‘Perama, the first Durrell house, otherwise known as the Strawberry Villa. It’s a privately owned home now and has been remodelled, although I think you can rent it as a holiday home. I hope I can get a sense of the place just by being in the area. Without sounding pretentious, this is as much about doing something for my dad as for me. He always wanted to come here. If he’d had a bucket list this would have been at the top, so in a way this feels like the last thing I can do for him. And perhaps selfishly, the best thing I can do for myself right now.’
As she said it out loud Penny realized for the first time why this trip had become less of a spontaneous, random act and more of an essential part of her healing process.
Tess nodded, but didn’t speak. Penny continued: ‘There is another house, near Kontokali, that featured in the TV series, but the real Durrells didn’t live there at all. They actually lived in three villas, but with all of them, it will be more about being in the area than actually visiting them. I’ve heard they’re a little hard to find and I don’t want to intrude, as they’re private properties.’
‘Why not ask Guy and Rich to help? They haven’t been here long, but they’ve been asked about the Durrells many times. Guy spent some time around Perama at one of the hotels when he first arrived. Failing that, Dimitris is asked to go up to Kalami quite often, so there’s every chance he knows more about the Durrells. Have you asked him about taking the boat up the coast?’
‘Yes. I explained that Kalami is going to be the last on the list. It’s where Larry Durrell lived and wrote, at the White House. I love his work and I’d like to eat at the White House too. Before I came here, I thought it would be the best place to toast the Durrells at the end of my trip. But then, what you imagine and what happens isn’t always the same, is it? I have a feeling already that Corfu can easily distract someone from an agenda.’
‘True, but I think the trick is not minding and going with the flow. When I can manage it, it’s always better for my sanity and peace of mind.’
Penny hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Dimitris seems to have a bit of an English accent. Has he picked that up from visitors here?’
‘Dimitris? No, he lived in England for a while. He was a solicitor, in London . . . something to do with finance and the markets, I think. I’m not sure what happened, why he came back, but he’s been back for nearly two years now. There were stories of course, about a woman – a fiancée, I think – Sarah, yes, that was her name. So, a big change for him, fishing and taking people around the coast. He lives here in St George some nights with his father, but also has a flat in town. It just depends whether he’s fishing or sailing.’
‘Well, that’s quite a change of direction.’ Penny said, wondering who Sarah was and if she might have been the catalyst for his return to Corfu. There was an aura of solitude about him, a gravitas that made him feel detached. The ‘statue’ was coming to life though, with a history, a story.
‘Whatever it was that brought him back has taken away any desire of his to travel,’ Tess added. ‘I don’t think he’s been off the island for more than a day or two since he returned.’
Tess noticed a collection of new customers at the entrance and rose. ‘Duty calls. If you’re up to it tonight, or don’t have any other plans, it’s our legendary – so I’m told, although I may have read it on a leaflet – Greek Night. Seriously, it’s great fun. The musicians start at 8 p.m.’
Penny watched Tess as she walked away, wishing they’d had a moment more so that she could have asked about the woman she’d seen Dimitris with in Corfu Town – the woman she’d already built a backstory for, and endowed with every enviable quality she felt she, Penny, didn’t have. The mystery woman was beautiful, confident and at ease with herself. No wonder – in her imagination – that Dimitris was besotted with her.
Chapter 11
The Athena was packed. The elegant, open-sided interior and the terrace beyond were a jumble of musicians, dancers, amps, mics, and musical instruments. Like a reception in the foyer before a performance, the air thronged with palpable expectation and the hum of excited chatter.
Parents warned children away from the trailing wires that lay like sleeping snakes on the stone floor. Traditionally costumed dancers – a flurry of white flowing shirts and beribboned dresses – stood in small groups, talking, gesturing, laughing. The last rays of the sun gilded the scene, any movement subtly lit and underlined by the glowing embers of the day.
Guests at the Greek Night pinched themselves and glanced at each other as if to say, ‘This evening is going to be something we’ll always remember. Aren’t we lucky?’
Arriving just after 8.30 p.m., Penny saw that the Greek Night had already gathered pace, as the wine flowed, the night cooled, and guests veered towards that happy place where food balanced well with the wine, and they started to feel the pull of the dance floor.
Penny swiftly claimed her favourite little table overlooking the sea and harbour. The Athena felt like a slightly chaotic but jolly school outing. Parents, children, random groups, and couples settled in for a night of food and fun. The air smelt of perfume, aftersun, and herbs; a heady mix, the signature scent of a holiday in warmer climes.
With an artist’s eye Penny took in the shapes, lights, and colours; and then in a heartbeat she was the girl again, who’d just lost her father, washed over with sadness because he would never again experience and feel the joy of a night like this.
As Vassilis and his band began the evening with a gentle folk ballad Penny looked up to see Simon, the would-be Jamie Oliver of Corfiot cookery, alone in a corner, a large carafe of red wine already in place. He looked like a man who would have struggled to work a microwave, so why invent a food-writer persona, she mused? Perhaps he’d needed a character to feel part of the island, boost his confidence . . . a hat to wear, to give him courage to start afresh, create a new life.
Nic walked towards her with a glass of rosé. ‘Compliments of the management.’ He gestured towards Tess at the bar, who waved and smiled. He hovered for a moment before being whisked away to help at the bar by a bouncier-than-usual Lily, followed closely by Rich carrying a laden tray of dirty plates.
Then like a chaotic tide of exuberance carried in on a wave from the Ionian Sea, the local dancers began. The moon, now risen, silvered the sea and the benevolent but impressive mountains became a sounding board, absorbing and then sharing the music from the Athena. Beat after beat, a persistent throb that couldn’t be ignored, mirrored by the delicate but deliberate footwork of the dancers as their arms made elegant arcs in the air, their faces intense and absorbed in their craft.
Leaning back against the sea wall, Penny let the sound and the scene flow over her, acknowledging as she did so that, had she still been with Bruce, she would never have been able to enjoy this moment. Bruce wouldn’t have chosen Corfu, St George, or the Athena. He would have discouraged any interaction with strangers, criticized the wine, and found the apartment too small. Thank goodness it’s over, she thought to herself.
The music stopped and as applause and whooping filled the air, her eye was drawn to the harbour. There, at the end of the moon’s watery pathway, cradled in the natural curve of the curved harbour wall, the little blue and white boat gently bobbed in the shallow water. She wondered if Dimitris and his father had gone home, tired after a day out at sea. Perhaps Greek Night was too lively and they’d gone to another bar for a quiet drink.
Guy appeared suddenly at Penny’s side and interrupted her train of thought. ‘Tess tells me you are interested in Perama and the Durrell houses nearby. There are two quite close to each other. Rich and I are off there on Sunday and available for hire as human satnavs, for a small fee. Maybe a Mythos or two?’ He grinned.
‘I’ll be honest though,’ he continued, sipping his lager, ‘there isn’t much to see house-wise. You have to use your imagination; you can’t wander in the gardens or anything like that. There’s also a small beach and Mouse Island. Durrell fans tend to go
there too.’
Penny considered the unexpected kindness of relative strangers. ‘What an offer. How could I refuse?’ She accepted gracefully. Already her itinerary was coming to life in a way she had not anticipated.
‘Great,’ he said. ‘Gotta dash . . . unless you’re tempted to join in the next dance?’
‘Maybe later.’
She watched him, with all his 20-year-old exuberance and confidence, plunge back into the mêlée of dancers, musicians, and small children, and reflected on how much nicer it felt to make a plan with real people.
A chaotic line of dancers, made up of children, adults, and a terrifyingly energetic Guy, paraded and passed her table, all arms and discordant feet, trying to catch up with each other and control their own limbs.
Before she could protest, Guy’s hand was in hers, gently but firmly pulling her to her feet, while one of the women she’d seen at the welcome party grabbed the other. Breathless because she’d been caught off-guard, and swept at full speed into the mêlée, Penny found herself trying to move in sync with the troupe.
The music vibrated through the air, pulsing and catchy, loud enough, she felt, to be heard across the water in Italy, where she was sure Bruce would not be mirroring her movements. He was no doubt sitting elegantly in a piazza, sipping a delicately chilled glass of wine, and nodding sagely as the sommelier revealed its provenance. There’d be a woman at his side, she thought, perhaps impressed by his confidence and pulled in by his monumental handsomeness.
As she tried to imagine what this fantasy woman looked like, the music suddenly began to slow down, and the line of dancers broke up. She reached up and pushed her hair back from her forehead, half-laughing at herself as she made her way back to the table, nodding at Guy and making a mock curtsey.
It was just after midnight when Penny stepped into the street. Tess shouted goodnight from behind the bar and Nic waved from the terrace.
‘Kalinichta,’ she responded and let a coach pass on its way to deliver guests to the hotel at the end of the beach. Penny remembered that she needed to buy another bottle of water and wandered into the neon-lit cool space of the Achilles supermarket, which catered for the traveller who liked familiar things, even on holiday: chocolate digestives, Typhoo teabags, Mars bars, and other such exotica.
Passing row after row of olive oil, gift soap, herb mixes for Greek dishes, and novelty bottles of ouzo, Penny found the water, then grabbed a packet of crisps just in case hunger hit before breakfast. She’d already bought biscuits the day before, as sitting on her little balcony in the morning with a small coffee and a biscuit or two was becoming the curtain raiser to each day.
As she stepped back out into the balmy and velvety night she glanced back over at the Athena. The music, though slower and softer now, drifted towards her on the fragrant air; the soundtrack to the living painting of pearly white fairy lights and illuminated lemon trees that framed the Athena.
Turning down into the little lane that pulled her back to the apartments, she felt the urge to look around and there he was, at the bar, his back resting against the counter as he watched the dancing. His dark eyes scoured the restaurant, as if searching for someone, then stared into the surrounding darkness. Penny instinctively moved back into the shadows, away from the little lamp that lit the pathway. She wanted to watch him unobserved. Who or what was he looking for?
She wasn’t sure why he caused her to react so strangely. He seemed so aloof, alone. He wasn’t exactly rude, but he didn’t feel easy to talk to. What was his story? Why had he given up a presumably lucrative career in England, to return to Corfu? Would someone so brusque be deeply wounded by a failed relationship? Could you judge a book by – she conceded – its very attractive cover?
Then she saw the woman – the one she’d seen Dimitris with in Corfu Town.
Penny watched as the blonde sat on the bar stool next to him, crossing her elegant, tanned legs with ease. She saw the woman nod, then casually raise her arm and place a hand on Dimitris’s shoulder, as she leaned in towards him. For a moment Penny wondered if they would kiss, but then Tess appeared behind the bar and they turned to talk to her.
Feeling her heart sink, she wondered why she’d spent part of her evening thinking about two men she had no claim on, or real connection to, and the women they might be with. Bruce, Dimitris . . . what were they to her now, or ever likely to be? Why did they matter to her?
She looked up at the moon, directly above her apartment now, and carried on walking towards it.
Chapter 12
Time on Corfu operated according to different rules that started as soon as a visitor left the French Alps behind and approached Italy and then the island from the north. The hours, like the heat, seemed languid and unhurried, and yet the days passed swiftly on the calendar. Days melted into each other and phone calls and appointments became a hazy and happily discarded memory.
Tess marvelled how the days could feel interminably long and yet the time between greeting visitors and saying goodbye passed in a heartbeat. Nic looked back in September every year and asked himself where the weeks had gone. The summer always left him with a sense of ennui, regret – of something not quite finished, or perhaps not started.
Small but significant pieces of individual stories carried secret inner battles and hopes. Older people possessed the same inner dialogue, but regret and hopes were often handled in a more pragmatic way – more bucket list now than baggage. Spiro, after forty years of running the Athena, woke each morning knowing in his heart that he and the restaurant were two halves that made a whole.
Tess used to joke that the Athena was built on a ley line as so many people came there to find a kind of peace or respite, or closure, or to begin a new chapter.
For some the island of their birth would always be home, pulling them back by an invisible umbilical cord, even when other shores and opportunities beckoned. Some moved away to study then came back, having tasted the world beyond the Old Port and decided the comforting embrace of familiar shores equalled a better life.
Others left the island full of hope, waved off by tearful but proud families. Whether Athens or Australia, the separation was keenly felt by their mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. A few sons and daughters of Corfu had a more complex relationship with the island so many regarded as paradise.
Dimitris Koulouris was one of these.
Now approaching his 38th birthday, he felt he’d not had quite enough time back on the island to have exorcized the ghosts from his past. Each summer’s day brought new hope, new visitors, new passengers for his yacht, the Antiopi, but also a restlessness, a gnawing discontent. Studying Law at the University of Turin had been a joy, an adventure. Staying on in Italy, the next few years had brought freedom and fun, and, he often thought, had been the last time he’d been truly happy. A few years later, taking up an offer to join his legal practice, from an uncle who had lived in London for some years, had felt like a natural next step.
Arriving in a colder than usual October, he’d stayed with Uncle Theo, his mother’s brother, and Theo’s loud, large, and lovable family. He worked happily alongside Theo, his social life was pleasant, and he had made some friends whose company he enjoyed.
In the spring and autumn of each year, Corfu called him back. He flew home for a week, to update his parents on the progress of his career and a life that seemed to him so very different, and far better, than their quiet, predictable one. His father responded to the stories of high-value clients and cases won with a genial pat on the back, but Dimitris sensed no real understanding of what he did. His mother smiled and stroked his face lovingly, always asking the question: had he met a nice girl?
He met a girl when out celebrating with colleagues from the practice. One evening he spotted a tall, elegant woman sitting at the bar with another woman, who he knew. Sally, also a lawyer, was smart, independent, and already making an impact in the profession. She specialized in Family Law, and although not yet a partner, was heading for
greater things. The attraction had been instant and mutual. They made a handsome couple: the dark-haired, handsome Greek and the statuesque strawberry blonde.
The months that followed were filled mostly with work, but the rest of the time they spent with each other. Dimitris stayed over at Sally’s and Sally helped him find and buy his first flat. His autumn visit home to Corfu was postponed as London life with Sally pulled him further away from the island and the people he had grown up with. The weeks and months flew by, and spring and another visit home was postponed. There was no time for anything beyond the world of work, Sally, and an increasing collection of friends, acquaintances, and business contacts. Phone calls, the occasional text, and Skype calls formed the delicate thread that held the Koulouris family together.
His mother and father weren’t of a generation that found new tech easy to manage and so conversations were a little stilted and disconnected. Dimitris was always upbeat and full of news, but apart from asking his parents how they were, the traffic was pretty much one-way. He didn’t know that when the calls were finished his mother would kiss the screen where his face had so magically appeared, knowing that her husband understood the gesture and missed their son as deeply as she did.
The faces that stared back at him from their bright, clean, and slightly chaotic kitchen in St George were tanned, familiar, comforting. The family dog barked at small lizards in the garden beyond. Not for a moment did he imagine that the world he had left behind, perfectly preserved in the folds of his memory, might change, nor that his new life might deviate from the path of Sally, work, and a charmed future.
Then Sally was offered the opportunity to become a partner at a large law firm in the north of England. The firm hinted that she might be transferred back to London in a year or two, but in the meantime, Dimitris knew he had to stay behind at his uncle’s practice.
Looking for the Durrells Page 6
