with a long pathway leading to a garden with a fountain at the centre. We walk along a striking blue and white mosaic floor, shaded by apricot and cherry trees, the sunlight dappling between their leaves. There’s a covered passage to the right-hand side of the garden leading to a small doorway and I wonder aloud to Dara whether that is where the monks reside. The small entrance fee paid by the tourists helps to keep the monastery open and they also sell wine and handmade gifts in the gift shop.

Walking around the cool, cloistered building makes me think of Demi as a young woman, walking the floors of the convent. She must have felt so frightened, although I can imagine she hid it well, with her bravado and quick wit. Yet all the same my heart breaks at the thought of her being away from her parents, her only escape the walks along the nearby beach, where she first encountered my father.

Having toured the beautiful monastery, we head to the gift shop near the entrance and buy some wine and a little notebook as a souvenir, before I return the gown back to its hanger near the entrance.

‘That was interesting,’ I tell Dara as we make our way downhill. ‘I find walking around holy places so spiritual and relaxing.’

‘If it’s old churches you like, you should come to Ireland. There’s dozens of them,’ he tells me matter-of-factly.

‘Is that an invitation?’ I ask, thinking how much I would enjoy exploring Dara’s home country.

‘Well, it would be for sure, if I knew when I was ever going back there.’ He smiles as he slips his arm around my waist and for a second, I wonder why on earth I am allowing myself to grow close to a man who is obviously enjoying being a free spirit and may be a million miles away from settling somewhere. And possibly still recovering from the pain of losing his wife.

Once at the bottom of the hill, we head to an outdoor bar and enjoy an ice-cold beer on a terrace with a view of the mountains.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ says Dara, taking a long sip.

‘Are you a Guinness man back home?’ I ask him.

‘Can’t stand the stuff. Although I’d never say that in Ireland; I’d be made to feel like some sort of traitor,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I usually stick to the bottled beer or a good glass of red. Although I’ve had a few nights on the Jameson’s over the years which I’ve barely recalled the following morning.’ He grimaces.

‘I’ve had one or two nights like that myself,’ I admit. ‘I still feel ill when I think of the evening I drank almost a whole bottle of sherry that I sneaked out of my parents’ house to take to a party.’

‘The folly of youth.’

We head back to the sea front at Fiskardo around two in the afternoon as the sun is burning high in the sky and Dara invites me back to his hotel room. A part of me wants to head off alone, to protect my heart, yet another part of me wants to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed with him, as I once again recall the heady night we spent together at my place. It’s mixed with some sadness though, as I know Dara’s flight to Canada is tomorrow afternoon.

‘Can we just walk for a while?’

‘Sure, whatever you want.’ He takes hold of my hand as we walk along the main harbour browsing the shops and stopping for an ice cream at a small café. After that, I head into a delicatessen and buy some cheese, wine and a delicious-looking game pie. I also buy olives, roasted peppers and some feta.

‘I thought maybe we could have a picnic this evening on the terrace,’ I suggest. ‘I’m not sure I feel like dressing up to go out tonight.’

‘Sounds just about