The Housekeeper (The Greek Island Series)

by Sara Alexi

  The words rattle around Juliet's head. She is allowed to be as she feels. Really? Is that true? As she considers this, she realises that Miltos has just bypassed all her peripheral emotions and homed in on exactly what it is about people being in her space, or too close, that bothers her: she feels she must take care of their needs, their feelings, their emotions. Like she did for her sons, and for Mick. The realisation comes as a bolt of lightning and she blinks, almost sure the sky has lit up momentarily. But everything outside her is the same. The sky is cloudless, the bulbs in the house glowing their gentle orange. No, the flash was inside her head and it has left her dazzled and, at the same time, wondering how something so basic has eluded her for so long, and this in turn makes her feel rather stupid.

  Miltos tries taking a step closer again, with just one hand on her shoulder this time.

  'Juliet, be kind to yourself,' he says quietly.

  A part of her would love to be in his arms now, accepting the promise of safety within his grasp, the unspoken assurance that he will be there if she needs him, a barrier between her and the outside world when she needs to hide away, and an equal companion when she is feeling strong. It would be lovely to think that someone could be that person, but it would take a chameleon – a mind-reading chameleon.

  'You are right. I need to be kind enough to myself, and get some sleep now.’ Juliet is aware that she is drawing a line under the discussion, but sleep is what she needs most right now, so perhaps she is being kind too.

  ‘Thank you, Milto, it has been a lovely evening.' She speaks briskly, snapping off the lights in the hall and the kitchen.

  'Okay. Right. I think I’ve got it,' Miltos says, and with a little wave of his forefinger he steps out of the front door and heads off across the gravel. Juliet is not sure what the gesture means, if anything. Perhaps he is just pointing up at the stars. He does not say goodnight, or that he will see her tomorrow; he just goes.

  'Oh, now what have I gone and done!' Juliet sighs to herself, before adding, 'No, it'll be fine in the morning, just get some sleep – it will all be all right.'

  She takes herself off to bed, and practically climbs in with the sleeping Poppy before she remembers that she should be in the guest room.

  Chapter 27

  Morning comes too early and Juliet’s head is reluctant to leave the pillow, but Poppy’s voice, calling out, penetrates the fog of sleep. There is something in the voice that brings Juliet immediately to her senses and sends her running to her bedroom, where she finds Poppy on the floor by the bed, tangled up in the sheets.

  'Oh my goodness!’ Juliet exclaims. ‘Are you hurt? What happened?'

  'I just needed to use the bathroom, and seeing as I was up and about last night I thought I wouldn’t bother you. Awww.'

  'Oh, for goodness’ sake,' Juliet says, lacing her chiding words with a smile as if Poppy is a naughty child. It hides her concern. 'Right, so have you hurt yourself anywhere? Did you land on your side or your back?'

  'I put my good hand out but, thank goodness, all this bedding slid faster than me, and I fell off one pile of sheets onto another … I know I am sprawled on the floor right now, but when I woke I did notice that I feel so much better today. The throbbing in my leg has subsided. My shoulders only ache a little.'

  'And your tail bone?'

  'Well, they said that would hurt for a while, so nothing has changed there, but, thank goodness I didn't land on it.'

  'Well, I guess we can be glad you haven’t made matters worse with your adventure. So, shall we stay down here or shall we stand you up?' Juliet puts Poppy's good arm around her shoulder and, with Poppy levering herself up on the bed, they manage to stand.

  'Hey, look at us!' Poppy exclaims. 'Come on, take me to the sitting room at least.'

  Arm in arm, Juliet struggling, Poppy hopping, and both of them laughing, they manage to get first to the bathroom and then to the sitting room, where Poppy collapses onto the sagging sofa.

  'Ha ha.' Poppy is delighted. 'A step in the right direction! Only a few more hundred steps and I will be home and out of your hair.'

  'You are not in my hair,' Juliet defends.

  'I know all about being in other people’s houses, and being in other people’s hair!' Poppy says, and Juliet recalls Poppy’s tale from yesterday, about being thrown out of the house on Orino Island, only to be asked to return soon after.

  'But after Pantelis and Monica asked you to come back to the house, did you still feel like you were in their hair?' Juliet says.

  'Well, there’s no doubt Monica hated me being there, but Pantelis was different.'

  'In what way?' Juliet sits opposite Poppy with her feet tucked up under her.

  'Well, on the first day back neither of them came near me, and I just got on with looking after the babies. I remember it took them a while to settle after the drama of the previous days. I made Pantelis and the American woman no lunch, and I gave them a cold dinner. But the next day, he came to see me when I was out at the back, washing and hanging the nappies.

  'Just thought I might give the little ones a cuddle whilst you are busy.'

  Pantelis took Vasillis out of the canework laundry basket where Poppy had settled him so she could keep an eye on him whilst she worked. Little Angeliki was tied to her back. For a winter’s day, the clouds were high up in the sky, chasing across a background of deep blue. Vasillis immediately reached for Pantelis’s sunglasses, and he managed to get a grip with one hand, but his coordination was not there yet and one uncontrolled fling sent the glasses sailing off amongst the herbs growing along the low wall.

  'Oh, look how strong he is!' Pantelis remarked, retrieving his spectacles whilst his son pulled at his hair.

  Poppy continued with her job, wringing and hanging the nappies.

  'I am glad you are back.' His voice and tongue sounded like they were sticking at the back of his throat, and he busied himself with tucking his glasses into his pocket. 'I know you were gone only a night but the house was not the same without you.'

  It was on the tip of Poppy's tongue to say that she had no doubt it was not the same, with no one to make his dinner, or remind him where he last laid the book he was reading. No one to pick his clothes up off the bedroom floor or wherever else he and Monica discarded them, and above all to keep the children happy and fed. But she tightened her lips and continued with her work.

  'I suppose another way of saying all that would be to say I missed you.' Pantelis stopped moving then, the boy wriggling in his arms, and he looked at Poppy, waiting for a response.

  'Are you wanting me to say something?' Poppy snapped.

  'Don’t you ever think of us?' Pantelis whispered.

  She turned on him at this, her eyes glaring, her jaw set rigid.

  'How dare you!' was all she could trust herself to say, but he was not deterred by her response.

  'I miss your softness, Poppy. Monica is a hard woman, as you are well aware. Impressive, perhaps, but hard. Is it too much to expect a little warmth and comfort in my life?'

  'If you think it isn’t too much to expect for yourself, then it isn’t too much for me to expect either, is it?' Poppy hissed.

  'No, exactly!' Pantelis seemed delighted at this.

  'But it just wasn't there when I needed it, was it?' The laundry all hung out, Poppy turned to take the empty basket back inside, and Pantelis followed with Vasillis.

  'But Poppy,’ he called after her, ‘I wanted to be here, I really did.'

  But Poppy had stormed inside and then out again through the terrace doors to where Monica lay on a sunbed reading a magazine. Poppy had no desire to be anywhere near the woman, but she knew it was the only way to stop Pantelis saying any more. She pretended that she had come out to show Angeliki the wind chimes hanging from the branches of the lemon tree. They were a series of thin shells threaded onto rough brown string, and they had appeared on the tree around the time she had first met Kithoni.

  'I hate to tell you, Kithoni, wherever you are,
whatever your name really is, but you were right,' Poppy whispered to the wind. 'I was flattered by his worldliness and now I am suffering because of my ego. How much more straightforward life would have been if I had got to know you better instead!’

  She touched the chimes gently with her fingers and pictured the muscles on Kithoni’s back flexing as he dug round the trees, the sweat on his smooth brow when he would stand and arch his back and lean on his skeparni. The kind respectful way he would speak to her, and the dancing light in his eyes. Maybe the wind would take her message to the forces that ran the universe and, by some miracle, the emotional tangle she was caught in would be unwound. But how could there be a solution? The children were not hers and she was not theirs, and nor, unless she were to remain working and living at the house, would she have the money to care for them. All the love in the world could not replace food in their little bellies. Besides, Pantelis would never give them up and Monica – well, who knew what Monica wanted?

  'Ah, there you are, Poppy.' Pantelis trailed out after her from inside. Surely he would not say any more in front of his wife? 'Can you take young Vasillis here?’ he said. ‘I think he might need a change, or some milk or something. Anyway, he is beginning to squirm, so if you would be so kind.'

  He then turned to his wife. 'Darling, don’t you think it is a little cool to be out here? It isn’t summer now, you know.'

  'I am well aware it isn’t summer,’ Monica replied testily, ’but what do you expect me to do? Sit in there,’ she pointed with her thumb towards the house, ‘and stare at the four walls? You know that everyone who’s anyone is in Morocco this time of year!'

  'But don’t you think–?' Pantelis began, and she cut him off with a withering look.

  'I think I may be going mad, if anyone is in the least bit interested in what I think! Do you know that there are only one thousand inhabitants living permanently on this island, and of those, precisely five speak English, four of whom have never left the island and have nothing to say?'

  'Oh, and the fifth, can’t they amuse you?' Pantelis tried to sound hopeful.

  'The fifth is you.'

  Soon after that, the trip to Morocco was arranged. It would take them away for a month and they would return via Paris, so that Monica could see a little of civilisation.

  What a joyful month that was. Poppy quickly fell into a routine around the children’s needs, with no interruption to make Pantelis’s lunch or dinner, and once the twins were in bed she did not need to spend another hour or two picking up after Pantelis and Monica; she could go straight to bed, or even spend a little time on herself. Waking refreshed, she had more energy to play with the twins and take them for walks, and the days moulded themselves and passed seamlessly.

  But all good things must come to an end and, too soon for Poppy, Monica and Pantelis returned.

  Monica swept in through the front door with Pantelis in her wake and, seeing Poppy nearby, pulled off her gloves and dropped them where she judged Poppy’s hands to be. Poppy, who was cradling little Angeliki in her arms, was unable to catch the gloves, and one of them landed on the little girl’s face.

  Pantelis hurried to remove the offending glove and kiss his child on the forehead and then, remaining close, he looked up slowly and smoulderingly into Poppy’s eyes. His wife by this time had crossed the sitting room, dropped her coat onto a chair and sprawled on the sofa.

  Poppy turned away from his face. 'Your son is in there,' she said, hoping that only she could hear the tremor in her voice and praying that Pantelis would not mistake her anger for passion.

  ‘The smouldering looks continued, growing in frequency and lack of subtlety over the next two years, as the children turned two and then three. They called me Mama, and no one said any more about it. Monica they referred to as Monmon, and if they needed a cuddle they came to me. Mostly they just ignored her and she ignored them.'

  'And all this time, Pantelis was trying to seduce you again?' Juliet yawns and stretches, then stands and goes across to the kitchen, puts on the kettle and takes the ground coffee from the fridge. The sun slips warming fingers into the kitchen, lighting up the rough wooden doors of the cupboards.

  'He was sneaky,' Poppy replies, twisting around in her chair so she can watch Juliet’s movements. ’At times he was so insistent that I felt the need to bolt my door. Not that he ever forced himself, not even a kiss, but he would use every opportunity to remind me of how we used to be and to sweet-talk me into being that way with him again. Then he would ignore me for days, and at those times I worried for my position, that I might face the sack again. It was all very uncertain and very stressful, but I did my best not to let it show, for the children’s sake as much as anything.'

  'Did you give in? Two years is a long time.' Juliet sets the coffee pot down on a table in the sitting room and makes a second trip for glasses of water.

  'Well, as I said he was insistent and sometimes he was not very subtle. I did wonder what Monica would do if she got wind of his advances. Actually, I did more than wonder. I feared what she would do. If she would kick me out because the children called me Mama, what would she do if she suspected Pantelis was interested in me? So when he was interested in me I thought I might get the sack from Monica, and when he wasn’t interested in me I thought he might tell me to leave.'

  'That sounds just awful!'

  'As I said, very stressful, but as with all things in tension, something had to give.'

  'So what happened?' Juliet sips her coffee and settles herself on the sofa again.

  Chapter 28

  One morning, Poppy awoke to find the air warmer and the birds singing away in the olive grove behind the house. Spring was around the corner, and with her bedroom window open she felt connected to the world, felt that only good things could happen. The twins were sleeping peacefully in their cots, which took up most of the space at the end of her bed, an arrangement that came about through necessity when they began to teethe in earnest and Monica could not bear to be disturbed in the night. Poppy dressed quietly, hoping to prepare breakfast whilst they slept.

  ‘There’ll be three for dinner,’ Monica had informed her, and later the couple wandered down to the port for coffee, returning in the evening with the American doctor, who had just returned to the island after a period of absence.

  They chatted and laughed as Poppy served dinner, until finally, as she poured coffee, the doctor spoke directly to her.

  'So, whilst I am here I will take a look at those fine young twins,' he said, but his eyes seemed to be seeking something else as he spoke.

  'Oh, good idea,' said Pantelis.

  'Perhaps I should see them now,’ the doctor said, ‘before it gets any later and they want to be in their beds.'

  Poppy led the doctor through the kitchen and out of the back door, to a corner where the children were playing in a pen she had improvised using an old fishing net and a quilt laid on the floor, over which an assortment of toys was scattered.

  'Are they well, generally?' the doctor asked, lifting first one and then the other of the babies and eyeing them critically.

  'Yes,’ he said finally, ‘they seem in fine health to me. Well done, Poppy.'

  Then he turned and took her by the wrist, as if to take her pulse. 'And you, Poppy, how are you?' he asked in clumsy Greek.

  'I am fine.' She dismissed the question in English.

  'Really?' he asked, again in heavily accented Greek.

  How could she tell him how her world felt? No doubt he would understand her concern that Monica might dismiss her at a moment’s notice, but she could never tell him about Pantelis's attentions, which were unwanted and unsettling.

  'Yes, really. Why do you ask?' She tried to brush it off lightly.

  'I will be candid with you, Poppy. I have nothing but admiration for you, given the situation you have been living in here. I cannot imagine how it has been. But, also, I had really expected change here in this house and I am surprised to see none.'

 
There was no reason for him to struggle on in his unnatural Greek, but he persisted, and the implication was that he did not want what he had to say to be understood by Monica, the only person in the house who did not speak the language. He stepped closer.

  'I hope you don't mind me talking to you this way, but I feel I have been invited into this situation. Pantelis writes to me on occasion, and in his letters he never fails to mention you …'

  The doctor struggled over the words, and Poppy could not be sure she had correctly interpreted his meaning.

  'What has Pantelis said?' she asked, now also speaking Greek, aware that this might imply she was colluding with him.

  'He first wrote to me about you and your child.' The doctor spoke in hushed tones, but even so, Poppy looked nervously in the direction of the dining room and pulled the door closed just in case.

  'He wrote to you about our son?' Poppy's mouth was dry.

  'As I said, he mentioned him in his first letters. But in the later ones he talks only about you. I got the feeling he so regretted his situation that, especially after the last letter he sent me, I half expected him to come back, and – well, if I can be assured of your discretion …?'

  Poppy nodded.

  'Well, the thing is, I thought I might find him here without his wife,' he whispered. 'But as she is here, and as I do not expect Pantelis’s feelings have altered since he last wrote, I – well …' The doctor’s face drained of blood and just as quickly coloured again. 'Oh God, am I just ploughing in where I am totally unwanted? Sorry, Poppy, I can see how this sounds. I had no intention of interfering. Your business is your own. I was just worried. Oh, I do apologise for my brashness.'

  'Stop!' Poppy whispered, her hand on his arm as he rubbed at his forehead. 'Stop, please.'

  'Really, I only had the best of intentions,' he assured her.

  'And that is how I interpreted what you said. I don’t know what you imagine you need to apologise for.' Poppy frowned.