Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance)

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘I tell you before! That is not why she has this name,’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘She work at the bakery with her father. You can guess what it is she made there.’

  ‘Cookies?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Exactly,’ Elpida announced. ‘Now, all of you, shoo! Pano, get drinks and take our guests outside.’

  The entertaining space at the rear of Elpida’s property was like a little piece of show-garden heaven. A large decked area decorated with cream and toffee-coloured urns full of trailing flowers and miniature ferns were dotted around the space that led down to another, bigger paved area. On this patio Risto was putting the finishing touches to a long wooden dining table. As Imogen made her way across the cobblestone slabs she admired the pretty beige-and-light-blue-striped tablecloth with matching napkins in sparkling wine glasses, polished silverware and two cream glass lanterns, a pillar candle glowing in each. Around her, golden fairy lights had been hung from the boughs of the fruit trees that created an avenue onto a grassy channel that boasted spectacular sea views at its end.

  ‘Wow!’ The exclamation came from Harry and it was by no means an exaggeration. The outside area was nothing short of beautiful. Everything about this garden was special. The view, the elegant table setting, the scent of citrus, jasmine and lavender in the air.

  A buzz from a mosquito-like creature snapped Imogen back from her reverie. She shook her head to encourage it to flee.

  ‘On a clear day you can see the houses in Albania.’

  Panos’ voice was close to her ear and the deep vibrations of his tone, plus the musky scent of his cologne, caused her to shiver. She turned her body and offered him a quick smile. ‘It’s a beautiful garden.’

  He was standing so close she found it hard to concentrate. The muscular outline of his upper arms visible through his shirt, the cotton brushing over an athletic frame…

  Imogen cleared her throat, wishing she had a glass to hold. She curled her fingers around the handbag on her shoulder.

  ‘Risto, you did some great work today,’ Harry greeted, holding his hand out to the younger man.

  ‘Oh, this is nothing,’ Risto answered, bowing his head a little as he took Harry’s offering.

  ‘The restaurant is looking better, yes?’ Panos asked them both. He plucked a bottle of wine from the container on the table and began to fill a glass.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Harry enthused. ‘Already it’s starting to look like I dreamed it would.’

  ‘That is good,’ Panos answered, looking once again to Imogen.

  She knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for Harry to say something about his offer, or for her to admit the offer hadn’t been put forward. Instead she turned a little and watched her brother. His face was lit up like the Las Vegas strip – bright, vibrant, glowing like a dozen neon signs. So much enthusiasm, drive and passion. And, as she watched him sipping at his drink, standing tall in this foreign country, a Corfu business owner, she was flooded with pride. Seeing Harry this way filled her with pure joy.

  ‘It is a lot of work though,’ Panos continued. ‘Not just to clear but to make good again.’ He looked directly at Imogen. ‘You wish for white wine? I am sorry, I do not ask.’

  He had the most amazing eyelashes over those dark eyes and that rich olive skin that had tried to soothe her injured hand the other day. It was a second before she realised she hadn’t answered his question. ‘White’s fine, thank you,’ she replied.

  Panos held out the glass to her and as she accepted it, their fingers connected and her breath caught in her throat. Although she knew nothing about the man, as he held her gaze she silently cursed her susceptibility to his good looks. Drawing her hand away, she put the glass to her lips and focussed on the stunning views.

  * * *

  Panos felt confused. The attraction he felt towards Imogen was interesting yet completely ill-placed and it was causing him unnecessary distraction. She was beautiful, even with the mosquito marks on her face, this natural English woman in a dress he was trying his best to see through. But tonight, after wine, good food and his smooth tongue, he would get on with setting out his proposal. This didn’t have to be complicated. He was a businessman and the transaction was simple. He would offer them more money to give the restaurant to him and they could be on a plane back to England in the morning. Tomas was selling him his taverna. He had agreed a price and had arranged for his lawyer to draft the papers. It was the first property under his control on the strip and it wouldn’t be the last. Dimitriou Enterprises was coming home.

  ‘Kalispera!’ The deep Greek tones were bellowed like the foghorn of a ship and Panos didn’t need to look to know that his grandmother’s best friend, Cooky, had arrived.

  ‘Where is the new blood?’ Cooky exclaimed. ‘Hello, darling! Aren’t you a handsome one?’

  Panos grimaced as Cooky pressed her well-lipsticked lips to Harry’s, then moved to greet Imogen. The woman was as tall as Elpida was small – a little and large combination that had worked for over fifty years. She was wearing a gold sequinned dress that left little to the imagination, her curls of dyed red hair bouncing on the décolletage of her ample bosom.

  ‘I am Cooky!’ she announced, taking Imogen’s hand and kissing the top of it. ‘Risto! Where is my drink?’

  Panos stepped forward, plucking the bottle of white wine from the cooler again. ‘Good evening, Cooky. You are looking very beautiful tonight.’

  Cooky grimaced, looking him up and down from his leather shoes to his dark hair. ‘You are here alone?’ she announced as more of a statement than a question. ‘You are not married?’

  He smiled. ‘You propose to me… again?’

  She had asked him this question so many times. Her face remained expressionless for a good five seconds and then she had the good nature to laugh and launch herself into his arms.

  ‘How are you, my beautiful boy? It is so long since we have seen you!’ She stepped back, turning towards Harry and Imogen. ‘He hides away on another island making his millions and doesn’t remember where he came from.’

  Panos gritted his teeth and tried to hold on to his smile. Cooky knew far too much about his past, courtesy of his grandmother.

  ‘Millions?’ Harry remarked.

  Panos waved a hand. ‘Cooky likes to exaggerate,’ he said quickly.

  ‘You don’t have millions by now? What are you doing all the work for if not to make millions?’

  He took a step towards the decked area. ‘Excuse me, I think the other guests are here.’

  22

  Panos couldn’t fault his grandmother’s cooking but he wished she hadn’t invited Roger and Ann. From what he remembered, they were British ex-pats who had lived in Agios Martinos for what must be five years now. He had only met them once and that had been enough. He was certain he had heard the exact same speedboat stories the last time he’d dined with them. He refilled his glass with wine and took a healthy swig. His eyes found Risto. He was concerned about his cousin, who had hardly eaten any food and was drinking far too much. Now he looked like he could hardly keep his eyes open. Was it wrong of him to make him be his eyes and ears in the restaurant with Harry and Imogen?

  ‘Risto!’ he called. He watched his cousin rock in his seat and force his eyes wider open. ‘Could you get some more wine from the cellar?’

  ‘Pfft!’ Elpida interrupted. ‘There is no need for you to go to the cellar, Risto. There is more wine in the kitchen,’

  ‘More for me!’ Cooky piped up. ‘And Imogen’s glass is almost empty. How about you, Ann?’

  The mouse-like Englishwoman held her glass up and nodded, pushing her round glasses up her nose.

  ‘I never say no,’ Roger piped up.

  Risto stood up, holding onto Harry’s chair to retain his balance. ‘I will bring some more.’

  Panos got to his feet. ‘I think I will help him.’ He nodded at the guests. ‘Excuse me.’

  As soon as they were out of sight Panos grabbed him by the shirt sleeve. ‘What is
wrong with you? You barely eat, you drink too much.’ He narrowed his eyes at him. ‘You have an alcohol problem? Is that why you have not found work?’

  ‘No!’ Risto exclaimed, shaking his head.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I do not like what I have to do today,’ he admitted. ‘I find it hard.’

  ‘What? Clearing up in the restaurant?’

  ‘No! You know!’ Risto said, eyes wide.

  Panos sucked in a breath before responding. ‘We cannot speak about this here.’ He looked back at the table of guests to ensure they were fully engaged.

  ‘They are nice people,’ Risto said, dropping his eyes to the ground. ‘I like them and yiayia likes them. I start to feel bad. If yiayia finds out…’

  Panos shook his head and sunk his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘I think yiayia would be more concerned about your drinking right now.’

  He looked at Risto, seeing the boy he had shared his childhood with. All his cousin wanted was a job and he had given him something that challenged his Corfiot amiable nature.

  ‘Risto,’ he continued. ‘Do you want to help me in my business?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Pano.’

  ‘Then please, Risto, keep your drinking under control and help me with this.’ His mind drifted to the Asp deal. That was an exception. One blip. He had Tomas’ Taverna now and he would have more.

  ‘What I propose for the restaurant is going to give you and the residents of Acharavi something to celebrate. You want this, don’t you?’ Panos continued. ‘More villagers with work. More tourists coming to the island?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then where is the problem?’ Panos turned to look at his dining companions. He would make his second offer tonight and he had little doubt he’d be holding the keys to the restaurant by tomorrow afternoon.

  * * *

  Imogen took another mouthful of wine and enjoyed its warmth. It was idyllic here in Elpida’s garden, the lights in the trees and the candles on the table providing a soft glow, listening to the cicadas’ song, Roger’s stories of the sea – OK they were a little boring – Cooky’s loud laugh and Elpida’s playful banter with her friend. Her eyes went to Harry. He hadn’t stopped smiling all night and had shared conversation with everyone at the table. Like the old Harry.

  She put down her glass and reached for her napkin to wipe her lips. A fig tart with vanilla cream had just about finished her off and now her stomach was full to bursting. There was no doubt Elpida was an amazing cook. The stronger flavours hadn’t overpowered the subtle, everything had complemented each other, each dish offering something a little different for the palate. If she could become half as good for Harry she’d be pleased. She stopped her thinking. Did that mean she was really doing this? Really going to help her brother open the restaurant?

  ‘So, Imogen,’ Roger began, unfastening a button at the top of his collar, his round face as burgundy as the wine he was drinking. ‘Owning a restaurant, eh? Is that a long held dream?’

  She hesitated, shielding her lips with a napkin.

  ‘Shall I answer this one, Immy?’ Harry chipped in. ‘It’s actually my dream.’ He beamed, sitting forward a little in his chair. ‘Quite a new dream if I’m honest.’

  ‘You visited Corfu and fell in love with it, like all people from UK,’ Cooky said, swigging back her drink, putting the glass down and pulling at the neckline of her dress.

  ‘That’s what Ann and I did,’ Roger said.

  ‘Actually, I haven’t visited Corfu for quite a while. But I did have some amazing holidays here. But it’s Imogen’s first visit to the island,’ Harry informed them.

  ‘You’ve never been here before,’ Ann said, shocked. ‘And you’ve bought a restaurant?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t bought it,’ she clarified. ‘Harry has.’

  ‘I did a lot of research on the internet and the estate agent was ever so helpful.’

  Imogen’s attention went to Panos, who was making his way across the decking holding a bottle of wine in each hand. The man was an archetypal Greek god. He strode, head held high, a dark wave of hair curling slightly over tanned skin. She watched him as he approached.

  His shoulder brushed hers as he sat and he spoke low. ‘You enjoyed your dessert?’

  ‘Yes, it was lovely.’

  ‘You are OK?’ he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

  There was that deliciously warm sensation again overriding the dance of the figs. Perhaps she should run with it if it stopped her being sick.

  She nodded again. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she replied, blushing faintly.

  ‘You have not told your brother about my offer,’ he stated simply.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Those eyes were burning into hers, making her heart speed up. What did she say? That she’d seen today how happy the restaurant was making her brother and her earlier reservations had been somewhat relieved? That she wanted to try and make the project work?

  ‘Because I haven’t seen him this happy in years,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘Imogen,’ Elpida called.

  Quickly she turned her attention away from Panos.

  ‘You and your Harry are going to open the restaurant next week!’ She cleared her throat. ‘We need to toast this! To…’ Elpida paused, her hand still held high. ‘What is going to be the name?’

  ‘Well,’ Harry began. ‘What do you think of… Halloumi?’

  Imogen balked. What?! The figs were now eating their way through her stomach lining and keeping a controlled smile on her face was taking every scrap of energy she had. After all this talk of Greeklish food, chips and taramasalata he was going to name his dream restaurant after a cheese. She wished he’d mentioned it to her first. She could have told him what a mad idea it was. She forced a smile.

  ‘I thought it sounded welcoming. It’s foody and Greeky and it has the letters of mine and Immy’s names in,’ Harry concluded.

  Elpida shot out of her seat, the chair scraping across the cobbles. ‘I think it’s wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!’ She cleared her throat loudly, her eyes roaming over her guests. ‘To Halloumi!’ she toasted.

  Imogen watched everyone looking at each other, as if wondering what to do, but seemingly knowing there was only one thing they could do. She was juggling the words in her throat, each syllable scratching its way out. ‘To Halloumi,’ she croaked. Then she put the glass down, got up and headed indoors.

  23

  If Imogen had been a smoker she would have been lighting up and puffing away by now, but instead she stood outside the front of the house pacing in the dark. The only light came from the moon until she paced too close to a motion sensor and the porch light flicked on. The minute she started to feel confident about things, Harry put a spanner in the works. It was like taking one step forward and two steps back. Harry’s new-found love of life and this project to open the restaurant and get his family back together was admirable and she wanted to be all in, but then he did silly things. He borrowed a fish van and named the place Halloumi. What was she going to tell Grace and Janie when she was wavering so badly? They were relying on her to end this and get Harry’s money back. And the offer was right there in front of her. But…

  ‘Imogen.’

  She knew who was speaking before Panos came into focus.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, quickly smiling. She couldn’t let this man know how desperate she felt. ‘Just need a minute.’

  ‘You would like a glass of water?’ he offered, stepping close.

  ‘No, thank you. We should get going soon. It’s been a long day and…’ Her breath was coming thick and fast like an asthmatic about to have an attack.

  ‘Slowly,’ Panos said softly. ‘Breathe slowly.’

  She felt like a prize idiot. She shouldn’t need instructions on how to breathe. She stood still, the air still clogging up her windpipe. She felt Panos put a strong hand on her shoulder and she leant into the touch.

 
‘You think your brother is crazy,’ he stated. ‘To think he can open the restaurant in a week. To name it after cheese?’

  She shook her head. She was not admitting this to anyone who wasn’t immediate family.

  ‘Remember, Imogen, I can make this go away,’ he whispered.

  The statement made her breath catch and her eyes widen. She observed the strong, full-lipped mouth, the firm jaw and the onyx eyes. There was something there, something dancing in the air between them like there had been earlier and yesterday on the beach. He moved his hand from her shoulder and placed it on her waist, drawing her closer.

  She met with a solid wall of muscle, the heat from his skin transcending the fabric of her dress. His fingers drew away a section of hair that had escaped from her ponytail, the tips brushing the surface of her cheek.

  ‘Sell me the restaurant, Imogen,’ he said lightly, lowering his head towards her.

  For a moment she didn’t react. The sentence hit her gradually, each word slowly being understood as his face neared hers.

  ‘I will give you two hundred thousand Euro for the restaurant,’ Panos whispered. She shifted back then, trying to read his expression.

  ‘You really want the restaurant, don’t you?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I really want the restaurant.’

  ‘Why?’ Imogen asked.

  * * *

  Panos was holding on to so many emotions and each one was scrabbling up on top of the other like a game of Jenga that could topple at any second. He wanted to hand her the cash right now, get his Acharavi project accelerating.

  ‘Because your family has just sold the restaurant,’ Imogen reminded him. ‘To my brother.’

  God, she was attractive. He hadn’t meant to hold her like he had but she’d looked so vulnerable.

  ‘I know,’ he began. ‘But my grandmother should not have done that.’

  He watched her put her hands on her hips and adopt a stance of attack. ‘Why not?’