‘Well, you agree with me, don’t you?’
‘About the Michelin star or the development?’
‘Both. All I’ve ever wanted to do is create a beautiful restaurant with amazing, original food. But I need to reach customers who will appreciate it. This way we could be on to a winner. But I don’t know how to set the ball rolling. Do I have to invest more myself, find other investors or talk to potential developers? What do I have to do to make it all happen?’
I’d finished eating but Greg’s breakfast hadn’t yet arrived. He picked up the piece of crisp bacon I’d left on the edge of my plate and began chewing it, looking thoughtful. ‘It’s not that easy here,’ he said. ‘Undeveloped land up there might not be that straightforward. You don’t know quite what you’re getting into.’
‘But it’s not out of the question, is it?’
‘Course not,’ he said, suddenly choking on the dry bacon shards and reaching for the water that had been left on the table when the coffee was served. After a couple of gulps his coughing had subsided and he gasped, ‘But you don’t want to go getting involved in all that yourself. Could be all sorts of tricky complications. Family land, restricted covenants, that sort of thing.’
‘Sounds like it could be messy. You don’t think I should investigate it further?’
He shook his head and sipped more water from his glass.
‘You don’t think that development there could be worthwhile?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t say that. I just meant you don’t want to go getting tied up in that sort of thing personally. You’ve got your hands full already, finishing the restaurant, setting up your guest accommodation, launching the business, securing suppliers. Don’t you think you’ve got enough on your plate?’ He laughed at those final words and added, ‘Plate, restaurant, funny eh?’
I laughed with him. He was such a likeable rogue, even though his jokes were terrible. ‘But if someone else spots the possibilities with this land and the wrong kind of properties are built there, it would do just the opposite. It could actually have an adverse effect on our business. You do see that, don’t you?’
‘Course I do,’ he said as his eggs arrived. He scattered them with ground pepper and Tabasco, then continued, ‘I’m not saying it shouldn’t happen, I’m just saying keep your eye on the ball, or restaurant in this case, and don’t worry about it.’
‘But if I don’t worry about it, who will?’
‘Leave it to me,’ he said, with his mouth full. ‘I’ll put out some feelers. Don’t you worry. I won’t let a little gem like this pass me by.’
I leant back in my seat, relieved he had seen it my way. ‘So you might take an interest then?’
He nodded and when he’d finished eating, he said, ‘You just concentrate on fretting about your fritters, my boy, and leave the finances to me.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
11 June 1944
‘You have to tell them,’ Georgiou says. ‘It is for their safety. The Germans have left us alone here so far, but who knows what could happen? Our steep valley with its narrow track should keep us hidden and safe from vehicles. But one day there may be a plane overhead, or a boat could be patrolling the coast and down anchor in our bay. There could even be a motorbike or a patrol down the track. We must tell them what they might have to do to be safe.’
‘I will explain,’ Agata says. ‘I am so afraid of scaring them, but you are right. They must be told.’ She glances across to the little beach from the shade of the terrace, where a grapevine curls its tendrils and bunches of fruit are already beginning to swell. The girls are playing on the sand, gathering shells and stones, laughing and chattering as children should, as if there has never been a threat to their lives. Already, after only a couple of days of fresh air and sunshine, their cheeks, once pale from months of imprisonment, are flushed and golden.
As long as they have each other they don’t seem to be distressed. They had both cried out again in their sleep last night, but now they seem content and are both eating well. Georgiou will cast his net in the rocky bay again tonight, as fishing is no longer permitted on open waters. And if they are lucky, he might spear another octopus in the shallows.
Agata kneels down on the sand and holds out a handful of shells to add to the swirling labyrinth pattern they are creating. ‘Such clever girls,’ she says. ‘Your mama and papa would be proud of you.’
‘And Rebekka,’ adds Matilde. ‘She’s our big sister.’
‘Of course, and Rebekka. She would be proud of you too. And because you are both so clever, I know I can ask you to keep a very special secret.’
The girls pause in their game and gaze at her, their eyes and mouths wide open.
‘You know how Mama and Papa asked you to always be very quiet in your home in Corfu Town? Remember how you hid indoors like two little mice, so no one knew you were there?’
‘Because of the bad men,’ shouts Anna.
‘That’s right. They didn’t want the bad men to ever see you.’
‘And now we are here, there aren’t any bad men, are there?’ Matilde says.
‘That’s right, they’re not here. But if they did come here, what do you think you should do?’
‘Hide,’ shouts Anna, then drops her voice to a whisper, ‘and be very very quiet.’ She lays a finger across her lips.
‘Very good,’ Agata says, giving her a quick hug. ‘And I have the best secret hiding place for you. No one will ever find you there. Would you like to see it right now?’
Both girls jump to their feet and hold her hands. ‘If we ever hear a plane or a boat, or strange men come down here,’ Agata says, ‘this is where you must run and hide straight away. You don’t even have to ask me first, you must just run there, fast as you can. Then I will always know where to find you, won’t I?’ She leads them up the stairs to the upper terrace, through the house and up the next flight to the room where the girls sleep.
‘Shall we hide under the bed?’ Matilde says. Anna giggles and throws herself on the floor, ready to wriggle beneath the bed frame.
Agata laughs with them. ‘I have a better idea,’ she says, and opens the wardrobe door and shows them the little doorway at the back, leading into the cavity beyond, set into the thick walls of the house. ‘Shall we all try and get into it together?’ She crawls into the hiding space with much puffing and groaning. ‘Oh, I’m far too big for such a tiny hidey-hole. It’s not meant for fat old ladies like me.’
Matilde and Anna skip up and down, laughing, then crawl in after her. It is dim inside, but not totally dark, with light and fresh air filtering through the grille above them in the wall. Agata pulls the little door shut.
‘See, here is a catch, so you can make sure the door cannot be opened from outside. Try it for yourself.’
They take it in turns to open and close the door till they are both satisfied they won’t be locked in forever.
‘And just in case you have to stay in here for a while, I think we should make it comfortable, don’t you? So what do you think you will need in here?’
‘Breakfast,’ shouts Anna.
‘Water,’ says Matilde. ‘And blankets.’
‘Anything else?’ says Agata. ‘There will always be water and food waiting in here for you, just in case you suddenly have to run and hide yourselves. I will make sure of that.’
‘We must have a bowl for us to wee in,’ shouts Matilde, and both girls laugh and roll over, kicking their heels in the air.
Agata joins them in their laughter. ‘All right, I’ll leave a big bowl in here, in case you ever have to stay hidden for a while. But maybe that will never happen.’
Let us pray it will never be needed, she tells herself.
Chapter Thirty-Five
March 2007
Amber
As James and Dimitri pushed the heavy elm chest into place, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had always known it would look perfect and bring Mountain Thyme’s reception area to life. The wood glea
med from the many hands that had touched its surface over the years and as I stood back to admire it, the coffer seemed to breathe with relief and settle into its new home as if it had always been there.
‘You see?’ I said to James. ‘Doesn’t it look wonderful? I never had any doubt the Mill would give us just what we wanted. There was never any need to look anywhere else.’
‘You win,’ laughed James. ‘Now we’d better unload the rest of the stuff.’ Dimitri was silent and I was reminded that he had initiated the visit to the warehouse filled with expensive, ornate furniture, which was nothing like the simple rustic pieces we were now putting into place.
While the men talked loudly about what should be brought in next and how they were going to manipulate the heavy table and chairs through the narrow entrance, I tenderly polished the chest. Its deep interior would make perfect storage for all the table linen we planned to use; we’d both agreed that we’d never have paper napkins on our tables. And although we’d want to open the chest at least once a day, I thought I could still display a pottery bowl filled with business cards on top.
The van driver and his mate came shuffling onto the terrace with a long narrow table. Its rich dark top was made of cherry wood and the legs and struts were oak. ‘No, not inside,’ I shouted. ‘Over here, over here.’ I dashed to the side of the building, where the terrace was sheltered and dry under a tiled roof. ‘Put it right there, please.’ Grunting all the while, they settled the table against the roughly plastered wall, where I planned it would hold baskets of cutlery, a pile of white linen napkins and bottles of local olive oil. Underneath, between its sturdy legs, there would be a display of large earthenware bowls and flasks. And above, I planned to hang the carved blue cupboard, still impregnated with the scent of ancient spices.
James and Dimitri returned, both carrying heavy chairs with tall carved backs under each arm. I directed them to place a chair either side of the table and to put the other two in the reception area. These were not meant for use as everyday seats, although they could easily take a substantial weight and probably had done so for 200 years or more; they were decorative features, adding character to the bare rooms which had been given a fresh coat of white paint, in traditional Greek style.
I was longing to shoo the men away and begin adding the finishing touches to our new interior so I could take photos. In the last couple of weeks we’d taken shots of some of James’s dishes: his duck ragu with orange, herb-coated grilled lamb and braised rabbit garnished with olives. I’d photographed the olive trees below the terrace and the wild garlic at the foot of the steps to the ruined church, but the website still lacked images of our premises.
When the last urn had left the truck and I was satisfied everything was in the right position, I went to the car to fetch my camera. I wanted to take the pictures and send them across to Lorna immediately, because I knew I was going to be busy with other deliveries for the next couple of days. Dimitri was talking to the van driver, but as I approached he slapped him on the back and turned to me, saying, ‘You have made excellent purchases, madam. Such authentic craftsmanship is so hard to find these days.’
‘Thank you, I’m really pleased with everything so far, but I’m sorry if we put you in rather an awkward position, not giving the order to your friend.’
He shrugged, saying, ‘It is of no consequence. Your husband maybe had some doubts, I think, about your lady friends. It was good for him to see that you were right in your choices.’ He gave a slight nod of his head when he’d finished speaking, a gesture that felt almost like a subtle acknowledgement of my superior judgement, then I thanked him and went to my car.
I spent the following hour taking pictures and looking at each of the five bedrooms, trying to decide which one should be featured on the website homepage. I planned to take this photograph after the beds had been delivered. Although the frames and mattresses would be new, I’d insisted on carved headboards to add character and each one was slightly different: one had curling acanthus, another animal heads looking like a cross between a camel and a goat, while the others were more architectural with solid carved bands around the frame. I finally decided to focus on the bedroom at the back of the hotel, with its view of the far mountain. I was dying to begin snapping pictures, but knew I’d have to wait for the next delivery of furniture and until I had made up the bed with crisp white linen and the blue and white traditional bedspreads we had chosen for all of the guest rooms.
I wandered back across the upper landing and through the other bedrooms to satisfy myself that the headboards were in the right places. I stood and looked out of the windows at the front of the house, down onto the terrace, which would be laced with vines in the summer. The room at the corner of the house also had a side window looking down the street. It wasn’t the best view we had, but the almond trees were still in flower and there was a dusting of pale petals over the dark cobbles, which made me reach for my camera. I took a couple of shots and as I took a third and a fourth, two men came into view, talking with harsh gestures, one jabbing the other’s shoulder. This time there were no jovial slaps on the back. They were arguing face-to-face and one pushed the other in the chest. Then I saw a wad of money being exchanged. I thought one of them might have been Dimitri, but from above, and half turned away from me, one dark Greek head looks much the same as another.
Chapter Thirty-Six
March 2007
James
I had to give Amber credit. She had been absolutely right all along to order from the Mill women. Their furniture was perfect for our kind of business. But although I could respect Marian and Inge for their discerning eye and ability to source original pieces of furniture, I couldn’t really warm to them as people. ‘You’re not off to see them again, are you?’ I’d said to Amber. ‘We’re not buying anything else from them, so why bother?’ Maybe it was Inge’s coughing, which exposed her yellowed smoker’s teeth, or Marian’s ever-solicitous attitude that irritated me. They turned to each other constantly, completing each other’s sentences, stroking each other’s hands.
‘I find them fascinating,’ Amber said. ‘They’ve both led such interesting lives. Anyway, you’re always off meeting Greg and I don’t complain about that. I may not like him much, but I can respect him and his contacts and I’m very aware of how helpful he is to us.’
‘Well, don’t let them persuade you to buy anything else today,’ I said as we finished breakfast on the terrace. It was still early in the year and most days it was too chilly to sit outside, but today, the sun was shining with a promise of glorious summer mornings to come, when we would share breakfast with paying guests and fill the restaurant with appreciative customers at lunch and dinner. I was still working on finalising my menus for the spring and summer, but that particular day, once Amber had left to visit her women friends, I was expecting Greg.
‘What’s he coming over for today?’ Amber was dabbing at the croissant crumbs on her plate with a moistened finger.
‘Just a catch-up. I thought I’d give the lamb with baby artichokes a trial run. But don’t worry, there’ll still be some left for us tonight.’
She smiled. I loved her smile. ‘Well, just you make sure there is. I’m looking forward to trying that dish.’ She picked up her plate and cup and shivered. ‘It’s still a bit chilly out here this morning, even though it’s lovely to sit outside again at last.’ She gazed out across the orchards to the other side of the valley. ‘I just love this view. We are so lucky to have found this place.’
‘I’ll clear up,’ I said. ‘You need to get a move on.’
‘Okay, I’ll go. I want to pop into town first. Do you want anything? I need some pants from M&S.’
‘No, thanks. I’ve got my deliveries all sorted.’ I loved using the local suppliers for all the meat, fish and vegetables and hated the reminders of the British high street in the centre of Corfu Town. ‘Get some lacy ones, won’t you?’ I called as she ran down to her car.
‘No chance,’ she
shouted back. ‘I need them big, white and comfy.’ She laughed and waved to me.
I watched her go then checked the time. She would be gone until mid-afternoon, giving me plenty of time. Greg was coming soon, so I had to get to work on lunch. The lamb had been alive the day before yesterday, but now it was marinating in wine, herbs and garlic. It didn’t need tenderising, but the flavour was improved with those additions. The artichokes had been grown nearby and if they were picked at just the right time, while they were still young, they were small enough to cook and eat whole, before the core had grown into a choking, hairy thistle.
I was absorbed in my preparations, dicing garlic, when Greg arrived. He crept up on me in the kitchen, with its new gleaming workstations and huge fridges, and I suddenly felt a clap on my back and caught the edge of my finger with my knife. ‘Bastard,’ I yelled. ‘Look what you’ve made me do.’ I held my finger under the cold tap then wrapped it in kitchen paper.
‘You’ll need another of those blue plasters.’ He laughed and laughed, staggering to the opposite worktop to support himself in his mirth. ‘Chef’s badge of honour, aren’t they?’
I dried and taped my finger then started laughing with him. ‘You won’t find it so funny when all my fingers are cut to pieces, you idiot. Anyway, an experienced chef shouldn’t have any blue plasters.’
‘Come on, man up. What’s a scratch between friends?’ He started lifting the foil on the roasting tins, inspecting the contents. ‘This lunch?’ he said, bending and sniffing the dishes.
‘It will be if I can get it done in time. And don’t go poking your dirty fingers in there.’ He snatched his hand away and pulled a face at me. ‘I’m going to have to ban you from the kitchen once we’re up and running. I won’t be getting any kind of star if we’re not up to standard on the hygiene front as well as with the food.’
Burning Island: Absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical fiction Page 13
