‘It’s a small world,’ said Penny.
‘It’s a small island!’ said Tess. ‘Drink?’
‘A glass of rosé, please. Does it matter where I sit?’ Penny looked towards the far tables that sat above the sea.
‘Sit wherever you like. You’ve got here just at the right time. Things will start to get busy now. Lily will bring your drink over.’
A welcome breeze flowed through the Athena, a gift from the sea. In the distance, Paxos began its nightly disappearing trick, as the darkness pushed the last patches of light from the sky. There was a touch of velvet about summer evenings in Corfu, a soft edge to a world warmed by a sun that had no intention of curbing its warmth until late autumn, when it still glowed valiantly on.
‘Hi. Rosé for you?’ Penny looked up at a tanned, strawberry blonde, freckle-faced girl, who radiated energy. She rolled from toe to heel as she spoke, as though the ground was hot and she didn’t want to stand still for long.
‘Thank you . . . Lily? I’m Penny.’
‘Yes, you’re here for a while, aren’t you? How’s it going so far?’
‘I think it’s wonderful. I was in town this morning and loved it. What an incredible place. How about you? Are you here for the whole season?’
‘Oh yes, until October, although for the last two weeks, I’m staying here for a break of my own, before I go home.’
‘Great idea. You’ll have the chance to enjoy a little spoil yourself after looking after so many people.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Still a long way to go yet though, a lot of Mythos to pour, and mosquitoes to fight. They love me for some reason.’ Lily smiled resignedly and started to gather some dirty glasses from a nearby table, with her barely suppressed buoyancy.
She’s Tigger, thought Penny, but she sensed Eeyore in there too.
‘Can I get you something to eat?’ Lily glanced up as she finished filling the tray.
Penny was already familiar with the Athena menu, having read it a number of times when she’d wanted to appear relaxed in these surroundings on her own.
‘I’d love the tuna, please. Thanks, Lily.’
As Lily hopped off to the kitchen, Penny turned back to look at the now amethyst-tinged sea – the wine-dark sea her dad used to talk about, alongside a list of books she ought to read.
‘Hi.’
She looked up. The sculpted fisherman stood in front of her.
‘Hello.’
‘Dimitris. Tess says you’re wanting to sail up to Kalami from town.’
‘I’m Penny. Yes, but I haven’t set a date yet; that is, I have a schedule and Kalami is sort of the last place I want to visit.’
She was aware that everything had gushed out, when maybe a ‘yes’ would have sufficed.
He looked down at her and shrugged slightly, almost as if to say, I have a boat. I also fish. Some days I’m free, others not. It’s no big deal.
‘You’re here for a month?’ His voice was calm, with a slight English intonation woven into the distinctive Corfiot rhythm. He had her attention, even though their conversation so far had felt more like being questioned.
‘Yes, I arrived yesterday. I’ve wanted to come here for a long time.’
‘A month is a longer stay than usual, unless you’re planning on buying a house. People sometimes stay here for a week, go home, and come back looking for their dream home.’
‘I’m making up for lost time. I should have visited years ago, with my dad.’
Penny looked down then and picked up her wine. ‘Can I charter your boat just for myself, or do you prefer a collection of passengers to make it economical?’
As she asked the question she could visualize, as clearly as if it had already happened, sitting on a smart boat, hair tied up, the coastline of Corfu to her left. Everything sparkling, the water, the sky, her, from an exuberance in the air, like fizzing lemonade. At the helm stood a figure with his back to her. It was all a little hazy. The moment was exhilarating, but fleeting.
She heard Dimitris’s voice in the real world. The Athena’s Greek music CD played subtly in the background.
‘It depends,’ he replied. ‘If more people want to go to Kalami on the day you do, and I’m able to take the Antiopi out, I can take up to five people with me. If we do go, it will mean a start from the Old Port at, say, 9 a.m. It takes less than an hour. I’m guessing you want to go to Kalami because of the Lawrence Durrell connection.’
‘Yes, the White House is the last Durrell house I want to see, because it’s the one that I can still get closest to on this trip. I’m not a Durrells expert. I just love their books. In a strange way, they feel like family to me.’
Her last few words seemed to hang in the air, sticking around long enough to make her feel a little embarrassed. They feel like family to me. Why did she have to say that? He was a stranger she was arranging transport with, not a dinner companion or a friend. She felt the heat in her face as she flushed to the roots of her hair.
He looked as though he was going to ask her something else, but thought better of it and turned away. ‘Just let me know when you want to go,’ he called back over his shoulder.
‘Thank you. Thanks very much. I will.’
Penny watched him walk back over to the bar, sit down, rejoin his father, and pick up his Mythos, before Lily appeared with her food and momentarily blocked her view.
‘Here we are. And Anna has sent you some flatbread and tzatziki. She’s always doing that. She thinks everyone needs to eat more than they’ve ordered. It’s on the house, as they say in old films. Enjoy. Can I get you another glass?’
Penny nodded, watching Lily bob back to the bar past Dimitris. Penny saw him turn to look towards her table and then, just as quickly, look away.
Tess leaned forward to hear something Dimitris was saying. She smiled and touched his arm before taking his glass and refilling it.
It was no surprise, she decided, as she felt her face return to its normal hue, that she was just as gauche and uncool on Corfu as she was at home.
I bet the sophisticated woman he was with this morning doesn’t waffle on and then embarrass herself, she thought, as she turned her attention to her food, which was delicious, beautifully presented, and delicately seasoned. The wine made her feel mellow and drowsy, creating a warmth that seeped into her bones. She couldn’t help looking back towards the bar, where Nic had now joined the conversation with Tess and Dimitris. Guy and Rich then appeared and Tess passed them a bottle of Mythos each. A family got up to pay for their meal, the children rushing confidently to the edge of the restaurant to look at the sea.
Penny glanced down at the rocks and grasses below and saw a glimmer of light, then another. Fireflies. She’d never seen them before. As they darted about, she understood why people sometimes mistook them for fairies.
And now she had seen him close up . . . the interesting one. What a face. As an artist, she’d quickly noticed the texture and tone of his skin, the bone structure underneath, and the colour of his eyes – a bluey Payne’s grey. The woman saw and felt the impact of the combination of all these things, in that curious first assessment that people made, both consciously and unconsciously.
The artist thought it was a strong face; the woman was instantly intrigued. She smiled, laughing at herself, at her self-deception; her carefully focused concentration on the cool and considered response to the knotty, deep-oak, sinewed arms that the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed, and the dark hair with the rogue fringe he casually pushed back as he was talking. She imagined her friend Lizzie nudging her elbow behind Dimitris’s back, and raising an eyebrow as if to say, Blimey, look who just walked in! Which Greek god bagged Helen of Troy?
He looked about 40, but could have been younger, she thought, the brightness of his eyes and the lack of grey in his hair contrasting with his powerfully reassuring presence. He looked like someone she’d want, funnily enough, in her lifeboat if the ship sank.
All of these thoughts were interrupted abr
uptly by the small but still persistent voice in her own head that still believed she was someone’s fiancée rather than an ex one.
She suddenly felt tired, sleepy; a pleasant, sea-air-induced lethargy that she was more than happy to give in to.
As she approached the bar Guy turned to face her and welcome her into the group. ‘Hi, how are you?’
‘Fine, thank you. I’ve just had the loveliest meal.’ She turned to Tess. ‘Please, tell Anna the fish was delicious.’
‘I will,’ said Tess. ‘Can I get you something else? A dessert or another drink?’
‘I’m fine, just ready for a read and a sleep.’ Although it was true, she sounded about 100 years old. The vision of the cool room and a chance to stretch out on the yellow bedspread felt like sanctuary. Tess stepped in and saved her from her own thoughts.
‘It’s the sea air. In a day or two you’ll have adjusted and be dancing till dawn, if that’s what you fancy.’
Penny remembered the last time she’d danced at one of Bruce’s university formal events, a few months before they’d parted. As she’d felt his arm around her back and his hand in hers, she’d closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the feelings she’d had on the first night they met. She’d looked up at his beautiful face to see what she could read there, but he’d been looking across the room, acknowledging a colleague.
Guy broke the silence, repeating his offer of taking her out on a night out in Corfu Town.
‘Perhaps when I’ve got my sleeping and waking hours back in order,’ she said.
‘Lily, do you fancy a night out with us in town?’ Rich shouted across to Lily as she left the kitchen with another tray of food.
‘Depends. Days off might not match yours, but let me know when you’re planning to go.’
Lily’s response kept alive Rich’s dream of one day supplanting Ryan Gosling in her affections and he took a celebratory sip of his drink.
As Penny walked back to her villa, more fireflies danced in the darkness, illuminating her way, but the warmth she felt was at her back. Dimitris had not looked at her directly when she’d stood at the bar, but she’d felt his gaze nonetheless. She felt it now.
She was probably imagining it.
None of that foolishness, Penny, she chided herself. He’s probably already put you into the slightly weird woman-on-holiday category anyway. There’s no room in your head for a fling right now. Keep things simple.
Chapter 10
The shared pool at Penny’s apartments was already surrounded by occupied sun loungers when she passed on her way to a late breakfast at the Athena. She’d begun to settle into her new home and had slept well, although woken briefly by a vivid dream of her dad’s illness –proof, if proof were needed, that wherever anyone went in the world they took their baggage, their hopes, fears, and story with them. Eventually, she’d fallen into a second, deep, early-morning sleep.
Today Penny planned to stay in St George and had packed her rucksack with watercolour paints and sketchbook. On every holiday she’d ever been on she had captured little vignettes of the world around her as she sat at a café table, or in a bar: a wine bottle, vase of flowers, coffee cup, cake, or chair . . . whatever looked interesting, or caught the light in a particular way.
She had first begun to draw when not much more than a toddler. When it became clear she loved it, and her talent grew with every drawing, her dad had bought her some proper drawing pencils and a watercolour box. The natural and happy progression had then been art college, a degree in Fine Art, and a slowly building career in book illustration. Now, ten years on from her graduation, she was a freelancer, whose work had been described variously as ‘charming’, ‘exquisite’, ‘otherworldly’, and ‘enchanting’.
She was not famous, her life was comfortable rather than opulent, but most importantly, she loved her work. Creativity was in her heart and hands.
As she walked down the now-familiar lane to the sea, Penny hoped that Tess wouldn’t mind her painting if she tucked herself into a corner and kept buying coffee and water.
Greek yogurt and honey, fresh fruit, and a Nescafé felt like the food of the gods. The only other people having breakfast were the two older ladies who’d arrived the same day as Penny, and a ponytailed man in his fifties, who was enjoying a full English breakfast and pastries.
The sea sent waves of sound and scent over the low white-painted wall of the Athena. Tess delivered two generous omelettes to the ladies, who twittered their thanks, and smiled at each other in anticipation of working their way through the enormous and appetizing breakfast.
Her customers sorted, Tess wandered over to Penny. ‘Another coffee?’
‘That would be lovely, thanks. Would it be okay if I sat here for a while and painted? I can move if the table is needed when you’re busy.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Tess, picking up Penny’s empty plate, ‘as long as you can cope with the thousand questions and curious eyes from just about everyone here. You’ll soon find out everyone eventually knows pretty much everything about everyone here.’
Spiro, Tess’s father-in-law, who was always sitting by the entrance, rose to take payment from the man with the ponytail.
Tess turned back to Penny conspiratorially and whispered, ‘Simon, who’s just left, for example – expat, been here for years, writing a book on Corfiot cookery. But I’ve only ever seen him eat. He never asks about the food and loves an English breakfast. There’s a mystery right there.’ She smiled.
‘Do you miss England?’ The words were out before Penny had time to check herself.
Tess leaned against the table and looked across at a yacht making its way across the bay. At first, Penny worried that the question had been too personal and Tess was going to be polite, but elusive and vague in her answer. Then she spoke. ‘I’ve been back a few times over the years, and my parents and other relatives have come here and Theo, my son, has stayed with his grandparents a couple of times. I miss old friends, but they’ve come to visit. For me though, places are about people – if you’re with the people you love, or in the place they loved you, that’s all that matters. So, I miss people, especially my husband, but not England, or the life I had there before I met him.’
Looking at Penny’s intense face as she listened, Tess felt empathy flow from the younger woman and quickly explained, as she had done so many times before, how she had lost Georgios. Penny was touched by the sharing and the strength of this serene and strong woman. Tess suddenly stepped back from the table. ‘How about you? I have a feeling you’re here for more than a holiday, given the painting, your itinerary, and Kalami?’
As she shared with Tess the details of her Durrell quest, the loss of her dad, and her broken engagement, Penny felt a lightness she hadn’t felt for a long time. Telling someone about the last few months felt like catharsis rather than a painful retelling of a tragic tale. It lessened its power.
She was encouraged and uplifted by Tess, and the Athena that morning felt like a safe place, a place of healing.
‘So,’ Penny concluded, ‘being an illustrator is my job, but also my life. I’m so glad I’m here. My dad would have loved this place. I’ve only been here two days, but it feels like somewhere I should be just now.’
‘Well, you chose a good spot on the island, even if I’m a little biased,’ Tess said. ‘I’ll get you another coffee, but stay as long as you like.’
A large family group was being shown to a table by Spiro, so Tess turned to leave, then remembered something. ‘My father-in-law met Gerald Durrell and his brother in Corfu Town in the 1960s, I think. They were here on a visit. He’s mentioned it a few times. I’m sure he’d tell you about it. I’ll explain to him why you’re interested.’
‘Thank you so much. That would be amazing.’
Penny felt a surge in her stomach, and for once in a very long time it wasn’t anxiety.
The rest of the morning flew by. Coffee and iced water from Tess and a little dish of strawberries and cream, a gift fro
m Spiro, punctuated Penny’s sketching and painting.
From her table, she could see the harbour, a series of beautiful coloured pots overflowing with flowers along the sea wall, and to her right, the Athena’s restaurant and bar, with the road beyond. A series of small drawings captured the changing light, comings and goings, and small objects and people in Penny’s eyeline – her coffee cup, the strawberries, a large urn filled with bougainvillea, and a wooden chair.
Nic popped in to see Tess and waved to Penny from the bar. Theo sat in his favourite spot, with his kitten and a book. His grandfather called him to the table for a plate of fruit and some water. Anna popped out of the kitchen now and again, chatting for a moment to Spiro and Theo, until Lily arrived for the start of a shift that would end around midnight.
At the far side of the Athena, Guy and Rich began to pull together some tables for their afternoon welcome meeting. They weren’t on airport duty today, but twelve new holidaymakers had arrived early that morning.
‘Lunch?’ Penny looked up to see Tess. ‘It’s not compulsory, but it might be an idea to eat a little something.’
‘I’m going to pack up the paints, but you’re right, it would be a good idea to eat something. I feel like a walk, then a read by the pool. I haven’t been in the pool yet.’
‘How about a salad? Feta, olives, glass of rosé?’
Everything Tess suggested sounded like a dream; a meal to be savoured, remembered and lingered over. Its simplicity and fresh ingredients, a taste of paradise.
Ten minutes later she had a Greek salad and a glass of her now favourite rosé. Why did a simple collection of cucumber, cheese, green peppers, tomatoes, olives, and onions, drizzled with a light olive-oil dressing, taste so delicious? There was alchemy in everything on this island.
As she ate, she looked over at the harbour, half-expecting to see the little blue and white boat. It surprised her how often she found herself thinking of it, anticipating its return as part of the rhythm of the new life she was living.
‘So, what’s next on the Durrell agenda?’ Tess asked.
Looking for the Durrells Page 5
