The Housekeeper (The Greek Island Series)

by Sara Alexi

  Poppy considered what he had said. There were always people coming and going on the island – casual labourers, farm workers at harvest time, the man who mended the rush chairs, and any number of others. And then it occurred to her that Pantelis himself was a foreigner here and so would presumably be under as much suspicion as anyone else!

  'Oh, are they looking at you?' she said, wide-eyed. If what he had said was true and no one knew who these men were, then he could indeed be one of them, and perhaps she was in danger. But the minute she had this thought, she realised she was being silly; this was Pantelis, Mr and Mrs Kalopolous's son – how could he have come by the key to the house, if he were not?

  But the news, and the thoughts it provoked in her, bothered her, and her eyes strayed around the room, avoiding eye contact. She had a sense that she was being disloyal just by having such notions. Over on the coffee table were six silver-framed photos of Mr and Mrs Kalopolous, two of themselves only and the rest taken at different times with different friends. One was of a dog. Surely if they were the proud parents there would be one of Pantelis too? She had been dusting and cleaning every item in this house for years, and things changed when the old couple came and went, but never was there a photograph, or even a mention, of a son. Had there been a falling-out?

  'You look worried.' Pantelis interrupted her thoughts. 'Don't be worried, no harm will come to you here in this house, I will make sure of that.'

  And Poppy cast aside her ridiculous notions. If Pantelis wanted to take the valuables from the house he could have done so already, but not even a coin was missing from the petty cash by the door, and he was paying her wages.

  'Seriously, Poppy, relax, else I will wish I never told you.'

  Chapter 14

  'That sounds like a very difficult situation,' Juliet says, and she is about to ask whether Pantelis was indeed one of these con men when Miltos calls from the terrace.

  'Hey, ladies – Mitsos is here with chicken and chips. Poppy, are you eating in there?'

  Juliet has been so engrossed in Poppy’s story that she has forgotten that Miltos is still there, and she starts at the sound of his voice.

  'You should go,' Poppy tells Juliet. 'Go eat with him. Don't make the mistakes I made.'

  Juliet frowns at this, but her stomach is rumbling, and the aroma of roast chicken begins to seep in from the terrace.

  'Shall I open those shutters? Then we can draw a table up to the outside of the window and it will be almost like we are eating together,' Juliet suggests.

  'You know, all that talking has made me tired. Perhaps I can have a small plate and then settle down to sleep.' Poppy has lost her animation now she is no longer telling her tale, and her face has sagged, the years have returned.

  'Whatever you think best.'

  Outside, Miltos has laid the table and the foil takeaway trays have been decanted onto serving plates. It is all very civilised, and not at all like the torn-off piece of bread and yoghurt straight from the tub that she had planned.

  'I'll just give Poppy a little bit, but I think, really, that she wants to sleep.'

  Miltos watches as Juliet serves a portion for Poppy, and he even waits until she returns before he starts to pile his own plate.

  'So, you two talked a long time. I take it that it was not all English lessons.' Miltos gives her a conspiratorial smile.

  'No, not quite,' Juliet admits. Poppy did not say that the history she shared was confidential, but Juliet has the impression that she wouldn’t want it all to be common knowledge and so she smiles at Miltos and changes the subject.

  'Tell me,’ she says, ‘it’s a Wednesday, so is it your day off? Don’t you have work to go to?'

  'Don’t you want me here? I thought I was being a help,' he parries.

  'Just curious. So, when do you work?'

  The lemon sauce on the chicken from Stella's eatery is as amazing as it usually is. Juliet licks her lips to catch a drip and then dabs her mouth with a paper serviette that Miltos has folded and laid beside her plate.

  'Ah, you know how it is,' he says vaguely, but he does not look at her. She senses he is avoiding answering.

  'You do work? You have a job, right?' Juliet thinks of all the hours she spends translating to make ends meet. It is work she enjoys, but it does take up a lot of her time, especially if she is lucky enough to get a book to translate, which can eat up weeks on end.

  'I’ve done many different jobs in my life.' Miltos sounds as if he is about to tell her a story and this is his grand introduction.

  'Me too,' Juliet cuts him off. 'Right now I translate papers from Greek to English – and sometimes even English to Greek.'

  She adds the second part with the intention of sounding like she is having a bit of a joke with him, but, nonetheless, now she is determined to know what he does. His apparent reluctance to give her a straight answer to a simple question makes her consider how she doesn't even know where he has been living since he turned up at the village some eight weeks ago. There isn’t room at Marina and Petta's house, so is someone else putting him up? Has she been foolish to go along with his easy banter and flattering smile all this time without finding out a bit more about him? Maybe he is a freeloader, a man who relies on his charm and other people’s generosity to get through life. If he is that sort of man, then he can leave straight after his chicken and chips, if not before!

  'That sounds like good work,' he says, and he takes another forkful of chips.

  'So what do you do?' she asks directly.

  'I was working for a car rental company.'

  'And now?'

  'You want some water?'

  'No, I have water, thank you. An answer would be nice, though – you know, to keep the conversation flowing.'

  Juliet’s words are light but her tone is not. He looks down at his plate.

  'Have I embarrassed you?' she says, but she wonders if she needs to be even more direct. If this relationship has any chance of developing, there needs to be total clarity on both sides, and right now it does not feel like they are off to a good start. In fact, she can feel a knee-jerk reaction starting to grip her; she wants him gone, off her terrace, out of her garden, gone from her house and her life. The instinct to protect herself before there is even a hint of her getting hurt is so strong. It takes all her will to remain seated – not to stand and point to the gate and demand that he leave, immediately.

  'Has Marina told you about me?' He is still not looking at her.

  'What do you mean?'

  'How Petta came about?'

  'Yes, that was quite some story. She was going to be married off to Manolis, and you were being sent off to do your national service. That’s what she said, anyway. She also said that she never loved Manolis and she’s never loved since, as far as I know.' Juliet feels her tension subside a little, considering Marina's trials and the likelihood that she is, and has been, lonely. Not that Marina shows any sign of anything but contentment!

  'Well, she never loved me either, not really. How could she? It was one night, and we were just children, trying to escape the realities of our lives.' Miltos flicks a look at Juliet.

  'Yes, that’s how it sounded when Marina told me all about it. But that wasn’t what I asked. You aren’t avoiding my question, are you?' Juliet feels disquieted again.

  'No, I’m getting around to answering it.' Miltos gets up, goes to the kitchen and returns with a bottle of water, wet with condensation from the fridge, and two glasses. From the bedroom comes the very gentle sound of regular breathing.

  'I met Marina in Saros. My family are – were from Saros.'

  'They have moved now, to Athens?' Juliet interrupts.

  'No, I meant they were in Saros when they were alive.' Miltos says.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she says.

  'Ah, my baba was the old-fashioned sort, all hardness, no heart … And my mama was too busy trying to make him happy and make ends meet to see much else around her. She seemed much happier after he died. Not
that I could tell, really – you cannot judge these things over the phone.'

  Miltos is looking at the serving dishes hoping for more, but the chicken and chips are all gone.

  'I have bread and yoghurt …'

  He waves her suggestion away with a little smile, almost as if he knew that would have been her dinner had Stella not sent the hot meal.

  'So why just a phone call?' Juliet is determined now to get her answer.

  'I was working away, in Brazil, and I would call Mama every now and then. He was ill for quite a while it seemed. And one time she told me he had died.'

  'Did you come back for the funeral?' Juliet thinks she already knows the answer and she is also aware that if she keeps interrupting she will never get the answer to her original question. But it would be cold – cruel, perhaps – to stop him talking about the death of his parents.

  'No, none of us did.'

  'Oh!’ says Juliet. ‘You have brothers and sisters?' The thought had not occurred to her, and there has certainly been no mention of them around the village. 'Where are they?' The answer to where he works seems to be getting further and further away.

  'America, the land of opportunity. Two brothers running a taverna, another brother who has a laundry, and my sister runs a hippy shop – you know, wholefoods, brown rice, that sort of stuff.' This seems to amuse him.

  'Are you in touch? Does your son, Petta, know about them?'

  'Of course. Why would I not have told him? They are his uncles and aunts and I am proud of my boy!' His chest expands.

  'Yes, of course, but we seemed to have strayed. I was asking what your work was and we are all the way over in America with your brothers and sisters.' If he is a charmer who uses people and entertains them to get what he wants, he is very good at it, Juliet decides. However, she will not be distracted.

  'Yes, but until you started asking questions I was saying it was over here that my parents lived. In Saros town.'

  'Yes, so?' Juliet finishes the last of her chips, puts her fork down and sits back. Poppy’s steady breathing has changed to a deep snoring.

  'Well, my brothers and sister can do nothing with it as they are in America, so I have let it out.'

  'Let what out?'

  'The shop. Did I not say that my parents had a shop in Saros? Perhaps not. Anyway, it was a taverna, but it did no business, so then it became a shop, selling dresses, I think. Then it sat empty, but since I have been back in Greece I have changed its purpose, and now it sells postcards, shells, T-shirts with slogans, mugs with donkeys in relief – you know the sort of thing. Everything and anything a tourist would want and then some things that they do not know they want until they see them.'

  With this he tips his head back and laughs. The sky above the vines is pinpricked with stars, as the night has drawn in unnoticed. The air has cooled, but only a little. Juliet is still in her sleeveless cotton dress and the evening air feels soft, with the scent of jasmine floating in the air.

  'Ah, I see, so you don't really work, you rent out your shop?' Juliet clarifies.

  'I have worked all my life, every job you can imagine. Always moving, always – I don't know, looking for something, perhaps. Then I came here, just chanced to stop in this village. I did not want to stay, really. It was too close to Saros, a place with memories of my baba and mama, and not so many pleasant ones. But here I was and it felt – well, sort of right, and I wondered what would happen if I stopped moving, changing jobs, changing countries.'

  'And you chanced to meet a person from your past and found you had a grown son, Petta?'

  'Basically.' He gives a short laugh. 'Amazing, eh? But Greece does that sort of thing, I have found. It brings you what you need, draws people together who need to meet. Don’t you think so, Juliet?'

  And with this, he leans forward and reaches for her hand.

  Chapter 15

  Juliet is up early. The guest room bed is comfortable, but narrow compared to her double. Also, she left the door open again in case Poppy called, and in the small hours of the morning Aaman turned circles on her pillow and then settled himself on her head, and she couldn’t get properly back to sleep after that.

  The yoghurt and bread did well for her breakfast, although she wonders now what she should provide for Poppy.

  But with a pot of coffee before her, right now she is going to sit and think about last night. Miltos took her hand, and she let him. It felt like years since someone had held her romantically, but he did; after holding her hand in his, he stood and pulled her into him. She had expected him to seek a kiss but he didn't: with his hand on her head, he pulled her into his chest and she listened to his breathing and the sound of his heart. The first few seconds were awkward, but then they seemed to mould to one another and time became irrelevant, and she might have been pressed against his barrel of a chest for minutes or hours – there was no way to tell.

  Then he let her go, smoothed her hair and looked into her eyes. Again she had expected a kiss, but instead he said, 'So, I come and help you again tomorrow?' and she could only manage a nod.

  And with that he let her go and crunched across the gravel, slipped through the gate and disappeared into the darkness, and all she could think was, I still don’t know where he lives. But it did not seem to matter any more.

  Once the coffee has percolated through her veins and she is as awake as the heat will allow, she ventures to ask Poppy what she would like for breakfast.

  'Just water,' Poppy replies with a smile. 'I haven't eaten breakfast for years.'

  'Are you sure you wouldn't like coffee?'

  'Just water, and preferably not from the fridge. It is too cold on my stomach these days.'

  'Did you sleep all right?' Juliet puts the glass on Poppy’s bedside table and fills it from a bottle. The sun is struggling to get into the room, sending long low shafts of light leaching through the louvred shutters. 'Do you want me to open the shutters so you can have some light today?'

  'Yes, and yes.' Poppy smiles again and takes a long drink. Juliet opens the shutters on either side of the bed, and the ones that overlook the garden.

  'Do you want these open, too?' She points at the window that looks out onto the gravel drive and the terrace. 'You will be able to see who is coming to see you.'

  'And they will be able to see me. No, best leave them shut, in case I am asleep when people come to call.'

  She winks; Juliet frowns, and when she is sure she has not mistaken what she just saw she gives a conspiratorial wink in return, understanding that there could be some visitors Poppy might prefer not to see.

  'I had a dream last night,' Poppy continues, and she shuffles to sit more upright.

  'Oh yes?' Juliet puts her hands under Poppy’s armpits and gently eases her up.

  'Thank you, dear. It’s not really important, I don't suppose, but I will tell you, after you have passed me one of the cardboard bedpans.' She sighs heavily.

  Juliet obliges, and leaves the room at the appropriate moment, and when she returns they seem to manage better than the day before.

  'So, my dream.' Poppy points to the chair that is still by the bed. Juliet has some translation work to do, but there is something in the way Poppy is telling her tale that suggests it is a bit of an ordeal to share this history with another and if she could avoid it she would. If this is something of significance for Poppy, then the translation can wait. Juliet sits and makes herself comfortable.

  As yet, Poppy has taken no painkillers this morning, but everything hurts a little less. Her hip is still aching, though, and breathing is painful. Maybe she broke some ribs, or maybe it is her bruised collarbone that causes everything to ache as her chest moves up and down. She reaches for the bottle of pills by the bed but the twisting motion makes the ache of her hip worse. Juliet is quick to help and between them they dose her up.

  'Ah, there now, that should take effect in about half an hour.'

  'I don't think you are meant to take them on an empty stomach.' Juliet reads th
e label, frowning.

  'It will make them work quicker if it is all I have to digest,' Poppy replies. 'Oh! I’ve just remembered I took painkillers in my dream too. Ha! Imagine that!'

  With the windows open, the room looks different. The long curtains are lifting and settling in the slight breeze, like waves. The white walls that were stark when in shadow almost glow with the sun, and the little table in front of the window that looks out across the garden is an inviting spot. She would write her letters there if she lived here. This draws her mind to the letter and she glances across at the bedside table.

  'Where is it!' Her voice trembles.

  'What?' Juliet asks.

  'My letter.'

  Juliet also looks over the bedside table and then bends to retrieve the letter from the floor.

  'Sorry, it must have fallen off when I brought the water.'

  It is hard for Poppy to handle the letter in any way other than lovingly, but isn’t this the madness she wants to talk to Juliet about?

  'Pantelis left the island for a week or so after he told me of the robbers, and I felt unsafe. I told him so when he returned, and he laughed and said that I wasn’t to worry because he was back. But that was the start of him coming and going quite regularly, and when he was away I would wake in the night to the slightest sound, certain that I would be murdered in my bed.'

  And there it is in her mind’s eye, the dark autumn night when the storm came.

  They spent the evening in the sitting room, with the fire lit, as much for comfort as for warmth. She sat on the floor with her English book laid out on the coffee table, and he helped her with some exercises. Their heads were close together, his hand over hers as he pointed out some error or other in her spelling or grammar. He made jokes in Greek and English, playing with the languages. Gringlish, he called it, and he was delighted when she understood the joke, and looked her full in the eyes, and she wondered if he was going to brush a stray hair from across her face.