A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘I’m sure she’ll agree. After a long flight guests will need time to find their billets, perhaps have a siesta and come to. The party can be on the next night. Do you think you could plan something and I’ll help with any details?’

  ‘We’ll need caterers. Do you think Mel would be up to it or should I book Fratelli’s?’

  ‘It’s up to you both but I think Mel would want to bid for the chance.’

  Chloë looked relieved. Sara smiled to herself – there was a semblance of a role for Chloë to play hostess so that the wedding itself in the olive garden of the retreat could be Alexa’s choice not Chloë’s. It was going to be a very English wedding among the expats, a compromise, and she trusted they would both go along with the idea

  ‘I do hope I don’t put Dorrie’s nose out of joint,’ Chloë added. ‘These weddings will be quite close but very different in tone, I hope. I gather Shelley Dorney, the London society party planner, has it all in hand. The Russian father insists on only the best and I think poor Dorinda is a bit overwhelmed. The Dorney woman is coming over to inspect the island soon. You may glean some tips from her.’

  ‘I think I shall keep out of her way,’ Sara replied, knowing she must see Griff before Chloë pounced on him with a fait accompli. There was the peace and quiet of the artists in residence to consider. It would be during their season of courses. Would they be willing to leave a long weekend free for this special event? It would do no harm to invite him to supper one night to discuss everything over a pot of lamb tagine. The olive grove was such a good venue.

  There was more to wedding planning than just a date and a venue. Sara was learning how to tread gently over dreams, to make sure they were realistic, yet romantic and memorable. Alexa’s wedding was important to her own business so everything about it must be perfectly planned to showcase that Santaniki Dream Weddings was here to stay.

  *

  ‘I hope the tagine is not too spicy.’ Sara hovered over Griff as he sat by the table on the veranda. ‘I never thanked you for giving my name to Alexa and Chloë. It seems we now have a plan. At this rate it could be a Christmas wedding. They keep changing the date, according to Chloë.’

  Sara had spent half the afternoon making sure her favourite go-to recipe was up to scratch. If she was going to entertain then it must be right. It was a long time since she had had supper alone with a man.

  ‘This is delicious. Sit down, you make me nervous in case I spill anything on this fabulous tablecloth,’ Griff said. He looked smart in his linen shorts and paisley silk shirt. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble and I can see all your hard work in the garden… Sparky, under the table… I don’t feed him when he begs but the guests do, behind my back. Ariadne’s cat isn’t here, is he?’

  ‘Orpheus, no, there was a note left to tell residents not to let him in the house. He is fed and pampered up the road but he will sneak into the garden and look all pathetic when I turf him out. I like cats and he’s as soft as butter.’

  Sara was indeed nervous. There was something about Griff’s handsome profile, the tang of his aftershave, the way he slicked back his sun-bleached hair… In times past, she would not have hesitated to give him the full green light. Here was the romantic setting any woman could wish for; balmy heat, candlelight, the scent of jasmine wafting in their nostrils, luscious red wine and the privacy of a walled garden where anything could happen. She shook herself. But it won’t, Sara Loveday. Stay sober, stay alert. If he makes a move be on guard and deflect before things turn steamy.

  ‘Coffee? I have chocolates from the zaxaroplasteio,’ she offered, jumping up.

  ‘I’m fine… like your perfume.’ He sat back and smiled.

  ‘Nothing special… thank you. Are you sure you won’t have a raki?’ This was getting awkward but she must stand firm. ‘How is the dog scheme getting along?’

  ‘A bit of local opposition but nothing we can’t handle. But tell me about yourself. Why did you decide to stay here? You have a business in Sheffield.’

  ‘Not any more, my manager is buying me out. I want to focus all my energy on my wedding business now. I see a great future here.’ She yawned. ‘Gosh, it’s getting late.’

  Griff sat up. ‘What really made you up sticks and run?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I sense something happened to you.’

  ‘That’s my business,’ she blurted out with a sharpness she didn’t expect.

  ‘I see, sorry for prying. I guess that was a bit too direct a shot. Now I’ve offended you.’

  ‘Not at all, I’m not ready to share my private business with anybody. I know there’s speculation but we all have reasons to be silent on such matters, don’t you think?’

  ‘All work and no play.’ He paused. ‘We all need to relax. I find cycling and running so invigorating when the retreat business gets too hectic. By the way, there will be no problem hiring the olive garden in December, it could be tricky with the weather though. I gather this is a business meeting, after all.’

  Sara felt her cheeks flushing. ‘Of course, there’s so much to discuss so I thought over supper would be best,’ she stammered.

  ‘Lighten up, Sara, keep yourself to yourself if you prefer but I’ve found sharing stuff with others keeps the demons at bay. Take it from one who knows. I’ll not keep you any longer but thanks for an excellent supper… Sparky, time for your walk.’ He left the table and made for the gate. The dog raced after him. Griff waved and disappeared leaving Sara staring up at the night sky with tears in her eyes. His challenge had unnerved her. That went well, she chided herself. What do you expect when you pour icy water on any chance of friendship or understanding? He’ll think you a stand-offish prig, and well he might. Why did his good opinion of her matter? So much for a relaxed getting-to-know-you sort of evening; congratulations on a good piece of self-sabotage.

  22

  Nobody could miss the arrival of Yuri Shevchenko as his yacht sailed into St Nick’s harbour in a cloud of red dust. The winds of the south were whipping up a sand storm, whirling around the streets sending everyone for shelter; suddenly his gleaming white leviathan, overshadowing every other boat in the port, was covered in red powder. Too large to come close, a motor launch carried his entourage, arriving to inspect Santaniki’s prospects for the wedding of the year.

  Yuri was a stocky man with broad shoulders, strutting with purpose; his smile was wide but his eyes were cold, his mouth set in a firm line at this unexpected gritty welcome.

  Mel had pulled down the plastic screens to protect the tables from the storm but already a film of scarlet dust covered everything. She saw his entourage scuttling uphill towards the big taverna that would provide them with lunch.

  Sara peered from behind the screen. ‘I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him, would you?’

  A tall elegant woman with streaked blonde hair pushed herself through the screens in a panic to shelter from the deluge. ‘Kalimera.’ She grimaced. ‘What the hell is going on? My suit is ruined,’ she moaned, trying to brush the sand from her shoulders and hair.

  ‘Don’t worry, it will soon pass, just a desert wind storm from Africa,’ Mel reassured her but the woman was not impressed. ‘Are you visiting?’ she asked.

  ‘Thank God you’re English… No, we are here to finalise the Shevchenko wedding. Soraya, Mr Yuri’s daughter, has a list of questions. Does this happen often? We were not warned. Mr Yuri will not be pleased. Soraya wants a wedding on the beach by sunset so we’ve come to check out conditions. There must be no litter, no doggy doo-da and we want to find the best angles for their portraits. This is not my usual assignment; I leave the minor events to local planners but this is going to be some wedding. There will be no limit to the budget.’

  ‘How exciting,’ Sara offered, deciding now to glean some tips. ‘You must be Miss Dorney. We’ve heard from Dorrie Thorner that you will be the wedding planner.’

  Shelley Dorney took out a cigarette. ‘I can smoke here?’ she said an
d Mel nodded. ‘This is such a quaint taverna, very rustic,’ she said, surveying it with an eagle eye.

  Mel brought out coffee and water. ‘It has been in my family, my husband’s family, for generations and is very popular with tourists.’

  ‘Yes, well, this will be like no other wedding the island has ever seen. Soraya wants the full Mamma Mia experience. I gather there’s even a church upon a hill that we could decorate?’

  ‘Agios Nikolaos is a chapel but it’s tiny and not available for photographs except by the priest’s permission.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Shelley. ‘Mr Shevchenko is Russian Orthodox and there would be a good donation to settle any difficulties. We had a drone to check over the whole island for a location but it is much smaller than I hoped and not a decent hotel to speak of. We did suggest Santorini, Mykonos, even Corfu, but Daniel wanted to marry here as his parents – you might know them – live here.’

  ‘We know them well and they are looking forward to welcoming Soraya,’ Mel said. Who was this patronising bitch dissing her beloved island?

  ‘Soraya will stay on the yacht, of course, with her mother. There will be a flotilla of ships with guests so accommodation is not a problem but we do need a perfect setting. I want a private beach so there are no interlopers.’

  ‘The best private coves are accessible only by boat and too shallow for the big yachts but we can provide everything, large sandy beaches, a good florist…’ Mel suggested. ‘They make floral arches, beautifully decorated with local flowers on little decks out into the sea.’

  ‘I’m sure you can but this event is for society pages, Hello! magazine and the like. We will set up a scene, fly in thousands of fresh blooms and lighting experts for the day. Sergei Markovich will be designing the set and we are hoping to secure Kylie for the entertainment.’ She was boasting, seeing the look of amazement on their faces.

  ‘Kylie Minogue?’

  ‘Who else? Yuri loves her but it will be guests only, of course. Security must be tight as Mr Yuri is an international figure.’

  ‘I hope it will not be too hot. September is reliable but still very steamy and it will affect make-up, hair and body sweat.’

  ‘Of course, we’ve got all that covered. Our make-up artists are used to filming model shoots in desert settings.’ Shelley looked at her Rolex. ‘When will this bloody thing stop? It’s messing up my schedule. I hope this is not an omen. Mr Yuri is very superstitious.’

  ‘Look, already it’s going, it just leaves a trail of powder to wash off. You are safe to go now.’ Mel raised the screens to let her out.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ Shelley dashed off towards the entourage, her high heels clattering on the pavement.

  Mel looked at Sara and burst out laughing. ‘Patronising or what? The snooty cow, looking down at us as if we were chavvy peasants. Poor Dan Thorner, how did he come to be mixed up with this shower?’

  ‘Talk about sinister, those men in black suits and sunglasses looked straight out of The Sopranos. Soraya must be someone special, her father’s princess, but where is Mrs Shevchenko in all this?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Dorrie implied they were divorced and he has a new lady friend, twenty years younger, all tits and teeth according to rumour. I think even Dorrie is worrying how this will go. I bet Shelley Dorney doesn’t give her a look-in,’ Mel replied. ‘I got the impression that St Nick’s isn’t quite what she was expecting. Still, it will be fun watching a parade of extravagant wealth but I bet it won’t be half as fun as Pippa and Duke’s wedding done on a shoestring with the wonky donkey cart. I don’t think that they’ll produce a newborn at the end of the night either.

  ‘I even feel sorry for our rivals, the Fratelli Brothers,’ she added. ‘I expect they’ll demand the use of their kitchen, bringing their own Michelin chef to provide lunch. That is one catering event I am happy not to be doing. But where on earth will Kylie Minogue sing?’

  *

  As the plans for Sandra and Jack’s wedding were finalised, Sara made sure that they were clear as to their own ideas. At least Sandra wasn’t a bride who wanted an exact replica of something she’d seen on Pinterest, all candles, fancy china and table linen; she had her own firm ideas about the cake, the table decorations and the layout. They were going to be married with a traditional church ceremony at St Paul’s, just the two of them and witnesses from Yorkshire with no fuss.

  Sandra’s latest blood test was worrying and the stress of making sure everyone was invited and catered for took a toll on her energy. There was still no word from Julie despite her phone calls, and Sandra felt that all her plans were in vain.

  Jack looked on anxiously. ‘We can cancel this,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to marry me if it’s going to upset your family, love, or we can go back to Yorkshire and get it done there.’

  ‘I’m marrying you, not them. If they don’t want to come, they don’t deserve my invitation. I have my own friends coming over and an old work colleague. I shall ask all the book club ladies too and we’ll have a party even if it kills me.’

  ‘Don’t say that, you’re upset. Julie doesn’t know what she’s missing. She needs a good talking to.’

  ‘Please don’t make it worse, Jack. Let her stew in her own juice.’

  ‘You’ve got to rest and let Sara do it all. That’s what we’re paying her for. You could have your hair done.’

  ‘What’s left of it,’ Sandra sighed.

  ‘Get your nails done and all that women stuff. I hope you found a nice frock.’

  ‘That’s all sorted. Thank goodness for the internet. Sara found me some wonderful sites to look at and I was spoilt for choice.’

  ‘Good, now go and rest as I’ve got a few jobs to finish.’ Unknown to Sandra, Jack was taking matters into his own hands. He opened his Mac and sent an email that was long overdue.

  Dear Julie,

  I feel I must write to you as I am so anxious about your mother. Since Christmas she’s been going downhill. I don’t know what was said between you but she came back in low spirits.

  I know I’m not your favourite person but I love your mum every which way so I just feel I must let you know that without you at our wedding, Sandra will be so disappointed. I hear her crying in the night. She puts on a brave face with her illness but the rift between you is making her worse.

  I realise you never got over losing your dad and I’m no replacement for him or ever could be but after all these years, your mum has made me so happy and for some reason that has made you sad. I am no psychologist but I understand when my Denise left me for another man, I felt the ground under my feet collapse. It was a dark time and I felt such shame and despair I nearly ended it all.

  You were lucky to have loving parents but Paul’s untimely death left you devastated. Now you have a nice husband in Colin and children and a good family life together.

  The greatest gift in my book is time… time shared with those we love, especially as we get older. Family time is precious for your mother now. Once it’s lost, it can’t be replaced.

  She gets tired and sleeps badly and is no longer as energetic. Her tears flow with sadness, fearful for the future, but she is still independent but yearns for your attention. I know we are a generation apart as we grow older, you grow stronger. It’s the way of things. Sandra so longs to spend time with you choosing an outfit, all that girly stuff, having a day out together, chatting on the phone, sharing gossip that mothers and daughters like to do.

  In living here for the last six months, I know we have deprived you of her company but it is only for a year and half of it has gone already. Coming over for even a short holiday would give her such a fillip. I hope you don’t take this wrong but you are loved and cherished by her.

  Please reconsider your decision. The offer stands for us to gift you the expense of the fare for all of you.

  By the way, Sandra doesn’t know I have contacted you so let’s keep this between ourselves. Kindest regards

  Jack

  Eas
ter

  23

  How strange it was to Sara that suddenly the whole of the island was gripped by preparations for Easter. There were no Easter eggs in cardboard boxes or Easter bunnies and all the commercial trappings on the minimarket shelves. It was as if everyone suddenly began the slow rituals associated with a tradition centuries-old, full of meaning to families.

  The carnival before Lent had been a riotous affair; hundreds of men, women and children in fancy dress dancing on floats, on trailers, crawling through the crowded streets. There were men in drag, children dressed as anything from cupcakes to animals, gaudy banners and balloons.

  Clean Monday was the first day of Lent. Now there was a solemn atmosphere as the weeks up to Easter were when the faithful fasted. No meat was eaten and there was a rush in the harbour to buy fresh fish from the sea.

  Mel and Irini began preparing their house for the season, making sure everything was shipshape, while on the beach the children went with Spiro to fly their kites. Sara went down to Sunset Beach to watch the hundreds of kites soaring into the blue, a symbol of man sending a prayer on high. As Easter week began, preparations began in earnest for the ceremonies. Mel asked her over to help with baking. ‘We’re making plaited breads and Easter biscuits. Would you like to try some? I’ll show you how to do them.’

  Sara was nervous, baking was not her forte, but she made a batch under supervision flavoured with orange oil that turned out uneven but not burnt.

  Mel was wearing black jeans and top, as did many of the women in St Nick’s. Sara decided to do the same to blend in with the locals. She noticed how many men were wearing black shirts too. This was her first Easter and she wanted to be part of it. On the Thursday she had fun with Markos and Stefan dying boiled eggs bright red. She was not sure why but Markos informed her that they played a game with them but not yet.

  ‘Like conkers?’ Sara said.

  ‘What are conkers?’ Stefan asked her. Her Greek was not up to a decent explanation or to telling them the rules. She had her iPad with her to show the boys how conkers on strings was played. Each in turn bashing them together trying to crack them. This kept them amused.