Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance)

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘I will make phone calls,’ Elpida told her seriously. ‘But first we fix your face. Come!’

  * * *

  Elpida had cut a lemon in half and smeared it all over her face. Now the woman was crushing garlic into a paste Imogen was supposed to apply to the affected areas before she went to bed that night. Sat on a wonky stool in the kitchen, she realised she was exhausted.

  ‘Where did you say Harry has gone?’ Elpida asked, savaging a fresh loaf of bread with a blunt knife.

  ‘Well, Risto said he knew someone with a van and they were going to a hotel who are getting rid of some of their tables and chairs.’

  Elpida waved the knife in the air and stared at Imogen. ‘Risto? Risto Dimitriou? My grandson?’

  ‘Yes, I…’ Imogen cleared her throat. ‘Your other grandson offered us his services.’ She hoped this was acceptable to the woman brandishing the bread knife.

  Elpida put down the knife and leant on the countertop, both palms on the granite surface like it was bearing her weight. ‘He did, did he?’

  ‘Should I not have accepted? When he said it was free I thought it was too good to be true, but—’

  Elpida shook her head. ‘That boy!’ she cursed.

  Imogen frowned, wondering if she meant Panos or Risto.

  ‘Panos has so much to give but he chooses to chase the dream his father had,’ Elpida said. ‘Of course, he does not realise this. He thinks he is doing the exact opposite.’

  Imogen recalled the tall, dark-haired man with the soulful eyes standing beside the beach and looking at the restaurant with half a life story written on his face. She also remembered the taut forearms and the way the espresso eyes had held hers.

  ‘Some people live other people’s lives, don’t they? Always doing something that isn’t in their own soul,’ Elpida announced. ‘But not you and your Harry, huh?’ She smiled.

  Imogen felt sick and the lemon smell emanating from her face was making things worse. What was in her soul apart from her family? A forgotten love of cooking? A dream about working for a hotel company? Worldwide destinations and a suitcase full of trinkets and pens? Or serving bacon and beans in Southampton and looking after her mum?

  ‘Working here will be good for Risto,’ Elpida stated. ‘He is a good boy who has fallen on hard times…’ She paused. ‘I don’t know why I tell you all this. You do not want to hear these old stories from an old lady.’

  ‘No, don’t be silly.’

  The back door slammed and Harry and Risto appeared, covered in dust and sweating profusely.

  ‘We’re back!’ Harry announced. ‘Got twenty tables in the back of the van and they’re perfect.’ He put his hands into his hair, shaking flakes of sand and shavings onto the floor.

  ‘Pfft! Risto! You know better than to come into a kitchen covered in grease! Out!’ Elpida ordered, turning to face the man and making shooing motions with her hands. ‘Out!’

  Both men backed away. Imogen looked at her brother, juice running down her face, palms up as she shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘You can come back in when you have dusted yourselves down and then I will start to work on this kitchen,’ Elpida said, following the men as if to make sure they were going to leave. ‘Lunch will be five minutes.’

  ‘Mrs Dimitriou—’ Imogen began.

  ‘Elpida,’ the woman corrected.

  ‘Sorry, Elpida.’ She wet her lips then screwed up her eyes as the lemon tainted her tongue. ‘You really don’t have to do this, you know.’

  ‘Do what? Make this meal?’

  ‘No… I… well, maybe. I mean, not that it isn’t all appreciated, but we don’t want to put you out,’ Imogen tried to explain.

  ‘Put me out?’ Elpida asked, her face creasing with misunderstanding.

  ‘Sorry, what I mean is, you don’t have to do this for us. Cleaning and clearing up.’

  ‘Pfft!’ she snorted. ‘What is wrong with young people today? Always refusing help. Look at this place!’ Elpida waved the knife outwards, indicating the mess the kitchen was in.

  Imogen hadn’t even opened all the cupboards and drawers yet and wasn’t keen on finding out what was inside. She had visions of blue cheese being far mouldier than it should be and out-of-date tinned items.

  ‘We work together to fix the kitchen,’ Elpida stated, placing heavy slabs of white crusty bread on a platter. ‘I call people to help with the restaurant area. Then tonight you and your Harry must come to dinner.’

  ‘Oh, really, we couldn’t and…’ Imogen’s stomach lurched at the invitation despite her immediate refusal. This woman was knocking together a divine-looking tzatziki right in front of her eyes. She could only imagine what Greek delights would be served up for a dinner party. Perhaps she could pick up some recipe tips.

  ‘Please,’ Elpida continued. ‘I have some friends coming and it will be a good chance for you to meet people from the town.’

  ‘Well, in that case…’ Imogen smiled, her skin straining beneath the lemon juice and the tautness of her bites.

  Elpida dropped her fork into the bowl and clapped her hands in delight. ‘Good!’ Her smile dropped as she surveyed Imogen closely. ‘But I think we will need something else on that face or my guests might think you have disease.’

  Now she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  19

  Versus Club, Acharavi

  Panos was shaking so much he needed the hit of the ouzo he was holding in his glass. Sat outside the bar on Acharavi high street he tried to focus on the comings and goings of the town – the scooters, the holidaymakers carrying buckets, spades and bottles of water, the locals trying to find somewhere to park – but all he could hear were Asp’s words in his head. Words that could harm him and his business. His gut instinct had been to react. To get straight off the phone from Asp and make another call, but he’d stopped himself from doing that, instead heading to the bar. And he’d done nothing else since, except stare at the alcohol in his glass and wonder what to do next.

  His mother came to mind. Was Elpida right? Had it been months since he had spoken to her? He had been so busy and he told himself she was bound to be wrapped up in whatever John was doing. Or were both of those convenient excuses? A thought was niggling him that he wasn’t quite on top of his game right now. But did he really feel he needed to be before he spoke to his own mother?

  He slipped a hand into the pocket of his trousers and drew out his mobile phone. He could make it quick, say he was just about to go into another meeting… he’d just ask her how she was and say he was fine… say he was good… better than good, then end the call.

  He tossed the phone onto the table and drank the ouzo back in one gulp. He couldn’t do it and it was all his bloody father’s fault. Even dead he was directing things. Panos put the glass down on the table and sat back in the cream canvas-backed chair, shading his head under the large palm tree in the bar’s courtyard. The Corfu weather was so different to Crete. Crete was arid, desert-like in both its climate and its countryside. He always thought of Corfu as that little bit sweeter. The green hills, beautiful coves and picture-perfect scenes. As he focussed on the sea, just visible down one of the roads that led to the beach, he noticed her.

  Across the street was the woman from the restaurant that should belong to him. Imogen. She was wearing very short denim shorts and a white t-shirt, her blonde hair scraped back from her face in a ponytail, flip-flops on her feet. Panos sat forward, narrowing his eyes to get a clearer view. She was making her way along the road, shielding her eyes from the sun, one hand on the strap of a bright yellow handbag. He took in her lean torso and those endless legs. A shard of lust hit him in the gut and a little lower. He swallowed. This was a good thing. It would be much easier to woo her if his body was agreeable to the idea. And that’s what he had to do today. He needed to regroup before acting on information from Asp. Paving the way to a development in Acharavi would go a long way to restoring his acumen.

  ‘Pano.’

  Ris
to stood beside him.

  ‘There is a problem? Panos asked, ushering his cousin into the adjacent chair. ‘You are working hard at the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes.’ Risto wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

  Panos leaned forward and grabbed a napkin from the steel holder on the table and handed it to him.

  Risto smiled. ‘I know the woman is not quite happy about the restaurant.’

  ‘I know this already,’ Panos said. ‘She told me this herself.’ He sighed. ‘What else?’

  ‘They are working hard to make this right. I do not think they will want to sell.’

  Panos blew out a breath and wished his glass was full again. ‘You would like a drink?’ he asked his cousin.

  ‘How long must I work at the restaurant?’ Risto replied. ‘I want to work with you.’

  ‘Patience, Risto, you are working with me.’

  ‘But I… could help you with other things. With your business.’

  Panos saw the eagerness and hope in Risto’s eyes. What real future did Risto have here in Acharavi, where tradition still ruled the day? What feel for modern business was Risto ever going to get if he stayed on this island?

  ‘That restaurant is going to be my business,’ Panos stated. ‘What you are doing there is very important.’

  ‘I know but… there is something else,’ Risto admitted. He dropped his eyes to his lap.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yiayia is there.’

  Panos gritted his teeth. ‘What do you mean she is there?’

  ‘At the restaurant. She arrive, she make lunch, she clean kitchen … she has only just left to go and make food for her dinner party tonight.’ Risto swallowed. ‘She is helping them.’

  That was the very last thing he needed.

  ‘She has invited them to the dinner party tonight,’ Risto added.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Mr Harry and Imogen,’ Risto clarified.

  Panos nodded as thoughts flooded his mind. He would make sure he was seated next to Imogen, start the charm offensive. She had said it wasn’t her decision to make, but he had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

  ‘Good work,’ he said to Risto, patting the man on the arm before drawing his wallet from his trousers. ‘Now, more drinks, yes?’

  From its position on the table his mobile phone began to ring. It was Tomas. He let it ring.

  ‘Are you going to answer it?’ Risto asked.

  He nodded, counting in his head until it had trilled five times. He snatched it up.

  ‘Dimitriou.’ Slowly, a smile crossed his face. ‘I am so pleased to hear that, Tomas. Of course we can meet.’

  Perhaps today was not going to be a complete wash-out after all.

  20

  The restaurant, Acharavi Beachfront

  The lunch had been out of this world. Creamy sour yoghurt with cucumber and fresh mint on thick hunks of bread. She’d almost forgotten how good Greek food was. Afterwards, Elpida had insisted on spreading the smelly garlic paste on the blemishes. Apparently it was another Greek remedy for soothing ailments. Personally, Imogen thought it was a placebo: you were so distracted by the smell you worried less about the bites. But it was nice, being taken care of, and with a few careful dabs of concealer, she didn’t think the bites were that noticeable.

  ‘Ta da!’ Harry announced, coming out of the bathroom and into the main apartment.

  She observed him, her mouth opening in shock and surprise. ‘You’re wearing a tuxedo. You brought two sleeping bags and a tuxedo in your luggage?’

  Harry smiled. ‘Well, I was in the Scouts like Tristan.’

  She immediately felt underdressed in her peach cotton knee-length dress.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Nothing, I just… feel a lot less cocktail bar than you.’

  Harry laughed then. ‘I didn’t put this on for anyone else. I hardly get to wear it now I’m not working for Norton Aerospace.’ He nodded to himself. ‘We used to have quite some parties there.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Imogen agreed. ‘I had to pick you up from some very odd places after those parties.’

  ‘The police station,’ Harry said, grinning.

  ‘Blackpool Tower was the strangest location. Tied to a donkey,’ Imogen reminded him.

  ‘Milo.’

  ‘You remember the donkey’s name? That’s impressive.’

  ‘No.’ Harry shook his head. ‘It was Milo’s stag night.’

  ‘In London.’

  ‘Yes, well, you know how the boys got carried away.’ He pulled at the lapels of his jacket. ‘So, will I do?’

  Imogen smiled. He was buoyant. The most buoyant she had seen him in such a long time.

  ‘You look very handsome,’ she answered. ‘So will I do? Bites and eau de something-you’d-eat?’ She put her hands on her hips and adopted a confident pose, her hair swishing in its high ponytail.

  For a split second Harry looked sad. ‘Janie always wore perfume that came in a funny-shaped bottle.’

  ‘Well, I have perfume on too, but it isn’t working on the edible remedies Elpida plastered all over me.’

  ‘I spoke to Janie earlier,’ Harry stated. ‘She asked if I was having a relapse.’

  Imogen closed her eyes. She had hoped Janie would hold in her concerns and leave dealing with the situation to her. ‘She cares about you, Harry, that’s all. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? Her caring is a good thing, a positive thing. Coming to Corfu was a bit of a shock for us all, that’s all.’

  Harry snapped his head forward, his eyes locking with Imogen’s. ‘I don’t regret buying the restaurant,’ he stated. ‘Not for one minute. And after all the work we’ve done today… I can see so much potential for us, Immy.’

  She knew he could. The excitement and sense of achievement was just pouring out of him. She thought about Panos Dimitriou’s offer for the restaurant. She should really tell him. She opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘I know you’re excited too,’ Harry continued. ‘I saw you getting all Nigella over those recipes we looked at today.’ He grinned. ‘Lamb shanks and fresh figs.’

  It was true. The internet had provided them with a wealth of information and inspiration. She had enjoyed thinking about the possibilities but still wasn’t confident of her ability.

  ‘We’d better go,’ she said, eager to change the subject. ‘Have you called a taxi or are we taking the car?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Neither. Terry, that’s the man with the van, he said we can borrow it for a couple of weeks while we’re moving things about. I need to get used to driving it. I’m going to take us in that.’

  Suddenly Imogen felt sick. ‘You are?’

  He nodded. ‘Might be a good job you aren’t too dressed up and smell of garlic. Terry uses it for fish.’

  21

  Elpida Dimitriou’s home, Agios Martinos

  ‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ Harry remarked, slamming the door closed and looking up at the property.

  Yes, it was nice. It was more than nice, it was Greek-style palatial. The beautiful stone, the shutters at the windows, the flourishing window boxes. It looked just like something Jasmine Harman would show an escaping couple from the UK if they had a mammoth budget on A Place in the Sun. Her eyes went to the sleek Mercedes they’d parked alongside. Panos’ car. Dark, attractive, polished… just like the man himself. Someone cleared their throat in a rather obvious manner and Imogen swung around, cheeks flaming, as Panos stood at the threshold of the house.

  ‘Hello,’ Harry greeted, thrusting his hand out.

  ‘Good evening,’ Panos replied. ‘It is nice to meet you again.’

  Imogen stepped towards him, her hand outstretched. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Good evening, Imogen,’ he responded, ignoring her hand, instead drawing his face level with hers and kissing her on both cheeks in turn. He stepped away, looking a little taken aback, his fingers at his lips.

  ‘Gosh, I’m sorry,’ Imogen state
d. ‘I got bitten… by mosquitoes and your grandmother, she…’

  He held his long, olive fingers under his nose then sucked the tip of his index finger. Her stomach dipped as a small smile formed on his lips.

  ‘Lemon and garlic,’ he said, nodding. ‘She did this to me all the time when I was younger.’ He smiled. ‘Come in, please.’

  Suddenly it struck her all she was carrying was her yellow handbag. They hadn’t brought anything. No chocolates or wine. She felt like the worst guest ever.

  ‘Here we are, Panos,’ Harry said, pulling a bottle of red wine out from under his tuxedo jacket. ‘I don’t know if it’s any good but I suppose when we drink it we’ll find out.’

  Panos took the bottle, looked at the label, then moved his eyes back to rest on Imogen. ‘Full-bodied,’ he said, nodding. ‘A hint of spice and excellent… with white meat.’ He tipped his head a little. ‘I look forward to enjoying it.’

  He was flirting with her. And how did it make her feel if he was? Intimidated? A little excited? She couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Ah! You are here! Excellent!’ Elpida appeared, hands in the air, an apron over a black sequinned dress, platforms on her feet that added at least six inches to her height.

  ‘Thank you so much for inviting us,’ Harry stated. ‘And for all your help today with the boys.’

  ‘I wish to embrace you, Harry, but my hands are covered with aubergine.’ Elpida wiped them on her apron. ‘Pano, make Harry and Imogen some drinks.’ She screwed up her face. ‘Where is Risto?’

  ‘He is setting the table like you asked,’ Panos responded. There was that smile again, directed straight at her. She was glad Harry was driving.

  ‘Who else is coming tonight?’ Imogen asked, heading towards the open-plan kitchen and Elpida.

  ‘Just one other couple and my good friend, Cooky,’ Elpida responded.

  ‘As her name suggests, Cooky, is a little kooky,’ Panos told them.