Whatever happens, I’m going to be alright.
‘Ms Harper?’
‘Yes?’ I look up.
‘Ms Webb wanted me to let you know she’s going to stay on for a second treatment so you may either pick another for yourself’ – she offers me the list – ‘or meet her back at the suite.’ She presents me with the key card.
‘Oh, great, thank you!’
I loll a while longer and then decide to take a meander through the gardens, only to find myself back in the hotel driveway.
‘Lost?’ enquires a smartly dressed taxi driver, leaning on the bonnet of his Mercedes.
‘Little bit,’ I confess.
‘What is your room number?’
‘Sixty-three.’
‘Ah, one of the presidential suites. Let me organise you a buggy.’ He motions to a staff member.
‘Er . . .’ I go to correct him.
‘It’ll just be a moment.’
‘Oh, thank you very much.’ Probably easier if I just play along.
‘First visit?’ he enquires.
‘To the hotel, yes, but actually I’ve been in Elounda since Sunday night.’
‘Oh, where were you staying until now?’
‘At a friend’s place, up on the hill.’ I point over yonder.
‘A male friend?’
‘Yes, actually.’
‘A Greek friend?’ His voice gets all treacly.
‘Yes.’ Where’s he going with this?
He gives me a filthy smile. ‘Greek men, best sex!’
I gasp at his audaciousness.
‘Here is your buggy.’
‘Th-thank you.’ I stumble as I climb in the golf cart.
Burring along the path I am once again struck by the expert way Greeks let nature do the talking. The rough-hewn stone buildings here complement, never compete, with the landscape and, despite my awareness that no expense has been spared, the overriding impression is not of designer labels or fussing entourage but effortless class.
‘It’s funny,’ I find myself musing out loud, ‘I know that this is one of the ritziest resorts in Crete, but it actually feels more like its own little village.’
‘You are right!’ He laughs. ‘Our regulars love to return to the familiar faces here. You see this couple approaching?’ – he nods to a chic pair in breezy white linen – ‘that’s Mr and Mrs Kakaroubas, they come every year for several months at a time.’
‘Months?’ I gasp.
He nods. ‘People ask them why they don’t buy their own villa in Elounda but they consider us their family and they like to chat with the bar manager and see how his grandchildren are doing, enjoy a little “home cooking” from their favourite chef, you understand?’
I nod confirmation.
‘Here we are!’ He stalls beside an archway of cerise bougainvillea.
‘Down the steps and the door is on the left before you hit the sea!’
‘Thank you so much!’ I call back as I eagerly trot on my way. All I want to do now is flop down on the bed and daydream about Alekos. Maybe even give him a quick call before Jules returns . . .
The key card instantly releases the lock on the bright blue door, a hefty push and I’m inside.
‘Oh my god – you’re kidding!’ I gasp out loud, eyes widening in awe.
No wonder Jules was so effusive – she actually has her own infinity pool stretching the width of the extensive deck and directly overlooking the sea. Perhaps it’s something to do with this most glamorous vantage point but I don’t think I have ever seen a body of water look so bling – it’s almost as if all the off-duty stars are resting on the surface, glinting and bobbing and playing happily until their night-time shift.
I step forward to admire the pair of wooden sunloungers last seen on a 1920s cruiseship. They have the kind of padding that loves you back, big puffa jacket pockets of cushion in vibrant blue. There are also two canvas-backed chairs and a two-seater sofa the colour of crème caramel, set beside a low table displaying a potted orchid, its delicate petals belying its heady perfume.
As I stand there, bathed in pale turquoise light, I can only assume that Dom must have been a very bad boy and that Jules has drained every last penny from his bank account.
Or maybe she had to leave Mauritius in such a hurry because she did a bank job there – this new theory seems perfectly viable as I slide back the patio doors and venture inside, first encountering a full lounge area with soft cream sofas, a desk with its own computer and a cinemascope-screen TV. I pluck a few grapes from the fruit bowl and stumble up the steps to the vast bed. Even if Jules happened to be a basketball player prone to sleeping in the starfish position there would still be plenty of room for me.
Where does this door lead? Ah, to a walk-in wardrobe the size of a small boutique.
Flowers abound. There are three vases in the bathroom alone, lined up along the countertop beside a mirror so long it could house an entire chorus of showgirls, including plumage. To my right is a sunken tub with Jacuzzi jets and a picture window. I’m in danger of again losing myself to the view but then I see the reflection in the window – it can’t be!
No! Noooo! I immediately convulse as I turn around. We have our own gym? A full-size running machine, a beast of a multi-function workout station, a full range of dumb-bells, wooden wall bars direct from my schoolgirl gym and – I kid you not – a boxer’s punchball. It’s probably this body-wrenching ensemble that sold the room to Jules. Another reminder of just how different we are.
Drifting back outside, I squish on to the sunlounger. As the light dims I find my gaze drawn to the distant somnolent mountains, now a soft pinkish-gold. I sigh, feeling positively dreamy with gratitude – grateful to Jules for inviting me to share this incredible room but even more so to Alekos for introducing me to this landscape in the first place. I never would have experienced any of this magical island were it not for him. I have to call him before—
Oh no! I curse the rap at the door. I’ve left it too late – Jules is back already.
‘Coming!’ I call, psyching myself up to give her an overdue heartfelt hug. But as I haul back the blue door, I find my open arms greeting Alekos.
‘You!’ I gasp. I can’t believe it – I’ve been given a second chance!
‘Me!’ He grins, wheeling my suitcase on to the deck and handing me my cabin bag.
‘Th-thank you!’ I don’t know quite how to act but fortunately Alekos is equally overwhelmed by the suite, and his fascination buys me a few minutes to compose myself.
I decide I can’t throw myself directly at him or he’d be like, ‘Oh, I see, your friend likes me and suddenly you’re interested?’ So how do I go about letting him know that I’m ready and that, although I’ve only been gone a couple of hours, I already miss him?
‘This place is insane!’ I hear the punchball rever-berating in the gym area and then he returns to the deck, dipping down to feel the temperature of the water.
‘Feel free to avail yourself of the facilities,’ I say, sounding like I am including myself in the invitation. Which, frankly, I am.
He doesn’t need asking twice. His T-shirt is off, flip-flops discarded and, in one splash, he’s in and under.
I love how he loves his water, I smile to myself as I sit on the edge of the pool swishing my feet as I watch my merman flip and glide. He looks so natural and free. Then suddenly he’s on a mission, making straight for me, his hands encircling my ankles. Ordinarily I’d squeal and resist and pummel the water with my heels until I wriggled free, but today, despite the fact that I’m wearing one of my long, floaty dresses, I simply slide forward and sink down into the pool until I am in neck-deep. As his hands move to my hips my legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and my arms envelop his toned shoulders. He pulls me closer. Amazingly neither of us speaks. There are no smart remarks, no jibes, just breathing.
Without explanation he begins pacing the pool, moving steadily, calmly through the water so that it feels like a kind of ri
tual bonding ceremony. Though my dress is swishing around us I don’t feel ridiculous, I feel strangely elegant and weightless. With each length he strides we press tighter together, his body the perfect fit for mine. Our faces are touching now, temple to temple and cheek to cheek like a pair of dancers locked in an Argentine tango.
As the sun sinks, the air cools and I shiver, feeling the chill of his own skin against mine, and yet neither of us lets go. There is something so unexpectedly intimate and tender taking place here. I don’t want to move and disturb the trust but I am aware that all I would have to do for our lips to finally meet is twist my head a fraction. Does it fall to me to initiate the kiss? I have turned him down so many times I don’t think he would presume to make a move any more. Not even when I am willing him to with every fibre. I am on the precipice now. Dare I take that next step?
Suddenly there’s a banging at the door. We’re so startled you’d think there was a shark in the water. I suppose, in a way, there is – it’s Jules.
‘Selena! Open up – I’m dripping Cretan oil!’
Before I can even locate the ladder, Alekos has lifted me up and on to the side in one smooth move – no grunting, literally a hand either side of my waist and I’m plonked on the edge.
‘Coming!’ I call as she rattles the handle.
But I don’t find it quite so easy to get to my feet, what with sopping fabric suctioning in layers around my thighs.
‘You really need to get yourself a decent swimsuit,’ Jules tuts, nearly skidding in the puddle I’ve created. ‘Oh! Alekos!’
‘Hello,’ he says simply.
‘I’m going to change,’ I excuse myself, heading straight for the shower – the furthest point away. I need a moment to process. To think. To claim what just happened.
I set the shower running, distracted for a second by the assorted jet and angle options. The cubicle doubles as a steam room and I’m grateful there is a seat, even though my naked bottom attaches to the blue marble like a plunger. Leaning forward I watch the water teem over my hands, hands that I’m looking at in a new light. These hands that were just traversing Alekos’ body. I smile and clasp the memory to me. Bringing it closer. Trying to brand myself with the feeling.
Such harmony. It’s as if we just reached a new level of understanding. Perhaps he had some kind of revelation about missing me too? Perhaps as he packed my things he paused and held my nightie to his face. Perhaps he had to sit down for a moment, so reluctant to remove all trace of me from his house?
As I wrap my de-chlorinated self in a towel, I feel a whisk of nerves – will that sensitive being still be there when I walk out or will his cocky alter ego have resumed control? When I step outside I find the pool empty, only the orange lifesaver ring remains on the surface. I turn back to the room, perhaps he’s gone for a quick abseil in the walk-in closet . . . ?
‘Where’s Alekos?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.
‘Gone. Is the bathroom free now?’
‘Gone where?’ I can’t help but feel a little abandoned.
‘He had to run some errand for his father.’
‘Is he coming back?’
Jules shakes her head. ‘He wanted to but I explained we need our girlie time. I’m starving, are you?’
‘Mmm,’ I mumble absently.
‘Why don’t you look at the menus while I get in the shower?’
I sit down in a slump but quickly assure myself it’s best that he left when he did, that way what happened between us stays pure. Yes, I would have liked to have spent my birthday with Alekos, but I’d almost rather not see him at all than with Jules in tow. I know she’ll be fine when I explain everything but the spectre of her earlier carnivorous attitude towards him has left me a tad on edge. Besides, I still have four nights to go before I leave. Plenty of time. Tonight I will do the decent thing – friendship, loyalty and fine dining.
So let’s see. I fan out the menus for restaurants named Argonaut and Artemis and Blue Lagoon, then have a Shirley Valentine chuckle discovering one simply called ‘F’. Remember when Shirley’s daughter Milandra storms out of the house in disgust that her mother is going on a ‘grab a granny’ fortnight to Greece? Shirley is so insulted by her reaction that she leans out of the upstairs window and shouts after her that yes, she’s going to Greece for the sex – sex for breakfast, sex for lunch and sex for dinner.
This outburst stops a passing delivery man in his tracks and he can’t help but comment on what a wonderful diet it sounds.
To which Shirley replies: ‘It is. Have you never heard of it? It’s called the F-Plan!’
Apparently in this instance the F stands for fusion.
I like the idea of a lamb tajine with ginger and sun-dried fruit chutney but I’m not so sure about it featuring the lamb’s knuckle. Perhaps a little spaghetti with caviar over at the Italian or a seafood fantasy salad with grape-fruit? I’m torn between all the options until I discover the dessert menu at Dionyssos: gazpacho of pineapple with lavender syrup, fondant of two chocolates upon a caramelised strawberry soup and most intriguing of all – mille feuille of forest fruits in a mint chlorophyll sauce.
‘That’s a Greek word!’ I joke with myself. ‘Chloros meaning green and phyllon meaning leaf.’ Alekos told me that yesterday on the long drive back from the Lasithi Plateau. Well, Jules said we can’t talk about men, but that doesn’t mean I can’t secretly order desserts in his honour.
I call and book a table and then lie back and listen to the mesmerising swish of the sea below, letting my mind drift . . .
‘Selena!’ Jules tuts as she steps on to the deck. ‘Aren’t you dressed yet?’
‘Oh, I—’ I turn around.
‘You haven’t even done your make-up!’
‘Ten minutes and I’ll be ready!’ I jump to my feet and quickly go scavenging in my suitcase for something to wear.
‘Did you book a table?’ Jules calls over to me as she slides a number of metallic bracelets on to her wrist.
‘Yes. At Dionyssos.’
Her nose scrunches. ‘Is that Greek food?’
‘Gourmet Greek.’ I get specific.
‘I think there’s a sushi place here . . .’ She reaches for the menus.
‘There is,’ I confirm. ‘Would you prefer that?’
She hesitates, remembering it’s my birthday. ‘Another night. It’s fine.’
‘Okay, well, I won’t be a mo.’
I hang my dress in the steam room to loosen out the creases and then confront my own facial variety. Only tonight there is no frowning and peering at my flaws, everything from my moisturiser to my eyeliner seems to glide on, as if that elusive inner glow has finally reached my surface.
Even my hair goes right with minimal effort. I pick my most glittery lipgloss to celebrate, blow my reflection a playful kiss, and step into the lounge.
‘Okay! Ready!’ I chime. ‘Let’s eat!’
Silence.
‘Jules?’
A slight rucked snore emanates from the bed area. Has she conked out for real or is this her teasing me for taking too long? I creep over and stand beside her. Her breathing is deep and slow. Poor girl probably hasn’t slept in days. I feel torn. Should I wake her? Is that selfish? Or would she rather I did? I reach out and give her a gentle jiggle. ‘Jules!’
She wrenches open one eye. ‘Sorry, Selena . . .’ she croaks, and then she’s gone again.
Oh. I stand there feeling distinctly anticlimactic. And then increasingly peeved as realisation dawns: I’ve left Alekos for nothing. I thought I was doing the supportive friend thing but it’s not like she’s even allowed us any quality time together – on the drive she was on the phone to her brother, then we had separate spa treatments, she even extended hers, then we got ready in relays, and now she’s out for the count. And I’m short of a dining companion on my birthday.
Great. Unless . . .
A thrilling notion bubbles up inside me – what if I called Alekos?
Suddenly I’m at great pa
ins not to wake Jules. I back away from her fearing that the vibrations from the bongo drumming of my heart might cause her to stir.
If I can just get out the door.
I tiptoe across the room, picking up my handbag along the way.
Maybe I’ll get my birthday wish after all!
17
‘Zeus does not bring all men’s plans to fulfilment.’ – Homer
I’ve done it! I’ve escaped the prison guard and entered a wonderland of twinkling lights and night-scented jasmine.
‘Good evening!’
‘Good evening to you!’ I practically curtsey at the well-to-do couple passing me on their way to dinner.
This is such a civilised place; it seems a little uncouth to be yapping into a mobile phone, so I burrow into the nearest bougainvillea bush, forgetting just how prickly the stems can be. Still, no pain no gain.
My heart is yammering as I scroll through to find Alekos’ number. As I press dial I get a further flurry of butterflies. Answer! Answer! Answer!
Nothing but a ring tone. I flip my phone closed and then redial just in case there was some faulty connection. Same thing. I get a little swirl of panic – what if I can’t reach him? I can’t let this perfect night go to waste! But then I take a calming breath. No need to freak out just yet. He could be in the shower or letting Loulou out or mid-conversation with his dad. I’ll give it ten minutes and call back. Keep the faith!
I walk very slowly past the other villa-esque suites, encountering ever more elegantly attired guests, making me extremely glad I opted for my birthday best – a slinky teal silk dress I had handmade in Singapore. I wonder if Alekos has ever been there? There is so much to still discover about each other and I’m going to love every minute hearing all there is to know about him – a whole lifetime’s worth of dinner conversation! And a few bedtime stories too, with any luck . . .
Out of the Blue Page 19
