“Your uncle Lilis called while you were away,” said Granddad.
“Yeah? How is everyone?”
“They’re fine. They’re coming tomorrow to stay for a few days.”
Sofia loved to have Uncle Lilis and his family around. Their quarter was next to Akis’s on the other side of the building. It stayed closed most of the time because they lived in Corfu town. They came to the village only on weekends and mostly in the summer, when Aunt Rini had time off work and the girls—Dora and Nana—were on their long, summer break from school. Sofia was very fond of her cousins. Dora was the same age as her while Nana was only eleven and had hardly any common interests with the two older girls. Yet, her intelligence and witty humour made her a welcome and indispensable companion to the other two.
“Uncle Yiannis called as well,” said Gran breezily but not without an undertone of caution in her voice.
“Oh yeah? How is he?” Sofia answered coldly after a few moments, trying to sound interested while staring at her plate. It took her all her self-discipline to come up with this answer and that was the best she could do. The first reaction that had fired up in her mind, which she had managed to resist, was to remain silent or to even dare say that she didn’t care.
“He’s fine,” replied Gran, keeping up the charade. “He said ‘welcome’ and he asked after your health. You are going to the taverna to say hi properly, won’t you, Sofia mou?”
“Of course…” Sofia gave a rueful sigh, then fanned her face with her hand, to make it look like it was just the heat that made her uncomfortable. Still, the pretence sickened her. Still staring at her plate, she tried to shake the nauseating feeling that the very thought of Uncle Yiannis induced inside her. She detested having to put up appearances, never being allowed to voice her anger or frustration. She was tired of having to be the role model of the immaculate daughter and granddaughter that her family demanded of her.
It was bad enough in Athens, with her parents breathing down her neck with the overzealous restrictions and curfews. But also in the village, the close community meant she didn’t dare be herself there either. No matter where she was, she was forever fearing someone might see and spread the word if she were to do anything of the many things she wasn’t allowed.
“Good!” answered Gran after a few moments, breaking the awkward silence. She exhaled with evident relief now that she had broached the subject and then exchanged a fleeting glance with her husband. They both knew what was going on in Sofia’s head.
“I won't be going tonight, though,” piped up Sofia, finally lifting her eyes from the plate. “I’m tired from the overnight journey. I’d like to sleep this afternoon and then have a quiet evening.”
“Sure, Sofoula mou!” answered Granddad. Having finished his lunch, he was now dipping a slice of apple in his wine, by far his favourite dessert. The reassuring and rather cunning look he gave her then, told Sofia that although he approved of this charade, he still sympathized with her all the way.
“Yes kyra mou, whatever you want. You can go tomorrow,” chimed in Gran. “But you must go. Let’s not repeat last year’s incident again,” she warned as sweetly as she could, and Sofia knew she meant well. It had been upsetting to them all; no one would want it repeated.
“I know, Yiayia, I understand.” Sofia sighed and then stood up. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she mumbled, shuffling to the internal staircase to climb it tiredly. The dull clacking of her thick-soled sandals hitting the wooden steps served her as a silent protest. The heavy sound reverberated in her grandparents’ hearts, stabbing them with guilt, as they eyed each other quietly across the table.
In the bathroom mirror, Sofia’s face looked spent, but this wasn’t a result of her long overnight journey. It was the exhausted strings of her heart that kept playing the same emotional chords over and over, making her feel just as tired inside. She despised that man, who kept trying to spoil her perfect summer paradise.
Last year’s incident had been mild compared to the ones of the years before, but it had still managed to spoil her holiday right at the end.
It was early September and on her last day, her grandparents had prompted her to visit Uncle Yiannis in the evening for the ceremonial goodbye. Some of her cousins from Athens were visiting at the time, and they had arranged to spend her last evening together, visiting a beach café in Messi. But the café had turned out to be a bar, cocktails had been served, and before they knew it, having so much fun, they’d stayed out longer than intended. On their way back, and in order not to delay their return home any longer, Sofia had walked past her uncle’s restaurant without calling in.
When her grandparents complained, she had stood her ground and refused to go back out and say ‘the stupid goodbye’ to him. As a result, a few days after her return to Athens, Uncle Yiannis had called his brother to mention how sad he was he’d never got the chance to say goodbye to his niece before she left the island. That had made her father angry. He’d felt so disappointed in Sofia that he’d hardly spoken to her for a week. To him, it was important to be civil and to respect family, no matter what. What people said was always far too important to him. It didn’t matter that Sofia lived in a prison of propriety that gnawed at her spirit. All that mattered to him was that she remained the model daughter he expected her to be.
Sofia took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. As if by a miracle, the reflection in the mirror changed. The young girl was smiling again now, the way she had learned. The way she knew best. Hiding her frustrations. Playing the part of the happy and eager youngster that was expected of her. She would go and greet her uncle dutifully as always, but she would make sure to be accompanied by her cousins Dora and Nana. She could make sounds about leaving shortly after, saying they had somewhere to go.
When Sofia went back down, Gran was picking up the dishes, and Sofia offered to take them to the kitchen. As she exited the room, she heard Granddad’s familiar chuckle and guessed Gran was about to serve the watermelon. Sofia had opened the fridge earlier and had seen it, all cut up in large juicy chunks on a large tray, covered with cling film, ready for serving.
Granddad didn’t know she’d already seen it. No doubt, he was bursting with excitement to see the look on her face. Watermelon was Sofia’s favourite fruit, and Granddad always made sure to stock the house with all the delicacies her heart desired. He’d done the same during ouzo time that same morning. The way he’d been doing all her life, he had asked her to go to the fridge and fetch a small paper package. Sofia had guessed at once what it would be but didn’t show it.
There was an old delicatessen in Corfu town that sold traditional pastirma, an oriental type of spicy, cured beef. It was Sofia’s favourite savoury delicacy. Whenever Granddad had any in the house, he’d ask Sofia to ‘fetch a little package from the fridge’. Over the years, it had become a certainty that the content would be pastirma, and yet Granddad kept doing it as if there was still an element of surprise left. Sofia found the whole thing endearing and always played along with it, acting every time as if she were astonished. She had done the same again that morning at ouzo time. The expression of contentment on Granddad’s face had been quite a picture.
“Oh, excellent! Watermelon!” exclaimed Sofia with a big smile when she returned from the kitchen.
“Come, kyra mou, come and have some!” Granddad urged her with a frantic wave, his face beaming with the kind of delight Sofia loved so much to see.
Chapter 8
1937
The next day, early in the morning, Laura returned to the West Pier and walked up to the tearoom feeling hopeful. The cold sea breeze felt rejuvenating as it brushed her cheeks, flushing them pink. She found Mr Fern out the front, taking out chairs. Soon, the first customers of the day would arrive, and some of them insisted on sitting outdoors. As long as it was dry and no matter how cold, they sought the therapeutic sea air, filling their lungs with its essence, as they lounged and watched the world go by.
“Good
morning, Mr Fern,” she greeted him, her almond-shaped eyes bright with anticipation.
“Good morning pet. Oh my, you’re early!”
“Truth is, I’m rather looking forward to any news.”
“Well, I have good news and bad news for you,” he said as he approached her.
“That doesn’t sound so bad! Could I have the bad news first please, Mr Fern?”
“Well, that fickle girl of mine is nowhere near making up her mind yet. She needs more time to decide what she’s doing and I’d hate to keep you waiting—”
“So?” she interrupted him, confused.
“Which brings me to the good news!” he carried on triumphantly. “I know a decent young lady when I see one, and I really want to help you. So I asked Mr Thornton who manages staff at the Pavilion over there,” he said, pointing vaguely to the majestic building before them.
“You mean the theatre?” she asked with a dreamy expression on her face, thrilled at the prospect.
“Indeed! He oversees everyone in there, other than the artists of course. All the staff at the café, the cloakroom, the offices, as well as the cleaners, the ushers, the stagehands, and so on. As it happens, he requires a person to serve at the café, as well as to do chores in the auditorium. Would you be interested, my dear?”
Laura met his gaze, wide-eyed for a few moments, unbelieving. Then, she took his hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Of course! Thank you very much, Mr Fern! Thank you very much indeed!”
“Excellent! I’ve already spoken to him about you. He said that if I think you’re good for it, he wouldn’t have reason to argue.”
“Really?”
“Yes, my darling! Go see him right this minute, why don’t you? Strike while the iron is hot, I always say. I’m sure he’ll find no reason not to take you on. Just mention my name,” he prompted her, patting her shoulder affectionately.
He seemed so fatherly to her then, and overwhelmed as she was with joy for the good news, her eyes welled up with tears before she even knew it. She still missed her father a lot, his gentleness, his affection. The protective entity of a father figure in her life was what she missed the most these days. Especially since her mother had fallen ill, it seemed all the world’s troubles had landed on her shoulders.
“Thank you…” Chuckling with embarrassment, she wiped the tears quickly with the back of her hand, aware that she was crying in front of a perfect stranger.
“There, there, pet,” he said compassionately. He reached into his trousers pocket and produced a clean handkerchief for her.
“I’m so sorry… I really need this job, sir! And I’m very grateful to you for mediating. How will I ever repay you?” She wiped her eyes and then folded the handkerchief neatly with her long, graceful fingers before handing it back to him.
Mr Fern gave a dismissive wave. “Oh what nonsense! I’m just delighted I could help you, my dear girl. Now off you go to see Mr Thornton and good luck to you!” He patted her on the back, and she obeyed silently with a grateful smile. “Do come back and let me know how it went!” he shouted out behind her, as she rushed across to the Pavilion’s entrance.
The foyer was illuminated generously as ample light was coming through a multitude of windows. Laura stood idly there for a few moments, marvelling at the luxurious interior for as long as it took her to compose herself and take heart, before her meeting. When a young girl in an apron hurried past her, Laura stopped her to ask for directions to see Mr Thornton.
Obligingly, the girl led her to a café where she pointed at a gentleman and swiftly turned to go, eager to go back to her duties. Mr Thornton was sitting at a table having tea and biscuits. A crisp newspaper was open before him, and he seemed engrossed in reading it.
“Um… excuse me, are you Mr Thornton?” Laura asked when she approached the seated man.
“Yes, I am,” he answered, looking up from the pages with polite but dispassionate eyes.
“I hate to disturb you, sir, but Mr Fern asked me to come and see you.”
A spark of interest ignited in the man’s eyes. “Oh! Are you the young lady who is looking for employment?” He gave a tight smile and beckoned her to sit down.
Laura took a seat across from him. “Thank you, sir. Yes, it is I that Mr Fern spoke of.”
“I require someone who would be willing to work as a cleaner and also to man the café. Has Mr Fern mentioned that?”
“Yes indeed he has, sir. I’d be more than happy to do this.”
“Mr Fern mentioned you have worked at a bakery in the past.”
“Yes, in London. For three years,” she confirmed.
“Sounds good… sounds good….” he said pensively and then paused for a few moments, frowning at the open pages before him, as he pondered on his decision for a few moments longer.
He was dressed very smartly in a dark suit and was sitting perfectly upright. His thin moustache and brilliantined hair looked well groomed and in all, he had an immaculate professional appearance. Laura was impressed by his manner too. He was clearly a man of stature and social graces. After working at the family bakery of Mr and Mrs Brown, whose crude and rude manners reflected, if anything, their non-existent education, the gentleman before her seemed like a breath of fresh air.
As if on cue to her thoughts, Mr Thornton looked up at her then and rested his gaze upon her absentmindedly for a few moments. When he pursed his lips, she braced herself for a rejection, but then, he broke into an easy smile.
“I always trust my instinct, Miss…”
“It’s Mayfield, sir. Laura Mayfield,” she said, taking heart from his encouraging smile.
“Miss Mayfield, I trust you are not one of those reckless young people who come to Brighton for a bit of fun by the sea? Some of them have been thoughtless enough in the past to leave me stranded in the end without notice!”
“Oh no, sir!” she said, horrified at the very thought of such inconsiderate conduct.
“I thought that much. And Mr Fern did voice his opinion of you as well, which I value. He mentioned he knows your friend too—”
“That would be Meg, sir.”
“Perhaps. I don’t know the girl, but Mr Fern suggested that she could only make friends with decent people. One can't be too careful these days, Miss Mayfield! This is a business; people who come to work here should be on time and on their best behaviour, especially towards our customers. I won't stand for insolence and rudeness! Our clients are our bread and butter; we must respect them at all times!” he stated with firmness, as if someone preaching the opposite had just challenged him.
“Yes, of course Mr Thornton! If you give me a chance, I promise, you won't be disappointed. I really need this job, sir. I won't let you down.” She was aware she was practically pleading. Yet, she thought it best to make it clear that she would value this opportunity and that she wasn’t one of the reckless individuals he clearly dreaded stumbling upon again.
“Are you available to start as early as tonight?” he finally asked, after another short pause. He seemed over-cautious, but Laura found that justifiable. She could only imagine how many times he had been let down and obviously, he also had a boss somewhere to answer to when things got out of hand.
“Tonight?” she asked taken aback, not because it would be too soon, but because his question suggested he was considering giving her the position after all.
“Yes. My need for someone is rather urgent,” he said curtly. “I’ve just been let down again you see,” he explained, arching an eyebrow to put emphasis to his distaste over the situation.
“That would be no problem, sir, no problem at all! I could start even at this minute if you wish?”
Mr Thornton smiled pleasantly. “No, that won't be necessary. Tonight is fine. Meet me here at five p.m. sharp.”
Laura looked around, instantly more interested in her surroundings. Apprehensive as she was earlier about their meeting, it hadn’t even occurred to her until that moment that she was at the very café in question. �
��Oh! It’s settled then? I’ve got the position?” she asked, rather breathlessly.
“Yes, Miss Mayfield. Welcome to the Pavilion!” He offered his hand to her and Laura shook it gratefully.
On her way out, just before reaching the exit, she caught a glimpse of a young man rushing in from outside.
“Hello there!” he said, stopping in front of her with a confident smile on his face. He was carrying a bucket of soapy water, and Laura recognised easily the boy she had kissed thoughtlessly on the cheek the evening before. He was wearing a dark overall and that same brown scarf she remembered so well.
“You!” she said sternly, keener to scold him some more, rather than pretend she couldn’t remember him.
“How odd to find you here,” he said agreeably, ignoring her icy gaze.
“I’m sure I can't say the same about you. I’d expect to find you here any day!” she replied with a sardonic smile.
“Oh? And why is that?” he asked, perplexed, putting the bucket down, then placing his hands on his hips.
“Well, isn't it obvious? A place frequented by actors and comedians seems rather becoming in your case,” she retorted with a pout from her lips.
He chortled. “Touché! But seriously now, what are you doing here?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she teased, arching her brows at him.
“Can't blame a chap for wanting to know everything about the girl who’s stolen his heart,” he replied, putting on a dreamy expression on his face.
“Well, in this case good luck to you! I hope you enjoy curiosity because I won't be relieving you from it anytime soon.” Laura threw him a glance of mild distaste. He looked stunned, and that pleased her enormously. Feeling satisfied with the way she had handled herself, she turned to go.
“Well, don’t leave just yet! Aren't you at least going to ask me what I’m doing here?”
She turned to face him again and to her bemusement, she found him grinning smugly from ear to ear. His merriment infuriated her. He didn’t even seem to realise how annoying he was.
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