by Emma Nichols
She picked up another album, a white-covered large volume that looked a lot like it might contain wedding photographs. She opened the cover and studied the images on the first page. It wasn’t a wedding, but it was a party, and, even though it was dated before she was born, there was no mistaking the venue was Kefalas. Her breath stalled at the younger version of Sophia. It could have been Soph, such was the similarity between them. Her heart skipped a beat then warmed. She turned the page again.
Teresa, older than in the previous album, stared out at her. There was something noticeably absent in her eyes though, even though she was grinning enthusiastically for the photographer. She didn’t recognise the man’s hand Teresa was holding at first, the long, jet-black hair and dark beard tricking her mind. Manos! She studied the details of the image carefully. It was definitely Manos; his warm, engaging smile was unmistakable and… but, they were cutting a cake. They were together. What? Her mind spinning, she was struggling to reconcile the situation captured by the photograph, which was contradictory with what she knew of her mother’s life. She turned the page, revealing more photos of the two of them together, smiling, dancing, and… kissing. She slammed the album shut, her eyes scanning the room like a child about to be caught out. She sipped at the unstable glass in her hand. Manos had made no secret of the fact that he had once loved Teresa, but he never so much as implied that they had been, what looked like, engaged to be married.
She jumped up from the bed and started pacing the room, unsure what, if anything, Manos’ history with her mother meant. It shouldn’t make any difference to her, but for some strange reason, it did. The date of the party, just two years before her birth and eighteen months before her mother married her father! Had Manos been engaged to her mother when Aaron Carter turned up and swept Teresa off her feet? Is that why Teresa kept her away from the taverna and the west-cove all those years? Anger flared, and she wanted to hit out. She threw herself onto the bed, buried her face into the throw and pounded her fists, screaming silently.
*
‘You girls look like you could do with a drink,’ Manos said, eyeing the paint-streaked faces and beaming smiles, with a warm smile of his own.
He had watched the two young women strolling across the beach, their pace perfectly synchronised, their proximity close, their bodies connecting as they swayed on the unstable sand; their hands clasped, their heads dancing together, laughing, animated. There was no doubt in his mind; Soph and Gianna were in love.
Both women nodded simultaneously at the offer of a drink.
‘Beer?’ he asked, heading to the bar.
‘Thanks,’ they said.
Soph wandered over to the driftwood bench, sat and gazed out over the quiet sea. The sun, low in the sky, had cast red-orange streaks across the horizon already, leaving the space to the east with a near charcoal appearance. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing to the hazy-light over the rose garden.
‘Your great-grandmother,’ Manos answered with a chuckle, handing out the bottles clasped between the fingers of his left hand.
‘Eh?’ Soph glared at him as if he’d lost his marbles. Gianna laughed.
‘Her ashes,’ he added, as if the justification would make his previous response make absolute sense.
Soph scrunched up her face, even more confused.
‘Ah!’ Gianna exclaimed, nodding her appreciation. She sipped from her beer, gazing at the ghost-like haze.
Soph tutted, shrugged, and sipped. Bonkers!
‘Here,’ Manos said, pulling an acoustic guitar from behind his back and presenting it to Soph.
Soph’s eyes widened. ‘Wow, it’s a Gibson, 1930’s original. Where did you get it?’ she asked with excitement.
Gianna swooned at Soph’s joy.
‘Your great-grandmother acquired it,’ he said, with an air of mystical reverence. ‘It’s yours,’ he added. ‘She would want you to have it.’
‘I can’t,’ Soph said, almost throwing the guitar back into his arms.
He refused to take it and backed off, smiling reassuringly. ‘I insist, Sophia would insist,’ he said, the white-bristles around his dimples curling with his broad grin. She had given him the guitar after her final gig at the bar, a year before she died. He had played it a bit, but he was nowhere near as proficient as Soph.
Soph caressed the guitar with tenderness, admiring with expert eyes every inch of the solid Sitka spruce top and mahogany back and sides. She sat it across her lap, tweaked the tuning pegs, plucked at the strings, and beamed a grin that spanned her face and made her blue-eyes a shade darker. Within moments, sweet musical notes filled the evening sky and drifted hauntingly around the cove.
Gianna flushed, her dark eyes darkening, the gentle vibrations tingling in her stomach tracking upwards, causing the hairs on her neck to rise. She gazed, entranced, loving the music, and in love with the musician.
Manos started to sing, his tone low and his voice slightly out of tune. Soph encouraged him with a nodding head, quieted her voice and winked at Gianna. Gianna giggled.
As Soph wrapped up the song, Manos started clapping and bowed. ‘Aye,’ he said, turning and walking back into the bar. ‘It belongs in your hands,’ he added. He stopped, reminded of Sophia’s days singing in the taverna and looked back over his shoulder. ‘You should play here regularly,’ he said, his tone hopeful, his eyes pleading.
Soph chuckled at the suggestion, rested the guitar against the bench and reached for her beer. ‘Let’s explore,’ she said, holding out a hand to Gianna.
‘Do you like heights?’ Gianna asked, grabbing Soph’s hand, squeezing firmly, and dragging her in the direction of the rocky outcrop the other side of the jetty.
Soph allowed herself to be dragged, the nerves chasing from her chest to her stomach. She wasn’t that fond of heights. The only reason she could sit on the edge of the cliff next to the house, was because there was a ledge directly below her feet that made the cliff feel as though it wasn’t the final edge. If she fell off of it, the worst she might do is sprain an ankle as she hit the lower ledge. If there were a straight drop to the water, she would undoubtedly freak out. But something about Gianna gave her confidence, made her feel she could do anything. She broke into a jog, and then a sprint, pulling Gianna along, giggling and laughing when their feet splashed the shallow water. ‘Are there any fish in here?’ she asked, scanning her submerged feet.
‘Yes, and they bite really badly,’ Gianna said, teasing her, pulling her close and placing a tender kiss to her lips.
The touch lingered after their lips parted, and when Gianna gazed at her, her eyes were darker. Soph had forgotten about the water and the fish. She leaned in and tenderly pressed her lips to Gianna’s again. Easing out of the kiss, ‘You serious?’ she asked, ‘about the fish.’
Gianna’s lips remained parted, the fizzing sensation tracking south taking her words with it. Soph was pressing a finger to her lips, preventing her from speaking. Gianna pulled the finger into her mouth, teased it with her teeth, clasped Soph’s hand and kissed her palm. ‘No,’ she said, with a coy smile, lowering their hands and pulling Soph into the deeper water, edging them towards the rocky outcrop.
Soph didn’t feel the chill as she dived forwards and started to swim, her heart flaming with desire. She pulled herself up onto the rocks and followed Gianna to the other side.
Gianna stepped cautiously, one eye ensuring Soph was close to her. She stood on the farthest edge of the outcrop, the cliff face visible, spotlighted by the setting sun.
Soph closed the gap and stood next to Gianna, her eyes feasting on the new landscape. ‘Wow!’ Red shards bounced off the shiny-black rock, and shadows danced on the rippling sea. Surrounded on three sides by water, the moon throwing light from the east, and the bizarre silver-light over the rose garden, there was something oddly spiritual about the place, haunting, awe-inspiring. She placed her arm around Gianna’s waist, leaned into her shoulder, staring at nothing in particular, captivated by the ambience
and the soft hush of the waves against the rocks.
‘It’s spectacular,’ Gianna said eventually, breaking the trance.
Soph released her grip. ‘It’s incredible.’
Gianna turned suddenly, enthusiastically stepping towards the sharp rock face, and started to climb.
A sudden burst of anxiety thrust Soph to her senses. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, in a state of near panic.
Gianna turned to face her with a beaming grin. ‘Come on?’ she said, looking for the next foothold.
Soph froze. She couldn’t have moved even if she had wanted to. She watched, the whites of her eyes widening with every step Gianna took, her heart racing.
Gianna passed the lower ledge and continued to climb. Exhilaration was driving her forward and within a few moments, she stood on one of the upper shelves, turned to face Soph with a broad grin, and waved.
Soph blinked, but her lips refused to smile.
The scream that pierced the night, silenced as quickly as it started.
Soph gasped.
Gianna hit the water.
Soph waited for her to surface. Nothing. She stared. Still nothing. Panic took her breath away, her eyes darting across the dark water for a sign. She tried to think, thought about jumping in, dismissed the idea, thought about it again, and jumped. The deep sea was colder than she imagined. She pulled herself to the surface, frantically scanning for Gianna. Nothing. Her heart pounding and her eyes burned with the salt, she dived under the water then came back up again. It was too dark to see anything. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. She spun round in the water, looking for a break in the surface, anything. The seconds that passed felt like minutes. She tried to reassure herself, knowing Gianna was a strong swimmer, but that wasn’t what concerned her. She hadn’t seen what had happened, just heard the squeal, and then the silence, and then the splash. Her head was spinning, her pulse racing she found her voice, ‘Gianna,’ she screamed.
The tap on her shoulder stopped her heart instantly and clamped her lungs, triggering a shriek that could have woken the dead, followed by a spluttering sound as her head dropped under the water and then emerged, the screech still projecting through her constricted breath.
Gianna startled, wiped the water from her eyes, her feet paddling hard to keep her afloat, and glared with concern.
‘You scared the shit out of me,’ Soph protested, her heart still pounding and her legs sapped of energy, drowning in a cocktail of anger, sadness and relief.
Gianna trod water effortlessly. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ she said, with regret. She reached for Soph, but Soph flung her off, her arms flailing as she swam for the rocks.
Gianna followed with slow, lazy strokes.
Soph pulled herself out of the water, fuelled by rage, and something far stronger. She wanted to scream at Gianna, and yet she wanted to hold her so close and never let her go. She’d never felt that way about anyone in her life. She bounded across the rocks to the other side of the cove, slipped into the water and swam to the beach.
‘Soph, I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry,’ Gianna babbled, chasing her up the beach.
Soph stopped dead and turned.
Gianna almost collided with her, Soph’s wild eyes glaring, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
‘You could have died,’ Soph said, realising how dramatic she sounded but unable to stop, her heart still thumping, her eyes burning fiercely.
Gianna reached up tentatively, stroked the hair from Soph’s face, her eyes full of apology. ‘I’m so sorry, Soph, I didn’t mean to scare you. I always stay under the water for a bit after jumping; it’s just nice down there,’ she said, her thumb brushing across Soph’s wet cheeks.
‘I don’t want to lose you,’ Soph said weakly.
‘You won’t,’ Gianna said, with a gentle smile.
Soph threw herself into Gianna’s arms and squeezed her tightly. ‘I love you so much,’ she whispered.
Gianna eased out of the hold and stared longingly into Soph’s dark-blue eyes. ‘I love you too,’ she said, her grin broadening with the expanding fuzzy feeling in her chest.
Soph moved first, closed the gap quickly, joining their lips in an impassioned kiss, the hum of the waves lapping against the beach drowning out their low moans.
16.
‘Mum!’ Soph shouted, bounding into the house. ‘There’s a man here to see you.’ She continued down the stairs, leaving him standing in the doorway.
The man lingered uncomfortably, his eyes scanning the newly decorated façade curiously, in his short-sleeve, pristine-white, shirt, his scrawny neck encumbered by the thin tie squeezed tightly around the starched collar, a black leather briefcase held firmly to his chest.
‘Coming,’ Ariana shouted, descending the stairs from the master bedroom, wiping at the rose-white paint on her hands. Her eyes lifting from her fingers, she stopped, stared at the man and sighed. There was no mistaking who he was, or more importantly what he represented. Ariana flicked her fingers through her hair, pulling it from her eyes and glared.
‘Mrs Carter-Cruz?’ the man asked with a nervous smile, releasing one hand from the case pinned to his chest. ‘I’m Jasper Soloman,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m here to check over the estate,’ he added, not that he needed to explain for Ariana’s benefit.
Ariana reluctantly took the offered hand. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked, courteously, turning and walking away from him before he could speak. She reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine, poured two glasses and handed one to him.
He took the glass tentatively and placed it on the kitchen table. ‘Maybe I could look around first,’ he said, his lips thinning, his smile tighter, his demeanour more edgy than when he had introduced himself.
Ariana took a long glug of the wine, hoping the slightly acidic sensation would distract her from the tightness in her throat and the effects of the alcohol would act quickly on her brain so that she could forget this whole experience ever happened. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Where would you like to start?’ she asked.
‘I see you’re decorating,’ he said, quizzically.
Ariana stayed silent.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ he started, trying to control the slight stammer in his voice, ‘but I think it is only right that we manage our expectations, and just to say, the work you are doing, whilst it clearly enhances the aesthetics of property, won’t add anything to the valuation that was agreed by my client. 1.5 million Euros is a very fair price for the plot you have here,’ he added, patting the briefcase. He squeezed his lips together as if the words had been a real effort.
Ariana breathed deeply; the words had been harder for her to hear than for him to say. She took another long slug of the wine. ‘Perhaps you’d like to start outside,’ she said, swallowing down her annoyance. ‘You are free to wander. It stretches further than you can see. If you walk out the front door and stay to the left of the path down to the cove, follow the grove to the production-plant and then track back on the inland side, you’ll see the rest of the grounds,’ she said, with disdain.
The man was nodding, mapping the route in his mind’s eye. He turned sharply and scampered out the door; briefcase gripped to his chest.
Ariana reached into the fridge and pulled out the bottle of wine. Picking up her glass, she carried both to the ledge on the side of the slope, overlooking the east-cove. She needed to think, and, she might be able to spot the odious little creature from time-to-time as he trawled his way along the grove to the production-plant at the far end of the estate. She smiled ruefully. At least he would be gone for a good few hours.
As she stared out over the east-cove, she couldn’t escape her niggling thoughts about Manos and the photographs. She sipped at the wine, observing the movie in her mind; the dark-brown eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, the rounded nose and finely shaped lips, and in the picture, his hair longer than now, curled under his chin, precisely as hers did.
She sipped at the wine, refilled the glass and sipped again. His fondness for her, the way he had supported her as a child, it was starting to make some sense. But, why hadn’t he stopped Teresa taking her away? Why hadn’t he told her, if he were her father? She pressed her fingers to her temple and then pinched the bridge of her nose. The resemblance was too remarkable to ignore. She poured another drink and slugged it down. A profound sense of loss nestled in her chest, reinforcing her newly discovered belief. Aaron Carter had never shown her an ounce of interest in her; did he know the truth or was it another family secret? Gazing out over the expansive sea, she shivered, loneliness gripping her.
*
Nikki’s grin widened, the motorboat swaying with the low waves, as she approached the island. As much as she loved her home, her heart didn’t always race like this coming back from the regular Friday ferry trip to Ithaka, or even the regular Lefkada trips. The airy light feeling dancing in her chest, fuelling the smile on her face, was down to one thing; Ariana. She had done what she needed to; now she just needed to convince Ariana to sell the house to her and persuade Ariana to stay.
Approaching the shore, she killed the engine and flipped the motor out of the water. Stepping out of the boat, she pulled it up to rest on the sand, slung her bag over her shoulder and paced enthusiastically up the beach.
‘Aye,’ Manos greeted her, a beaming grin dislodging the toothpick between his teeth. He opened his arms and pulled her in for a hug. ‘Good trip,’ he asked, intuitively knowing the answer.
