by Mandy Baggot
Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away quickly, turning back to the table and her almost empty goblet of wine. Seeing Panos watching her, she willed the emotion away.
‘What a beautiful sight,’ Harry announced with a loaded sigh.
‘This is what brings all the customers here,’ Elpida said. ‘This is the very best place to watch the sunset from.’
‘I proposed to my wife as the sun was setting,’ Harry stated. ‘Here in Corfu. Actually in Kassiopi.’
‘Really!’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘That is wonderful! So romantic!’
He sighed. ‘But we’re not together anymore.’
Imogen swallowed the knot in her throat. ‘It’s just a trial separation though, isn’t it?’ she said quickly. She addressed the table. ‘Harry has two children. Tristan and Olivia.’
‘That is lovely,’ Elpida announced. ‘They will come here and they will fall in love with Corfu too.’
‘I will get more drinks,’ Risto said, shifting back his chair.
‘No, Risto,’ Panos said.
* * *
Panos had seen Imogen’s eyes glaze as she watched the setting sun. Something had been brought to mind as she involved herself in the scene and it had caused her to tear up.
‘I will get more drinks,’ he stated, standing. ‘Imogen, would you help me?’
She stayed in her seat, looking at Harry, as if she were searching for a reason to decline.
‘Yes, Imogen, please go with him,’ Elpida said. ‘Make sure he gets the house wine, and Pano, order some meze.’
For once he was glad of his grandmother’s intervention. He waited, watching Imogen until she rose from her seat. As she stood and pushed her chair into position he was given a chance to see just how the cut of her dress highlighted the length of her legs and the curve of her waist.
‘Swordfish is a good choice,’ he heard his grandmother say. ‘It is a very meaty fish.’
‘I’m thinking green beans, new potatoes and a mustard dressing,’ Harry chirped up.
Panos let Imogen come around the table toward him before he led the way to the bar.
Leaning his weight against the rustic wood countertop he looked at her. Her cheeks were glowing from the red wine and she had self-consciously folded her arms across her chest.
‘Your body language says that you do not trust me at all,’ he stated, a small smile on his lips. ‘What do you think I am going to do? Throw meze at you?’
‘Of course I don’t trust you. What do you expect?’
‘I expect, given that I have apologised and you have half drowned me in paint, to be given a second chance.’
‘A second chance at what?’ she asked him. ‘You’re buying up property all around us. Harry’s restaurant isn’t going to have a chance if you move diggers in and start tearing up the beach.’
Those flyaway strands of gold were dancing around her jawline and his fingers itched to push them back. He called over the barman before digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He ordered in Greek and turned back to Imogen.
‘Panos, I told you Harry’s trying to save his marriage. He wants Corfu to be a new start. He hasn’t been well and back in England people are quick to judge. He sees the restaurant as a lifeline. It isn’t helping knowing you’re trying to change everything around us when we’ve only just got here.’
‘He is ill?’ Panos questioned.
Imogen shook her head. ‘No… not like that.’
‘You do not have to tell me,’ he said when Imogen failed to expand. ‘It is none of my business.’ But the fact remained he wanted to know.
‘Harry had an accident at work.’ She toyed with the edge of a lace doily on the countertop, twisting the thread in between her thumb and forefinger. ‘He was working on a plane and the ladder wasn’t secure and he fell off. He broke his hip badly and he was at home for months recovering. When he finally went back, nothing was the same and he wasn’t the same. It all just spiralled from there.’ She paused. ‘He has depression and depression isn’t something you can just fix. It takes time and patience and… maybe a restaurant in Corfu.’
He reached for one of the carafes of red wine brought by the barman and filled two tumblers.
‘Drink,’ he ordered, raising his glass to his lips. He took a large mouthful and turned his eyes on her. She held the glass with both hands and gulped at the liquid. A little found its way to the edge of her lips and she dabbed a finger at the excess. Why did he find that small motion so sexy?
‘I apologise,’ Panos said. ‘For making things difficult for you.’ He swallowed. Did he mean that?
She looked up at him. ‘Thank you.’
Then he felt it again. That pull he’d felt on the beach today. He might have been covered from head to foot in paint but when he’d lain over her, looking down at her, he’d wanted to kiss her so desperately a fist of longing had thumped in his gut. Why did things have to be so complicated? He wanted the restaurant, this beachfront project and… he wanted her. But was it only because neither of them were straightforward?
She took another swig of the wine and leant back against the bar, her gaze on the diners on the terrace and the mountain backdrop. ‘So, after Harry fell off the aeroplane he used to tell people he was a stuntman at parties for a while.’ She smiled. ‘He was an engineer… so, so, clever… not like me.’
He watched her. She was relaxing slightly, her shoulders loosening, her demeanour lightening.
‘He always loved planes,’ she continued. ‘He used to annoy me so much when we were children – making models for hours on end, throwing polystyrene ones around the house. He said aviation was his destiny. He wrote that phrase on all his school books. Whereas I… I wrote I heart Justin Timberlake.’ She laughed.
‘He was your husband?’ Panos asked.
She laughed again.
He was confused.
‘Justin Timberlake’s a pop star… was a pop star. Now he’s famous for… being Justin Timberlake I guess.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose he’s that big in Greece.’
Panos’ attention went to where the band were setting up on a small stage, a grape-vine-covered pergola over the top. He turned back to Imogen.
‘If he does not play the bouzouki he is not really a musician in Greece.’
She laughed. ‘Do you play the bouzouki?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ He didn’t wait for her to ask another question. ‘So, Imogen, Harry’s destiny is with this restaurant now? Not planes any longer?’
‘He can’t climb any more. He had to leave the job he loved and that didn't help anything. But even after everything he’s been through, Harry’s Harry, always with a glass half full, ever the optimist.’
‘And you?’ Panos asked.
‘What about me?’
‘How is your glass?’
He watched her look to her wineglass as if hoping the answer was going to be found amid the dark, berry-infused drink.
‘I’ve been sharing Harry’s glass for so long I’m not sure what mine looks like.’
He nodded, resting his body against the bar, his arm just touching hers.
‘What about your glass, Pano?’
The use of his shortened name sent a delicious chill up his spine.
‘My glass?’ he said, considering the question as if his answer might hold the resolution to the Greek financial crisis.
‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘The very expensive one bought from the proceeds of all the village tavernas you’ve torn down.’
His elation was short-lived and he felt his cheeks rising in temperature. He deserved that. He was a successful businessman who put profit and deals above anything and everything. It was what he knew. It was safe. He should smile. Congratulate her on her repartee. But it wouldn’t be the truth of what he felt.
‘My glass is broken, Imogen,’ he said eventually. ‘And it’s been broken for a very long time.’
34
‘What is this one?’
Ha
rry popped another tit-bit of the meze into his mouth and closed his eyes as if trying to work out the flavours.
‘That is keftedes,’ Elpida answered. ‘It is made with lamb, garlic, breadcrumbs, spices… very easy to make and delicious.’
‘You’ve said every one of these recipes is easy to make,’ Imogen said.
‘It will be, Immy,’ Harry said. ‘She’s a great cook, Elpida, just a bit out of practice.’
‘It looks complicated,’ Imogen protested.
‘Pfft!’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘Pano could make this… In fact, Pano has made this. Like baklava. When he was a child he loved to cook.’
Imogen looked for the Greek who hadn’t returned to the table since their drink at the bar. Her eyes found him. He was sat at another table with Risto, chatting to a Greek man and two very attractive women about her age. It irked her and she hated that.
‘Do you think a choice of four starters is enough, Elpida?’ Harry asked, picking up his pen and writing on his pad of paper.
She nodded. ‘Yes, this is where I make mistake with my restaurant. You need very good dishes you can do very well. We make them individual to Halloumi so no one else on the beachfront has the exact same thing as you. And we make specials.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘No one makes keftedes the way my grandmother used to make it.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘But you can.’
Harry beamed. ‘What do you think, Immy?’
What did she think? At the moment she was worried they might be serving food in between pneumatic drilling and wrecking balls. She supposed the workers might want lunches and Greek beer. She looked to the platter. ‘I liked this one.’ She pointed at a triangle-shaped parcel of pastry. ‘But I’ve never been very good with pastry.’
‘Ah!’ Elpida said. ‘Spanakopitakia. They make this here at Sunset with feta cheese and spinach.’ She whispered even lower this time. ‘For you I think we make this with halloumi, feta, spinach and a little garlic and rosemary.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ Harry said, making more notes.
Imogen watched one of the women with Panos get up out of her chair and drape an arm around his shoulders, leaning into him like it was the most natural action in the world.
‘What do you think, Immy?’ Harry asked again.
‘What? Sorry… I didn’t hear what you said.’ She flushed. What was the matter with her? Why was she compelled to look at Panos Dimitriou? Because he was her nemesis or because he sent her feminine zones into a frenzy?
‘I think we’ve got our starters. Spanakopitakia, keftedes, saganaki – because what you made for lunch the other day was delicious, Immy – and soup of the day. I think it’s a nice mix,’ Harry explained.
‘And you have meat and vegetarian,’ Elpida added.
A loud, excited laugh filtered over from the table Panos was sat at and Imogen couldn’t help but look. The woman now had both arms around Panos, embracing him from behind as he sat back in his chair. She had a perfect figure and long dark curls.
‘I do not like that man,’ Elpida stated, her eyes following Imogen’s line of vision.
‘Who is he?’ Imogen asked. The man looked like a cross between Buddha and Gio from the Go Compare adverts.
‘That is Alejandro Kalas. He is on the simvoulio here. The council,’ Elpida explained. ‘Sometime he do a lot of good for the village. Other times he make a lot of money for himself.’ She frowned. ‘I can guess Panos will be speaking to him about his plans for loudy shouty disco party palace.’
‘Are those his wives?’ Harry asked, looking as well.
‘No,’ Elpida said shaking her head. ‘They are his daughters. Cleo and Margot. Both of them spoilt little princesses who would not know a day of hard work if it came up and said “boo” in their faces.’ Elpida sighed. ‘There is his son, Vasilis. Now he is a good man. He run a boat company out of Kassiopi.’
‘Would the councillor be a good man to get to the opening night of Halloumi though?’ Harry suggested.
‘I do not know if good man is the right word but yes, wherever he go there will be photo opportunity and newspaper reporter.’
‘Perhaps Panos can introduce us,’ Harry said.
‘I would tread a little careful, Harry,’ Elpida stated. ‘Once you get into bed with a man like this there is no getting out of it again. And, I like to know who exactly is plumping my pillows.’ She nodded, reaching for her wine goblet. ‘And also with a man like that you never know which side of the mattress he is sleeping on.’
The bed analogy gnawed at Imogen as she watched Panos and the not-so-ugly sisters. Was that what he was doing now? Having apologised and asked about Harry was he back plotting and scheming? The monstrosity he intended to build would need council planning but if this Alejandro was corrupt like Elpida was suggesting, who was to say what he would push through? And who would really want to eat a quiet meal next to a throbbing nightclub?
A shiver ran through her as visions of Club 18-30 holidaymakers lunging onto Halloumi’s terrace in a conga line came to mind, vomiting into plates of spanakopitakia while Harry rocked back and forth in a corner. She just couldn’t let it happen. She stood up without saying a word and manoeuvred out from behind the table, making strides towards Panos, Risto and Alejandro and his family.
* * *
Every time there had been a break in the conversation Panos had looked for Imogen. A broken glass. Why had he confided in her like that?
He felt Cleo’s arms go around his neck and wanted to shrug her off but her father was a useful man to know. They had already spoken on the phone about plans for an entertainment venue in the area. They both thought Acharavi could be better than it was.
He turned his head and came eye to eye with Imogen, stalking her way towards the table. She stopped a pace away, smiling and turning her head a little to greet each diner with a hello in turn. She didn’t look to him. She looked directly at Alejandro.
‘Good evening, Mr Kalas. My name is Imogen Charlton.’ She extended a hand to the large Greek man.
Panos watched Alejandro move her delicate hand to his wide, greasy mouth, pressing a kiss to her skin. He could hardly bear to look.
Vasilis Kalas got to his feet and held out his hand to Imogen. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. You are from England, yes?’
Imogen smiled, moving her hand from father to son. ‘Yes, I’m here with my brother. He’s bought the old Dimitriou restaurant on the beachfront in Acharavi.’
‘Oh, Pano, I thought you were going to make that place into one of your clubs!’ Cleo squealed in a mix of excitement and disappointment, all the while pawing at his shoulders.
He didn’t know what to say. Imogen was looking at him now, almost as if she were goading him to make a reply. She had told him exactly how much the restaurant meant to her brother and he was back in fifth gear with his plans.
‘My congratulations,’ Vasilis said. ‘Welcome to the island.’
Vasilis’ eyes were lingering a little too long on the scalloped neckline of Imogen’s dress for Panos’ liking. He sat up in his chair, shrugged off the hands of Cleo and opened his mouth to speak.
Imogen jumped in. ‘Mr Kalas, I just wanted to assure you that the new restaurant is going to be a real credit to the beachfront. My brother and I have a long history with food… and he chose this area in particular because he’s visited this part of the island several times before. It’s the perfect mix of relaxation, Greek tradition and, of course, peace and tranquillity.’ She paused and turned her eyes to Panos. ‘I know there are some people who think the area needs to liven up a bit…’ She looked back to Alejandro. ‘But Elpida Dimitriou tells me you’re always a man who has the interests of the village at heart.’ She smiled. ‘We’re looking forward to becoming part of the community and, with all this rumour of development, I just wanted to introduce myself and to say that… well, I really want you to be a man who wouldn’t mistake making quick Euro with better plans for long-term regeneration.’ Her gaze locked with his.
/> The table fell silent and Panos just stared at her, her impassioned face stoic, her presence bigger than even the rotund councillor. She clasped her hands together in front of her. She had just warned a council member about his stance on development and she was standing there looking as innocent as Maria from the Sound of Music.
Vasilis started to clap and gestured to his sister, urging them to do the same. Within seconds they were all clapping and looking slightly bewildered.
‘Hear, hear,’ Vasilis announced, banging a fist on the table. ‘Did you hear that, pateras?’
Alejandro looked stern, his fingers going to his thin, curled moustache, and turning the ends. Then Panos watched him grin and a belly laugh erupted from deep in his core.
He wagged a finger at Imogen. ‘She is right,’ he stated. ‘She is absolutely right.’ He picked up a wine glass and wafted it in the air. ‘Only at today’s meeting we talk of a new community market. It is wonderful,’ he stated. ‘Wonderful.’
Community market? What was this? Who needed a community market? There were shops and supermarkets down the whole main street of Acharavi. Panos reached for a goblet of wine and squeezed his hand around it. Imogen had done this for one reason and one reason only. To put a halt to his plans. To publically tell the councillor she would be opposing any development, that his grandmother would back her, that the village didn’t want or need it. That making money was not a priority. But what did she know? She’d been here days. She didn’t know what Acharavi needed. She didn’t know how desperate things had been in Greece.
‘What sort of community market?’ Cleo asked, moving from behind Panos to sit down next to her father. ‘Designer clothes from Corfu Town? Jewellery?’