Mértola? Really?’ Paulo the taxi driver looked at Celia incredulously in the rear-view mirror. ‘It’s not so good for tourists. No high-street shops, no bars. Bit remote. I can take you to a city?’
Celia shuffled her too-tight skirt down and ran a tissue across her forehead, a little mortified at being judged so immediately.
‘No, Mértola please,’ she said firmly, gripping onto the door handle as the car sped up. ‘I’ve been waiting for 20 years to return to Portugal. Mértola was the most beautiful place I’d ever been.’ She bit her lip. ‘I hope it hasn’t changed too much.’
Paulo laughed. ‘Oh don’t worry, nothing much changes there!’ He pulled the taxi onto the motorway and they headed inland, towards the hills.
Celia peeled herself from the leather taxi seat and thumped her large suitcase onto the steep cobbled street with an audible groan. It wasn’t just the long journey from Faro airport in an un-air-conditioned car that had made her uncomfortable. With each mile that she drew
