The Maltese sun was shining. It was weak and watery but it
was still a balmy 16’ compared with the chill of England.
She was sitting out on her veranda, determined to have breakfast
outside and enjoy the freedom that the Mediterranean climate offers to al
fresco worshippers.
Fruit juice. Pastizzi. Te fit-tazza and imqaret. Prickly pears.
A veritable banquet for one. Bliss for those with a sweet tooth.
She settled down and stirred the glass of tea. She looked
over the valley. The dry limestone hills rolled along, with rocky outcrops
reflecting the brightness of the sun’s rays. A vista that had welcomed visitors
since time began: Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines, beyond the British or Soviet
and Libyan money. The limestone had shaped the country, empires and the lives
of people.
A bite of the deep-fried date pastry and she closed her eyes
to savour the moment.
But the moment was shattered like glass tinkling on the limestone.
She sighed, “Alright, alright. I’m coming!”
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