And then we’d sit at a table in the restaurant where we’d had that first cooling drink. Gradually we began to share our dreams with Inge and Marian, the owners of the shop. They never tried to persuade us to buy anything, although we often did. They just seemed content for us to appreciate their varied stock and enjoy their company.
It was obvious to me from the start how much they loved each other. Inge must have been in her mid-sixties, and I thought Marian was about ten years younger. They finished each other’s sentences; Inge with a still-pronounced Northern European accent and Marian with a hint of the Estuary twang that betrayed her Essex roots.
They must at one time have looked very similar, as both were slender, long-legged and fair-haired, but Marian was still strong and energetic while Inge’s wrinkled skin had an unhealthy grey tinge, and she spent less time refolding the heavy rugs or unpacking hefty pottery and more of her days sitting at a table in the front of the shop, taking payments, writing price labels and untangling beaded necklaces, a cigarette ever smouldering in her lips.
‘You must come out and see our other shop one day,’ Marian said one evening, when we’d been talking about our plans for the business. ‘We call it the Mill of the Mountains. You might find it gives you some idea of what you can do with these old country properties.’
‘Yes, do go,’ said Inge. ‘I hardly ever go there now, but Marian is so clever the way she is always finding such unusual pieces around the island and elsewhere. She says she has a pair of marble fonts sent over from Paxos. Who will want them, I don’t know. Do go and tell me if you think she is going quite mad.’
Marian laughed. ‘Someone’s going to absolutely love them. Maybe they’ll turn them into hand basins or garden ornaments. I don’t know, but they’re just beautiful and were a knockdown bargain.’
We didn’t think she was at all mad. We saw the fonts the first time we visited the shop in the mountains. It was a cluster of old farm buildings around a cobbled yard, where a central fountain slowly trickled cool water. The main structure, once an old barn, Marian said, had been converted, but the rest of the buildings were ramshackle, with terracotta-tiled roofs patched with corrugated iron and barn doors wedged shut with heavy bars. The original farmhouse was long gone, a low rugged line of stones marking where it once stood. And in the courtyard were the fonts, filled with a sculptural arrangement of pebbles and succulent green and purple sedums.
On that first visit, Marian showed us long tables of elm and olive wood, scored by heavy kitchen pans and sharp knives, their silky patina created by years of honeyed pastries and the slick of olive oil. We stroked the scarred wood with the flat of our palms, as many hands had done over the decades before us, sat on sturdy benches, peered in carved cabinets with iron hinges and latches, and admired groups of plump reddish-brown pithoi. We’d talked about selecting key pieces to give the restaurant character and authenticity and I’d imagined James and I doing this alone, together. But now, we were on our way to meet Greg and I had my doubts.
Chapter Eighteen
October 2006
James
I did my best, as I drove, to placate Amber. She clearly wasn’t happy I’d asked Greg to come along with us. I started by trying to distract her and break her mood, by telling her a terrible joke I’d heard from Ben a few days before. But she was silent. So then I thought I should work harder and convince her that Greg could be an asset.
As we passed the melons piled by the roadside and turned the hairpin bends at Kassiopi, I maintained a monologue singing his praises. ‘Ben thinks we’re jolly lucky, being able to tap into Greg’s expertise. He doesn’t exactly take a shine to everyone, you know. He’s had his finger in a lot of pies over the years and has done really well with his property investments.’
‘Not so well with his own place, if I remember correctly,’ Amber said, finally breaking her stubborn silence, adding, ‘And I wouldn’t call that an astute investment, now that awful hotel’s gone up nearby.’
‘True, but he’s made a bomb elsewhere and he knows lots of useful contacts. We should take advantage of that.’
‘Fine, but don’t expect me to trust him. I know you like him, and his awful jokes crack you up, but he’s just not my type. There’s something about him.’
‘He’s a good bloke. He can be a bit crude sometimes, I know, but you’ve got to admit, he’s very successful. He must get some things right.’
She was silent again for a couple more miles, then spoke again as we began the winding ascent into the mountains. ‘I quite like his wife, though. She must put up with a lot. But this time, you’ve got to make more of an effort to involve me in the conversation.’ Amber slapped my arm as I gripped the wheel on yet another tight bend. ‘I’m your main business partner, not him.’
‘Of course, of course.’ I was already straining to hear her over the grinding noise of the engine struggling on steep slopes and tight bends, and that seemed the likeliest response to end the conversation. She continued talking, though, and while I was paying token attention to her remarks, my mind drifted to the conversation I’d had with Greg when he picked me up one afternoon, after I’d finished meeting and greeting at the airport.
In a dark, smoke-filled bar in one of the town’s back streets, he’d said, ‘I don’t know how silent a partner I would want to be, exactly. I’m used to having some say in my investments. And you’ve got to admit I know the island extremely well, better than the two of you do. After all, I’ve been coming here for nearly thirty years and I’ve dealt with a number of developments here.’
‘Point taken. But I’d have to think about it very carefully. Amber and I already have enough capital to set ourselves up all right.’
‘Ah, but do you have the cushion to see you through the dead times? And what if it takes a while for the business to get going, eh? Have you thought about that?’
‘Sure I have. That’s why we’re interested in talking to someone like you. It could take a lot of the pressure off us.’ I’d stirred my coffee. ‘What I’m trying to say is, we don’t actually need to have an investor to get ourselves off the ground, but I have to admit it would make things easier.’
‘Okay,’ Greg had said. ‘I understand, but if I invest in a project I like to be sure what I’m getting into. I don’t necessarily have to be involved in a hands-on kind of way, but I do like to be kept informed. And I can bring a lot of experience to the table. The restaurant table, get it?’ He’d laughed at his own joke, slapping the table in front of him, then added, ‘I can advise on business structure, forecasts and also contacts. And don’t forget that I also know a lot of influential people, the sort who like good food and good service. If that’s what you’re going to be offering, then you can charge whatever you like. You become the Heston of the Hesperides and you’ve got it made, my boy.’
I smiled at that. ‘Well, I don’t know how quickly I can aspire to such heights, but I’m certainly going to try. I’m convinced there’s a need for top-notch dining here.’
‘Too right. There’s great food here of course, but I don’t think there’s anywhere on the island that can truly claim to be offering innovative high-class cuisine. But hey, what about doing some market research? What do you say to you and me checking out all the supposedly fine-dining establishments here? Would you like that?’
‘Very much so. It would certainly make sense.’
‘Could we make a start next week?’
‘I think I could fit in a couple around my regular duties. They usually leave me free at lunchtime.’
We’d met for several fact-finding missions since then. We went to restaurants hidden away in the alleyways of Corfu Town, where wizened aged proprietors stirred bubbling casseroles of fish and herbs, and we visited harbourside cafes, which specialised in octopus in vinegar; we tasted salted fish, dips of spicy garlic-ridden mashed potatoes and sampled honeyed pastries served with bitter coffee. Sometimes Greg drank more wine than he ate, sometimes I had to drive him home, but Amber
was never involved and I still hadn’t revealed to her how much I had already discussed with him or how much money had already been committed.
Chapter Nineteen
9 June 1944
‘It’s better that you don’t know,’ Papa says when Rebekka asks again where her sisters have gone. ‘Then you cannot be forced to reveal their whereabouts. They are safe and well. That is all I will tell you for now.’
‘We took them to stay with good friends, while they were sleeping,’ Mama says. She glances at her husband and Rebekka suddenly feels afraid. She has overheard neighbours saying they would rather smother their children in their beds than let the Germans take them. Mama notices her look of alarm and puts her arms around her daughter, a young girl on the edge of womanhood, but still little more than a child to her. ‘Don’t fret, my dearest. I gave them a draught from good Doctor Batas to keep them asleep until they were far away from the town, so they would not be afraid. They are quite safe, my love.’
‘The Germans will not come searching for them,’ Papa says. ‘They do not know about Matilde and Anna. Their names never went on their list.’
‘But they could have stayed here with me,’ Rebekka protests. ‘I could have cared for them perfectly well.’
‘I know you would have looked after them,’ Papa says. ‘But remember, the Germans know that you live here.’
Rebekka is quiet for a moment. She misses her playful little sisters, their bouncy skipping and their giggling as they chase each other around the kitchen table. ‘And what about Katya?’ Rebekka bends down to stroke the skinny white cat, its belly swelling, its fur grubby from roaming the dusty rubble in the streets. ‘Who will look after her?’
Papa shakes his head and sighs. ‘Katya must stay here, to kill the mice and rats which will want to move into our house when we’ve left. She will have an important job to do, keeping the house ready for our return.’
From outside the house, Rebekka hears many voices. A dull wave of murmuring and the thud of reluctant, shuffling feet. She pulls back the shutters and peers out of the window at the crowd in the street below. With slow, heavy footsteps they are trudging towards the Kato Plateia, where the whole community has been ordered to assemble. Everyone, man, woman or child, has a sack or a bundle slung over their shoulders or carried like a baby in their arms.
‘I will take my suitcase,’ Rebekka says. ‘I don’t want my clothes to get creased and wrinkled. I will want to change into fresh clothes when we get there.’
‘The Germans have said we cannot take cases,’ Papa says. ‘There won’t be enough room for everyone to sit on the boats and trains if we have pieces of luggage. Whatever we want to take must be put into a sack.’
‘Here,’ says Mama. ‘Take my thick shawl and wrap it around your clothes. That will make a good cushion for you on the journey.’
‘Then I am going to wear my best dress today,’ says Rebekka. ‘The white one with the blue and red embroidery. I would like to look respectable when I arrive.’
Mama’s smile is faint at this confident assertion and she says, ‘The most important thing for us to carry is supplies. We must take provisions and as much water as we can manage. They may not realise how hot the month of June can become in Kerkyra. We must be prepared in case the Germans have not ordered enough for us all.’
Chapter Twenty
October 2006
Amber
I suppose if I’d known then just how much James and Greg had been talking in my absence, I would have felt even more unsettled. But when we met Greg at Marian’s shop in the mountains, he was amusing, charming and attentive, and I began to warm to him. He made me feel that my opinion really mattered. He greeted me with a hug and a kiss, and as we walked across the courtyard to the barn, where most of the furniture was displayed, he made a point of flattering me.
‘I can tell you’ve got a real instinct for this,’ he said, as I pointed out the pieces I liked best and took some quick shots of them to add to my ideas file. ‘You’re very organised, and you’ve got a good eye. You remind me of a designer I know, who worked on the show flat for my last development back in the UK. She keeps telling me rustic chic is the next big thing.’
I remember responding to that remark, feeling he understood what I wanted to achieve. ‘You mean unsophisticated, but it’s still got style and simplicity.’
‘Exactly. You don’t need too much of it. And you can save money on the rest of the basic furnishings and keep them quite simple, if you have some signature statement pieces here and there.’
As we wandered around the barn, James was a few steps behind us, looking thoughtful and smiling to himself. I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a large dark coffer adorned with curling brass inlay. ‘What about this gorgeous chest? Wouldn’t it look great in the entrance to the restaurant? And it would make such useful storage.’
He came closer and squeezed my shoulder. ‘I love it all. I think we’re going to find everything we need up here.’
‘And look,’ I said, happy that we were in agreement once more, ‘couldn’t we find some way of using these old doors and window shutters as well?’ I pulled him closer to the peeled and faded frames stacked in rows against the end wall. Their cracked blue and green paint revealed older colours as well as scratched patches of bare wood and spoke of days of blistering sun, winters of teeming rain and years of keeping village houses safe and dry.
‘Your wife’s a natural,’ Greg said, coming over to look at the old frames, with us. ‘I doubt many people would see the potential in this kind of salvage.’
‘We don’t actually have to use them as doors and windows for our property, but I love the age of them and the distressed paint.’ I pulled a couple away from the wall and looked at the backs of the frames. ‘Maybe we could adapt them and use them for cupboards, or to make mirrors? They’ve got such character.’
I think that was the point when Marian joined us. She’d been talking to some people outside while we wandered around the barn on our own. ‘I hope you’ll be telling Inge about their potential. She thought I was crazy buying up a job lot of frames and doors. But underneath the peeling paint, the wood is still hard and in good condition.’ She rapped the frames with her knuckles. ‘Those architectural salvage places back in the UK would go mad for them.’
‘Too right,’ Greg said. ‘Have you thought about shipping some of this stuff back there? Could be an interesting little venture. I know someone who might like to do a deal with you on this sort of thing.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Marian didn’t look at Greg or smile as she answered. ‘We’re happy with the way things are.’
I didn’t really think much of her remark then, but I did notice that she seemed worried – her clothes were damp and her eyes were a little red. Then Greg walked away and began inspecting a wooden trough on short legs that must have once held feed for pigs, or maybe it was used for grinding chickpeas or olives, and James was hugging my shoulders again and saying, ‘We should be making a move soon. Greg’s suggested we get a bite to eat on the way back.’ Marian had drifted off to her desk by then and although I wanted to ask her if she was all right, I didn’t. I should have done. I don’t know if it might have made a difference to all that came to pass, but it might have done.
As we drove away, following Greg’s open-sided jeep, I couldn’t help but wonder why she had been so offhand. We knew her reasonably well by then. Perhaps she had other worries, I thought. Perhaps Inge was ill. I knew she wasn’t in the best of health, but she had seemed reasonably cheerful the last time James and I had met with the two of them.
‘Do you think Marian’s all right?’ I asked James, as we bumped along the mountain road. He was driving fast to keep up with Greg and I held on tight to the edge of my seat.
‘What? I don’t know. I’m trying not to lose him. I don’t know where we’re meant to be going.’
So I kept quiet and let him concentrate on his driving. I didn’t like the mountain roads when we took
them slowly and I certainly didn’t like them at this speed. The tight bends and loose surface made me very nervous – I shut my eyes as we spun round each turn and concentrated on the view across the valley on the straight stretches in between.
I thought about the little we knew of the two women. Marian had told me something of her past, while Inge was more reticent. I’d spent an evening drinking with them in the cafe opposite their shop while James was meeting a delayed flight at the airport. If he’d been with us, she might not have talked as openly as she did. After I’d told them about my home life, meeting James and about my recently abandoned legal career, I’d asked Marian what she had done before Corfu and she surprised me when she said, ‘I ran away from home when I was in my teens.’
I was shocked and glanced at Inge, but she just looked at Marian with her gentle smile and stroked her hand. She had obviously heard the story before. ‘Go on,’ I’d said. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I didn’t despise my parents, I just ran away to stop them despising me. I think they had always been ashamed of me. They never told me I was pretty, that they loved me, or said well done whenever I brought home my school reports. Perhaps I didn’t do well enough for them to praise me.’
She’d run her fingers through her short blonde hair, pushing it back from her tanned forehead. ‘I thought I was pregnant. I had disappointed them enough already, but I could not face any more of their disappointment. That’s why I left.’
Burning Island: Absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical fiction Page 7