Kitabı oku: «The Secret Cove in Croatia», sayfa 2

Chapter 2
London

Maddie gripped her knees together, her hands clasped over the kneecaps to stop them shaking, as Henry Compton-Barnes, complete with suede patches on the elbows of his jacket and a dicky bow, stared down at her work. It seemed to take forever before he finally looked up and spoke.

‘Professor Gregory is a good friend of mine and you’ve come highly recommended. I shall therefore be completely honest with you.’ His mouth pulled into a regretful line as if someone were tugging at strings attached to each end of his lips. ‘Technically, you are very good. These are well executed. The detail, in fact, is brilliant.’

Despite the words, she knew there was a giant-sized ‘but’ headed her way.

‘What I’m looking for in a painting … for this gallery …’ He shook his head. ‘These have no originality. No flair. They’re missing that je ne sais quoi, the indefinable, that makes a piece of art stand out. What I’m looking for is something that only the artist can conceive. When you look at their work, you know that only they could have painted it. I liken it to a singer, someone like, forgive me, I’m considerably older than you, but someone like Carly Simon, for example. You hear her voice and you know immediately it’s her. Her voice, like a signature, is unique and that’s what I’m looking for in a painting.

‘These, I’m afraid, are good, very good, but I don’t see your soul or any investment from you as an individual.

‘Can I give you some advice, Maddie? Go somewhere new and different. Forget everything you’ve ever been taught or thought you knew – break the rules – experiment but, most of all, paint from the heart.’

Paint from the heart. Maddie rolled her eyes, picturing a Salvador Dali image of a red heart skewered by a giant paintbrush on a desert plain, with scarlet drops dripping from the brush onto the pale yellow sand. Paint from the heart. What the hell did that mean? Had anyone told Picasso to paint from the heart? Rodin? Van Gogh? Maddie winced. Not that she was anywhere close to emulating anyone in that league.

Sitting in Costa, she sipped at her coffee, regretting the impulse to drown her sorrows with a ridiculously expensive cappuccino.

‘Dear God,’ drawled an upper-class voice as someone sat down behind her. ‘What a chav. What was Henry thinking?’

‘What? That girl that’s just been in? I thought she was in fancy dress. You know, Toulouse-Lautrec.’

Maddie clutched the felt beret on her lap under the table.

‘He was doing a friend a favour. He told me when he put the appointment in the diary.’

‘Did he take her on? Surely not. God, the gallery would be going downhill fast.’

‘Don’t think so. By the look of her when she left, I think he sent her out with a flea in her ear. I could have told him when she turned up he was wasting his time. I mean, seriously, did you hear the way she spoke?’

The other girl let out a peal of laughter. ‘Common as muck.’

‘Shh, you can’t say things like that now. It’s not PC. I’m not sure you’re even allowed to say chav any more.’

Both girls laughed with malicious superiority as Maddie flushed, feeling the heat in her cheeks. She probably looked like an overripe Christmas elf. Picking up her beret, she crammed it firmly onto her head and turned around. One of the girls looked up and at least had the grace to start, her mouth opening in a gasp.

‘Thing about chavs,’ said Maddie conversationally, ‘is that they have no class, speak their minds and don’t take crap from supercilious, stuck-up bitches like you two. Not all of us were born into money and, quite frankly, if that’s how you talk about people, you need to go back to school and learn some manners. You should be ashamed of yourselves.’

Pleased with the way both girls sat there gawping like a pair of guppies, she sailed out of the coffee bar with her head held high.

Unfortunately, having the last word didn’t change the fact that she had failed at her one and only shot at actually getting through the doors of a gallery in London and used up her only useful contact.

Maddie glared up at the departures board at Euston. Another two hours before her cheap fare train departed. Back to Birmingham and another conversation with her mum about another failed job interview. Maddie hadn’t actually told anyone, apart from Professor Gregory, what she was really doing in London.

Sighing, she scrolled through her WhatsApp feed.

Urgent. Urgent. Urgent. Do you still need a job?

It’s temporary but it’s in Europe and they’re desperate. Call me. Nx

The message from her friend, Nina, made her smile. They’d met in Paris while Maddie was on her year of study abroad and, with so much in common, had quickly become firm friends. Both came from big families and, like Nina, Maddie was one of five, and while they missed being part of a community, they didn’t necessarily miss the demands of their families.

The key word in the brief message was Europe. A siren call. Maddie longed to get as far away from home as possible. Since her time in France last year, she just didn’t feel like she fitted in any more.

‘OK, what’s the deal?’ she asked as Nina picked up the phone on the first ring. ‘Where in Europe? And what? Grape-picking?’

‘Something much classier.’ Nina’s voice bristled with that ta-da excitement. ‘It’s Croatia.’

‘Did you just sneeze?’

‘Very funny. No, seriously. Nick phoned Sebastian half an hour ago. He’s going on this amazing holiday with his new girlfriend; a bunch of them are chartering a yacht … but the girl that was going to work on board as a hostess dropped out yesterday and they go in three days’ time. All you have to do is a bit of cleaning and cooking. Basically looking after the guests. And there are only six of them.’

‘I’m your girl,’ said Maddie without hesitation, despite the fact that she’d never been on a boat in her life, unless you counted the pedalo in Tenerife that time. Thanks to a bit of tuition from Nina’s chef boyfriend, Sebastian, she’d learned a lot in six months. Her cooking skills had come on loads, for someone whose repertoire once consisted of nothing more than shepherd’s pie and Lancashire hotpot. Besides, didn’t everyone on holiday live on salads and ice cream?

Nina squealed. ‘Brilliant. You need to phone this Croatian guy. I’ll WhatsApp his number. Oh, you’re going to have such a great time. Two and a half weeks in Croatia! I’m quite jealous.’

Maddie squealed back. ‘That’s so cool. Thanks so much, Nina. And I can’t wait to meet your brother. I feel like I know him already.’

Chapter 3
Croatia

‘Whoa.’ Maddie dropped her duffel bag on the quayside. Everyone who’d told her to expect conditions to be cramped, with no room to swing a goldfish, had not got the right memo. This boat was big. She yanked her phone out from her pocket and checked the name on the back of the boat with the details on her phone. Nope, this was definitely it – Avanturista, Split.

This was where she was spending the next couple of weeks? Well, hello, gorgeous boat and thank you very much. She did a little jig on the spot. In her natty outfit of blue striped Breton T-shirt and red Capri pants – well, she thought it was natty, although the Capri pants were an awful lot more tomatoey than she remembered when she’d bought them.

She took a quick picture of the boat and began typing a caption.

Nina, seriously, babe. Look at this boat! It’s humungous. I love you. Thanks so much for getting me the gig. Now I’m doubly glad I paid attention to all those cooking lessons. Can you remember when we first met? I was the queen of nursery food and burnt cakes and now look at me. Can’t wait to meet your bro. Maddie xxx

She would have been quite content to sit on the quayside in the glorious sunshine and gaze at the boat, but she figured she was here to work, even if it didn’t feel like it. Since the coach from the airport had dropped her off at the busy ferry port she’d felt as if she was on holiday. The departures boards were full of the Jadrolinija line, with boats leaving for interesting-sounding places like Hvar, Jelsa, Stari Grad, Supetar, Bol, Milna, Dubrovnik, Korčula and Ancona. She grinned to herself. She wasn’t in Birmingham any more.

Then she’d realised she was in completely the wrong place and had to walk all the way back to the other side of the bay to the marina, which wasn’t quite the start for a shit-hot crew member but she hadn’t minded the walk, not when the weather was like this and she was abroad.

Having been at home for a year after being in France, it was heaven to be back in the sunshine with all the sights and smells that told her she was a long way from the Midlands. She adored her family, she really did, but she also liked being away from them. Being in charge all the time was exhausting. Her sisters, two brothers and her mother were all so flipping disorganised. It was like herding cats all the time and it wasn’t as if they were the least bit grateful. Theresa, the closest in age to her, had told her she was a bossy harpy and they’d been quite happy and had managed perfectly well when she was away in France. Which anyone with two eyes in their head could have pointed out was totally ridiculous, if they’d seen the state of the house when she’d got back. Brendan’s shoe collection had tripled, Theresa could have opened her own beauty counter with the amount of make-up she’d stockpiled, a fair amount of which Maddie was sure had been shop-lifted, and they were all living on Chicken Pot Noodles, when it was far cheaper to cook proper meals.

Just then a man clutching several striped carrier bags appeared and, before she had chance to say anything, nipped nimbly from the quayside onto the boat.

‘Hi,’ she called. ‘I’m Maddie. New crew member.’

Perfect white teeth framed by a bushy black beard curved into a piratical smile. ‘Welcome aboard. I’m Ivan, the skipper. We spoke on the phone,’ he said in heavily accented English as he mimed the action, as if reinforcing his words to make sure she understood.

Jumping the small distance onto the boat, she was immediately conscious of the unfamiliar bob of the boat on the water. She wasn’t even going to think about seasickness.

‘Nice to meet you.’ He held out a tanned forearm, thick with dark hair, and shook her hand with a bone-crushing grip, which no doubt came from lots of sailory-type activities that Maddie couldn’t begin to guess at. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’

Without looking back over his shoulder, Ivan pulled open a door and headed inside. She followed him below deck, down a few steps into a corridor which ran the full length of the boat. With solid, highly polished chestnut wood cladding the walls, floor and ceiling, it felt a little closed in and slightly claustrophobic but she was sure she’d get used to it.

‘Cabins,’ said Ivan, pointing to several doors leading off the corridor before taking her along through the boat to another short flight of stairs comprising no more than five steps. To the left there was a door, while a further flight of stairs led upwards and outside.

‘Galley.’ He indicated with his head as he led her into what she realised was the kitchen. She’d been warned by her brother Brendan’s best friend, who apparently knew a thing or two about boats, having spent some time in Hull, that she should expect something like a caravan on the water. Having spent many a holiday at a caravan park in Filey on the North Yorkshire coast, she’d anticipated a couple of gas rings and a tiny fridge tucked under a counter, with minuscule cupboards built into every conceivable nook and cranny. This was a revelation, the sort of kitchen you’d find in one of those posh executive homes that were springing up on the outskirts of towns with gated railings around them. It even had a range with five gas burners and a fancy griddle plate.

Maddie’s hopeful mental images of her preparing lots of salad and simply prepared meats went up in smoke. Holy moly, with this sort of set-up, was she expected to serve up Cordon Bleu standard food? Her cooking skills might have improved in recent years but they weren’t going to be winning any Michelin stars any time soon. Thank goodness she was arty; she could do presentation over substance any day of the week, especially since Sebastian had taught her a few techniques to help hide her less than stellar skills.

‘Wow.’ She took a long, slow look around the kitchen.

‘Nice, eh?’ He dumped the bags and held out his hand. ‘I picked up a few supplies for us before the guests arrive. After that you’re on your own. In charge of cooking and food. What sort of charter experience do you have?’

Maddie winced but gave him a confident I’ve-got-this-covered grin. ‘None, but I can cook, clean and I’m good with people. I’m a last-minute addition but don’t worry, I’m a hard worker.’

‘Better than the girl they had lined up then.’ Ivan shook his head.

‘When do the guests arrive?’ asked Maddie, her curious gaze taking in the big stainless steel run of fridges and the marble-topped counter.

‘Tomorrow. Plenty of time to get ready. I thought I’d have to get my grandma on board to help with the cooking and the serving. I’m grateful you could make it.’

Maddie gave him a brilliant smile. ‘Excellent,’ she said, making out she was far more confident than she was, but how hard could it be? She was going to be a glorified cook and chambermaid; as long as they didn’t ask her to drive the boat, she’d be fine. ‘This is all new –’ she waved a hand at the kitchen ‘– but I’m a quick learner.’ Her words were deliberately evasive.

‘Most of it is easy …’ He paused. ‘But they didn’t want to pay for any more crew, so you may need to help me from time to time.’ He grinned. ‘The sails, we don’t use. It’s mainly engine. But you’ll have to learn how to drive the launch.’

‘The launch? Great,’ she said, as if she was asked to do this sort of thing all the time. That was the little boat that had been roped to the side of the big boat?

‘Yes, with a trip like this, it’s difficult to moor in some of the popular places, especially Hvar, so it’s easier for us to drop anchor just outside and drive the guests in and out. A water taxi.’ He shrugged. ‘They call when they want picking up. And some celebrities like the privacy.’

‘Ooh, celebrities?’ Maddie’s eyes widened and her dark curls bobbed as she shifted on the spot. ‘Do you know who’s going to be on board?’

Ivan threw back his head and laughed. ‘Not until they get here. One year my friend had the big shock when Beyoncé and Jay-Z turned up on the boat he was skippering.’

She whistled, not having given too much thought before about who might be on board.

‘I do know they have lots of money. This boat costs over six thousand euros a day to charter.’ His eyes narrowed with sudden authority. ‘But I’m the skipper. I’m in charge. Me, I drive the boat, navigate. I’m the boss. You are the …’ He frowned, his English failing him. ‘What they want, you provide.’ Although his eyes twinkled, she got the impression that what he’d just said was non-negotiable.

‘So what about the quarters?’ asked Maddie, wondering about sleeping arrangements and keen to see her own bunk.

‘This gulet has eight cabins.’

‘Gulet? I thought it was a yacht.’

‘A gulet is just a type of yacht, usually two or three-masted, with several decks, typical of Turkey and Croatia. This has two masts.’ Maddie nodded as if she had any idea what he was on about.

Ivan gave another one of his quick charming grins. ‘This trip will be easy. Only six guests. The gulet sleeps many more.’

‘Gosh, six people on this huge boat.’

Ivan rolled his eyes. ‘Some people have money … Why they chartered a boat this big?’ He shrugged. ‘But it makes our lives easier. Especially yours. Not so many mouths to feed. Not so many rooms to clean. Not so many beds to make.’

‘Easy-peasy,’ said Maddie, thinking of home, with two brothers, two sisters and a mum who was disorganised at the best of times. Cooking, cleaning and tidying up after six people was the norm.

‘There is a manual for crew.’ He leaned down, opened a drawer and pulled out a royal blue ring binder with the charter company’s logo on the front. ‘Rules, regulations and guidance. The hours are variable …’ He lifted his shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. ‘You’re supposed to get some time off, but one of us is on call all the time from breakfast until the guests go to bed. It depends on the people. Some like to stay on board, others like to explore and take day trips. Today we have peace and quiet. Tomorrow, it will be busy when they arrive. I’ll show you to your quarters.’ He glanced at the big chunky watch on his wrist. ‘This evening I go home to Split. You like to come?’

Maddie unpacked her duffel quickly, a frisson of excitement running through her at the thought of being in sole charge of the boat. She must start calling it a gulet; that sounded far more professional.

Her cabin was on the upper deck, along with Ivan’s cabin and two guest cabins and, she giggled to herself, she had her own bathroom. Talk about real luxury, even though she’d figured out it was possible to pee and shower at the same time. Waiting for her on the bed were a couple of freshly laundered pale blue T-shirts with the company logo on the front. Uniform of sorts, she guessed. She’d been told to bring navy shorts (which had been impossible to buy in the quick turnaround) and navy trousers (would leggings do?) to wear when she was on duty, which, from the sound of it, could be all the time. Although being out here in Croatia on this gorgeous yacht didn’t feel the least bit like work. Well, not yet.

When she pulled shut her door, clutching the manual under her arm, she crossed to the rail to look out over the marina, tilting her face up to the sun. Not a cloud marred the sky and, at four o’clock in the afternoon, it was still very warm. This morning’s grey skies in Birmingham seemed a world away and her cramped three-bedroom home would fit on this yacht five or six times over. Ivan might have described her cabin as small but, compared to sharing with her sister Theresa, and having her own bathroom, even with the shower and toilet combo, it was luxury.

A couple wandering along the nearby promenade skirting the marina paused, staring at the yacht. Maddie pretended not to see them and for a moment imagined she was a guest on the yacht and enjoyed their envious gaze. She couldn’t begin to imagine what the man who’d chartered the boat did for a living to earn enough money to spend such an enormous sum renting this boat.

And this one wasn’t even close to being one of the biggest in the marina, although it dwarfed its nearest neighbours. Over on the other side of the port were some seriously swanky boats. Ivan had pointed out Roman Abramovich’s yacht, a sleek, sophisticated six-decked affair with so many satellites and gizmos on it that it looked more like a warship or a small cruise liner, and another not quite so large one that was reputed to have been chartered by Dua Lipa for the summer.

Beyond the marina was the town of Split, a collection of terracotta roofs huddled together in the narrow strip of land, bordered by a range of grey scree-covered rocky hills which rose steeply and ran in a sharp line parallel to the coast as far as the eye could see.

With a little skip of pure happiness Maddie dragged herself away from the view to explore the deck area. On this level, there was a small covered dining area at the rounded back end of the boat – there was probably some nautical term for it. Bow? Stern? She ran a hand over the bottles of a small, well-stocked bar tucked to one side. Beyond it, steps led up to the top deck, which she skipped up. Ooh, lovely. A collection of luxury wooden sun loungers with thick padded cushions in the now familiar navy blue were arranged around the small central deck, one of which she immediately decided had her name on it. Yes, a little G and T up here would be very nice.

Ivan had told her the guests couldn’t check in before five-thirty tomorrow and he would meet them at the reception desk at the marina before bringing them to board the yacht. That gave her a one-off opportunity for some sunbathing before everyone arrived.

On the main deck, as well as the four cabins, there was an indoor lounge area with low-slung white leather seats, covered in expensive-looking blue and white cushions in an ikat print, and black marble-topped occasional tables which opened out to a shaded area with a big table. She crossed through the lounge and out to another deck and let out a low whistle – a Jacuzzi and plenty more sun loungers. A further flight of stairs took her down to the lower deck with six more cabins.

Having explored her little kingdom with utter delight, Maddie decided to treat herself to that G and T and to start reading the crew manual before heading into Split to meet Ivan who’d already gone to see his family. He’d circled a point on a tourist map for her and told her to ring him when she got there because she’d never find the family apartment.

Split was buzzing. Wandering along the crowded promenade, as she’d left herself plenty of time, she stopped to listen to a live band playing. They weren’t in the first flush of youth, but played enthusiastic covers of the Rolling Stones, ZZ Top and Steve Harley, all of which Maddie recognised as favourites of her rock chick mum’s. It was tempting to join in the dancing along with the hardened crowd at the very front but then Maddie could picture her mum, leather-jacketed and chain-smoking, who’d have been tapping her feet in time, no doubt head-banging to the music and flicking fag ash around her with careless laziness. Besides, she needed to find Ivan’s house and didn’t want to be late.

Maddie turned away and carried on walking along the busy promenade past the many restaurants, from which delicious smells spilled as waiters, trays held high, whizzed in and around tables with speedy efficiency. To her left, the sea sparkled in the low sunshine, an incredible blue that had her fingers itching to grab a paintbrush and capture the scene. She’d stowed her watercolour pencils and sketchbook in the drawer under her bed in the cabin in the hope she might get some days off, although from reading that manual it was looking less likely. Ahead of her, she could see the busy port, with queues of cars waiting to board and another stream of cars disembarking from a recent arrival. A large white ferry was chugging away out towards the islands that could be seen in the distance. This was the gateway to the Dalmatian islands and she couldn’t wait to set sail and see them for herself.

Busy, busy, busy. And she loved it. There was a sense of life and vibrancy about the place. It had that European smell, the joie de vivre and the delicious warmth in the air. She’d missed living in Paris. Missed the cosmopolitan lifestyle. Now, here was her chance to live it again.

‘Welcome, welcome, Ivan’s friend. Come, come.’

Maddie, wide-eyed from leaving the thronging crowds of the narrow street and stepping into the cool quiet calm of the ancient apartment building, offered the bunch of flowers she’d bought in the market around the corner and stared curiously around at the stone-lintelled windows and the big archway over the door.

Ivan’s apartment, at the top of worn stone steps, was in the middle of a wild warren of streets dating back to Roman times, lined with stone buildings within the boundary of Diocletian’s Palace, which she’d glimpsed briefly on her way here. It was like stepping back in time.

Modern manners and the proffered bunch of flowers brought a torrent of smiles and Croatian from the prune-faced wiry lady who stood at the heavy wooden front door.

‘This is my grandma, Vesna. She speaks a little English,’ Ivan said.

‘Hello,’ said Maddie, smiling as the tiny woman studied her with dark raisin eyes before dragging her in through the door and closing it behind Maddie.

‘And this is my wife, Zita.’ A tall dark-haired woman appeared from the other room. Maddie guessed she was in her early forties although, with her flawless olive skin, it was difficult to tell.

‘Thank you for having me,’ said Maddie, feeling a little uncertain and worried that she was encroaching on family time.

‘Company is always good,’ said Zita with a broad smile, her dark brows lifting. ‘You’re very welcome. Both grandma and my mama are here today. They’re very excited to meet you.’

‘Really?’ asked Maddie, frowning and glancing at Ivan in question.

Zita laughed. ‘We love company and any excuse to celebrate together with some food. This is the Croatian way. We love our food and we love our family.’

‘Gosh, your English is amazing.’

Zita tossed her heavy black-brown hair over her shoulder. She was a striking-looking woman with dark eyes and strong features and when she spoke her face danced with lively animation. ‘I went to university in London, UCL. That’s where I met Ivan. We worked there for some years and then came back to Split when our family was young and that’s when Ivan bought the boat. He hires it to the charter company but skippers for them. I work at the airport, so I use my English. Every year the airport gets busier and busier.’

Maddie followed her through to the kitchen, a hive of bustling activity where diminutive Vesna and another, much taller, lady presided over two big pans like a pair of mad professors, throwing in seasoning and bay leaves from a large glass jar on the side. They were both talking away, shooting shy smiles towards Maddie and patting a little boy on the head every time he came within their reach, as he darted backwards and forwards through an archway to a long table with handfuls of cutlery clutched between his chubby fingers.

‘This is my mother, Tonka, and that’s Bartul, our son. He likes to be busy and help Nona Tonka. Both Nona and Mama are very excited because Ivan said you wanted to learn about Croatian food.’ Zita spoke a few rapid words of Croatian and Tonka turned round and responded, waving her hand towards the big steaming pan in front of her.

‘She says she hopes you like fish. She wants to show you a traditional fish dish brujet.’

‘Can you tell her that I’d like to learn, though I don’t know much about fish?’

When Zita relayed this, Vesna looked horrified.

Zita translated again. ‘She says, “But you live on an island”.’ They all laughed at that.

Vesna beckoned Maddie over as she grabbed a large plastic bottle and poured a generous glug of dark green liquid into a large frying pan.

‘Is that olive oil?’ asked Maddie, looking up at a shelf of assorted plastic bottles in varying sizes, all containing the same liquid.

‘Yes.’ Zita handed her the bottle. ‘Smell.’

The distinctive fruity smell of olives hit her. ‘Wow, that smells good. Fresh. Like … well, like real olives. You can almost imagine them being crushed.’

‘Picked last October.’ Zita tilted her head with a definite hint of pride. ‘Here every family has their own piece of land with olive trees. We have a plot on Brač, up in the hills. In the autumn the whole family goes to the island for the week – everyone helps. And then the oil is pressed at a local co-operative. You must take a bottle back to the boat.’

‘Thank you, that would be great,’ said Maddie, thinking she’d save it to make a really good salad dressing.

‘And you must have a glass of wine.’ Zita pointed to a row of outsize glass jars tucked behind the archway.

‘Wow,’ said Maddie, eyeing the big jars of deep blackberry-coloured wine with their traditional wicker weave which looked fabulously rustic. ‘What do you call those? And is the wine homemade as well?’

‘In English you’d call them demijohns.’ Zita laughed and shook her head. ‘And yes, the wine is homemade but not by us, but there is a family connection of Ivan’s – his cousin makes the wine.’

‘Here, try.’ Ivan thrust a thick glass goblet of the wine into her hand, having poured several from a jug on the side.

‘I don’t know much about wine,’ said Maddie, gingerly tasting it.

‘All you need to know is if you like it,’ said Ivan, lifting his glass. ‘Živilli.’

‘Živilli,’ said Zita.

‘Mmm, that’s good,’ said Maddie.

Zita took a sip from her own glass. ‘Dalmatian red wines are very good. We have many. The white is different and will often be served with water in the restaurants. The tourists get cross because they don’t like it to be watered down. The red, I think, is the best.’ She shrugged. ‘Ivan and I, we prefer the red. You must take some wine back with you as well.’

Maddie was handed an apron and ushered over to the oven, where Tonka had begun to fry several pieces of different fish. Her impromptu cookery lesson featured lots of sign language and laughter as Tonka and Vesna attempted to teach her how to cook the dish. After that, to Maddie’s surprise, they showed her how to make fresh pasta.

‘I thought pasta was Italian,’ she said to Zita.

‘We’re very close to Italy and our history is very intertwined. The Venetians ruled here for over three hundred years. We do eat lots of pasta although, when it is a main dish, it is made with meat and shellfish, not fish. We do add what we call rezanci, vermicelli in Italian, to some of the fish stews and my mother has her own special ingredient, which I know –’ Zita’s eyes twinkled with amusement ‘–she’ll want to show you.’

Tonka was certainly an enthusiastic teacher, patting Maddie hard on the shoulder at regular intervals, while Vesna stood by and nodded approvingly.