by Mandy Baggot
‘Do you know who it belonged to?’ Panos asked.
‘No, I…’ Should she admit she’d had designs on it to halt his progress? She shook her head. ‘No.’
He smiled then. ‘My grandmother.’
‘What?’ She looked up at him in shock. She had specifically asked Elpida to find out who the land belonged to.
‘Yes, she says this piece of land is where she and my grandfather had their first date together, sharing olives and… other things we should not think about too much.’
Imogen smiled. And the woman had kept it, even though she had sold the restaurant. She had wanted to hold on to her memories of her husband. It was so romantic and beautiful… but why had Elpida now given it up?
‘I bought it for you,’ Panos told her.
‘For me?’ she said, her tone unsure.
He nodded, enjoying her reaction. ‘Elpida told me you thought Halloumi might benefit from a play area for the children.’
She gasped, putting her hands to her mouth for the second time since they’d stopped walking, mouth agape, eyes large and bright.
‘I thought swings and a slide… Maybe we can choose the rest together,’ he suggested.
‘Oh, Pano,’ she exclaimed, rushing at him.
He caught her as her arms wrapped around him, drawing his body in line with hers. Tendrils of her hair touched his face, the scents of the night – jasmine, lavender and bougainvillea – coating his senses. He realised then, he wanted to hold this woman forever.
And then she drew away, her eyes still sparking but this time with something other than the joy he’d just witnessed.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ she said, her voice weak. ‘I haven’t told Harry yet or Janie and I chickened out of telling my mum earlier.’ She met his eyes. ‘I’ve got an interview. The Wyatt Group sent me an email.’
He smiled hurriedly, trying to decide how to react. He had always known she was leaving. This news made no difference to their situation but all the difference in the world to Imogen. This was her dream. ‘That is amazing,’ he said, grabbing both her hands. ‘It is what you wanted.’
‘I know. But… I’d have to leave the day after Halloumi’s opening night and it just feels… too soon.’
He bit the inside of his lip. It was too soon for him too. He thought they had more time, even if it was just another week. To know they only had a couple of days…
Squeezing her hands, he smiled. ‘It is the opportunity you were looking for, no? You think they would say no. They have said yes.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Then you must go, Imogen,’ he said confidently. ‘You must go and get your place and follow your dream.’ He tried to maintain the smile but inside him something very different was happening, a small landslip of emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. ‘This means you do not have to be just a waitress any more. Like you said.’
He watched her expression change a little.
‘I know I said that… but… it isn’t so bad.’ Her eyes went to the beach. ‘We have a lot of regulars. Old Joe and Brian the Biker and Mrs Green… she might even know what her grandchild is by now.’
‘You are not sure about the hotels?’ he asked.
‘No… I mean, yes.’ She smiled. ‘I am sure… it’s just a shock to get a reply. I don’t have any experience and I’m only half way through my qualification and… it’s come at a funny time.’
He nodded. ‘You are concerned about your brother.’
‘Not like I was when we first arrived. Then I thought he was completely out of his mind. I mean, thinking he could open a restaurant when most of his food knowledge was obtained from watching Dean Edwards on Lorraine.’
‘But now he has done this.’
‘Almost done it,’ she answered. ‘There’s a little thing like a launch night tomorrow. And there’s Janie and the children.’ She sighed. ‘Getting the Charlton family reunited isn’t a done deal yet.’
He put his arms around her then, drawing her into his body. ‘Did they not dance to the song of lovers?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And maybe in Greek custom that’s enough, but us Brits need a little more than the Lakas family hooch and dancing in the moonlight.’
He drew away, looking at her quizzically. ‘Really? This is true?’
She laughed. ‘Yes.’
‘I do not believe it,’ he answered. ‘Come. Come with me.’ He pulled her hands, directing her towards the grassland he had purchased from his grandmother.
‘What are you doing?’ she laughed.
‘Take off your shoes,’ he ordered.
‘What?’
‘Do this,’ he said. He let go of her hand to remove his shoes, ripping off his socks and standing barefoot just as he had earlier with Elpida.
‘Don’t tell me this is a Greek custom too,’ Imogen said.
‘It is a Dimitriou custom,’ he answered. ‘As of today.’ He watched her slip off her sandals and put down her slender feet onto the lawn. He reconnected their hands and took a long inward breath. ‘Now look at me.’
She met his eyes with those pure aquamarine irises he could look into for a lifetime and held his gaze.
‘Do you feel it?’ he whispered. What he was feeling was not the grounding of himself in Greece but the fiery, intense connection with her.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I’ve been feeling it almost ever since we met.’
He moved his head a little closer into the space between them, the night humid air still dense. ‘Dance with me. Here, in the moonlight.’ He connected their bodies just as he had on the main street of Acharavi the night of the folklore festival, one hand on her hip, the other holding hers.
He felt her tremble underneath his touch as he slowly began to sway her over the grass in a latent tango.
‘There isn’t any music,’ Imogen said, her eyes still caught up with his.
‘No?’ he asked her. ‘Listen.’
He watched her close her eyes then, her body hot against his as they moved as one. From high up in the hills came the sound of crickets and cicadas, mixing with the delicate lute and bouzouki from Tomas’ Taverna, interspersed with the soft sound of the sea slipping up on the sand.
It was one perfect summer night he would hold on to when he had to let her go.
63
Halloumi, Acharavi Beachfront
A hot, wet tongue met her lips and, half-asleep, Imogen shifted a little, widening her mouth into a smile.
‘Is it morning?’ she whispered.
She kept her eyes closed, knowing she was laying naked on the floor of the restaurant, covered only by one of Mrs Pelekas’ tablecloths that didn’t have a home yet. After she and Panos had danced on the grass they had bought kumquat liqueur from Tomas and taken it down onto the beach. By the time they had arrived back at Halloumi everyone else had been in bed and neither of them had wanted the night to end. Panos had suggested a hotel, but the thought of the opulence and chocolates on pillows she’d always hankered after hadn’t seemed right. She had locked the door and had his shirt off before she’d even said no to the idea.
There was the tongue again, warm and moist, making its way over her lips. She smiled again, her hand reaching out for him.
‘Imogen.’
It was Panos’ voice but it was a little too far away. She flicked open her eyes and came face to face with fur and whiskers, a pink tongue ready to kiss again.
‘Argh! Ugh! Socks!’ she screamed, sitting up and wiping at her face with her hands. The cat had the good grace to skit across the floor and settle under one of the tables.
She looked up at Panos, holding two steaming cups of coffee, wearing nothing but his underwear. Her eyes couldn’t help roving all over the washboard stomach and firm chest, trailing up to that David Gandy jaw and cheekbones and the thick dark hair, tousled from where she had run her fingers through it.
‘The cat has good taste,’ he remarked, handing a cup to her.
She took
it. ‘The cat is going to get us shut down before we are even open.’
He shook his head, smiling as he sat down next to her, folding long, lean, athletic limbs. ‘Cats are as essential to Greece as…’
‘Olives?’ Imogen suggested. ‘Ouzo? Metaxa? Feeding people up?’
‘I was going to say tourism, but I like your suggestions.’
She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Panos made good coffee. She would miss it as she would miss a lot of things about Corfu: the gorgeous views, the sunshine weather and, most of all, Halloumi. Her gaze went to the interior of the restaurant, the restaurant they were about to open for business that night. How could a place she had likened to Sleeping Beauty’s time-eroded castle just a short time ago mean so much to her now? So much that the thought of leaving it, even with the job opportunity she had always wanted in her sights, was filling her with apprehension?
She looked at the tables, Mrs Pelekas’ hand-crafted cloths on each of them, waiting for shining silverware and glasses. The bright white-washed walls, acrylic paintings of scenes of Corfu hanging in appropriate spaces, old earthenware jugs and plates from the original Dimitriou restaurant washed and polished for display and the two sofas in the ‘chill-out’ area Harry had ordered almost from the outset. It was beautiful.
‘What are you thinking?’
She turned her attention back to Panos. ‘Nothing,’ she answered immediately. She paused. ‘Actually, everything.’
He reached out, slipping his long, tanned fingers in between hers. ‘The restaurant looks…’ He stopped as if he were searching for the right words to say. ‘It looks right,’ he finished.
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ she agreed with a nod. ‘Harry’s done a great job.’
‘And you too, Imogen. I seem to remember how good you are with paint.’ He smiled. ‘And going head-to-head with a developer who had very different plans for the beachfront.’
‘Hmm,’ she mused. ‘He was a tricky customer but, in the end, he succumbed to my English charms.’
‘Is that so?’ Panos asked, shifting forward, his bare parts back in her sightline.
‘Isn’t it so? Mr Dimitriou?’
His lips met hers and she allowed herself to fall, elbow snagging the leg of a chair as her back met the tiles. She touched the rough bristle of his cheek, fingers wanting to memorise the feel and ingrain it into their tips like Braille. She felt him cup her hips with his hands and she drew his body closer to hers just like she had several times last night.
Suddenly there was a knocking on the glass of the front door. Imogen dragged her mouth from Panos’, eyes wide. ‘Oh my God! There’s someone at the door! Pano… I’m naked!’
He smiled wolfishly. ‘I know.’
‘It’s not funny! We only have drapes, not blinds… you can see through drapes!’
‘Hello! Is anybody alive in there?’ The voice came through the door as if a mouth had been put to the letterbox.
‘Oh, Pano, it’s Cooky. I forgot she was coming early with the bread!’ Imogen pulled Mrs Pelekas’ cloth up over her again and used her free hand to start locating her items of clothing.
‘I will let her in,’ Panos said, getting to his feet and seemingly unconcerned about his half-nude appearance.
‘Wait! Not yet! Let me get something on!’ Imogen flapped around for her dress but all she could find was Panos’ shirt and her sandals.
* * *
Panos parted the gauze drapes at the window of the door and saw Cooky outside, her wild hair scraped back by a flamingo-patterned cotton hairband. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. ‘Good morning,’ he greeted.
Cooky’s arms went up in the air. ‘Praise be! The Lord has listened after all these years!’ Her eyes roamed from Panos’ bare feet up to the breadth of his shoulders. ‘If they have this well-matured steak on the menu I will be eating here every night!’
He shook his head. ‘I am not sure how I feel about the word “mature”, Cooky. Are you certain of the translation?’
Before he could stop her, Cooky had poked a head around the door. ‘Is that Imogen?’
Panos took a look back and saw Imogen fighting to pull his shirt over her head but failing miserably. Some hair, two floppy sleeves of cotton and a yelp signalled some kind of acknowledgement to their visitor.
‘The song of lovers is still working its magic I see,’ Cooky announced with a crusty laugh.
‘Have you come with something?’ Panos asked. ‘Or is this just an early morning visit to provide gossip for the kafeneio?’
‘I have bread,’ she announced. ‘In the back of my car.’ Cooky made no move to collect it, still watching Imogen.
‘Then I will get this,’ he stated. ‘And you will help me.’ He directed Cooky backwards as he stepped out onto the sunlit terrace and closed the door behind him.
‘Dressed like this?’ Cooky asked, her gaze roving all over him again.
‘I am wearing more clothes than most of the statues in Achillion Palace and nobody complains about them.’ He led the way off the terrace and stopped at Cooky’s battered red Renault 5. He opened up the back and picked out a tray of perfectly browned baps.
‘Until this day I never think I could ever feel envy for a bread roll,’ Cooky said, smacking her lips.
‘Ai!’ The familiar scream had Panos’ eyes diverting left and there was Elpida, clambering down from the back of Risto’s scooter, candy-striped dress ridden up past her knees. ‘I know Harry and Imogen book a bouzouki player for tonight’s entertainment. I do not realise they also book stripper!’
Panos shook his head. ‘What are you all doing here so early?’
‘Early?’ Cooky exclaimed. ‘If you think this is early how do you think bread ever gets made?’
‘We are here to help with the preparations,’ Risto said. ‘The restaurant is fully booked for tonight but Harry wants it to be full every night, so I have more flyers to hand out this morning.’
‘Planning, Panos. Harry is good at planning,’ Elpida stated.
‘Nobody is awake yet,’ Panos countered. ‘Not even the children.’
‘I think someone was awake,’ Cooky said. ‘Although they did not seem keen to get out of bed… or should that be… off the floor.’
‘Where is Imogen?’ Elpida asked, taking a step up onto the terrace.
‘Halfway out of a shirt that is too big for her,’ Cooky said.
‘Risto!’ Elpida called, marching on. ‘Come! You will make the coffee.’
64
Halloumi, Acharavi Beachfront
Imogen had never felt this nervous in her entire life. This feeling was topping the morning of her driving test, the morning of her wedding and the afternoon she knew she had to tell Daniel their marriage was over. She had never wanted anything to be as perfect as much as she wanted this night to be for Harry… for the whole family… for her.
As she laid silverware on the beautifully set tables she breathed in the fragrant aroma of Corfu, Greece. There were her perfumed candles, burning brightly in jars she’d polished and filled with sand from the beach and some carefully selected shells, her and Elpida’s cooking – rich onion, tomato and garlic, lighter notes of bay leaf and rosemary and the creamy scent of halloumi cheese – and closer to her that indescribable hue of freshly-showered Adonis. She settled the final fork down and looked to Panos, who was rubbing at the wineglasses with a soft cloth. He had worked so hard for them today and it seemed like the most unlikely scenario. The man who had wanted to snatch the business from them, tear down the rest of the tavernas, was here now, helping launch the restaurant. And she loved that. Loved him? The question in her mind gave a kick to her already nervous stomach.
‘Did you manage to deliver all the leaflets? I thought Harry was a little bit cheeky suggesting you took some to Roda,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure the restaurant owners there will be too keen on us trying to take a bit of their business.’
He placed the glass down and looked at her. ‘Relax, Imogen. Tonight
is going to be a great success and you underestimate the spirit of community in Greece.’
She laughed out loud. ‘You’re definitely not the same man I met at Tomas’ Taverna.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I am not.’
They shared a look of understanding and then it was broken by a loud shriek as Socks came speeding into the room, almost on two paws.
‘Auntie Imogen!’ Tristan called, running in almost as fast as the cat. ‘Socks has knocked over something.’
Shouting in Greek ensued from the kitchen area and the only word Imogen recognised was skatá. ‘What has he knocked over, Tristan?’ Imogen asked, going over to her nephew as Panos collared Socks.
‘Those crispy cakey things that taste like honey,’ he answered, eyes wide.
‘Baklava,’ Imogen and Panos said together.
Panos passed Socks to Tristan, making sure the boy had a tight hold. ‘Tristan, take Socks onto the beach just outside. I will get your sister and Risto. You need to do one of the most important jobs tonight.’
‘I do?’ Tristan said, as if a cloak of responsibility had been slipped around his shoulders.
‘Yes… In Greece, what is more important than the food and the candles and the ouzo is hospitality,’ Panos said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
‘Hospital what?’
‘It means the warm welcome,’ he explained. ‘We need to make people feel so welcome at your father’s restaurant that they never want to leave it.’
Imogen’s gut flinched as she watched this gorgeous man with her nephew. That was how Corfu was making her feel. That, barring a few teething problems, she’d been made so welcome she never wanted to leave it. But she was leaving it. She had to leave it. To chase her dream. The very next day.
‘And how can I do that?’ Tristan asked. ‘Use the knots I know from Scouts?’
Panos laughed. ‘That would be one way to keep everybody here. But no… we give them a big smile, we say “a very warm welcome to Acharavi’s new restaurant on the beach” and we give them a free aperitif.’