‘Thank you.’
‘Cheers,’ Stelios says and clinks Emily’s glass.
‘What do you think of the wine?’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘I’m glad. Are you having a good time?’
‘It’s wonderful Stelios. What is there not to like? Look where we are. It’s beautiful, good food, good wine and you make an excellent host.’
He smiles widely. ‘Good. Let’s eat. Try some cheese, it’s my favourite.’
During lunch, they speak about their respective pasts. Stelios is frank and open. He tells Emily that, although his upbringing was a poor one, his parents had a work ethic and valued the sanctimony of the family. His father was a baker in the village, but they moved to Corfu Town and his mother worked as a maid for one of the wealthier families. They lived in a poor area of the capital. Stelios shared a bedroom with his two older brothers. He had two younger sisters who shared another room. There was a small kitchen, just big enough to cook in and a living room where they ate, read, discussed their days and played when they were younger.
An uncle who had emigrated to Britain died and gave each of his nieces and nephews £200, a lot of money for a twenty-year-old from Corfu Town. Stelios invested the money, used it as a deposit to buy a flat in the town. Within two years, he had a portfolio of six properties. He opened his first restaurant in the capital a year later. By the time he was twenty-eight, he owned properties all over Corfu and had expanded into building houses, hotels and restoring townhouses. Today, he is one of the richest men in Corfu.
‘What do your brothers and sisters do?’ Emily asks.
‘They work for me. I look after my family. They each have their own talents they bring to my businesses.’
‘That’s a noble thing to do, looking after your family in that way.’
‘If they were in my shoes, each one of them would have done the same. How are you getting on with Gabriella and the shop?’
‘I’m really enjoying it. I have a purpose again and she is like a sponge. I didn’t realise how much I missed it: the buzz, the decision making. Well, I just advise her really, I don’t have the final say.’
‘Has she ever questioned your advice?’
‘No. She has always taken it on board and used it.’
He smiles. ‘Well then, that says it all. Gabriella has told me, she would like you to become a partner in her business.’
‘She has.’
‘Well, why not. It makes perfect sense.’
‘I’m not sure if I want to get fully involved in running a business again. I like the freedom of just dipping in and out.’
‘I think that is all she is looking for. She values your contribution and your knowledge. When do you see her next?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Speak to her then about it. I think she will be happy just to have you around for as long as she can.’
‘And I’m happy to do what I’ve been doing.’ She sips her wine.
‘What do you think of the wine?’
‘It’s nice. I like a dark fruity wine.’
‘I thought about dipping my toe into wine making, but the problem is you can’t just dip your toe into it, it’s the whole leg approach, and so much investment, it takes an eternity to see any return. So, for now, I’m happy just to drink it.’ He grins.
‘Has there been someone special in your life?’
Stelios lets the sand fall through his fingers. ‘Once.’
‘Were you married?’
‘No. I have a six-year-old daughter. She is the only good thing that came out of it. Her name is Pavlina. She lives in Athens.’
‘With her mother?’
‘No, although I love Corfu, but it’s better she stays in Athens. I have a house in the city.’
‘And her mother?’
‘We do not see each other anymore.’
‘Has she abandoned her daughter?’
‘It’s complicated. What about you Emily, do you want children?’
‘I do, one day. Paul needs to concentrate on his work for now. We have decided to wait.’
‘It’s a decision not to be taken lightly.’
Emily looks away from him.
‘I get the feeling that this is more Paul’s idea than yours.’
‘It’s difficult. We are going through a tough time at the moment. If I’m to be completely honest, and I feel I can with you Stelios, but my marriage has been over for a long time now.’
‘Then why are you still together?’
‘I’ll always be with him, he needs me.’
‘Like a mother.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Do you love him?’
Emily pauses. ‘I care about him.’
‘There’s a difference.’
‘I know.’
‘Let’s finish up here.’ Stelios clears away the plates and cutlery. ‘We can stay here or move on, it’s up to you.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Emily says.
She feels a tremendous drag of guilt. What would Paul think if he knew about her day with Stelios? What must it look like? She massages the back of her neck and sighs. But it is precisely because of Paul and what they have become that she finds herself here, she reasons with herself, and she has not felt this kind of exhilaration with Paul for as long as she can remember. Emily wonders how long can their pretence continue. There is a momentary pang of sadness. She loves Paul, she knows that, but not as she should.
She looks off to the side, to where the beach sweeps into the sea. Her guilt suddenly dissipates as she observes the striking quality of light against the sand and sea and she wishes she could capture this moment, like a photograph. She looks at Stelios, who is smiling to himself, a congratulatory gesture that accompanies the closing of the basket. ‘There, all done.’
‘I’d like to go for a swim. Not here, from the boat.’
‘You don’t have a bikini,’ Stelios says, out of curiosity.
Back on the boat and in the bedroom, Emily undresses down to her underwear and bra and wraps a white towel around her. Hesitantly, she makes her way to the deck where Stelios is standing in nothing but his shorts. His chest is covered in fine wiry hair that glistens in the sunlight. He politely turns his back as Emily, self-consciously, slides the towel from her and lowers herself into the sea.
‘Oh, it’s only cold for a second and then it gets warm,’ she calls out to Stelios.
Stelios is still standing looking at her. He is smiling. A beautiful warm smile.
‘What is it?’ She asks quizzically.
‘You look so happy. It suits you, Emily. I never want to take the smile from your face,’ he dives into the sea then and resurfaces. ‘How long can you hold your breath for?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried. Why?’
‘There’s another world below us. It’s beautiful. Hold your breath and follow me.’
With each new dive, Emily is able to hold her breath a little longer, and she is amazed at the different variety of fish, the rainbow of colour, the pellucid light and clarity of the water.
‘It’s amazing Stelios,’ she laughs as they resurface, again and again, her vanity dissolving with each dive.
She sits with her back to him, the towel once again in place. She runs her fingers through her wet hair.
‘It won’t take long to dry in this heat,’ Stelios assures her.
‘It can take all day. It’s a shame it has to end.’
‘What?’
‘Our day. This, being here, it's perfect Stelios. Thank you.’
She can feel the sun penetrate her shoulders and realises she needs to apply sunscreen. She rummages in her bag.
‘Let me,’ Stelios says, taking the sun cream from her.
He spreads the cream in slow deliberate wave-like motions, across her shoulders, down to her shoulder blades and then sweeps up along her neck. His touch is a charge that races through her. She arches her head backwards, and he slides the cream across her clavic
le. He bends forwards and puts his lips to the nape of her neck. She makes a small sound, anticipating his touch. His lips are light and feathery upon her skin. She draws in her breath.
‘You taste delicious,’ he whispers.
The towel slips but she makes no attempt to straighten it. Instead, she turns her head towards him; he runs his finger along her arm and then lifts her chin so that their mouths hover an inch apart. She opens her mouth and feels his breath, warm and moist upon her lips. She savours the moment her mouth touches his, their tongues pass over each other, as every fibre of her body melts into him.
Chapter 42
Returning
Anger is a strange thing. It manifests in different forms and guises. It searches out our flaws and imperfections. Adam has felt its touch upon him and now it is ruthless.
When Georgia phoned, her voice was measured, but also strained, as she tried to convince him that although she was sore, she was fine; there were no cuts, just bruising and a little swelling.
He cannot bear to think of the scene she described. To his dismay, he tries to imagine what he would have done if he had been in the house. He blames himself; he compromised, it was what he wanted, insisted upon even. Now he struggles to understand why he left her alone to face him. To his distress and incomprehension, the pain of it makes his mind ache; it disturbs him and fills him with remorse. There is only one thought on his mind and that is to return to her. In his eagerness, he left without telling Tzakis.
He can’t recall the car journey back to the village. He drove with a desperate urgency. His mind consumed with images of Georgia panicking, his thoughts relentless with, if only I had stayed this would never have happened. She must have been terrified, and I wasn’t there, she was alone.
His regret is palpable; his anger is a rage that grows in strength with each new thought. There will be no forgiveness, no pity for a drunk that beats his wife; only retribution. Adam passes through the village square almost trembling; he is near to her now. He doesn’t see Nikolaos wave a greeting from the Kafenion or the old lady, dressed in her black mourning clothes, buying aubergines and tomatoes at the little market stall. Adam drops a gear and puts his foot on the floor as the car screeches along the lane. Eventually, he is through the gates, and the car skids to a halt. Even before the engine has died, Adam is running up the stairs, onto the terrace and through the door.
‘Georgia, Georgia.’ His voice resonates through the house seeking a reply.
Adam searches every room downstairs; he thinks of trying the garden but then takes the stairs two at a time. He finds her in her bedroom. Georgia is sitting in a large comfortable chair. This is where it happened, is the first thought that enters him. They hold each other’s gaze. She can see the tension in his body and wishes she can take it from him.
Georgia looks at him silently; there are tears in her eyes. She has her mother’s diary in her lap.
‘She had an affair,’ she says calmly.
‘Who?’ Adam’s face is flushed but perplexed. He is relieved he has found her.
Georgia places both her palms over the diary. ‘My Mum.’
Chapter 43
A Welcomed Ending
Stephen flies straight to Athens and caught a taxi to the Royal Olympia Hotel. He drops off his case in his room, washes and changes into a clean shirt and walks across the corridor to suite 125. He knocks on the door and waits. Chris opens the door. ‘Stephen come in. I’ve just ordered room service; look at the amount of sandwiches they gave me. Do you want one?’
‘No, but I’ll have a drink. Where’s the mini bar?’
Stephen opened a small bottle of vodka and a can of coke. He sinks most of the glass and refills it.
‘Go easy Stephen. You need to keep a clear head for today. This is it, your last time in Athens, it’s easy money now. After today, you won’t be coming back.’
The operation in Athens was now well established. One final meeting set up to finalise the arrangements and Stephen’s involvement was over.
‘What we have done is a bad thing Chris, it’s evil, it’s tainted us. Drugs are not a crime in themselves, but what is a crime is that they ruin people’s lives.’
‘Don’t get all sentimental on me now Stephen, it’s a bit late for that. There has been some resistance from the Albanians. They want more than Cesar is offering. Cesar will not move on the figures, he’ll go ahead without them if he has to. Other arrangements have been made that will allow us to open up The Balkans. Spiros has assured me that it’s not a problem.’
‘That doesn’t concern us. We’ve done what we agreed to do, let them fight it out amongst themselves. I’ve had enough of this shit; the deal didn’t involve a fucking drug war.’ Stephen drains his glass and pours another.
‘Go easy on the drink Stephen; we both need to keep a clear head. Are you ok?’
Stephen walks out onto the balcony and takes in the vast expanse of Athens.
‘My marriage is over.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve done some terrible things and said things I can’t take back, not now, it’s too late.’
‘What are you talking about Stephen? I’ve never known you or Georgia say a bad word about each other.’
Stephen massages his forehead. ‘It’s such a mess, Chris. I’ve had this thing in my head that Georgia is having an affair with Adam, the tutor. I couldn’t help it and it just grew bigger, they are virtually living under the same roof, seeing each other every day. To be fair, it’s not just that, we’ve been living almost separate lives for a long time now.’
‘Georgia wouldn’t do that Stephen.’
‘It’s the drink. I can’t control myself. I don’t know where the anger comes from.’
‘I never knew. Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I need help. I was good at hiding it. I’d developed my own strategies. I thought I was in control of it, but the drink controls me.’
It feels as if a weight has finally lifted from him.
‘There’s a clinic in The Borders. They’ve got a good reputation, bloody expensive, though. I don’t know how long it takes, but when I get back home, I need to refer myself. That’s the plan, anyway. It means that you’ll need to run things in Majorca on your own for a while.’
‘You do what you have to Stephen. God, we all like a drink, I didn’t think it had got that bad.’
‘Neither did I, but I don’t recognise the person I’ve become.’ He looks at the glass in his hand. His hand is shaking. ‘After today, it’s finished with. I need it for now, especially today. ’
They are picked up at the hotel and driven to the villa, in Filothei. Instead of going inside, they are shown to the rear of the villa, to a lavish terrace area, where Spiros is sitting
on a large cream leather sofa.
Spiros gets to his feet when he sees Stephen, ‘Good to see you, Stephen. This must be Chris.’ He extends his hand.
‘Come take a seat. Would you like anything to drink, a coffee perhaps?’
‘A coffee for me,’ Stephen says.
‘I’m fine.’ Chris takes a file from his briefcase and leafs through it.
Around the house, Stephen is aware that there are more guards than usual, strategically placed. Stephen feels an upsurge of concern. Normally, when he has arrived at the gates, he is met by one guard; today, there are two. He notes the holstered guns under their suit jackets. Stephen thinks it wise not to mention this to Chris. He wonders if Spiros is armed.
Stephen sips the coffee Spiros has poured into a small china cup. Stephen wonders if Spiros has a family. They have never spoken of such things, they are just acquaintances brought together by a common interest. He observes the façade of the villa; it is two stories and large, a modern design, with a plethora of glass, like a gigantic greenhouse, Stephen thinks. The walls are white, brilliant in the sun and this reminds him of the panoramic view from the Acropolis, a sprawling Athens, flat and white but softly muted. The interior of the house is spacious an
d opened planned, marbled and pillared.
He is an intelligent man. How did he end up like this? A drunk who beats his wife, who orchestrates the flow of drugs through cities and countries. He despises what he has become. There was once a sense of pride in his work, it made him what he was, it was his identity. A melancholy knot sinks deep in his chest.
When he thinks of Dylan, the sense of failure is enshrined in the guilt of the absent father, the absent husband.
Spiros has taken off his glasses, and is pointing to a paragraph in the document, that sits on the table in front of him. Stephen hasn’t heard a word they have said.
‘I need to move fast on this one and demonstrate that we don’t negotiate.’
‘What do you suggest?’ Chris asks.
‘A little persuasion can go a long way. Leave it with me. The Albanians are out of their depth on this one.’
A crack punctures the air. The body hits the pool, and the water changes colour as if red ink has just been poured into it.
In that moment, Stephen doesn’t care if he lives or dies, and the choice is about to be taken from him. Another crack, then another, 3, 4, 5, like firecrackers,
‘Jesus,’ Chris screams, as he and Spiros scramble towards the villa.
The guards run for cover, P90 submachine guns spraying the garden indiscriminately.
Stephen sits motionless. He has focused on a Judas tree at the other side of the garden. He has betrayed those he loves. How apt that he now stares at that particular tree. Like Judas, he thinks he, too, deserves to die. He is hollow, unconnected to the world around him.
‘Stephen, for fuck's sake,’ Chris screams.
Envy, guilt, suspicion, bitter self-pity, rage, he has experienced them all, but now he feels nothing.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Chris’ voice shrills as he and Spiros scuttle into the villa.
Loyalty to the company, loyalty to ambition, loyalty to the pound and dollar was all that mattered to him, until now.
A burning sensation rips through his shin, like a hot poker. He feels the air leave his lungs. A second bullet enters his shoulder, catapulting him backwards. He feels he has been hit by a truck. He welcomes death and the last sight of beauty bestowed upon him. He can see the sky, a timeless canvas.
The Boy Who Hugs Trees Page 23