The sun beat down relentlessly from the cloudless sky as I stepped down from the bus just a short distance from Paphos harbour. The simmering resentment I had felt as I stormed out of the hotel room had dissipated into mild irritation. Why were men so stubborn I asked myself, as I looked up and down the road, trying to decide which way to go? Why can’t they accept they’re not always right? That sometimes, mostly, I reflected, women know best? Well, he knew now, though his macho-pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it. He was suffering, and for the moment, I thought it served him right.
My name is Rusty Simmonds, aged thirty one then, (although people said I looked much younger), and a comfortable size 10. I’m told I have a pretty face with a small upturned nose, a small mouth and short dark hair that had a tendency to curl at the edges. I was wearing a light blue, loose fitting, sleeveless top, a lightweight, dark blue wrap -round skirt that reached just above my knees and a pair of light blue flat shoes that I’d bought especially for the holiday. They were the most comfortable shoes I’d ever had. I had been looking forward to this holiday, my first abroad, for weeks, months even, and was determined I was going to enjoy it. Jake, my husband’s stupidity, not withstanding.
I stood where the bus had dropped me. On one side of the road there were shops, lots of them and I was determined to spend today. That would serve him right. The other side of the road ran along the sea and back to the harbour. My watch told me it was still ten minutes before midday and I wasn’t hungry yet. I’d promised myself I’d eat at the harbour, but first, I’d shop.
Already the sun was making my skin hot and I knew I’d done the right thing in liberally applying a factor 30 sun cream. There was more in my bag to apply later. The one regret I had was not having the courage to leave my bra off. I could just about go without one, but my top was loose and I was conscious of what I might be showing if I leaned too far forward. Now it felt tight and hot. There was an occasional breeze that I was convinced would cool my sweaty breasts. Then I laughed inwardly, remembering that ladies don’t sweat, they glow.
There were a few gifts I needed to buy for friends and family back home. For Neeta, my best friend, I bought a fridge magnet, and for my mother and Jake’s mother I bought a tea towel each. The shops provided some shelter from the heat and I wandered into several just to cool off. Several shops claimed to be offering cigarettes at cost price and much cheaper than back home. I didn’t smoke, but Jake’s father did, so I bought 200. Jake’s mother would be cross with me as his father was supposed to be giving up. Let Jake sort that one out, I told myself. I hadn't decided yet what to by for my grandmother, Granny Wise. She was old, and neither a fridge magnet nor a tea towel would be appropriate. Never mind, there was still plenty of time.
Further along were jewellers. One had diamond rings and bracelets without displaying prices. Oh how I would love to have the bracelet right at the front. It had three intertwining bands of gold and three diamonds set into each band. I sighed. If you had to ask the price, you couldn’t afford it; I’d learned that lesson long ago. Definitely too expensive. The display in the next window did have prices and a bracelet that was marked as £250 appealed to me. It took me a while to convert the price (in Cyprus pounds) into sterling. It was still too expensive. But I decided a topaz ring for £120 would look pretty on my finger. And it fitted perfectly. I paid by credit card and left the shop wearing it.
A few minutes later I crossed the road and made my way slowly towards the harbour. The pavement was wide at this point and there were many street vendors displaying their wares. I was impressed by the artist who would produce a creditable portrait in about 20 minutes for £15 and amused by the cartoonist who would produce a caricature in only 15 minutes for £10. I passed both. I was invited to take a trip on one of several boats for various lengths of time, all of which I declined. Young men and women were offering other people scratch cards, but never to me. Was there something about me that singled me out as one who wouldn’t have been interested anyway?
In the bay, two people were racing in jet-skis and someone was just ascending on a para-sail. It fascinated me, but I knew I wouldn’t have wanted to try it myself; I wasn't adventurous enough and I occasionally had symptoms of vertigo. As I returned my attention to the street vendors I saw one who offered to create a necklace with your name written in the Greek alphabet, a maximum of ten letters for £7.00. I had some difficulty in making the man understand I wanted ‘Rusty’ as my name. It wasn’t a name he recognised and I had to write it for him. Once he understood he expertly bent the wire into the required shape. I had no way of knowing if what the letters said was correct. “What the heck, it’s only a bit of fun,” I told myself as I fastened it around my neck.
The tables outside the restaurants were filled with the lunch-time trade as I made my way along the harbour. What did I want to eat? I was determined not to be a stereotypical British tourist looking for British comfort food. I wanted something authentically Cypriot or Greek. The menus outside each restaurant promised mouth-watering choices, but I really wanted to sit and eat my meal at the water’s edge, where I could hear the water gently lapping against the moored boats and the sea wall. As I stood studying the menu of one restaurant I felt as if someone was looking at me, appraising me. The feeling was intense and yet I couldn’t see anyone. My back was towards the tables along the sea wall. How could I have such a strong feeling if it was someone behind me, someone I couldn’t possibly have caught out of the corner of my eye? Was I mistaken? Without making it too obvious I slowly turned round. There were six tables along the sea wall, all occupied - three by families and two by groups of women. At the sixth table was a man wearing dark glasses so I couldn’t see his eyes. At the same table were two women, or perhaps, more accurately, two girls. One looked about sixteen and the other perhaps a couple of years older. They could have been sisters. Both girls were tanned and wearing bikini tops consisting of little more than two small triangles. The younger one wore shorts and the older one a very short skirt. How I envied them their confidence. Even if I had a figure as good as theirs I’d never have the courage to go out with so much of my body exposed to view. The man was talking to the girls. Maybe they were his daughters, although I could see no family resemblance. I decided I must have been mistaken and walked to the next restaurant and studied the menu there.
Reaching the end of the harbour I still hadn’t decided what to eat or where. I started to walk slowly back. As I neared the table where the man sat with the two girls, the girls stood up and with a final word to the man, left. The man was alone and there were now seats at the water’s edge. Expecting him to be leaving soon, too, I asked if I could sit at his table. His voice was warm and pleasant as he politely said it would be his pleasure if I joined him. He was dressed in good quality, probably designer, bottle green shirt and khaki shorts and, if he had two daughters, I reasoned it would be safe. The waiter took my order of Greek salad with prawns, a side dish of olives and a fruit juice. The man ordered another fruit juice but nothing to eat.
“Is this your first time to Cyprus, Rusty?” the man asked as the waiter disappeared. How could he know my name? I didn’t remember having met him before. He sensed my confusion. “Your necklace says ‘Rusty’. I assumed it was your name. I apologise if I’m wrong. I’m Oliver, by the way.” Relieved that I hadn’t made a fool of myself by not recognising someone I knew, I confirmed my name and that it was indeed my first time on the island. His voice was educated and without accent. Instinctively I felt I could trust him, and I relaxed. Apart from my row with Jake, and the shop assistants, I’d not spoken to anyone all morning and I welcomed conversation with someone, almost anyone. He was easy to talk to and I found myself telling him how much I was enjoying my holiday, even though it had only been two days. He asked what I wanted to see during the rest of my week and all I could think of were the ‘Tombs of the Kings’, which I’d passed on the bus, and Coral Bay. He warned of the dangers of getting burned, simply and without being condescending. And then I told him about Jake.
Jake had refused to wear any lotion as he has a tendency to tan quickly anyway. He ignored all my attempts to persuade him the sun was much hotter that at home and to cap matters, he’d fallen asleep while sun bathing. When he woke up he was as red as a lobster and that morning the thought of even a shirt on his sore parts sent him into spasms of pain. He had learned a very harsh and painful lesson but I doubted he would learn from it the next time. He was stubborn and claimed he’d have been OK if I hadn’t let him sleep so long. It was his claim that it was my fault that had led to the row. Telling Oliver made me see the funny side of it and I felt so much better. Oliver said his situation wasn’t all that different. His wife was a sun worshipper, although she didn’t burn. She already had a golden tan. All she wanted to do was sit by the pool and sun bathe. He laughed when he told me she insisted on having a pool but never ever went into the water. We all had our oddities, he said.
“How come you attract all the good looking women, Olly?” the waiter asked as he came to remove my salad plate and I ordered a strawberry crepe and an iced coffee with two scoops of ice cream. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added. He explained that Olly, as he called him, spent three or four hours at the same table most days when he was in town. And there was hardly a minute when he isn’t accompanied by some of the best looking women around. He implied he included me in this category which boosted my ego enormously. The waiter hailed from Hartlepool. “No monkey jokes, now,” he insisted. I didn’t know what he meant. I wondered how many of the women who sat at the table with Oliver had been chatted up sufficiently to meet them later. He was quite handsome and had a good patter, I admitted to myself, and I was certain I wasn’t the only woman to think so. Oliver smiled, but didn’t answer the question. He ordered iced coffee, too, but without the extra ice cream.
"You looked puzzled by the waiter's reference to 'Monkey jokes'. Do you know what he was referring to?" Oliver asked. I didn't. "Many years ago a monkey was washed ashore near Hartlepool. Obviously he couldn't understand what the locals were saying and they didn't understand him. Never having seen a foreigner before, the locals thought he was a French spy and hanged him. People from Hartlepool are now known as 'Monkey hangers'.
"Poor monkey," I smiled. "At least that waiter can speak a foreign language. I heard him talking to someone else in what I assume was Greek a few minutes ago."
"He speaks quite good Greek, and French, and a little German. He's not your normal Brit. That might sound rude. Do you speak any languages?" I had to admit that I was a typical Brit in that respect.
“Would your husband be interested in the Tombs?” Oliver asked as I finished my crepe. I laughed. Jake would only be interested in the Tombs if there was a football match being played there. Or perhaps a ritual sacrifice of a virgin. He loves movies with lots of blood and gore. “Would you allow me to show you the Tombs?” he asked, adding that his car was parked just across the road. Was this his reason for spending so much time at the restaurant, I wondered? Was he just waiting for the opportunity to pick up women who might be just a little lonely? As if sensing my unease he apologised immediately. “Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea. You have no reason to trust me. I’m sorry if I put you on the spot.” At that moment he took off his dark glasses. His eyes were pale blue, like the sky above, and his face was free from any trace of duplicity. Instantly I knew I could trust him. And that was odd. I’m not the sort of person who can assess someone immediately. When I’d tried in the past, I was more often wrong than right. But this time I was confident in my judgement. I accepted his offer.
On the way to his car we stopped at a kiosk and Oliver bought two bottles of water. He was adamant we would need them and he refused to allow me to pay. His car was a black VW Golf convertible, and it the leather upholstery was hot to my bare legs. He found a towel in the boot and placed it on the seat so my thighs didn't stick and burn. The Tombs were only a ten minute drive away. As we parked, he suggested I put more sun cream on if I had it. It seemed strange having someone other than Jake rub the lotion on my back, but his hands were firm, gentle and his behaviour very proper. He again insisted in paying my entrance fee.
Once inside, I realised why I would need water. The landscape was parched scrubland with a few scattered low bushes. There were no real trees to provide any shade. It seems the tombs were not those of kings either, but of noblemen. Tombs often housed generations of the same family. If that was the case, the first two tombs must have been of low ranking noblemen who had small families. Walking down the steps and entering the first tomb, I was suddenly grateful for the shelter it provided from the sun. It was also much cooler. The tomb wasn’t very complete and there were many other tombs around that were in a much worse state. Maybe these were overspill tombs for the nobleman’s family. The next three tombs were much bigger and in a much better state of repair. Steps had been built, quite recently it seemed, down, and the tombs resembled houses from the outside, with pillars and inscriptions over doorways. Inside, there were further rooms leading off, and many more recesses in the walls cut at different levels. The ceiling was domed. Surely these must have been for families of higher ranking noblemen. Returning from the relative cool of the tombs to the heat outside I was glad of the water.
It was almost two hours later that we completed our exploration of the tombs. I had found the experience fascinating. One day I hoped I might be able to visit the pyramids. I’d heard there was one you could go right into the burial chamber. I thanked Oliver and was prepared to catch the bus back to my hotel. He would hear nothing of it. He had enjoyed the day immensely; driving me back to my hotel would be his pleasure.
As Oliver had been such a gentleman throughout, I felt I couldn't reasonably refuse him without appearing rude, but I would much rather have returned to the hotel on my own. What if someone saw me and mentioned it to Jake later in the week? But as before, Oliver was a behaved perfectly, and he dropped me just before the hotel entrance. He wished me a pleasant time for the rest of my holiday and drove off without making any attempt to arrange another meeting.
As I walked back to my room, I knew I had enjoyed his company also.