Garden of Stars: A gripping novel of hope, family and love across the ages. Rose Alexander

in public view. And he could not argue with this point for indeed the restaurant, and the beach, were completely empty. After a few despairing shakes of his head, the decision was made and I headed out, carrying my hastily procured towel, John following behind and the bewildered restaurateur staring after us.

      I undressed behind a rock, singing all the while, and when I emerged from my impromptu changing room, I danced a little jig in sheer delight. There is nothing quite so delightful as breaking the rules.

      As I approached the sea, I had to sing very loudly to compete with the noise of the waves pounding onto the shore. John had been laughing, despite his misgivings, but now this faded to an anxious grimace.

      “Inês, please be careful won’t you? The currents are really strong here. Don’t go too far out.”

      Beyond the breaking waves, the reflection of the moon rippled in the dark surface of the sea, inviting me in.

      “It’s all right, I won’t,” I assured him. “I’m used to it, anyway. I’ve been swimming in the sea since I was a child. You should see the waves on the Praia de Melides, feel the current there! I’ll be fine.”

      With that, I ran towards the breakers, jumping them one by one, the fresh air whipping past my body, exhilaration filling my soul. I flung myself into the water as soon as it became deep enough, then turned onto my back and let my feet slide into the trough behind each wave.

      “Look at me, John, look at me!” I called to him as he stood on the beach, his eyes fixed upon me, smoke from his cigarette drifting up between his fingers.

      Flipping myself onto my front, I swam breaststroke into the crest of the waves, my skin tingling with cold and exhilaration.

      “I’m flying!” I felt as if nothing could stop me, no force in the world was greater than me as I surged through the surf. It was just a shame that John wasn’t in there enjoying it with me.

       Lisbon, 2010

      Scott’s knock on her hotel room door snatched Sarah away from the journal in the midst of Inês’s night swim. He took her to the city centre; it was early evening and a soft glow illuminated the grey stone walls of the Castelo de São Jorge. Strolling through the ancient streets, along steep becos and travessias, lanes and alleyways, where washing hung between the balconies and women leant out of windows and gossiped with their neighbours opposite, they reminisced about the Alfama of old, a district that tourists were warned away from in those days, reputed as it was to be full of pick-pockets and other low life. Of course, that had only made them more attracted to it. Now it had been somewhat sanitised and was definitely safer, but it retained its charm. Outside a tiny grocery shop, an old lady sat on a crate of fruit, singing.

      “Don’t even think about joining in!” joked Sarah, as she saw Scott linger to listen.

      “But I know that one!” he protested, all wide-eyed innocence as she feigned having to drag him away, laughing.

      In the Calçada de São Vicente, the public laundry building advertised its opening hours, Monday, Thursday and Friday, 9-12 and 2-6. Geraniums spilled from pots on every doorstep and from open apartment windows came the sounds of clanking crockery and pans, televisions playing Brazilian soaps, phones ringing, voices talking and arguing.

      Scott paused in the shade of an ancient olive tree.

      “It’s so great to see you, Sarah. It’s been too long.”

      Sarah’s heart contracted as if it were being wrung out and hung up to dry like a pair of old jeans in the washhouse behind them. The sun cast their shadows over the age-worn cobbles, his tall and broad, hers small and slim, two shapes that seemed to fit together so perfectly, it was almost as if they had been moulded as a pair. Overhead, the giant tree spread its silver-leaved branches wide, dappling them with ever-fluctuating patterns of light and dark.

      “Way too long,” he said again, taking a step closer to her, his head inclined towards hers.

      For one head-spinning moment she thought that he was going to kiss her.

      Scott and Sarah, under a tree

      K-I-S-S-I-N-G…

      Honor’s silly rhyme leapt into her mind, unbidden. Scott paused beside her. And then walked on down the uneven stone steps in front of them, beckoning to her to follow him.