She emptied the envelope, its contents spilling out across the beige carpet and confirming her worst fears. There were more: Vienna, Prague, Milan, Rome, two more for Paris . . . but the most devastating revelation was yet to come. Hidden securely within the pages at the back of the passport was a final stub, one that shattered Harri’s heart into a billion tiny pieces: Venice Marco Polo Airport.
‘N-no . . .’ she stammered. ‘That’s not possible . . . he . . . No!’ It was as if the whole world were being sucked into a black hole beneath her as the name on the last boarding card repeated louder and louder in her mind. Venice . . . The place she dreamed of, the destination her heart most desired. And yet Rob had flown there only two days after her birthday in April last year. Presumably, not alone . . .
Slumping to the bottom step, the shaking in her hands intensified as tears flooded her vision. How dare he? How dare he insist on keeping her in the UK when he was travelling to the very places she most longed to see?
Now all of his grand gestures made sense: far from being the heartfelt tokens of love Harri had assumed, they were merely the outward workings of a guilty conscience – Rob absolving himself for the lies he had fed her.
All this time, Harri had been beating herself up for her stolen kiss with Alex, painting Rob as the faithful, betrayed partner. She had lost sleep over her indiscretion, believing herself to be unworthy of his love. But nothing she had ever done could warrant the kind of sustained deception Rob had practised.
The enormity of it was almost too much to comprehend as she sat on the horrible carpet in his horrible house, staring at the crumpled boarding pass in her hand. Now, Rob’s apparent enthusiasm for cheap camping weekend breaks was revealed as nothing more than a cost-cutting exercise. It all made sense: with so many European trips to pay for, all he had left for Harri was small change. That was all she meant to him: someone to throw the scraps of his leftover affections. She let out another loud sob. All that time – when she had stood by him, defended his lack of travel imagination and the amount of time he was giving to the mythical contract in Preston, graciously forgiving his every broken promise – Rob had been boarding planes with someone else, heading off for adventures while Harri sat at home. All that time – wasted on someone who had never been worthy of her love . . .
Who he travelled with was immaterial: the biggest betrayal was his blatant disregard for the thing she loved the most.
How stupid and naïve he must have thought her! As the full weight of the revelation fell on her, Harri’s devastation gave way to thundering anger. White-hot fury shuddered through her limbs as she grabbed the damning evidence, opened the door and got into her car. Throwing the envelope on the passenger seat, she grabbed her mobile and fired off a text:
Hey you. Hope Preston is OK. Just picked up your passport for your mum. And the boarding cards. I know you must be busy right now doing much more important things than lying to me. Goodbye. H
She drove to Rob’s mother’s house, ignoring the insistent ring-tone of her phone all the way. No prizes for guessing who was calling. Clarice’s cheery smile faded instantly when Harri handed her the envelope and Harri realised with horror that she already knew what it contained.
‘Rob called me,’ Clarice said quietly. ‘Honestly, Harri, you have to believe me that I didn’t know he’d taken that woman abroad. He promised me he was going to break it off with her last year, but . . . for what it’s worth, my son is an idiot.’
‘Yes, he is. You knew, then?’
‘Oh, yes, he tells me everything,’ she said proudly.
Harri’s laugh was bittersweet. ‘Shame you didn’t tell me. What’s her name?’
Clarice folded her arms and looked away. ‘Melissa. He works with her. She’s married, of course: husband works away a lot. Just so you know, the Preston contract was real, but it was all signed and sealed last July. I’m so sorry, Harri.’
Harri sighed. ‘It’s not your fault. But there is one thing you can do for me.’
Clarice nodded. ‘Anything.’
‘Tell your son to stop calling me. I’ve nothing more to say to him.’
Pulling away from Clarice’s road, she suddenly recalled Alex’s words before the kiss, the last time she had seen him:
You just need to believe it’s possible.
He was right: all her life there had been other things to blame her fear on. But the fact remained that if she was as passionate about travelling as she said she was, nothing should stop her from stepping on a plane. Especially not Rob . . .
As she drove home, an idea started to form in her mind, tiny but burning bright: by the time she walked into the cottage her mind was made up. Picking up the phone as Ron Howard made a fussy circumnavigation of her feet, she called George.
‘Harriet? Is that you?’
‘Yes, it is. Sorry for ringing so late, George, but it’s a bit of an emergency.’
‘Flippin’ ’eck, what’s up? It’s not going to involve hospitals, is it?’
Harri smiled. George’s aversion to all things bloody, broken or infectious was nigh on legendary.
‘No. I need to take some time off, in a bit of a hurry.’ Her heart was banging against the wall of her chest, her palms clammy as adrenalin pumped through her veins.
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. For two weeks. I know it’s short notice, but I really have to go now.’
George paused and Harri could almost hear his mind whirring. ‘This isn’t like you.’
Her excitement began to sink away. ‘I know.’
‘So it must be important for you to ask. Oh, what the heck, it’ll do Nusrin and Thomas good to have a bit of responsibility thrust upon them. I suppose I’ll see you in two weeks.’
‘Thank you, George!’
‘Wait – where are you going?’
Harri smiled, remembering a conversation that afternoon at work. George had appeared with the new offers for the window and, as happened every week, Tom, Nus and Harri had gathered round to see which destinations were included. One had really caught her eye, not least because she had bought a travel book for the place only a week before.
‘Wow – Kefalonia,’ Tom had breathed, picking the card up. ‘Two weeks, self-catering in a luxury apartment, flying from Birmingham International.’
‘Man, how nice would that be?’ Nus had said wistfully. ‘Kefalonia in May – perfect! Before all the horrible kids go out there for summer holidays, and not too hot.’
‘It’s meant to be amazing,’ Harri had agreed, recalling the pictures of deep blue and turquoise seas around picturesque beaches and hidden coves she had seen in her book.
‘You should go,’ Tom had beamed. ‘Bit of sun, nice apartment, all those friendly towns . . . I’d be there like a shot if my mum hadn’t cut up my credit card.’
‘Kefalonia,’ Harri said now. ‘The holiday from the offers? Excellent choice. Want me to book it for you from my wireless connection to the office network?’
‘Would you?’
‘Your wish is my command, mademoiselle.’
‘What about the money, though?’
‘Settle up with me when you get home. When do you want to travel? How about later tomorrow? Give you a chance to pack and that.’
Harri realised she hadn’t thought this through. She didn’t even have a decent suitcase to pack, let alone suitable clothes. ‘I think that might be an idea. I’ll have to go to Berryhall first thing tomorrow to buy some things – oh, and pick up some money.’
She heard George laugh. ‘When did you get so impetuous, eh? When you get to Berryhall, head to Best Choice Travel and ask for Holly. Tell me how much you want and I’ll call her tonight and arrange for some Euros to be left for you – just pay for them when you get there, OK?’
‘Thank you. Um, George?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
He sighed. ‘Because I know something big must’ve happened and you sound like you need a break. And a
lso because, contrary to popular opinion, I am not a heartless ogre from Codsall.’
‘Well, right now, I think you’re wonderful,’ Harri said. George coughed nervously. ‘You can pack that in right now. Just beggar off and have a nice time, OK?’
The next call Harri made was going to be tricky. Ron Howard needed looking after and it was too late to book him into the cattery. There was only one option left . . .
Half an hour later, with a very bemused ginger and white cat in tow, Harri arrived at Viv’s house.
The front door flew open as she reached the doorstep and Viv threw her arms around Harri, hugging her tightly.
‘Oh my darling! My poor, poor girl! What a horrible thing to happen to you!’
Harri had expected this kind of welcome after her phone call, so she said nothing until Viv relinquished her hold. ‘It is. But it’s done now and I’m not going to give him another thought. So –’ she presented the cat carrier to Viv, ‘here’s Ron. Are you sure you don’t mind looking after him?’
‘Not at all.’ Viv pushed a cat treat through the wire bars, instantly winning over Ron Howard. ‘He’ll have a lovely time here, don’t worry.’ She looked at Harri. ‘And how are you feeling?’
Harri took a deep breath. ‘Good, actually. I’m doing the right thing.’
Viv smiled, her eyes full of compassion for her late friend’s daughter. ‘Yes, my darling. You are.’
By the time Harri climbed into bed that night, she was utterly exhausted by the day’s events. The promise of what lay ahead thrilled and terrified her in equal measure, but the devastation at Rob’s affair was still raw. She caught sight of the faded postcard in Grandma Langton’s gilt frame on her bedside table and fresh tears filled her throbbing eyes. Gazing at the dome of Santa Maria della Salute, she whispered, ‘I haven’t forgotten you.’
The dream of Venice was still alive in her soul – but her hope to see it hand in hand with a man she loved remained firmly in place. Kefalonia was a test: if she could do this, then anything was possible. Baby steps, as her mother used to say. Now at least, she knew that Rob wouldn’t be the one to take her, but despite all the heartache and betrayal, she was surprised to find an eternal flame of belief burning away inside. The right man was somewhere out there in the world and, when she found him, Venice would be hers. But for now, her first adventure beckoned . . .
Chapter Twenty
Island Life . . .
From the cubicle, Harri can hear Viv’s voice – still berating Merv – trailing away into the distance, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Just a little while longer, she tells herself, and then I’ll go. She checks her purse to see if she has any Sterling and finds a five-pound note. It looks strange after two weeks of nothing but Euros. She smiles as a business card catches her eye in the card section. Pulling it out, she reads the gold embossed name at its centre: Blanche Gilmour-Olsen.
Athens Airport was a frenetic hub of noise, colour and movement, relentless in its assault on the senses. Loud, animated conversations in a multitude of languages were firing left and right across the terminal floor as passengers pushed squeaky-wheeled baggage trolleys laden with luggage across its shiny expanse, like crazy Dodgems in a funfair ride.
The flight had been amazing. Harri loved it, mentally photographing every moment from take-off to landing. Slightly disoriented after her arrival, Harri passed slowly through the terminal following signs for onward flights, checking her travel information as she went. Finally, she found the airport lounge and, thankfully, dropped into a seat.
‘You look like I feel, missy,’ a deep, gravelly American woman’s voice said from behind a copy of American Vogue. ‘Only you make bewildered look so much better.’ The magazine lowered to reveal a large, glamorous-looking redhead in a white linen trouser suit. She extended her perfectly manicured hand, gold bracelets jangling as she did so. ‘Hey. I’m Blanche. Blanche Gilmour-Olsen.’
‘Harriet Langton. Um – Harri’s fine.’ They shook hands. ‘I see we have the same choice in hair colour,’ Blanche beamed, patting her luxuriant bouffant style. ‘Yours natural?’
‘Yes, it is. Yours?’
Blanche threw her head back and unleashed a cracked, guttural laugh on their unsuspecting fellow passengers, eliciting a mixed reaction. ‘Hell, no, honey! But thanks for indulging my ego there.’
‘So are you waiting for the transfer flight to Kefalonia?’
‘I am indeed. Where are you staying?’
‘Fiskardo – in an apartment complex just on the outskirts of the town.’
‘You’re kidding me? Me too! What’s the name?’
Harri pulled the information from her rucksack. ‘Emplissi Beach.’
Blanche clapped her hands and let out a whoop. ‘It looks like we’ll be travelling together, Harri.’
Liking her loud American travelling companion immediately, Harri was glad of the company.
After the forty-five-minute transfer to Kefalonia Airport flew them over the breathtaking turquoise-blue sea as the sun began to dip towards the horizon (with Blanche hardly pausing for breath during the entire journey), they emerged from the busy terminal building into the warm evening sun. Taxi drivers were parked up outside, grinning white smiles in the hope of winning fares. They walked along the ranks of cars until they saw a tall, lean young man holding a sign that read ‘Emplissi Beach Apts’. He smiled as they approached.
‘Yásas, ladies. You are for the Emplissi Beach, yes? Harriet Langton and Blanche . . . er . . .’ He stared at the name written on the back of his sign.
‘Gilmour-Olsen,’ Blanche interjected. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get your tongue round it real soon.’ She fluttered her eyelashes vampishly at him. Though he could be her son, Blanche clearly had no intention of letting pass the opportunity to flirt outrageously with their good-looking escort.
‘My name is Milos Voukouris. Let me take your bags, please. The minibus is not far away.’
The journey up to the north of the island was stunning – and the low, golden evening light added a lustre to everything as the minibus sped along the coast road towards Fiskardo. She remembered Alex describing this journey to her last year, but experiencing it for herself was so much better. Pushing the thought of him away, she gazed out at the Kefalonian landscape.
‘My father owns the apartments,’ Milos explained. ‘We have a small taverna too, so you must come for dinner. This is your first time here?’
‘It’s my first time anywhere,’ Harri laughed. ‘I’ve never holidayed abroad before.’
Blanche looked at her aghast, as if her revelation was tantamount to heresy. ‘How on earth have you never travelled?’
‘Long story. How about you?’
‘Why, darling, I’ve travelled all over, believe me. But this is my first time on your beautiful island, Milos.’
His huge white-toothed grin flashed again. ‘Well, maybe we will have to show you around a little. Although I warn you: you will be leaving a piece of your heart here.’
The Emplissi Beach Apartments lay up a track that rose from the main road and headed into the hills. The minibus bumped along, an experience made more hair-raising in the fading light of the evening. Rounding a corner, the apartments suddenly came into view – every window in the traditional, dusky-pink three-storey building alive with soft light.
Milos helped them out, opening the back doors to retrieve their cases. They followed the grey crazy-paved path edged with small garden lights as it rounded the ground floor of the building and up to the pool area. As they did so, a stunning view came into sight below them. Tiny lights from far-off villages over the bay twinkled round the fringes of the inky black ocean, and stars brighter than Harri had ever seen shone in the sky. The warm night air was filled with the scent of wild thyme and hibiscus, while the rhythmic chirping of cicadas lulled the senses into an undulating slow dance, like the waves of the ocean far below the hillside where they stood.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Harri breathed as B
lanche slipped an arm through hers and hugged it.
‘Awesome. Simply awesome.’
‘Come, ladies – this way, please.’
Milos opened a large, wooden door and they walked inside. ‘This was a farmhouse originally,’ he informed them, taking the role of unofficial tour guide as they began to climb a whitewashed stone staircase to the floor above. ‘It is over two hundred years old and has been in my family for four generations. My father and brother converted it into apartments three years ago.’ He stopped by another door and pushed it open, revealing a large room with a kitchen at one end, a balcony at the other and separate bathroom and bedroom. ‘Miss Langton,
this is your apartment,’ he smiled. ‘Miss Blanche, yours is across the hall. If you would like to rest a while, I will return at eight o’clock – my father has invited you to our taverna for dinner.’
Alone in her room, Harri walked out onto the cream-tiled balcony and inhaled deeply. No book could ever show you the smell, sound and taste of a place – but in one lungful of air, she felt like she had inhaled Kefalonia into her soul. For the briefest moment, she wished she could tell Alex about this – it was a reflex action she still hadn’t quite managed to shake the habit of. Stepping back into the room, she put the thought behind her and started to make herself at home.
To Kardiva was a small, single-storey taverna with a vine-canopied terrace overlooking a secluded beach, just off the Fiskardo road. Milos’ father, Thaddeus, strode out to meet them when they walked up from the minibus.
‘Kalí spéra, my honoured guests!’ he boomed, kissing Harri and Blanche on both cheeks. ‘Tonight you will join my family. Come, come . . .’
Although Harri had tasted Greek food before, it was nothing like the dishes served up by Thaddeus and his tiny wife, Eleni. Crisp fried saganaki cheese, with lemon and hunks of homemade bread; simple, grilled sardines, fresh from the sea; tender Greek lamb souvlaki and the ubiquitous Greek salad filled the long table. Milos sat next to Harri, while Thaddeus seated himself next to Blanche, who, of course, was delighted to have the broad-shouldered Greek beside her. Eleni never seemed to sit down for more than five minutes, shuffling back and forth between table and kitchen, barking orders at her sons Galen and Zeno, who were preparing the food.
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