From the safety of her quiet corner and cradling her glass of rosé, she looked around at her fellow diners. As she’d adapted to the ebb and flow of the life and landscape of Corfu and begun to know some of the people a little better, Penny found herself becoming fiercely protective of them and their island.
A couple of days before, a man had sent back a plate of food because, he said, the sausages weren’t ‘proper English sausages’ and the beans tasted funny. It wasn’t, he added in a loud voice, clearly enjoying having an audience, as good as anything he’d get at home.
Anna had added her own version of a traditional English breakfast to the menu because so many people asked for it, and it was beautifully cooked, with the best ingredients she could find, to match the British staples most closely.
Penny hated the man’s rudeness and hubris. There were those who visited the island, fell in love with it, and never wanted to go anywhere else. Others enjoyed the weather and the beaches, but found the village they were in too quiet, or too loud, or – as one tourist had once bizarrely declared to Tess – ‘too Greek’. Last but not least, there were those who fitted the category of the loud man: the ones who come on holiday to find fault, to compare whatever they were presented with, with everything they had experienced on previous holidays.
Penny had watched Tess’s smooth and calm handling of the man’s self-righteous indignation, as she removed his breakfast from his bill, and offered an alternative second breakfast.
Tess had deflated him with kindness and concern; more, if she was honest, for the sake of his slightly nervous and pale-faced wife, their two small children, and everyone else enjoying their food. It was, of course, although rare, all part of the day-to-day experience of running a restaurant and apartments.
Thankfully, the smiling faces and the usual vibrant atmosphere of the Athena were all present and correct this evening. Nic was at home, Spiro with Theo, and there was no sign of Dimitris or his father. Penny imagined Dimitris sailing on the Antiopi. If he was still on board there was little chance, she concluded, that he’d be in the Athena tonight. After seeing the yacht that day, having a sudden sense of the weeks passing too quickly, she had made up her mind to book her place for a trip up to Kalami when she saw him next.
That particular place was beginning to acquire more significance than a personal pilgrimage, more resonance because he would now be taking her there.
She’d played the film of her Corfu adventure in her head on a loop for weeks after she’d booked it in the dark, brackish days of winter, imagining scenes of breathtaking beauty, colourful tavernas, and unforgettable encounters. The details of people and places had been sketchy in her head, but all had the Durrells and their story woven delicately into every scene she placed herself in.
Now, here she was in a new story; a story of her own. The previous books and chapters of her life were still part of who she was, but this time, here in Corfu felt different – a newly drafted text and an opportunity to live and move forward.
The music and murmuring across the restaurant suddenly stopped. A tall man with a beard had stood up and was now getting down on one knee. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, sharing surprised or knowing looks, and putting a finger to their lips, signalling children to be quiet.
From where she was sitting Penny didn’t hear the words the man said, but suddenly a small fair-haired woman jumped up and was kissing the man, who lifted her up and hugged her tightly. Penny realized it was the couple she’d passed earlier.
There was applause all around and then the popping of a champagne cork. Tess caught Penny’s eye and for both women a second of unspoken sisterhood passed between them: from one who had broken off an engagement; and the other who’d been broken by the loss of a husband.
Lily appeared next to Penny’s table. ‘Tess guessed this was going to happen as soon as they walked in earlier.’ She refilled Penny’s glass from the little carafe on her table as she spoke.
‘Did she?’ Penny responded. ‘Perhaps she could read the body language, or maybe she had one of those feelings you get sometimes, when you know things . . . things that are yet to happen.’
‘Do you ever get that feeling?’ Lily looked at Penny.
‘Sometimes. Usually when I least expect it. I think most of us do, even if we don’t acknowledge it.’
Lily looked thoughtful and then spoke. ‘I don’t get those feelings. But I wish I did.’
Before Penny had time to say anything else, Lily walked back to the bar, picking up empty glasses from tables as she went, stopping briefly with practised ease to take more orders.
The music returned; the background chatter resumed. The frisson of recent events filled the air. The sea below leapt up towards the wall and fell back onto the rocks with a hiss and a sigh. Penny’s eye fixed on the yacht across the bay, imagining sophisticated folk at an elegant party on board, and recalled an awkward, smart university dinner she’d attended with Bruce. Gauche, a little anxious, and wanting to be somewhere else, she’d felt like a fish out of water.
‘Bright chatting’, as her dad had once described slightly vacuous, semi-formal conversations, was not her forte. She had smiled throughout the dinner, which Bruce thoroughly enjoyed, but her mind had lingered in her studio, painting.
At the time it hadn’t really mattered that she didn’t have fun, but after other differences in temperament and character had become too numerous to ignore, she now looked back and observed the relationship with all its cracks and fault lines.
A hand on her shoulder brought her back into the present. ‘A nightcap on the house?’ Tess asked. ‘Would you like to sit with me at the bar?’
Penny nodded and followed. Once at the bar with a brandy – a relatively new experience for Penny – she felt a little self-conscious. She’d always been more of a glass-of-wine-at-home girl, curled up with a book.
She straightened her back as she adjusted her weight on the high bar stool and checked her balance. She had to concede that this elevated position provided a panoramic view. Messages, cards, and photos from loyal customers of the Athena, who returned year after year, created a collage of happiness and good times along the bar: summer stories revisited on colder, harsher winter days.
Tess saw her looking. ‘We’re very lucky. We have people who come back every year, to stay in the apartments, or just to eat.’
‘I can see why they do,’ said Penny, taking another sip of her brandy and beginning to enjoy the warming sensation in her stomach. ‘What do you do in the winter?’ she asked. ‘Do you stay here?’
‘No, we move closer to town. We have a villa near Gouvia, which is ideal for Theo’s school and his friends there. We close here at the end of October and everyone huddles together, gathering around the town if you like. I love that, particularly as we get a chance to see friends who have their own seasonal businesses, as we don’t really get a chance to catch up from May to October.’ She stopped to take an order from Lily, reached for two bottles of beer, and handed them over.
Penny imagined how lovely it would be to sit down with Tess away from her work, in a quiet time, with the luxury of space and calm. She instinctively felt a kinship with this woman who carried, with seeming ease, the randomness and sometimes swift cruelties that life could bring. She was also quirky and kind.
Staring for a moment at the golden-brown liquid, viscous and inviting at the bottom of her glass, Penny noticed her hands, usually pale and almost translucent in hue, were turning brown, warm in tone, like copper.
How odd that her body reflected the changes she felt in her heart and mind. Her own sense of self was being rewritten in real time, partly by herself, but there were other forces at work, benign but unseen.
‘Dimitris, I didn’t think we’d see you this evening. Fishing tomorrow?’
Tess was already opening a bottle of lager to hand to the new arrival.
‘Hi,’ he responded, taking a seat next to Penny. ‘Yes, we’ll be sailing early, so it’s easier to
ride over now and stay here.’
Watching him take his first drink, Penny wondered if he’d acknowledge her presence with more than a nod, as they’d only spoken briefly and he’d been direct and not overly friendly. Why did she want him to look at her? Where did she think that might go? Why did she want to have a conversation with him? She’d seen him with the same woman twice. Even if it was a holiday fling, he was clearly engaged elsewhere. She could pick him out in a crowd from a distance, she realized. What was that all about? It had to be more than the sheer physicality of him, the way he looked and moved.
Suddenly she heard her voice from far away. ‘We saw you today, sailing near Mouse Island.’
He looked straight at her and it seemed like an eternity before he answered. So long in fact, she wondered if he’d heard her. She noticed he was dressed more smartly than she’d seen him before, in chinos and a blue and white striped shirt. She could not read him as he met her gaze, but she had to hold her nerve and resist the temptation to smile inanely or look away. Did he always look so directly at people, even when – and she could feel the resistance, almost petulance from him – he was bored or feigning disinterest? Was he humouring her by noticing her at all?
‘I took some people up to Kalami, but they wanted to go south first. How did you know it was the Antiopi?’
Penny felt as though she was being cross-examined. ‘Guy spotted you. He stood and waved, but you couldn’t have seen him. Your boat is beautiful,’ she added, because it was true – the yacht was a sleek craft, like a sea creature with elegant lines and an inherent smoothness through the water. It was suddenly important to her for him to know that.
He looked at her again and she had her first real opportunity to study his face, at the same time fighting the impulse to look down again and away from his gaze. He was fascinating, with a sculpted head, she’d noted before, but up close she discovered grey eyes, dark hair wanting to curl, a shadow of stubble, and a nose that would have looked out of place, had it been smaller, in the midst of so many strong features fighting for her attention.
The overall impression was one of solidity, but there was also something otherworldly and illusory, something hidden too. It reminded her of what her dad used to say about what mattered about a person: the flame behind the face. The impassive face that Dimitris presented to the world masked a flame behind it, but for some reason it didn’t reach his eyes.
Then, to her surprise, she felt he knew what she was thinking and finally, she glanced down. If she’d raised her eyes, she would perhaps have been comforted by the fact that he appeared as discomfited as she.
‘Thank you. She is very beautiful. I’m lucky to have her.’ His voice was quiet, but deserved her attention and eye contact.
Tess poured Penny another brandy. ‘Thank you again for taking Spiro and Theo out last week,’ she said. ‘I now have a son who’s as obsessed with what’s in the water as on the land. If the apartment was bigger, I’d probably have given in to his constant nagging for an aquarium by now.’
‘Perhaps you’ll be able to enjoy a day off and come for a sail, when things are a little quieter here. Nic too if he’s still here,’ Dimitris suggested.
‘Now that would be great. I’ll have to find my old deck shoes, not to mention my sense of adventure and capacity for fun.’ Tess winked and walked off into the kitchen.
‘So, are you still wanting to sail up to Kalami?’ Dimitris asked.
‘Yes, I’d like to go up there towards the end of my stay, in a week or so, but now I’ve seen your boat, I don’t think I can afford to charter it just for myself. So perhaps I could be part of a group?’
‘Okay. I’ll give you some dates. Do you have any plans? Days when you’re not free before you fly home?’
When Penny heard ‘when you fly home’ the idea felt like a threat rather than a fact of life.
‘Yes, a few, but at the moment there are no set days for anything. I had a feeling before I came here that Kalami would be a highlight, so I can always change other things to suit your sailing schedule, if you give me enough notice.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said, his face closed, giving nothing away.
The ensuing silence caused Penny to wish she possessed the ‘bright-chatting’ gene, but before she had the chance to think of anything to say Tess returned and Penny took the opportunity to slide off the high bar stool.
As she did so, she caught her sandal on the side of the stool. Penny put her hand out to steady herself on the bar and felt a sudden shock along her arm as a strong, callused hand steadied her. Dimitris held her firmly. Her heart raced at his sudden touch.
‘Thank you.’ She met his gaze as she managed to plant two feet back on the ground.
‘You okay?’ he asked, his expression unchanged.
‘Yes. I think I’m too short to get down from a bar stool without injury or incident.’
‘You’re just fine,’ he replied, his face still impassive.
Tess came to the front of the bar and put her arm on Penny’s as Dimitris released his hand. ‘I haven’t even had a chance to ask you what sort of a day you had with Lily and the boys,’ she said.
‘It was great. Guy planned it all out and we went to all the places I wanted to see. The only thing missing was the Durrells themselves, although I think they were probably there. At least, it felt as though they were to me. Imagination can be a powerful thing, can’t it?’
Penny stopped herself, conscious that when she started talking about the Durrells she had a tendency to go off into another world.
‘The Durrells? Hence Kalami.’ Dimitris nodded, as though a penny had dropped.
Penny moved towards the entrance and then turned back to Dimitris. ‘I hope we can work something out for the trip.’
‘I hope so too,’ His tone was formal, but a little warmer. ‘Call me. Tess has my number.’
Penny couldn’t work out if this was the yacht-owner’s response, or the man’s. He exuded an air of reserved politeness – words weighed in his head, but were not always spoken, which in some ways, she guessed, was a move forward from brusque indifference.
As she stepped out of the Athena, Penny noticed a motorbike she hadn’t seen before. It probably belongs to Dimitris, she thought. He’d said he’d ridden over.
She’d never ridden a motorbike, or been a passenger. There were so many things she wanted to do. This was a revelatory moment. She wanted to do things, try things, experience the world. She was a woman travelling alone. It may not have been extraordinary for some, but this was something she’d never done before, had never really thought of doing. She was here now and had been drinking brandy in a bar with new people she didn’t know last week, within touching, kissing, distance of someone who interested her. Attracted her. The last two words sounded in her head like a fanfare – or was it a wake-up call?
Footsteps sounded behind her. ‘Penny?’
Dimitris caught her up and handed her a small plaited leather bracelet.
‘Tess thinks this might be yours. It was on the floor.’
Penny took the friendship band she’d bought in the local market and felt her wrist, realizing it must have come loose when his hand had steadied her. She felt her face colour and was glad it was dark.
‘Thank you. I’m glad it’s not lost.’
She smiled up at him, realizing for the first time how tall he was, as they stood toe to toe.
‘You’re welcome. Kalinichta.’
‘Kalinichta.’
Penny felt a sudden impulse to call him back and make an arrangement there and then to sail up to Kalami, to make him stay a moment longer, to hear him say her name again. Then her mobile rang.
Surprised and vaguely panicked at the same time, she dived into her rucksack trying to find her phone, aware as she did so of Dimitris heading back to the Athena.
As she pulled the phone out of the bag the ring became louder, almost deafening.
She glanced down at the caller ID.
Bruce.
Chapter 21
The following day, the sun rose in the mountains behind the harbour at St George, warming the air with its reassuring promise. For a few minutes a golden-grey, almost tentative light defined the shapes on shore and glanced across the top of the waves.
Dimitris squinted as he stared up at the distant hills and sky. Another day in the small boat – the Dora, named after his late mother – would give him a chance to think. He and his father had mastered the art of comfortable silence.
Yesterday’s trip along the coast had gone smoothly. The people he’d taken had been thrilled. The Antiopi was always spotless and meticulously maintained. Dimitris knew the coastline of Corfu well, had mapped almost every rock and shallow in his head, having sailed there all his life.
He’d practised his seamanship almost daily since he’d returned home, and didn’t underestimate the power of the sea. No fishing trip or excursion trumped being safe. The world was already overflowing with random acts of hurt and loss, and to add to these would be reckless.
Even his motorbike was a convenience, combined with the joy of smelling the air and feeling the breeze, rather than being about a need for speed. Life had taught him one thing: keep your loved ones close. Right now, he treasured his father, and recognized the responsibility and privilege of watching over him. His mother had slipped away when he wasn’t looking. It never occurred to Dimitris that his father might have wished for his son to find his own life again, on or off the island.
Today several things occupied space in his head without invitation. Two women to be precise.
The Sunday cruise had gone smoothly. Once he’d greeted and settled his guests, he’d pointed out sites of interest onshore as they passed, but he had been aware as they left Garitsa Bay that one of the party, a young woman in her late twenties, had planted herself very firmly in his eyeline. Throughout the day whenever he looked up, he met her gaze. From behind her sunglasses, he sensed her scrutiny or, if he’d been a vain man – which he was not –her admiration.
His passengers disembarked for lunch at a bay where one of the most celebrated tavernas in Corfu nestled on an idyllic beach. Alicia, for that was the attentive woman’s name, insisted that he join them rather than stay on the yacht.
Looking for the Durrells Page 10
