by Mandy Baggot
There were still a few people finishing their meals when they arrived.
Slim, dark haired Yiannis was wiping down tables when the women entered the restaurant and Mr and Mrs Petroholis were sat at a table with another couple chatting over, what looked like, a bottle of retsina.
‘I return triumphant!’ Freya exclaimed loudly and she held aloft a bottle of sparkling wine. She quickly realised that she needed another hand to steady herself when she fell hard against a chair.
‘Freya won the karaoke. It was a sing off between her and Samos, but Freya’s rendition of a Slade classic had the whole bar on their feet and won the day,’ Emma announced as she approached her boyfriend.
‘You sound like you have good time,’ Yiannis spoke, slipping his arms around Emma’s waist and kissing her lightly on the lips.
‘We did, but we missed you,’ Emma told him sincerely and held him close to her.
‘Oh please! Put him down! Where’s my hug?’ Freya exclaimed and she manhandled Emma out of the way and enveloped Yiannis in a giant embrace.
‘Hello Freya, it is great to see you. You look well,’ Yiannis told her as he kissed her cheek.
‘Hmm you mean I haven’t lost any weight since you last saw me,’ Freya translated.
‘No, I mean you look different. It is your hair I think, a new style,’ Yiannis remarked, holding her away from him to get a better look.
‘Yes, thanks to my fashion adviser here,’ Freya announced and threw her arms around Emma, very nearly causing her to topple over.
‘Freya? Is that you my darling girl?’ Mrs Petroholis called as she made her way over to the group.
Mrs Petroholis was a mountain of a Greek woman, six feet tall and almost as broad. She was a stark contrast to her husband who was barely over five foot and of slim build. Together they were an affectionate couple who went out of their way to make people feel welcome in their company.
‘Mrs P! It’s wonderful to see you,’ Freya spoke and she let herself be caught up in the arms of Yiannis’ mother.
‘You look like you have lost weight! You need meatballs at once. Come, I get Spiros to make you some, come, come,’ Mrs Petroholis ordered and she pulled Freya towards Yiannis’ father.
‘Oh Mrs P I’ve had quite a lot to eat tonight. I’m not sure I could do justice to your meatballs,’ Freya spoke, secretly ravenous because of all the alcohol she’d consumed.
‘Hmm you had a lot to drink huh? Then you need more food. Spiros, some meatballs for Freya,’ Mrs Petroholis ordered her husband.
‘Ah Freya, it is good to see you. Come, sit down. This is Nikos and Angelica. Come, all of you, sit down. I get some food and more drinks,’ Mr Petroholis announced, moving chairs hurriedly around to accommodate everyone.
‘Oh well, if you insist,’ Freya replied and joined the couple at the table.
‘Yiannis, come help in the kitchen,’ Mr Petroholis ordered him.
‘I won’t be long,’ Yiannis told Emma and he followed his father.
‘So girls, you have nice food tonight?’ Mrs Petroholis asked as she too sat at the table.
‘It was nice. We had the sunset table - in the end,’ Freya told the group.
‘You won’t believe it but we ended up having our meal with Nicholas Kaden, Gene Bates, Bob Crosby and their film colleagues,’ Emma announced.
‘Oh these Hollywood people! I no impressed with them. They come into village and stir everything up,’ Mrs Petroholis said waving her hands about.
‘That’s exactly what I said Mrs P, nearly to the word,’ Freya told her.
‘It can only lead to one thing and that is trouble,’ Mrs Petroholis concluded.
Freya caught Emma’s eye and smiled. Yes it did mean trouble. Trouble for Nicholas Kaden the following night.
Ten
Another day, another hangover and another session of rampant lovemaking from the couple in the room above. This time Freya was forced out of her apartment completely, due to the fact that the couple had left open their verandah door and the noise was just as loud, if not louder, when she was sat on the balcony.
She had a headache and no painkillers so she headed out of the Calypso Apartments to visit the pharmacy. It was nearly 9.00am and Kassiopi was already bustling with delivery lorries for the bars and shops and there were visitors wanting breakfasts.
The sun was already shining viciously and Freya soon began to wish she’d worn her hat. Sunscreen she had put on early in case she actually got to sit on her balcony.
As she neared the harbour she saw the jewellery shop was just opening its doors for business. That fact excited her and she stepped up her pace a little. She was soon at the entrance and walking up the stone steps to enter the shop. At once she was surrounded by all manner of rings, bracelets, necklaces and watches. It was a lovely little shop filled with bright, shiny things and Freya just loved being in it.
‘Hello there. On holiday again?’ the dark haired woman who worked in the shop spoke as she entered from the rear.
‘Yes, I’m staying with a friend,’ Freya said, still looking around the shop in awe.
‘Then I expect you would like me to get something out for you to look at,’ the woman said with a smile.
‘Oh! It’s still here?! I didn’t expect for a minute it would still be here,’ Freya exclaimed in pure excitement.
‘Yes, it is still here - here we are,’ the woman said and she brought out a tray of rings and placed it on the glass counter.
‘It looks even more beautiful than I remember it,’ Freya remarked as she looked at one particular ring on the tray.
It was a platinum band with a cross shape in diamonds and aquamarine attached to it. It was the most gorgeous item of jewellery Freya had ever seen.
She had been going to the shop and gazing lovingly at it since she was twenty five. Every time she visited Emma she went to the shop, always expecting it to have been sold. It was a one off, a handcrafted original. And here it still was, five years on.
‘You can try it on,’ the woman reminded her, as she always did.
‘No, I don’t want to try it on,’ Freya said quickly.
She never tried it on. It wouldn’t be right. She looked at its lustre, watching the light reflecting off its many facets. It was the perfect ring.
‘Is it still the same price?’ Freya enquired.
‘Yes, is the same,’ the woman answered.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Freya said again.
‘I can put it by for you,’ the woman spoke.
‘No, don’t do that. It’s fine. Thanks for letting me look again,’ Freya spoke with a sigh.
The woman returned the tray to the display cabinet and Freya walked towards the door.
‘One day a man will come to me and ask for a ring for you and I will tell him with delight which one,’ the woman called to her.
‘Maybe - but not today,’ Freya answered with a smile and she left the shop.
She doubted anyone would ever buy her the ring because, apart from Emma, she had told no one of her habitual visits to the jewellery shop. It was pathetic to covet something so much, especially when coveting was against all you believed in. But it wasn’t about the value of the ring, it represented much more than that. It reminded her of a ring she had had once, a much cheaper, less shiny, but equally cherished ring. No other rings had graced her fingers since. So Freya had decided she would only have this ring when she thought she was ready for it. And she wasn’t ready - not yet.
She walked to the pharmacy, bought some headache pills and a bottle of water and then made her way across the harbour. As she walked she could see, at the side nearest the lace shop, a lot of commotion going on involving a motor cruiser, scores of people and several cameras, some of them were on rails. There was a crowd of people gathered around watching from behind a security cordon.
As Freya got closer she could see Nicholas Kaden and Hilary Polar aboard the boat, dressed in swimming attire and lifejackets.
Freya stopped where
she was, at the edge of the ever increasing crowd, and watched the action on board. Hilary was having her make-up touched up by someone, including having some powder put on her non-existent cleavage only covered by a red bikini. There was nothing of her in any department, except hair.
Freya took two headache tablets out of the packet and swallowed them down with some of the water as she continued to watch.
Nicholas got up from his sitting position and prepared to do something, although Freya wasn’t quite sure what, as she was too far away to hear what was being said. But then a loud hailer announced ‘action!’. Gene and Bob, plus two men Freya didn’t recognise, appeared from inside the boat. There was dialogue (Freya could see their lips moving) and then Gene started grappling with Hilary while Nicholas tried to pull him back. Bob and the two men with him then restrained Nicholas, holding him down on the deck of the boat.
‘Cut!’
The people watching all began to clap and Freya wanted to laugh. There was absolutely nothing to be impressed about from what she had seen.
‘FREYA! HEY! FREYA!’
Freya looked up at the sound of her name being bellowed from the direction of the boat. People in the crowd began to turn around and look to see who was being called to. It was Nicholas who was hollering at her and Freya’s cheeks reddened as all eyes turned to her.
‘Hey Roger, can you let her through please?’ Nicholas called to the black moustachioed bodyguard from the restaurant the night before.
Freya didn’t move. What was he expecting her to do? Rush towards him?
‘Freya! Come on, just a few seconds,’ Nicholas called.
Freya so wished she had worn her hat now a) because her bright blonde hair wouldn’t have stood out so much and he might not have seen her and b) because she could have put it over her face.
‘Freya! Come on! Don’t make me come into the crowd with just these Speedos on,’ Nicholas yelled, removing his sunglasses as he spoke. There was a whoop of excitement from the crowd.
How embarrassing was this? Roger the bodyguard was nearly upon her. People were ooh-ing and aah-ing at her; a few had even got their cameras out and were taking photos of her. Reluctantly she took hold of Roger’s arm and let him guide her through the crowd as people jostled them to get a better look at her.
‘Hey, come up on the boat for a second,’ Nicholas called as they arrived at the cordon.
‘I’m not coming up on anything! You come down here if you want to speak to me,’ Freya shouted back to him.
‘OK. Do you want a soda?’ he asked.
‘No! Just stop shouting will you? You’re causing a scene,’ Freya said.
She took a look behind her to see the crowd had almost doubled in size and there seemed to be twice as many cameras whirring into action.
Nicholas took off his lifejacket and hurried down the ramp of the boat towards her. Freya didn’t know where to look; he was wearing nothing but Speedos.
‘Hi, did you come down hoping to see me fall in the water?’ Nicholas asked, putting his hands on his hips and smiling at her.
‘No, I came to the pharmacy and suddenly realised I couldn’t actually cross the harbour to get to the bakery. It looks like a cinematic war zone,’ Freya told him.
She couldn’t help but look at him and be a little impressed by his physique. He had well defined muscle all over and a fine covering of hair on his broad chest. He was also very tanned.
‘The bakery? You’re a bit late for rolls aren’t you? Martha got there at six a.m. this morning, just to make sure,’ Nicholas replied.
‘Very amusing. Now did you actually want to say something to me or are you just up for humiliating me again?’ Freya wanted to know.
‘Yes I did want to say something about tonight,’ Nicholas told her.
‘You’ve had second thoughts? A better offer?’ Freya asked him.
‘No, I just wondered if we could make it nine. We’re going out on the boat in a minute and it’s likely to be an all day all evening thing and by the time I get back to my villa - well nine would be better for me,’ Nicholas told her.
‘Oh right,’ Freya replied.
How clever of him to cut an hour off the date. He would have to carry out the act for less time now. He was good and was obviously skilled at this kind of thing. Freya had no doubt that he’d done this before.
‘So is that OK with you?’ he questioned.
‘Yeah that’s OK. Makes no difference to me. I was just wondering if you would have kept me waiting for an hour if we hadn’t “bumped” into each other now,’ Freya remarked.
‘What do you think I would have done?’ Nicholas asked her, looking at her seriously.
His eyes were indescribably blue and he had very long dark eyelashes that she hated herself for noticing.
‘I have no idea,’ she replied.
‘I’d have left a message at the apartments,’ he told her.
‘You mean Martha would have,’ Freya responded.
‘There are some areas of my life I like to manage myself,’ Nicholas said.
‘You surprise me. Look I’ve got a busy day ahead so I’m going to go,’ Freya told him.
‘OK, but before you do, let’s swap cell numbers. Then if you get a better offer for tonight or, if I’m running late, no one will be left waiting around like a clown,’ Nicholas suggested.
‘Is that really necessary do you think?’ Freya enquired.
‘Not going to change your mind?’ Nicholas asked her.
‘I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to it,’ Freya responded with a smile.
‘Good. Well let’s exchange numbers anyway and then, if tonight goes well, we won’t have to break up the goodnight kiss to do it,’ Nicholas told her with a wink.
So he’d already decided he was going for at least the Cayman Island masseuse! He had pre-warned her to expect a kiss at the end of the night! The man was a genius.
‘Now you have to be kidding me. You never have a mobile phone in those trunks,’ Freya remarked, her eyes dropping to his crutch.
‘Wanna see?’ he teased, twanging the elastic.
Freya felt herself going red again. Why did he always seem to get the last word? There were few men who had ever got the last word with her. Sensing her embarrassment Nicholas whistled to someone on the boat.
‘Bob, is my cell up there?’ he called to Bob Crosby.
Bob Crosby, one of the evil duo who had devalued her, appeared at the side of the boat, the sun gleaming off his balding head.
‘Yeah, want me to pass it down?’ he called back.
‘If you could – thanks,’ Nicholas shouted back as Bob threw down the phone and he caught it.
‘OK, shoot,’ Nicholas said, opening the phone up and getting ready to type.
Freya recited her mobile number and he typed it in.
‘Now I’ve saved you under “Freya” for now, but you never know - by tomorrow you could be “Hot Babe”,’ Nicholas told her in jest.
‘Do you know I’m never quite sure whether you’re joking or serious,’ Freya spoke with a shake of her head.
‘But it keeps it fresh doesn’t it? So, do you want my number?’ he asked her.
‘If I must,’ Freya answered and she fished about in her handbag for her phone.
He recited his number and Freya typed it in.
‘Now I’ve saved you under “jackass” for now but if things don’t go well tonight - tomorrow you could be in the trash folder,’ Freya told him with a satisfied smile.
‘You’re good,’ he admitted with a nod.
‘I know. Right, is our business concluded?’ Freya asked of him.
‘All done, so I’ll see you tonight, at nine, the Calypso Apartments.’
‘Yes, meet me at the bar. I’ll be the one with the jug of sangria and two straws,’ Freya said as she headed back towards the cordon.
‘Drinking challenges I like it,’ Nicholas told her.
‘Not by the end of the night you won’t’ Freya thought to her
self as she waved at him and flashed a smile.
Then she stopped herself in her tracks and turned around to face the boat again.
‘Wait! One last thing,’ she called.
Nicholas turned to face her from halfway up the ramp of the boat.
‘Do you have Bruce Willis in your cell phone?’ Freya questioned.
‘Bruce Willis? In my cell? Come on Freya, they are making cells the size of matchboxes now and Bruce has got to be at least six feet tall,’ Nicholas told her with a grin.
‘Yippee Kai Ay,’ Freya responded and she turned to go.
‘If I did have his number in my cell would you maybe like me a bit more?’ Nicholas called to her.
‘If you did I’d ask if I could date him tonight instead,’ Freya replied as she ducked underneath the cordon.
‘You don’t mean that. You haven’t been able to keep your eyes off me since we met,’ Nicholas shouted, not caring who heard him.
‘Dream on,’ Freya retorted and she began to walk back through the crowd. It seemed to be even more difficult now that she had spoken to Nicholas as people were grabbing hold of bits of her.
‘Are you dating him?’ one woman questioned, tugging at Freya’s arm.
‘No,’ Freya responded immediately, taking back her arm and trying to manoeuvre her way through the people.
‘But you’re going out with him tonight?’ another person asked, this time a teenaged girl.
‘Sadly yes,’ Freya answered.
‘You don’t look like a film star’s girlfriend,’ a boy of about ten commented as he stared up at her.
‘That’s because I’m not. Excuse me,’ Freya spoke, now resorting to pushing people out of her way.
She was feeling slightly claustrophobic with the amount of people around her, penning her in, and the sun beating down on her uncovered head.
‘Hi there, I’m Sandra McNeill from Shooting Stars magazine in America. Could I have a few minutes of your time Miss…’ an American voice spoke while two large flashes went off in Freya’s eyes.
‘God, will you leave me alone?’ Freya begged.