The Harbour Walk – Part 2: A Table with a View

The flat was on the top floor of an old building above the harbour, with tall windows facing the sea and a small kitchen that smelled of garlic and tomatoes. A fish stew bubbled on the stove. A table was laid for two, with a white cloth, a loaf of bread and a bottle of local white.

"It's beautiful," said Marianne, looking at the view.

"I bought it for the view. And then I discovered I had no one to show it to."

"I'm glad I'm the one."

"So am I." He poured the wine with a steady hand.

They talked through the stew and the cheese and the coffee, past the time when lunch should have ended. The bora dropped by four, as it often did, and the harbour turned to polished gold. Boats glided out in long lines. Gulls rested on the rail.

"Giorgio," said Marianne. "I'm not sure how to say this in either language."

"Say it in both."

"I'd like to stay a while longer. I'd like to be close to you."

"I would like that very much." He stood, and held out his hand. "May I kiss you first?"

"Please."

The kiss was gentle, warm and a little shaky, the kiss of two people who had thought that part of life was closed and were delighted to find the door ajar. His hands were rough from forty years of ropes, and they rested on her shoulders with infinite care. She slid her arms around his neck.

"Come," he said. "The bedroom has the best view of all."

The room was bright with the last light, a wide bed under a white coverlet, and the sea glowing beyond the window. They undressed with humour and tenderness, comparing scars and sorrows and the stubborn comedy of old knees, and under the coverlet they found each other, slowly, kindly, entirely unhurried. The harbour lights came on one by one, and the foghorn called, soft and low.

In the morning the sea was flat and bright. Marianne stood at the window in his shirt, holding a mug of coffee. Giorgio came up behind her and slid his arms around her.

"The ferry to Venice leaves at ten," he said. "I know the captain."

"Do you think he'd take two passengers?"

"For you," said Giorgio, smiling into her hair, "he would hold the boat."

More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom