by Mandy Baggot
Truly, Madly, Greekly
A sizzling summer read
Mandy Baggot
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Letter from Mandy
Acknowledgments
Published by Bookouture
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN
United Kingdom
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Mandy Baggot 2015
Mandy Baggot has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-909490-99-4
Created with Vellum
To my soul mate, my rock, the man who first took me to Corfu and the one person who always believes in my dreams, no matter how crazy others think they might be! This one’s for you, Mr Big.
1
She was on a plane. She was going on holiday. Ellen Brooks took another breath. She had to relax. Breathe slower. Less tantric, more sukhasana. Slowly … slowly …
Turbulence buffeted the aircraft and she snapped her eyes open, trying to regain balance. How had this happened? How had she gone from wringing the life out of the Inland Revenue, in a meeting that was still referred to in Taxation magazine, to counting backwards to keep calm? Had every shred of her former self disappeared the second she’d stopped being able to afford power shoes? She missed her Louboutins more than she missed fine wine. And she practically got the shakes over that.
Ellen put both hands onto the back of the seat in front of her, closing her eyes and holding on. Focus. Confidence. Imagine you are a tree.
It was just no good. She felt as far from relaxed as some thought Neil Armstrong had been from the moon. She needed professional help or Paul McKenna himself. Neither of which she could afford. Hypnosis was definitely going on her bucket list. Along with trekking over the Andes and having a go at Segway. When she recovered. When she got herself back in the game and moved on from the doormat phase of her life. Which didn’t seem likely yet. She wasn’t even close.
Opening her eyes again, she looked out of the window. Here she was, travelling over mountains somewhere in Europe, thousands of feet up in the air heading for sun, sea and all inclusive portions of everything and all she could visualise was her desk. The desk she did secret overtime on. The desk she read 50 Ways To Cope with Hyperventilation on.
The largest desk in the office, equipped with more stationery than Ryman’s, and heaving with paperwork she didn’t care about. Plus, the locked drawer hiding all her secrets.
She’d never had secrets until recently. A few short months ago she’d been relatively sane and not at all embroiled in anything she shouldn’t be. She’d had a career path, her future all mapped out. Now everything was on the verge of imploding. Breaking rules and order had never been in her nature. She strived for things and she worked hard. Determination and perseverance always won the day. Until the day you took your eye off the ball and got trampled on.
Another uncomfortable sensation rocked her sideways. More turbulence. Ellen put both hands to her pounding head, letting her fingers massage the scalp. She knew she’d left something out of her holiday notes but she had no idea what.
‘When the drinks trolley gets to you, get me something alcoholic. Anything will do, but not cider ‘cause it gives me wind!’
Tranquillity was lost. She sighed. It was her sister Lacey’s bloody fault she was on this plane.
‘Apples don’t agree with me,’ Lacey called. ‘Do they do shots?’
Ellen cringed, looking at the woman sat next to Lacey with sympathy.
Lacey was getting married. Not until next year, but these days weddings had to be planned so far in advance even the Gregorian calendar had a job to keep up. So far, Lacey had pushed Ellen around stately homes, castles, churches and racecourses until her sister realised the only way she was going to guarantee blue sky and sun was to have the wedding abroad.
Rhodes had been the island of choice until the hardback brochure for the Hotel Blue Vue, Agios Spyridon, Corfu arrived. Glossy pages full of picturesque scenes of the mountains of Albania, the azure seas, the sandy beach, a close-up of bougainvillea table settings and the one photo Lacey hadn’t stopped going on about.
‘You get married on a platform in the sea. Actually in the water, Ellie. Well, on the water. You know, “at one” with the ocean.’
‘Like a whale?’ she’d offered.
After the photo of the water platform, the thrown-petal walkway and the olive tree avenue, Rhodes was nothing more than a once-mentioned idea and Hotel Blue Vue, Corfu was where Lacey and Mark were going to exchange their vows. Provided this taster holiday went well.
Mrs McGoldrick. That was who she’d forgotten from her holiday notes. Posh, picky and a complete pain in the arse. Perhaps she could send a quick text to her assistant, Milo. Could you send texts in flight mode? Calm. Imagine you are boat adrift on the ocean.
Ellen pulled in a breath, rolled then straightened her shoulders. I am not a flake. I could organise and strategize for Lord Sugar if he asked.
‘Can you get me some snacks, too?’ Lacey bellowed.
Ellen squeezed her eyes tight shut. The last thing she needed was to be out of the office with a Bridezilla. She turned her head then, to look at Lacey. Earphones inserted, leafing through Heat, her newly-coloured platinum blonde hair sat on her shoulders, which were already brown, thanks to a course of sun bed sessions. Instead of the deep frustration she expected, a pang of love waved over her. Why was she complaining? It was her job to suck all this up. She was all Lacey had.
‘Not those crisps that smell like fish though,’ Lacey yelled.
‘Lacey!’
; ‘What?’
‘Turn it down!’
Lacey shook her head. ‘There’s no way you can hear my music from there.’
‘I meant your voice.’
This was what happened when you were the elder half-sibling and neither of you had a mother to lean on. Ellen turned her attention back to the sky outside. A ‘routine’ operation had claimed her mother and suddenly her dad, Al, was a widower.
Al had hated being alone and was no good at it. Seven years later, still struggling to look after Ellen, he’d remarried. Margarette. Who had modelled herself on Maleficent. Nine months on and there was Lacey. A half-sister to chew Ellen’s favourite toys and puke over everything else.
Before Lacey’s second birthday, Margarette had run off with another man and Al was alone again, this time with two daughters. Ellen traced the outline of the plane window. No, their dad might be paying for the wedding but he couldn’t be expected to organise it. His priorities lay with making sure there was ‘proper British grub’ at the reception and plenty of Elvis numbers for the karaoke. And that’s why the hand-holding and wedding-planning was very much weighing heavily on Ellen’s shoulders.
‘Would you like something?’ the flight attendant asked.
Ellen opened her eyes again and tried to remember Lacey’s demands.
‘Two gin and tonics and a snack pack, please.’
‘Not gin!’ Lacey shouted.
‘One gin and tonic then, and a beer.’
‘Not beer if it’s in a tin!’
‘Sorry, one gin and tonic, a snack pack, a white wine and an update on the current penalty for murder in European airspace.’
‘Not long to go now,’ the flight attendant answered with a smile.
‘No, just seven nights, forty five minutes and a two hour coach transfer.’ She wrenched open the bottle of gin.
‘Have they got any chocolate?’ Lacey called.
2
Yan stood up, the crystal water tracking down his body. Drips and silver slivers channelled down his neck and shoulders, trailing southward. It had been another scorching day and the sun was only just disappearing behind the island.
He smoothed the water over his chest, across his abs and lower, watching it leave him and bounce back into the pool. Running his hands over his close-cropped hair, he roughed it a little, enjoying the sensation. For a second he could forget, have one long breath where everything calmed. But then, as always, a dart of reality stung him back into place. He shook his head.
At least here, in the pool, he felt some sense of peace. The water cooling him down from the day time heat, isolated, without the hordes of holidaymakers invading every space. Here he could relax enough to take stock, evaluate everything that had happened. So much heartache. Leaving behind everything he knew again. This time he had taken nothing but bitter words and bad memories. Why did the bad always override the good? There were softer memories there too, there had been times of joy. Those were what he had to cling to now. Those memories were the ones that were going to make him stronger. They were what his dreams were made of.
Pulling himself up and out of the pool he shook the water from his fingertips and looked across at the pastel-coloured buildings in front of him.
It had been two months since he had arrived here and he still wasn’t used to it. Corfu and the hotel were so much more than a job to him. He hadn’t just left his home country, he had escaped. Here, was the start of a new life.
He grabbed his towel from the sun lounger and wiped down his body. You are worthless. He shook his head, remembering his hatred of the city and the life he’d been thrown into. The lone option he’d had was to run. Sometimes, to get a second chance, that was just the only way out.
* * *
‘What time is it? It looks like everything’s shut,’ Lacey yelled at the top of her voice.
They’d arrived and while Lacey was checking out the glass-fronted Blue Vue Hotel for signs of life, Ellen was left to drag all three cases up towards the entrance. Once a project manager, always a project manager.
Until a few months ago she’d been exactly that and highly accomplished at it. She was Miss Focussed, Miss Driven, with plans for her own accountancy practice. There was money to be made in accountancy. It was a good, solid, reliable job that would set up a good, solid, reliable future. Money wasn’t to be wasted on the latest trends or the spa, unless work required it. She wasn’t clueless about fashion, she just wasn’t Lacey.
‘I’m freaking starving. D’you think they’ll do food?’ Lacey asked, checking her watch, one hand on the door.
‘Lacey, it’s three in the morning.’
‘I could murder a kebab.’
‘Keep your voice down a bit, Lace.’ Ellen puffed as she pulled one case up the ramp and went down for the next.
‘It says “A Welcome Drink” in the brochure and I could really welcome a drink right about now. That coach ride was something else. At one point I thought we’d had it. Did you hear the brakes as we lurched towards the edge of that ravine?’ Lacey asked, flicking her hair over one shoulder.
‘I had my iPod on.’ A motivational recording she wasn’t about to admit to. Ellen could feel a slick of sweat at the nape of her neck as she heaved Lacey’s case. ‘Do you have a free hand at all or are you worried you might break a nail?’
‘You have no idea how much these acrylics set me back. I need to trial their longevity before the wedding.’ Lacey pushed at the glass and chrome door of the hotel.
‘The wedding isn’t until next year.’
‘Yeah, I know and there are twenty five other designs I need to try before then. I’m going to check us in with reception. There’s a woman behind the desk looking like she needs something to do. Pass me the paperwork.’ Lacey held out a manicured hand.
Ellen let go of the heaviest of her sister’s cases and looked through her handbag to locate the documents. She passed them over and Lacey teetered off towards reception on her six inch neon pink espadrilles.
Ellen looked at her watch. What time would it be in the UK? Past midnight. She couldn’t phone Milo or anyone else about Mrs McGoldrick now. It would have to wait until the morning – the real morning – when it wasn’t dark. When she would hopefully feel less like a close-to-breakdown-thirty-year-old and a bit more just like someone ready for a break. This was going to be her chance to regroup and reinvent. She was going to come back from this better and completely improved – like an update for IOS.
‘Lady.’ The resonating deep, male voice had her turning around.
Ellen swallowed. The man was right behind her, all six foot of him, dressed in jeans despite the heat of the night and a grey t-shirt that clung to his everything. His visible skin was tanned. Strong-looking brown forearms rested on his hips, a deep V of skin at his neckline caught her eye. He put his hand to one of the cases.
‘No thank you.’ The words hurried out from her lips as she tried to pull the case away from him. She’d read about this. It was the distraction technique. If she took her eyes off him for a second he’d be helping himself to her handbag.
‘Please, I wait for you,’ Yan reattempted. He engaged his hand on the bag again.
* * *
This woman was crazy. He’d never had to fight for luggage before. Holidaymakers were usually only too happy to hand over their bags after the flight and the long coach journey. This person was folding her fingers around the handle of the case so his grip on the other end was loosened.
‘I’m fine, thank you. I’m with my sister. She’s just inside,’ she spoke. Having taken ownership of the case, she had now wound her arm around the strap of her handbag. She looked flustered, her long, brown wavy hair falling over her face, her cheeks pink.
‘It is OK. I help with bags,’ Yan repeated. He picked up one of the other pieces of luggage.
‘I’m fine. We’re fine. Me and my sister.’
He paused for a moment, looking at her as he picked up the tension in her tone. She thought he was a thief. Th
at he was about to make off with her belongings and disappear into the night. He shook his head without realising he was doing it. In one minute she had formed an opinion of him, just like others had done back home.
He kept his voice even, despite the anger building up in his chest.
‘I am Yan from animation team. I show you to your room.’
He picked up the second case and mounted the steps.
‘Ooo a man! See, Ellie, I told you there’d still be a party going on. Corfu never sleeps.’
He looked up, seeing another woman appear from the main entrance of the hotel. She was younger, with bright hair and high shoes. She did not look like the woman grabbing at the cases. She was wearing pink on her lips and pouting at him.
He moved then, striding off left towards the terrace bar. The sooner he got these guests to their suite the sooner he could go to bed.
* * *
He was gone with their cases but he wasn’t a thief. Not that he had looked like one, apart from the hint of stubble on his face and the air of strength. Ellen hoped she hadn’t offended him by giving the impression she thought she was going to be mugged the second she’d landed on foreign soil.
‘Come on, we’d better catch him up.’ Lacey eyed her. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, I just didn’t know he worked here.’ She levelled a smile. ‘Let’s go.’ She picked up the handle of her suitcase and prepared to drag it.
‘We’re on holiday, Sis, you need to lighten up. You do know, if I catch you texting or calling work I will confiscate your phone,’ Lacey warned, teetering after the departing Yan.
‘Only make threats like that if you can afford to spend seven nights without your hair straighteners.’
Lacey cackled. ‘Ooo.’
‘Keep up, lady. You are on last row!’
* * *
‘This for lights and air conditioning,’ Yan announced, once they were all inside Aphrodite 177. It had been a full five minute walk to their allocated room and Ellen was struggling to catch her breath. Fitness. That was another thing she’d neglected a bit over the last few months. The gym membership was the first thing she’d cancelled when the bills started coming. Climbing the stairs instead of taking the lift and the yoga DVD obviously weren’t doing enough. She should take up something else. Perhaps Boxercise or self-defence. Hitting Ross physically wouldn’t have won the war but it would have made her feel better. Just the thought of it was working now.
