by Mandy Baggot
‘Yammas to that,’ Sonya said. A shaky sigh left her.
‘No update on Facebook from Joey?’ Tess asked, linking their arms and starting to walk again.
Sonya shook her head. ‘Nothing since the hotel last night.’
‘Think of it as a good sign,’ Tess said.
Sonya nodded. ‘There’s nothing else I can do, is there? And I promised him space. If a woman from his most detested re-enactment society is able to turn his head then perhaps what we have isn’t strong enough.’ She smiled. ‘And I want to believe that it is.’ The smile faltered a little. ‘I really want to believe that.’
Tess drew her friend closer and whispered softly. ‘I want to believe that too.’
Forty-one
As he set the tables for evening service, Andras watched his brother and Kira on the beach. They were alone, save for Milo packing up the sunloungers. They were holding hands, bodies close, barefoot on the stones, looking like a billboard advertisement for a happy-ever-after. The sea lapped their feet as they moved across the shoreline and Andras watched as Kira tickled Spiros, then left him, running into the water with a squeal of excited delight. It was simple. Pure and simple, everyday, beautiful love.
He immediately thought of Tess and his first reaction to that thought was to start polishing the glasses a little more vigorously. Why was he thinking of her? Because his mother had shared personal information and that was all his fault. He had been going to come clean, for her, not for him, but she had stopped it. Why? Obviously for Sonya. And for connection to the Internet. What else could there be?
‘Andras.’
His back was slapped and there was his grinning brother, sand and weed on his feet from the beach.
‘If you want a table for dinner you need to wash off your toes,’ Andras said, replacing a wine glass. ‘How is the donkey?’
‘Nil by mouth for two days until the danger has passed.’
Andras shook his head. ‘It really was in my restaurant?’
‘Our restaurant,’ Spiros reminded him.
Andras let out a sigh. ‘Spiro … about the money …’
‘I know what you are going to say.’
‘I am going to ask the bank to lend me the money.’
Spiros shook his head. ‘Andras, you know how the banks are at the moment. This is not something that can be done.’
‘I think it could be,’ he replied. ‘Tess, she is knowledgeable in this area and she thinks, with the business doing well and with my house as security, there is every chance that they will give this to me.’
Again Spiros shook his head. ‘I am not sure I believe I am hearing this. You are taking financial advice from Patricia.’
Andras swallowed. ‘You can call her Tess.’
‘Andras, she isn’t your real girlfriend.’
‘Shh,’ he said, looking around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening. ‘I know that. But she knows about business.’
‘She is a holidaymaker. Why would she give you good advice? What is in it for her?’
Andras stopped polishing the cutlery in his hands. ‘Spiro, you sound like Mama.’
‘Mama has a point.’
Andras sighed. ‘She told you too, didn’t she?’ He thumped down the knife and fork. ‘She told you that she and Marietta had been looking Tess up on the Internet.’
‘And with good cause,’ Spiros answered.
‘What? Spiro, you know that Tess is doing me a favour.’
‘And it is just getting you into more and more trouble with Mama.’
‘Spiro, getting into trouble with Mama was something we did when we were kids. It should not be something that happens in our twenties.’
‘Do you wish not to be Greek?’ Spiros asked, shaking his head. ‘You know how things are.’
‘I know that I do not wish to have my life chosen for me.’
‘But you have to be sensible about it.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, I think Mama is concerned that you will choose someone else like Elissa.’
‘You mean someone I actually care about instead of someone I am already related to?’
‘Someone like Tess,’ Spiros added.
He opened his mouth to say once again that Tess was not his real girlfriend, but the anger he felt about his brother’s attitude won out. ‘What is so wrong with Tess?’
‘Brother, the fancy clothes and the perfect make-up are nice to look at, but it is superficial and in time that will all fade.’
Andras watched his brother’s eyes go to the bar area where Kira was sitting, skirt drenched, long dark hair speckled with sand and sea salt. It was nice to know that his brother’s affections were not skin-deep but not so nice to know that that’s what Spiros thought drove him.
‘Is that all you see?’ Andras asked him.
‘Andras, girls like that, they are from a different world to us,’ Spiros said. ‘It is nice to visit this world, like for a holiday, but at the end of the day …’
He didn’t want to hear any more. He had always known his brother gave in to their mother far more than he ever had, but until now, he had never once thought that Spiros held the same outdated attitude.
‘I will get you your money, Spiro,’ he stated.
‘Mama is putting pressure on me to sign my share over to her.’
‘I will get you your money,’ he repeated.
Forty-two
The White House, Kalami
‘Thank you,’ Sonya said as a waiter showed them to their seats. Tess made her way around the cloth-covered table to the rattan chair. It was amazing how good she was getting at negotiating rocks, stones and the Corfiot roads in heels. She sat down and took in the view.
The White House was the former residence of British authors Lawrence and Gerald Durrell and recently the family had been brought back into the spotlight because of the ITV series inspired by the book, My Family and Other Animals. The building was now a restaurant and apartments, set at one end of the bay of Kalami. Whitewashed with green shutters, an open extension from the main building made up the taverna area and beneath, on the natural rocks, as close to the water as you could be, were the tables Tess and Sonya were sitting at.
Tess breathed in, eyes on the rippling water. There was hardly a breeze tonight, but the July humidity had dropped slightly. Tonight it was more warm and comforting than oppressive. And oppressive wasn’t required when you had a missed call from your mother on your phone and a voicemail you didn’t want to listen to.
‘So,’ Sonya said, exhaling. ‘Have you spoken to Andras since earlier?’
‘Sonya, you’ve been with me all afternoon. We wrote dozens of potential new names for Blackberry Boudoir in an Excel spreadsheet.’
‘I know,’ Sonya said. ‘I just thought he might have called to arrange our next outing … or something.’
The list of company names wasn’t the only Excel spreadsheet Tess had looked into. She had found Andras’s accounts for the restaurant. For a brief second she had considered opening it and pulling together some information for him to present to the bank but it felt like a breach of trust. It was unlikely he’d want her to know the precise nature of his finances. He might only want her guidance in telling him what the bank would be looking for. She focused back on Sonya.
‘If he calls about “or something”, I will let you know.’ She scanned the other tables, looking for a waiter. She really needed some wine.
‘Smooth As Silk!’ Sonya blurted out like she had branding Tourette’s.
‘Sounds like a body lotion,’ Tess stated.
‘Sweet Harmony?’
‘A hairspray,’ Tess said.
Sonya sighed. ‘And that’s why I work in the post room and not as a marketeer.’
‘Sorry,’ Tess apologised. ‘I think it’s going to be one of those jobs where the right name is either going to take a long time coming or it’s just going to pop up out of nowhere.’
‘Plum Nights!’
‘I think if I
go with that I would be able to use those old graphics,’ Tess stated.
‘You would like some wine?’
A smiling waiter was by their table.
‘Yes, yes please, we would,’ Tess replied.
‘It feels better, doesn’t it?’ Dorothea grinned, fingers pulling down her red headscarf, as Andras collected two plates of spanakopita from the serving hatch by the kitchen.
‘What feels better?’ Andras asked.
‘The restaurant,’ Dorothea replied. ‘Without the evil spirits clouding everything.’
He stopped in the doorway, the plates steady in his hands. ‘You do not believe my mother, do you, Dorothea? Because the only thing I could see clouding my restaurant today was smoke from the priests.’
‘It feels cleaner now,’ Dorothea continued. ‘Bad vibes have been removed, light and love return for the wedding of Spiros and Kira, no?’
He was done with this superstitious nonsense. If there was one part of his Greek life he wanted to eradicate, then this was definitely it. And since the parochial cleansing and the things his mother had said, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about one person: Tess. How must she be feeling knowing she had done him this huge favour and his family had been stalking her private life on the Internet?
He kept remembering the look on her face, tears in her eyes she had seemed determined not to let fall. He knew already, from spending time with her, that there was more to her than her beautiful hair and the way her nose twitched when she was concentrating on something. And now he was concerned. Because of that immediate, intense reaction. Because there was something she was afraid of. He needed to know what it was. He wanted to know.
He looked at the food in his hands, quickly becoming cold. Mathias swerved by, heading for the wine racks. Andras held the plates out to him. ‘Mathias, could you take care of table nine for me? I have to go out.’
The food was absolutely divine, as good as Georgiou’s. Tess’s taste buds were on full alert and dancing like a frenzied Ed Balls on Strictly. She slicked a slab of feta cheese through the spiced olive oil and put it into her mouth, letting the hot, creamy, salty sour sensation work its magic on her tongue …
‘Joey’s at a nightclub.’
Sonya’s statement had the food climax fizzing out. She looked across at Sonya who was clutching her mobile phone in her hand.
‘Sonya, why are you looking on your phone?’ Tess asked. ‘Didn’t you say you were going to have a little faith?’
‘I know,’ Sonya said, voice wobbling. ‘But I set an alert … to tell me when Joey posts and …’
Tess shook her head. This wasn’t good.
‘He doesn’t like nightclubs,’ Sonya said. ‘They have too much—’
‘Stale air?’ Tess offered.
‘Loud music,’ Sonya finished off. ‘Joey likes to talk. He says if you’re going out out then you need to be able to have a proper conversation. Not have everything drowned out by … technotronics.’
Tess wasn’t even sure technotronics was a real word. But that wasn’t the issue here. The issue here was Joey wasn’t here and he had told the world he was in Margate with a woman, in a hotel, and now he was doing something else that would usually be out of his comfort zone, leaving Sonya back in panic mode.
‘OK,’ Tess said, taking a calming breath. ‘There are two things we can do.’ She made sure she had Sonya’s full attention. ‘We can do exactly like we’ve been doing, loving his posts, putting up some fabulous ones of our own, or …’
‘Or?’ Sonya said, elbows on the table, looking across at Tess as if she held all the answers.
‘I’ve said it before. You can phone him,’ Tess said bluntly.
Sonya didn’t move. Not one eyelash. She just carried on looking at Tess as if she hadn’t spoken. Perhaps she needed to rephrase the suggestion.
‘Phone him, Sonya.’ She sighed. ‘Please, phone him.’
She watched her friend swallow, her fingers seeking reassurance from the necklace that wasn’t there. ‘Well, what would I say?’
‘Just check in,’ Tess said. ‘Keep it casual. Tell him you’re having a great time here and tell him about all the things we’ve seen and done.’ She moved her eyes over to the scenery again. Aquamarine sea, the lush, green cypress trees, the golden strip of beach, all against a backdrop of the blue sky turning pink as the sun descended. ‘Tell him he would love Kalami.’ She loved Kalami. A shiver rolled over her shoulders.
‘He would really love Kalami,’ Sonya said, circling the rim of her wine glass with a finger.
Another thought struck Tess. ‘Did you say he was at a nightclub?’
‘Yes,’ Sonya said. ‘Somewhere called “Maxim’s”.’
Tess checked her watch. ‘Sonya, it’s only six o’clock in England. What nightclub is open at six o’clock?’ Now she had a theory. ‘I think I know what Joey’s doing.’
‘What?’ Sonya asked.
‘Just go and call him,’ Tess ordered.
‘What, now?’ Sonya said. ‘Before my chocolate soufflé in baklava parcels?’
‘Yes, now,’ Tess said, flapping away a mosquito.
She saw a mixture of emotions in her friend’s expression. Instant elation at the thought of contacting the man she adored, but then something else, more contemplative, something slightly wistful, verging on anxious. She so wanted this relationship issue to be resolved. For Sonya. And for that tiny bit of her that was warmed by the thought of a strong, enduring relationship. As that feeling hit she felt the need to bring her glass of wine to her lips.
‘OK,’ Sonya said, shifting in her seat and picking her handbag off the rock floor, mobile phone still in her hand. ‘OK.’ She looked like someone had just told her she had to slip into the anchor chair on BBC News.
Tess smiled. ‘Go get him.’
Sonya nodded and crossed her fingers in the air.
Tess watched Sonya begin to negotiate the uneven rock and head towards the main building for a little privacy. And that’s when reality bit. She was alone, completely alone. Surrounded by tables filled with couples, families and groups, all connecting with each other and enjoying the simple, warm, candlelit ambience. There was no one to connect with now Sonya was off reconnecting with Joey. There would be no one to eat at Gianni’s with when she got home. No stories about someone else’s day – Tony and his car showroom clients or Daniel and his hair-and-nail salon. Her fingers itched for the phone in her hand. The scrolling, attention-sucking draw of the dating app. She made a move, lowering her hand towards her bag until she remembered the voicemail her mother had left. She couldn’t look at that red dot and ignore it. And she definitely didn’t want to listen it. She let out a breath. She was being ridiculous. She could do this. She could be dateless in Corfu. She was just going to sit back, absorb the setting sun, the Albanian mountains in the distance, and that cerulean water so close she could almost touch it.
‘Tess,’
The soft, warm, Greek lilt immediately had her turning away from the shoreline towards the sound and its owner. Andras.
Forty-three
‘I … Sonya is just inside and … we’re waiting for baklava and chocolate soufflé.’
Why was she stuttering and stammering like a nerd? It wasn’t as if he could see inside her mind and know she was thinking about all those other guys his mother had thrown at them like man-confetti earlier. And it was hot again. Could the humidity rise rapidly like that?
‘The baklava here is very good,’ he answered. He looked at the vacant seat opposite her. ‘May I sit down?’
She nodded before picking up her napkin and pulling at the very corner with her thumb and forefinger.
He poured himself a glass of water and sipped at it. ‘It is hot tonight,’ he remarked.
‘A little,’ Tess replied.
‘Tess, I would like to apologise—’ Andras began.
‘Oh no,’ Tess interrupted. ‘There’s no need for any apology.’
‘I believe there is.’ His
tone was insistent. ‘My mother and Marietta … they should not have been looking on the Internet for information about you.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tess said, eyes trying to seek out anything other than his gorgeous ebony ones.
‘It matters to me,’ he carried on. ‘You have come here seeking rest and relaxation and I have been selfish, putting you in the middle of this crazy family and …’ He paused. ‘I still do not know why you would not let me tell her the truth.’
Now her stomach started to sizzle, like it was a grill pan cooking spitting sausages. Why hadn’t she let him tell the truth? She moved her fingers from the napkin to the base of her wine glass, gently smoothing the fat pad of glass in a circular motion.
‘Expectation.’
She shocked herself by saying the word out loud. It had been right there on her lips, coming out before she could pull it back. Why was all this truth-telling slipping forth whenever she was with him? And when it tumbled into the space between them, why was she desperate for his opinion on it? She looked at him, caught between wanting him to say something, anything. Ask her what she meant or make light of it. Nothing was forthcoming.
‘I …’ she started. She didn’t quite know what she wanted to say. ‘I don’t like … expectation.’
‘You don’t,’ he said soberly, his eyes finding hers despite her efforts.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not saying that if you told the truth about me, about us, that you would be destined to have a life you don’t want, because I don’t think you’re weak.’ She swallowed again. ‘But I do think your mother would think she had won. Beaten you into submission over something. And you would still be left with that expectation hanging over you.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t like the thought of that.’
She couldn’t believe she had said that. She put her glass to her lips only to find all the wine had been drunk. She put it down again.
‘You sound a little like you are speaking from experience of your own,’ he said softly.
‘Maybe,’ she admitted.
‘From your family?’ he asked.
‘Once,’ she replied, a half-smile on her lips. ‘Until …’ She closed her lips together. She had to stop. If the setting sun, the alcohol content of the chilled retsina and Andras’s exposed forearms combined any more, she was in danger of letting everything go … and she never let everything go.