Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance)

by Mandy Baggot

  He couldn’t listen to this anymore. He was being thwarted at every turn by this Englishwoman, this foreigner who knew nothing about the island, who knew nothing about business, who… made him want to… He swallowed, his eyes moving over her as she chatted to Alejandro and Vasilis. The fact that she always angered him only heightened his desire. He could have any woman he wanted. What was it with her? Was it perhaps because she hadn’t fallen at his feet? She spoke her mind. She had loyalty and deep-rooted values. She was beautiful.

  Suddenly the lights on the terrace dimmed, allowing the candlelight from each glowing jar on every table to become the focus. Then spotlights picked out the musicians on the stage. Lute, guitar and bouzouki started to play.

  ‘Imogen,’ Vasilis called over the music. ‘You would like to dance?’

  ‘I… don’t really know any Greek dancing,’ she replied.

  ‘I will teach you,’ Vasilis replied.

  ‘Risto, dance with me,’ Cleo said, moving to tug at his arm.

  ‘And me!’ Margot added, standing up.

  As Panos watched his cousin going off to dance, he felt an uncomfortable jealousy begin to spread over his body and he lifted himself up off the chair. A meaty hand met his arm and he stopped moving, turning his head to face Alejandro.

  ‘I know you would like to talk to me about your entertainment complex,’ the man began.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said quickly, adjusting his stance and getting his mind back in business mode. ‘I have agreed a deal to buy Tomas’ Taverna and I am meeting with Lafi from Avalon this week. I am confident both properties will be under my control very soon.’

  Alejandro shook his head before splaying a hand out in front of him, indicating the people around them. ‘I am not getting any younger, Pano. And as you get older you come to realise what is important in life.’

  ‘Growth,’ Panos interjected. ‘Investment in the future.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alejandro agreed. ‘But perhaps not in the way you mean. Not at the expense of history or tradition.’

  Panos let out an exasperated sigh of discontent. ‘You thought nothing of tradition when you let my father build the largest hotel on the island a few miles from here.’

  ‘That was on wasteland, Pano. It did not meet with any resistance from the community. It didn’t spoil anyone’s view and would not make too much noise for residents,’ he responded. ‘And it was going to bring jobs to the area.’ Alejandro poured some more wine into his goblet.

  ‘My complex will bring jobs to the area,’ Panos insisted. He took a breath. ‘And I am not my father.’

  ‘I know this. But you want to build your disco bar and carting track right on the beachfront.’

  ‘It has to be there to capture the highest footfall. It is the obvious location.’

  ‘Not for the people who live there.’

  ‘It has worked well on Crete and Rhodes.’

  ‘I could see this working in Kavos, Pano, not Acharavi.’

  ‘It has to be Acharavi.’

  ‘Why?’

  It was a question he didn’t want to answer because he knew it was nothing about business and all about the past. He didn’t want to fail at a project in Acharavi like his father had. Alejandro was supposed to be his golden ticket to a yes from the council. He could see it in the man’s eyes. All his plans were starting to crumble away in time to the Greek folk song playing in the background.

  His gaze moved to the dancefloor where a few diners were already up, circling around the tiled floor to the moderate tempo. And there was Imogen, with Vasilis Kalas, hands together, moving slowly, bodies close. Her cheeks were as ruby red as the wine, a smile on her lips, her hips shifting in time to the thrum of the stringed instruments. He swallowed.

  ‘How long are you staying on Corfu?’ Alejandro asked him.

  He shrugged. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘I like the idea of the community market. It is something different.’ Alejandro drank some wine before continuing. ‘It is not just about shop-holders taking their things onto stalls, it is about villagers making their hobbies and traditions a business.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ Panos replied.

  ‘Take your grandmother,’ Alejandro said. He leant back in his chair and looked over to where Elpida and Harry were sitting, still engrossed in the leather bound recipe book.

  ‘Sometimes I wish someone would,’ Panos said, sighing and sitting back in his chair.

  ‘She does not have the restaurant any more but she still wants to bake. She bakes at every opportunity. For weddings, for babies’ births, for every saint’s day, for young Nico’s mother who is house-bound, for anybody.’ Alejandro laughed, shaking his head.

  Panos watched his grandmother light up a cigarette, puffing plumes of blue smoke into the air, a smile on her face at something Harry had said to her. Did she still bake as much as that? Like she had when he was young? Her house had always been filled with the fragrance of Greek delicacies – feta-filled parcels, rich moussaka, honey-drenched baklava. What had happened to make her give up the restaurant? Was it just his grandfather’s death and her age or was it something else? He hadn’t hung around to find out. He had only cared about escaping the trappings of the small-minded area and carving out something bigger and better.

  ‘Old Mrs Pelekas still makes those beautiful tablecloths at age eighty-six. Think of how much the tourists would like to buy these with almost all the profits going to the stallholder?’ He sniffed. ‘They could have a wonderful holiday and know they had contributed directly to the people that live and work here. People would not just be taking home a piece of Corfu in their suitcase, they would be taking a little piece in their hearts also.’

  Panos swallowed, remembering Mrs Pelekas shouting at him as a boy when he’d chased her chickens around her garden as a dare. She’d scuffed him on the back of the head then coddled him to her breast and fed him dolmades. She’d looked eighty-six way back then.

  ‘If you are staying for a while, I’m sure your project management and business expertise could be put to good use in a community market scheme,’ Alejandro said.

  He shook his head immediately. ‘I have no idea what these are. In Crete there are fish, meat and vegetable markets, not pies and tablecloths. That’s what tourist shops are for, no?’ He rested his hands on the table, staring down the councillor. ‘I want to build on the beachfront.’

  Alejandro laughed. ‘This is new, Panos… and it could be big business. If we are one of the first villages to do this we can attract artisans from all over Corfu.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Obviously priority will be given to local people, but when word spreads, so will interest. People will pay the town to rent a stall and keep eighty percent of their profits. It will be a win for everybody.’

  The word ‘community’ was something he usually battled against, trying to win favour to bulldoze an area for his nightclub scheme. He didn’t see how he could be part of this when it was in conflict with everything he had strived for at Dimitriou Enterprises.

  ‘They started a community market in Arillas just last month. There is another one tomorrow.’ Alejandro leant forward and topped up Panos’ glass with wine. ‘Why not take a look?’

  He nodded his head. There was no point saying any more, Alejandro had switched off. Tomorrow he was going to speak to Lafi, get a contract secured to buy Avalon and then he would make enquiries as to who owned the square of land next to Halloumi. He was sure Alejandro would come round in time.

  ‘Your father, he came to me once,’ Alejandro spoke, gazing into the mid-distance. ‘Just before he died.’ He made the sign of the cross over his chest. ‘He said the one regret he had was not spending more time with his family. Business can be like that. Sometimes we are blinkered. Can only see the goal like the bright light at the end of the tunnel.’ He nodded his head. ‘We all make so many mistakes, Panos and time goes on around us just the same.’

  He didn’t want to hear this. He bit the inside of his bottom lip and tried
to tune out. His eyes moved back to the dancefloor and Imogen, spiralling under Vasilis’ arm, her slender waist spinning in rhythm to the players on stage.

  ‘Take a look at the community market,’ Alejandro said again. ‘I would be interested to hear what you think.’

  Panos got to his feet with a brief nod. He was going to say his goodbyes to his grandmother, then he was going to leave. He turned onto the dancefloor just as the song came to a frenetic end.

  Before he could take another step Imogen collided hard into him. She gasped, the breath flying from her on impact, and he quickly caught her, steadying her body and holding on tight as she tried to regain control of her feet.

  There she was, in his arms, breathing ragged, her face flushed from the humidity of the night and the Greek dancing, those blue eyes looking up at him, spirals of soft, golden hair grazing her face, her hands gripping onto his arms. All he could do was look at her as the lights on stage diminished and there was nothing but candlelight, highlighting her beauty.

  Slowly he lifted her back into a standing position, his eyes not leaving hers as she slipped her hands down his arms, fingers staying connected, tracing the fine hairs on his skin.

  ‘Imogen,’ Vasilis called. ‘Another dance?’

  He pulled back.

  ‘Pano,’ she said.

  He walked away without reply.

  35

  Halloumi, Acharavi Beachfront

  Imogen pressed send on the text message she’d just composed to Janie.

  The restaurant is really coming together. It’s stunning and I think you’d love it! We even have a menu! I really wish you could see it! Could you see it? Maybe bring the children? Xx

  She had attached a photo of the newly constructed pergola and the clean unbroken windows at the entrance she’d taken earlier that day, plus the stunning beach scene from the terrace. The beautiful view of an island Janie had holidayed on should prompt some interest from her sister-in-law.

  It seemed to have taken far more than fifteen minutes to descend from the mountain back down to the beachfront of Acharavi and now her head was spinning from the red wine, her eyes slightly blurry. She refocussed on the entrance of the restaurant hoping the scene before her was to do with her alcohol content and not reality.

  ‘Harry,’ she called softly into the night as she slipped down out of Terry’s fish van. ‘Please tell me there aren’t animals outside the restaurant.’

  ‘What?’ Harry replied.

  Imogen stepped through the scrub onto the terrace and stood still, looking at the farmyard menagerie in front of her. There was a dark-furred goat, at least five chickens and half a dozen cats. They all seemed to turn together, licking, scratching or shaking their tail feathers. She blinked and blinked again. The goat bleated and shunted one of the chickens, which flew up into the air. There was a black cat, a white one with ginger patches, a tortoiseshell, one that looked just like Mog and another was a tiny, grey-and-black-striped kitten.

  ‘Blimey,’ Harry announced. ‘How many are there and what are they all doing here?’

  Imogen put her handbag down on one of the tables and took a step further forward. ‘I’m hoping they aren’t a live menu you’ve ordered.’

  ‘No… no, I definitely ordered meat from a source Elpida recommended.’

  Imogen shifted her feet as the kitten wound itself around her legs.

  Harry jumped as the goat butted his backside. ‘There’s a field with goats just down the road, isn’t there? There’s probably chickens there too and—’

  ‘Cats?’ Imogen asked.

  ‘They’ve probably escaped. A loose fence or no fence at all. It’s a bit like that here, isn’t it?’

  Imogen stamped her feet as the kitten’s rough tongue licked her shin. It scuttled away then settled, looking wide-eyed at her like Dreamworks’ Puss in Boots.

  ‘Well, what do we do?’ she asked, scooping up the kitten and cradling it in her arms, rubbing its head with her fingers.

  Harry scratched his head. ‘I’m not really a fan of chickens. It’s the beady eyes.’

  ‘How far is this field?’

  ‘Not far.’

  ‘Right,’ Imogen said. ‘Help me get the goat in the van.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Help me get the goat and all the cats in the van,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll deal with the chickens.

  ‘Here, Goaty McGoat Face!’ She looked at Harry. ‘What do goats eat apart from grass? Can we entice it with something?’

  ‘We’ve got a whole cupboard full of avocado,’ Harry offered.

  Imogen made a grab for the goat’s horns and tried to pull it towards the edge of the terrace. It dug in its hooves and looked mean.

  ‘Gosh, Immy, don’t upset it,’ Harry said, eyes wide. ‘Let me go and find some rope and I’ll call Elpida, see if she knows the farmer.’ He stopped for a minute, looking at his sister, her hands on the horns of the mammal. ‘You have to laugh, Immy. We’re like the Durrells right now,’ he stated, grinning. ‘Only in Greece, eh?’

  ‘Hurry up or I might decide we will put them all on the menu,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  The goat shook its head, wrestling with Imogen’s grip as it tried to free itself. The chickens began to squawk and Mog jumped up onto the table and stuck its head in her handbag as Harry went inside.

  A beak pecked her leg and she let go of the goat, almost falling forward with the force. This rustic place full of nature and tradition was somehow becoming her crazy normality.

  Stepping away from the animals she looked out onto the beach, hoping to breathe in some solace. A single iron streetlight was shedding a faint glow over the sand and the inky water beyond, the clear night sky lit with a thousand stars. She looked down at her feet as the kitten began to nibble her toes and when she raised her head they had company. Letting out a gasp of shock, she rocked backwards, almost colliding with the goat.

  Panos stood at the restaurant entrance, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to the elbows, sleek, dark hair jutting over his forehead.

  ‘Please tell me these animals have nothing to do with you,’ Imogen demanded. ‘That it isn’t something else to discourage us and to sell you the restaurant.’

  The goat bleated and Panos stepped up onto the terrace as if he hadn’t heard her at all, taking long, purposeful strides, closing the distance between them.

  ‘So, have you come for the goat or the chickens… or the cats?’ she asked, slightly less self-assured as he neared.

  ‘I have come for you,’ he stated.

  She swallowed, forgetting to breathe. The memories of him catching her as she slipped on the terrace of the Sunset Taverna and earlier, covered in paint in the sand then making baklava, held her still.

  He was so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. Those hypnotic dark eyes were drawing her nearer still, her body reacting like iron filings to a magnet.

  ‘Why did you dance with Vasilis, Imogen?’ Panos demanded.

  His question threw her for a second.

  ‘Wh-What?’ she stuttered.

  ‘Why did you dance with Vasilis Kalas?’

  ‘Because,’ she began. She swallowed, her eyes unable to look away from his. ‘Because he asked me.’

  ‘Immy, I’ve found some rope!’ Harry called.

  Panos grabbed her hand, pulling her off the terrace. Before she had a chance to draw breath he had pushed her up against a wide-trunked palm tree.

  He was millimetres away, a hand on the bristly bark each side of her form. Whatever ridiculous under-thought notion this was, she couldn’t fight it any longer. His mouth met hers and she pressed herself against him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whirled her fingers in the dark hair at his nape, deepening their kiss, needing to fall harder and heavier.

  ‘Immy? Are you there?’ Harry called.

  She pulled her mouth away from Panos, gasping for air as his lips met the V at the base of her throat. What was she doing?

  His
strength pushed her back again, his lips meeting hers once more and delivering another dangerously sensual kiss to her mouth. The urge to carry on was so strong. But the knowledge that any second Harry was going to come looking for her won out.

  ‘Stop,’ she said, dragging her mouth away from his.

  He slid back, breaking their connection, his eyes not leaving hers. The top button of his shirt had come undone and his breathing was laboured. Her eyes strayed briefly to the zip of his trousers and she bit her lip at the obvious intention she saw there.

  ‘I have to go,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know,’ he answered.

  ‘This is crazy,’ she breathed. ‘We’re completely at odds. You want to ruin our business. I can’t be kissing someone who wants to ruin our business.’

  ‘I don’t want to ruin your business,’ Panos replied.

  ‘But, even if you don’t have Halloumi, can’t you see how your complex will change things? Not just for Harry’s restaurant but for the whole village here?’

  He put a finger to her lips. ‘Please, Imogen, can we not separate things?’

  ‘What? Like eggs?’ She sighed. ‘The yolk for one part, the white for something else?’

  His breath was hot on her cheeks and she wanted to kiss him again, surrender to pure pleasure.

  ‘Imogen?’ It was Harry’s voice again and she shuddered in a mix of thrill and fear.

  ‘Come to Arillas with me tomorrow,’ Panos said, his voice low.

  ‘Where?’ she whispered back.

  ‘It is not far,’ he answered. ‘On the west coast of the island. Let us get out of Acharavi, put our differences aside,’ he suggested. ‘Focus on…’ He picked up her hand, holding it in his. ‘Focus on this.’ He brushed his lips against her skin.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered. In the real world it was a ridiculous idea. In this head-rush of a romantic bubble, it seemed like the best plan ever.

  ‘I will pick you up at ten,’ he responded, backing away from her.

  ‘I said I didn’t know.’