It was alittle after ten when they disembarked at the old harbour, with agood four or five hours to look around before the return trip.Gemma suggested they split up and explore on their own.
‘I’m going todo some clothes shopping which isn’t your thing, I know, so whydon’t you look around yourself? I may do the city walls too, solet’s just meet at the harbour around three for the ferry back. Ihaven’t forgotten you mentioned going over to that island but wecould do that tomorrow after they throw us off the boat. We’ve gothours before the flight home and anyway we could always re-arrangethat if we had to.’
Mark could hardlybelieve it and was happy to agree. It was as if Gemma had read hismind; surely she couldn’t have guessed what had been going on inhis head for the last few day. He put the thought aside.
‘Yes, goodidea. I wouldn’t mind looking round the old cathedral and there’s acouple of museums that Derek and his wife were telling me aboutlast night.’
That wastrue, anyway. Ever since he had been taken to virtually everycathedral in Britain as part of their family holidays when he was aboy, Mark had always retained a real and genuine fascination withthose buildings. The proportions, the windows, the pillars andceilings had an inspirational quality he was unavoidably and deeplytouched by. It never ceased to amaze him that they had been builtbefore the tools and machinery available and taken for grantednowadays. He’d read about the baroque style of the cathedral inDubrovnik in an old Baedeker guide the travel agenthad lent him; it had been renovated over the last few years andMark was keen to have a look. His more recent and up-to-dateLonely Planet guide book had mentioned that during the renovation anothereven older cathedral dating back to the seventh century had beendiscovered under the foundations of what had until then beenthought to be the original cathedral, which was itself badlydamaged by an earthquake in the seventeenth century. He loved mapsand travel guides and couldn’t understand why people visited placeswithout finding out as much as possible aboutthem.
***
As Gemmawandered off through the gate leading from the harbour into town,Mark strolled around the jetty and past a few fishermen potteringabout in a desultory fashion, mending nets and baskets and doingwhatever they did when they had managed to get rid of theircatches. He took a few photos and walked up to the town himself. Itwas certainly impressive. The marble effect of the main streetssparkled in the autumnal sun; it really did look like marblealthough he recalled that the Baedeker book had said somethingabout hard limestone. The various shops and cafés on the Placa, themain street running up through the middle of the town, were alreadygeared up for their day’s activity. Mark strolled up to theFranciscan church and monastery, just before the main entrance gateof the city walls, at the top of the Placa. He sat down by thestone fountain opposite; the monastery didn’t appear to be open,and after a quick glance at the useful street map in hisLonely Planet guide he decided to make his way through the smaller sidestreets back to the cathedral and then perhaps try to findsomewhere for a sandwich and drink.
The maze ofstreets and alleys had led him almost back to the port again whenhe came across the cathedral. Appearing quite suddenly, almost bysurprise, it was imposing without being overpowering. Thesurrounding square seemed a little dowdy and certainly low-key, butthe four columns on the front façade were grand enough. Markentered the nave which was surprisingly bright and spacious: itgave the impression of being too large for the outside of thebuilding. There was some pretty stunning glass and artwork too,including a 16th century work by Titian that must have survived theearthquake. He wasn’t sure about the policy on taking photographsbut there weren’t many visitors inside and only a couple of what heassumed must be local worshippers so he managed to sneak in a goodfew pictures. Being bothered to take photos struck him as a littlestrange; he wondered who he’d ever have to show them to. After all,it wouldn’t be Gemma and he wasn’t intending to go back to Englandfor a good while either. Still, there would no doubt be someone, hewas sure of that.
It waspast midday when Mark emerged into the sunlight and he was ready tofind somewhere to sit down and eat. Although theBaedeker wasn’t much help with places to eat and drink, hisLonely Planet book on travelling in Europe had mentioned a smallcafé-cum-bar in Dubrovnik, situated on one of the steep streetsjust off the Placa and running up to the residential areas of thetown, apparently either managed or owned by an English couple. Markheaded back into the centre of the old town to look in toit.
Sureenough, by the time he got to the third or fourth side street hespotted a small Union Jack hovering across the narrow passageway,more than street, that separated the buildings on one side fromthose on other. There were a couple of tables outside but there waslittle chance of the winter sun reaching them, let alone the summerone, Mark thought. He went in and sat at a table near the windowand let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Apart from him therewere only a couple of what looked to be local builders eating somekind of pasties with their
