by Mandy Baggot
Panos took a swig of his drink and tried to maintain his cool. Had his father developed outside of the village because he wanted to, not because he had to? That small point could make a difference to everything he lived by.
‘Pano, Corfu is your island and Acharavi is still your home. We are going to make a wonderful team.’ Alejandro’s meaty hand came down on Panos’ back. ‘The north of Corfu will be as vibrant as it used to be.’
He kept his expression neutral, gave a brief, non-committal nod he hoped was enough. He had no idea how to move forward now. He was lost, anchor up and drifting.
‘OK, it is time for me to find my dance partner,’ Vasilis announced, coming back to the group and putting his plastic glass down on the table next to them.
Alejandro laughed, shaking his head as Vasilis left again, weaving in between dancers as he crossed the street. ‘He has taken to the English girl.’
Now Panos felt like someone had dropped a flagon of tsipouroi in the middle of his chest. He watched, his body stiffening as he kept his eyes on Vasilis. Every inch of him, inside and out, was screaming at him to move, to do something, as he saw the younger Kalas offer his hand to Imogen. But what should he do? It was the festival, everyone danced, why shouldn’t Vasilis dance with Imogen? She was single. She wasn’t his. He wanted her to be. But why? So he didn’t feel like he’d lost again? Everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand on Almyros beach.
‘She is a very pretty girl,’ Alejandro remarked, jamming the remains of the pitta gyros into his mouth.
He couldn’t speak. All he could do was look while his stomach dropped down to his shoes.
* * *
‘Imogen! Come up onto the table!’ Elpida called from her precarious vantage point, the table rocking like it was about to collapse at any moment.
‘Come on, Imogen!’ Cooky encouraged. ‘Come up and dance right here!’
She shook her head. ‘No thank you. If I break my leg EasyJet aren’t going to let me fly home.’
‘Pfft!’ Elpida said. ‘Good. Then you have to stay here for more time.’
‘You would hate it. I’d be making terrible pastry in the kitchen,’ Imogen called back over the music.
‘But you make wonderful mussels,’ Elpida replied. ‘And Harry says you can do amazing things with salmon.’
Imogen smiled. ‘He’s my brother. He’s being kind. You’ll notice salmon isn’t on the menu.’
‘That is where you are not right,’ Elpida said. ‘It is going to be a special.’
Imogen balked, a heavy mix of surprise, worry and excitement invading at once.
‘Imogen.’ She quickly turned her head to see Vasilis Kalas standing in front of her, his hand held out.
‘Oh, yassas, Vasilis,’ she greeted.
‘You look very beautiful tonight,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t help a blush hitting her cheeks.
‘Would you like to dance?’
She hesitated. Panos was looking directly at her, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, the top two buttons of his white shirt unfastened. Dancing with Vasilis had been enjoyable before but the strongest memory she had of that night was falling hard into Panos and feeling that her heart was going to burst from her body.
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but… I’m OK,’ she said. ‘I was just about to get some more drinks with Risto.’ She took hold of Risto’s arm, feeling she needed a prop.
Vasilis bowed politely. ‘Another time?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Another time.’
56
‘Oh! It is time!’ Elpida exclaimed, swaying into Imogen as they stood in the dancing circle after a lively traditional Corfiot dance rejoicing the gods and asking for a good harvest. There had been left and right and sashaying this way and that and Imogen had spent more time trying not to tread on Janie or Elpida’s toes.
Her sister-in-law looked happier than she had seen her in some time and Olivia and Tristan were also caught up in the atmosphere, forming friendships over home-made lemonade and jumping games with the village children.
‘Time for what?’ Imogen asked, moving backwards as all the people encouraged the circle to widen.
‘This dance excite her every year,’ Cooky chipped in, her bosoms almost falling out of the low-cut jade dress she was wearing.
‘If it’s complicated I’ll have to sit down,’ Imogen said. She unwound her arm from behind Elpida’s shoulder.
‘No, you stay,’ Elpida said.
‘I’m almost better at making pastry than I am at dancing,’ Imogen stated.
‘Hush, this is where you get the gossip,’ Cooky informed.
‘I’m lost,’ Imogen answered.
‘This is dance of lovers,’ Elpida stated. ‘Only people that dance are people in love.’
‘You get the married couples, bound to each other for all eternity and it is very sweet, but…’ Cooky giggled. ‘We like to watch the ones we have been watching all year come out!’
‘Come out,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s just a dance. What if these people don’t know it’s a “dance of lovers”.’
‘Pfft,’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘Everybody know. Besides, you only have to listen to the music.’ She closed her eyes and sucked in a lung-filling breath. ‘The Greek bouzouki… the trumpet… the heady, passionate rhythm of the tango.’
A fizz of sensation shot up Imogen’s spine as the first wail of the trumpet started to play. Straightaway, couples began to slip out of the wall of the circle and dance in twosomes in the centre, some a little apart, dancing formal, stately movements, others pinned together with not even a gasp of air between them.
‘Look, there is new girl from the post office,’ Cooky remarked. ‘And Zico from Versus Club. I tell you there is something going on there!’
Imogen felt like a voyeur looking into the souls of these dancers. Were they really being bewitched by the music to come out and show the town their feelings towards one another? Was she really starting to believe in Elpida’s Greek wives’ tales?
‘It is like a statement,’ Elpida said, as if reading her mind. ‘Like putting a ring onto someone’s hand and pledging life-long love.’
Imogen shook her head. ‘So that’s it, is it? The girl from the post office and this Zico are destined for a lifetime together?’
Elpida looked at her as if the very idea of it not being true was madness. ‘You are still too English,’ the Greek woman said. ‘You only believe what you see on YouTube.’
‘Zoella’s hair tips maybe,’ Imogen answered. ‘Apart from that…’
‘Ai!’ Cooky exclaimed. ‘Your brother is out there!’
‘What?’ Imogen stared hard across the circle, trying to pick out Harry.
There he was, dancing so close to Janie, not even a cocktail stick’s width apart. Their eyes on each other, moving perfectly in time to the music.
Imogen shook her head. ‘Harry won’t know what this dance means… I mean, what it’s supposed to represent, according to Greek ancient history.’
Elpida smiled at her. ‘Look at them, Imogen. They do not need to know the history. They are busy making their own story.’
She couldn’t keep her eyes from them. Her brother, leading Janie around the road, leaning her back and forth, copying the moves of the other couples around them. Olivia and Tristan were sat at a table next to their parents, picking at a meze in between clapping their hands together and avidly watching. It seemed that almost the whole of Acharavi was in love tonight.
* * *
‘You are not dancing?’ Rhea asked Panos.
He shook his head slowly, unable to draw his eyes away from Imogen. She was stood in the line, next to his grandmother and Cooky, watching the couples take their places in the centre of the circle, moving to the hypnotic beat of the tango.
‘Pano,’ Rhea breathed. ‘You should dance.’
He turned and looked at her, wondering if things between them were still
unclear. ‘You know what this song is.’
‘Yes, Pano, it is the same all over Greece.’ Rhea let go of a wistful sigh. ‘It is the song of lovers.’
‘Then it would not be right for us to…’ he started.
She smiled at him. ‘I did not mean with me.’ She hitched her head across the street. ‘You have not been able to take your eyes from her.’
He blinked, his vision blurring for a second then focussing right back where it had been for the majority of the evening. Imogen, her cheeks flushed from the Greek dancing, an intense look on her face as her eyes concentrated on the couples swaying in front of her. His whole business world was falling apart. The last thing he should do was get caught up in the Greek tradition he always seemed to be battling against. Wasn’t it?
‘Go and ask her to dance, Pano,’ Rhea urged. ‘If you feel even half of what is written on your face then… you must.’
Could he? The song was part of his family history. His grandparents had danced to it every year, holding each other close, looking into each other’s eyes as if they were the only ones in the world. His mother and father had danced to it too. The thought stamped on his heart. Was every memory he had so tainted by his father’s demise that he couldn’t remember how things really were? Had he been letting the tumultuous end of his parents’ relationship take over all his thinking? What about the time they had loved? They had loved once. Deeply. Taking a breath he put one foot forward, stepping into the road.
* * *
The music was hypnotic and as Imogen stood and watched the number of couples grow with every bar of the song, she felt like she was a witness to something special. It was like the first dance at a wedding – intimate looks, two people frozen in time, seeing and feeling nothing but each other.
A familiar scent of lemon and sandalwood twisted her attention away from the scene and she looked up to see Panos in front of her. She swallowed, feeling self-conscious, almost bare, as his dark eyes appraised her.
‘Will you…’ he began tentatively. He stopped talking, held out his hand to her. ‘Imogen, will you dance with me?’
It felt like mosquitoes had taken flight in her belly and were busy spearing her with their probes, each jab injecting a new slightly terrifying sensation. She looked at his hand, then over his shoulder at the couples in the circle.
‘Elpida said…’ she began hesitantly.
His eyes seemed to enlarge, holding hers hostage. ‘It is the dance of lovers, yes,’ he answered.
Now her heart was hammering faster than the bouzouki players fingers were moving over the strings. Elpida had said it was a statement akin to someone putting a ring on your finger…
‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘Dance with me.’
With her mouth as dry as the Corfu sand and her stomach still dealing with the equivalent of a plague of locusts – or Asian hornets – she lifted her hand, letting it glide into his.
The heat from his skin did nothing to play down her emotions and Imogen tensed as Panos walked them to a space in the centre of the circle right next to the grey stonework of the ancient pump. Positioning her hand in his and setting her other on his shoulder, she stilled, looking only at him.
‘I can’t dance,’ she whispered, her lips trembling.
He smiled then, pulling her in close, and a gasp left her as their bodies connected together. Re-clasping her hand tight in his, he then latently slipped his other hand down the bare skin of her arm. It felt like a whisper of satin, making each fine hair shift upwards in anticipation. His arm snaked around her waist until nothing could separate them, heads close, eyes locked together.
He put his mouth close to her ear. ‘Just listen to the music,’ he said. ‘Then.’ He paused. ‘You will begin to feel it.’
Imogen closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the band wash over her, until the music and the tension in her torso was all there was. Letting Panos move her slowly back then forward, she started to step with more confidence, following the rhythm of the musicians.
‘Look at me,’ he whispered.
She very slowly opened her eyes, the lights from the bulbs swinging from the trees and along the frontage of the tavernas dazzling her for a moment. He swayed her backwards, leaning into her, stepping in time to the tango beat and she let herself be led, following his footwork as best she could.
Everything else melted away except him and his irresistible inky eyes. She was now the one fastened to this moment in time, showing her soul to the villagers of Acharavi – and that really was what she was doing. Whatever she felt for this man, it had an unparalleled intensity and here, on this night, there was no other place on Earth she wanted to be.
She shifted her hand, taking it off his shoulder and letting her fingers explore. As they continued to dance a slow tango tempo, she let her hand glide across his chest, her fingers seeking out every subtle dip and curve of his pectorals then lower, smoothing her way down over his tight core.
And then his hands were slipping down her body, from her shoulders, descending past the sides of her chest wall until he had her waist. He picked her up, spinning her around before catching her and bending her back in his arms as the music came to an end.
Her breath was catching in her throat as she looked up at him, his hand at her back, holding her up, his other hand entwined with hers again. She felt giddy, overcome with a heady sensation she had never experienced before. He gently lifted her up until they were back on level terms again and the rush of blood to her head began to dissipate.
‘I have never danced to that song before,’ he spoke softly, connecting his other hand with hers.
‘Pano,’ she breathed, his name almost not making it past her lips.
He took her face in his palms and drew her towards him, his mouth covering hers in an instant. And she clung to him, desperately pressing her mouth to his and not caring that the whole town was watching.
57
‘Where are we going?’ Imogen asked as Panos pulled her away from the main street.
‘You want Elpida to start talking about big, fat Greek weddings?’ he asked her. ‘Cooky to begin designing a cake?’
She stopped moving with him and snatched back her hand. Crossing her arms over her chest she gave him a hard stare. ‘So, what, you’re ashamed of me now? You don’t want to be seen with me?’
‘No,’ he said immediately. ‘No, nothing like that.’ He took her hand back, softly caressing both sides between his. ‘I just…’ He kissed her lips tenderly. ‘I don’t want this moment to end. I want to hide… from everything… and to keep you for myself just a little bit longer. Separate the eggs for just a little more.’
Imogen kissed him back, her hands sliding into his dark hair as he held her. Quickly she broke herself away. ‘Elpida’s coming!’ she hissed, her eyes picking out Panos’ grandmother heading towards them.
‘Run!’ Panos urged, pulling her towards the nearest side road.
* * *
Walking with Imogen, her hand in his, felt like the most natural thing in the world. But hand-holding, taking someone in his arms for anything other than sex, letting someone in emotionally, was all completely new to him. And it scared him. Terrified him.
‘Where are we going?’ Imogen asked into the darkness, the mountain range still just visible against the midnight-blue of the sky.
‘We are almost there,’ he answered.
‘Isn’t this the road to Elpida’s house?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re taking me home for coffee?’ she queried.
‘Not quite that.’ He started the walk up the incline which led to his grandmother’s home.
‘Ouzo?’ Imogen guessed again.
‘If that is what you would like.’
‘I don’t want that grape stuff made by the Lasko family. My mouth is still recovering.’
‘I might have a cure for that,’ he answered, smothering her mouth with his and savouring the taste of her lips.
She broke the kiss.
‘Is our tango going to be the talk of the village tomorrow?’
He could tell she was grinning, even in the dark. ‘Absolutely. Spiros from the shop on the corner, Zico from Versus Club…’
‘The girl from the post office,’ Imogen added.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
He tightened his grip on her hand as they rounded the hill and he came to a stop just before Elpida’s property. ‘We are here.’
‘Where’s here?’ She looked around, her head twisting. ‘I don’t see anything.’
He watched her looking right and left in the dark, searching for something that wasn’t there. He smiled. He could see the outline of the treehouse but only because he knew it was there and every line of its make-up was ingrained in him.
‘Up there,’ he said, moving close behind her and pointing up into the boughs of the olive tree.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘A treehouse?’
‘Yes. My treehouse. One of the most important buildings I have ever been involved in constructing.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ she whispered. ‘This means something to you.’
He nodded. ‘Yes… and I want to share it with you.’
* * *
Panos made her climb up first while he waited behind, perhaps a little afraid that she might fall. But with her flat sandals and a dress that was elasticated in all the right places she made light work of the lower boughs before a make-shift ladder appeared and she was able to climb into the wooden house among the foliage.
It was maybe two metres square and tall enough for her to stand up in without fear of bumping her head on the roof. She walked over to the window opening and leant against the frame, looking out. Even in the blackness of the night the view was incredible. Trees of all shapes and sizes made a dark thicket, dots of individual light picked out rural homes, clumps of gold signified small hamlets and then bigger groups of villages all cascaded down to the orange, yellow and mix of colour that was Acharavi. Beyond that was the ocean, almost mingling with the sky, the glow from towns across the water in Albania the only thing marking the border between earth and air.