The idyllic setting embodied the true secret of the Athena’s well-deserved popularity, as it perched on the side of gently sloping rocks, about ten feet from the sea below. To the right was the harbour and beyond it, a cluster of palms and beautiful flowers.
All tavernas and wine bars were now beginning to fill with holidaymakers, anticipating their first glass of wine or lager. Across the sea a large yacht sailed sedately along the coast, reflecting a flash of radiance from the setting sun back to the shore.
Tess felt the warm breeze as she stepped into the outside area of the Athena, its soft stone a gentle contrast with the white-veined, marble floor of the open-sided interior. Clear blinds could be drawn down if the wind whipped up too much, or a summer squall trespassed near the diners.
The bar on the left was quite high and crowded with mementos from visitors and friends: photos, trinkets, tea towels from English seaside resorts, and good-luck charms were all part of the eclectic decor.
For decades, ever since Tess’s father-in-law Spiro and his late wife had opened the taverna in the 1970s, an evergrowing band of Athena superfans had considered the spot to be their own personal holiday paradise. Now there were three members of the Ioannidis family left, one for each generation: Spiro, Tess, and Theo.
Young Theo, now 7, had English grandparents in Devon, so the question, unspoken but already hanging in the air, was would he stay in St George South when he grew up? He should have been called ‘Spiro’ after his grandfather, but after a difficult birth Tess had wanted to call her new and miraculously delivered son after the doctor who, she felt, had saved them both. Georgios was so grateful to have his wife and child safe, he gave in easily. So, Theo it was.
The chatter of Guy and Richard interrupted her thoughts and she turned, hand on hip, cloth in hand, to greet them. The boys made her smile and Theo, with his menagerie of rescued local flora and fauna, sought out their company whenever he could. There was always an ailing kitten to save, a dog to feed, or a friendly lizard to coax into the house.
Rich and Guy always drew a suitably awed and interested audience. This, along with a dozen other maternal and protective reasons, was why she had, in a few short weeks, grown fond of them.
‘Good day, Tess?’ Guy flopped down and stretched his legs.
‘Fine. You two?’
Rich smiled at Tess and gave her a thumbs-up.
‘Bay 22A at the airport still seems to be perplexing people. It’s like the Bermuda Triangle of coach terminals: people either can’t find it, or they disappear.’ Tess enjoyed Guy’s exaggerated tall tales, his well-practised mock annoyance and impatience one of the charming things about him.
‘So, who are you expecting, gentlemen? How many glasses shall I put out?’
‘I make it five,’ Rich said. ‘A couple who arrived last night, two from this morning, and a woman who arrived earlier. Shall I go and tell Lily, or fetch the glasses from Anna?’
Tess smiled inwardly at his eagerness. Rich’s willingness to help her waitress Lily had not gone unnoticed.
‘That’s great. Thanks, Rich. There should be three jugs ready: ouzo, orange juice, and water. Also, ask Lily if she checked the fridge this morning, would you, please?’
She liked to give him reasons to chat to Lily and help the potential romance along. However, although Rich was lovely, kind, and clever in his quiet way, sadly he was not the man occupying most of Lily’s waking thoughts – although, luckily for Rich, Ryan Gosling wasn’t likely to pop into the Athena any time soon. So, in that sense he had the advantage.
‘Here they come,’ drawled Guy as he spotted a middle-aged, sunhatted couple cross the road. ‘Showtime!’
Chapter 6
Penny savoured every step, as she walked slowly the few hundred yards to the Athena from her room. The air washed over her in a gentle wave of warmth and calm, laced with rich scents, but not heavy or cloying. The milky yellow, peach-tinged petals of the honeysuckle that grew randomly along the side of the thoroughfare had a subtlety of colour that gave it the quality and texture of a painting. A ginger cat in its sparse shade lazily followed Penny’s progress without moving an inch, as cicadas provided a noisy soundtrack.
This tiny snapshot of Corfu at that moment reinforced Penny’s earlier impressions from her walk around the harbour and along the beach. Pellucid-blue waters, quicksilver fish, the air heavy with heat, all contributed to this beautiful, serene, if slightly alien environment. If she’d wanted to be in another world, she had surely found it here.
She heard laughter and a loud confident voice as she reached the Athena and took the side entrance where the outside tables stretched to the sea. A small group, including the two holiday reps, had gathered there.
‘Hello,’ the confident voice greeted her and motioned her to sit down. ‘Welcome. What would you like to drink? We have water, ouzo, and orange juice, or any combination of the three.’
Penny smiled at each member of the group in turn, as Guy launched into his hard, but disarming sell of the ‘sensational, not-to-be-missed, life-changing’ daily excursions by land and sea, delivered so brilliantly by Greektime. Penny’s mind wandered.
She already knew that the places she wanted to see and experience did not form part of the regular trips on offer. She intended to take her time, savour, absorb the visits to each location in the order she had planned in her mind for so long. Places made so special by the books she loved. The Strawberry Villa first; then the Daffodil Yellow; and then the Snow White. Finally, in some ways the most anticipated of all because it was a place where she could touch the ancient walls and dine with the same view Larry Durrell had enjoyed . . . the White House, at Kalami.
Each house had acquired an almost mythical quality in Penny’s mind, as though they were portals into a secret garden from another time. From behind her sunglasses, she observed her fellow travellers: a middle-aged couple and two older ladies.
Both couples hung on Guy’s every word and the women filled any gaps in his monologue by giving the group the benefit of their knowledge of many Greek islands, particularly the location of the best English breakfast and cheapest wine on Corfu.
Only half-listening, but managing to look fully engaged, Penny glanced at the little harbour entrance only a stone’s throw from the Athena, to see a small blue and white boat ploughing valiantly through the white wave peaks on its way in. The two dark-haired men on board wore jeans and loose shirts. One had a white cap. As the boat touched the harbourside the hatless one jumped effortlessly onto the quayside and secured the vessel.
Brothers? Friends? she wondered.
‘If you have any questions at all, or if you’d like to book now for any of the excursions, Rich and I will be here for the next half hour.’ Guy’s closing words brought Penny back into the room and she smiled across at the two reps.
‘Thank you. I hope you can help me,’ she said, ‘but my question is more about local knowledge and getting around the island, rather than the trips, if that’s okay?’ Penny looked across at the other guests and saw they were already getting out their credit cards to pay, so added quickly, ‘Please, look after everyone else first. I’ll get myself a drink and wait over there.’
Guy nodded and Rich smiled. ‘If you’re having wine, ask for the house rosé; it’s really good apparently,’ he told her. It was Lily’s favourite drink.
Sitting at the sea’s edge Penny had an uninterrupted view of the reddening sun, which looked as though it had stayed out too long under its own rays and was now eager to reach the cooling sea and sink with a sigh beneath the waves. With a glass of rosé in hand, she let her shoulders fall and savoured the sharp and sweet wine, perfectly chilled and smooth. The place, the calm, the peace created a precious moment. Corfu’s all-embracing welcome, echoed in the texture of each plant, leaf, and vivid orange and pink flowers and fruit, was already penetrating her skin and soul.
New voices muttered in the background and she turned to see the woman she assumed ran the restaurant talking
to the two men from the boat. They sat down at the bar and drinks appeared. An animated conversation followed, punctuated by the older man with sweeping hand movements and a deep, powerful laugh. The son, if that was who his companion was, seemed quieter.
Penny could only see the back of his head, his sunglasses balanced on top, and his dark hair curled into his neck. For the second she caught him in profile, he appeared quiet but not relaxed; as though he didn’t want to stay, couldn’t settle.
His nose was aquiline and even at this distance, without seeing him face-on, his demeanour possessed a kind of nobility, like a marble sculpture that came to life at night and then forgot how to sit still and behave like a statue.
Restless. Yes, that was it.
She suddenly realized she was staring and turned back to look at the sea. Guy and Rich headed over.
‘Thanks for your talk, but I need some local info,’ Penny began. ‘I’m on a mission and have some specific locations in mind. I’d like to hire a car, but also need someone, who you’d recommend or know personally, who could take me by sea to Kalami from Corfu Town.’
It came out in a rush, but even so she thought she sounded as if she knew what she was doing. Her usual confidence, though buoyed by the welcoming feel of St George, had a tendency these days to ebb and flow.
‘I think we can help you there,’ Guy said. ‘I know you’ve just arrived,’ he continued in an almost comedic theatrical tone, ‘but Rich and I are more than happy to act as your unofficial guides. Our speciality is the delights of Corfu Town, particularly of an evening.’ Penny almost expected a flourish or a bow at the end of this sentence, but Guy just smiled and she smiled back.
He had a winsome, warm energy about him and she suddenly found herself thinking he’d make a smashing younger brother.
‘Tess, what time does Spiro open up in the morning?’
‘Usually 9 a.m., but Alexia will be there from 8.30.’
‘Penny needs a car. For a month?’ he asked her.
‘Most of the month. There’ll be some days when I’ll just stay here,’ Penny answered. ‘I don’t know whether there’s a way I can book the car for days at a time.’
Tess wandered over from the bar and Guy introduced them. ‘Spiro’s a sweetheart. Just tell him Tess sent you. His cars are immaculate and you won’t find a more reasonable deal on the island.’
Penny smiled her thanks and asked Tess how long she had been in St George South.
‘When I arrived here, I was single, no child, and about to meet the love of my life,’ Tess began. ‘So, be warned.’ She smiled. ‘What are you planning for your month here? Or are you taking each day as it comes?’
Penny explained the pull of the Durrells’ connection, the promise she and her dad had made to visit one day and that, although there was no itinerary, she had a sort of plan. The last location on her list was the White House, at Kalami, which she hoped to travel to by boat from Corfu Town, as she knew Lawrence Durrell had made the trip many times.
‘Ah,’ said Tess, ‘then you need Dimitris. He fishes with his father some days, but has his boat moored at the Old Port and is sometimes available for chartered trips.’
Tess looked over her shoulder. ‘He was here a minute ago with his father. I can ask him to speak to you if you like.’
Penny looked across at the bar and the now-empty barstool where the restless sculpture had sat, and nodded her thanks to Tess.
‘He’s gone now, but don’t worry – he’ll be back. He sometimes stays overnight at his dad’s house in the village when they’ve been fishing.’ She paused then added. ‘I can detect a little bit of an accent there. Are you from Yorkshire?’ Penny, still looking across at the harbour, turned back to Tess.
‘Yes, born and bred.’
‘I’m a Devon girl myself, originally, but home is really about the people, isn’t it, wherever they are, rather than the place?’
Tess looked down at her feet for a moment and then before Penny had a chance to respond someone called her name from the kitchen and with a smile she was gone.
Chapter 7
Stepping out of bed, Penny felt the shock of the chilled tile floor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a faint glow outlined the edges of the shuttered door. She crossed the room carefully, wary of unfamiliar shapes and obstacles, then lifted the steel door latch and pulled the heavy shutters towards her. Light and heat entered instantly. The glass double doors revealed roofs and, beyond and above them, higher land, grey-green hills, and olive trees.
From the small balcony the smells and sounds of St George washed over her as she glimpsed a blue triangle of sea and the small island across the bay – a lozenge of loveliness, that looked as though it had been dropped clumsily on its way to another place.
The large ginger cat she’d seen yesterday was now joined by a small dog. They lay on the terrace of the house below. To her left a lemon tree was almost within reach. The exotic had become everyday; a fairy-tale scene from a Ladybird book about the Ionian Sea.
Here was the island of simmering and iridescent beauty that Gerry Durrell had described, already visible on her first morning on Corfu. But was this the new beginning that she was looking for?
A quick glance at her watch told her it was 9.30 a.m., Greek time, so only 7.30 in the UK. Stifling a yawn, Penny folded her arms and hugged herself in a moment of anticipation about the day ahead. Hire a car. Plan a route. But first, explore Corfu Town.
Nicolas Constantine – ‘Nic’ to family and friends; ‘Professor’ to his students – had arrived back in Corfu the day before Penny. As Penny woke and opened the shutters of her room, a few hundred yards away Nic sat on the terrace of his small villa.
The aptly named Villa Pontiki, the Mouse House, reflected the size of the dwelling that had been in the professor’s family since the 1920s. The shaded terrace with its old wooden table and wicker chairs was almost as large as the space inside, which accommodated a kitchen, living room, lounge, small bedroom, study, and a small bathroom.
It had been built originally for Nic’s grandfather, a keen sailor who had kept a small boat in St George’s harbour, on which he had escaped during as many weekends as he could. The main family residence had always been in Corfu Town, where Nic’s mother now lived.
As a professor of marine biology based in Athens, Nic spent half the year away from the island of his birth, but the summer and early autumn were all about the Mouse House, the sea, sky, reading, writing, and rambling.
There wasn’t much of the island that Nic didn’t carry in his heart. The memories gathered during the long, languid summers kept him warm through the winter and spring on the mainland.
To an outsider Nic appeared to be quite a self-possessed, insular man. Those in his close circle – small in number, but cherished – greeted him affectionately and with genuine warmth and respect. Now in his mid-forties, he had never married and there was much speculation, mostly amongst his colleagues at the university, about his single status. No one could remember a ‘significant other’ in the fourteen years he had lectured there. Attempts to pair him up with a number of colleagues, friends of friends and, on one memorable occasion, the recently divorced mother of one of his students, had failed. Nic resisted them all with quiet charm and an innate ability to move any discussion, on any topic, on to the minutiae of marine biology, or the flora and fauna of Corfu.
His ideal fantasy dinner party included Thor Heyerdahl, Jacques Cousteau, and David Attenborough, with local hero, the Durrells’ friend Theo Stephanides, making up the quartet of those who had unknowingly helped to shape Nic since boyhood.
The natural world, on land, and above and below the sea, had consumed pretty much every waking moment of Nic’s life since he was a small boy, with his heroes and inspiration anyone who shared similar adventures in books or on TV. A signed copy of the Kon-Tiki expedition book from 1948 was one of his most prized possessions. All his treasures from a lifetime of research and fieldwork formed part of the Mouse House. Boo
ks lined the walls of every room.
Summer days in St George had taken on even more meaning in the last three years. His oldest friend had been Tess’s husband Georgios, and Nic had experienced his loss more keenly than he cared to share with anyone. From boyhood they had been inseparable, so different and yet each seeing in the other qualities they admired and perhaps even envied a little.
It was Nic who, through a chance meeting, had introduced Georgios to Tess, an English girl he had bumped into one day on the beach as he walked back to the villa. She’d cut her foot on a rock at the harbour, below the Athena, and he’d gallantly helped her up the hill to a seat in the restaurant.
There Georgios had taken over, fetching antiseptic and a bandage, pouring Tess an ouzo, and handing it to her without even looking up from the task in hand. She had thanked Nic kindly for his help, but it was Georgios her face turned to. And that had been the start for Tess and Georgios: ten years of being in love, becoming parents, falling out, and working together every day. Corfu became home for the English girl who had come on holiday to celebrate a new job – a job she never started.
Nic remembered the walk up the hill, offering his arm so that Tess could keep her balance but, careful not to make her feel uncomfortable, keeping any bodily contact to a minimum. The warm citrus smell of her perfume, combined with the coconut waves of suntan oil, had made him turn his head and take a closer look at her face.
He’d imagined her deep honey-coloured skin paled in the winter at home. Her mid-brown hair, with a few highlights across her fringe, had possibly once been longer. Even as she’d accepted his help, there’d been a sense of fierce independence about her, and an annoyance with herself for her careless climbing on the rocks to get a better photo of the harbour.
There wasn’t time in one moment, was there, to fall in love? To know nothing about a person, yet feel an instant connection? To feel drawn towards them as one might towards the sun? In the days and weeks, as Tess and Georgios grew closer and made plans for Tess to move to Corfu, Nic had provided the calm, reassuring voice and sounding board that his oldest friend relied on. Tess began to feel the same way about him, warming to his natural, quiet wisdom and what she thought was an innate shyness.
Looking for the Durrells Page 3