He gazed at the leaflet again, particularly the paragraph describing the teashop. ‘What is this?’
Sophia leant over to read it too and grinned.
‘Grandma wanted to do her bit…’ I gave a sheepish smile. ‘So I suggested she be on hand in the teashop to read guests’ coffee sediment. Tourists love that sort of stuff.’
Georgios burst out laughing. ‘No wonder she was up early today with us, insisting on taking our empty cups into the kitchen. She was getting some practise in!’
‘You a good girl, Pippitsa,’ said Sophia, softly. ‘Grandma whistling this morning – we no heard her do that for months.’
‘Did someone mention my name?’ Grandma appeared at the doorway and everyone chuckled.
I passed her my granita glass. ‘Can you read ice as well?’
Eyes laughing, she shook her finger. ‘No, but I can pour it over cheeky girls’ heads.’
Grandma was still threatening to slip ice cubes down my neck, half an hour later, when I messed up her tidy kitchen by pulling out ingredients. It was time to assemble a menu for Taxos Teashop. I could have jumped up and down as the reality of me living my dream sunk in.
Anyone for Earl Grey and cucumber sandwiches? Time to be serious, though. I needed to plan the menu with military precision so that it appealed both to the villagers and potential tourists. Right… definite options would be the most favourite scones from the meeting yesterday. Plus Grandma liked those honey and dried fig ones and cherry scones always went down well… Furiously, I jotted flavours down. Plus Sophia mentioned she would collect some of Pandora’s baklava and chocolate walnut tart… I surveyed the list. None of the ingredients were very expensive and I wouldn’t make whole batches of each flavour until I got an idea of how many might sell, per day. We could open up to locals tomorrow afternoon after my trip to Kos Town, seeing as the place was now clean. Stefan was dropping the sign off later and Georgios and Sophia’s computer printer was good enough, just to print off a few basic menus. So, in preparation for tomorrow, I’d just make a few scones that the Greek villagers might like.
Humming, I sieved flour into a bowl and rubbed in a small amount of butter. My shoulders relaxed and my breathing rate fell. As always, making scones helped empty my mind of worries and focus it, instead, on textures and flavours. When the mixture turned to small squidgy crumbs between my fingers, I divided it into four. Into one quarter I added a pinch of salt, quartered olives and a little oregano. In the other a cupful of chopped roasted red pepper, leftover from yesterday, with a pinch of paprika. Into the third quarter, honey and chopped dried figs and into the final lot, sugar, grated lemon rind and lemon juice… Then I kneaded each separately.
Mmm, how divine to breathe in the contrasting aromas of citrus, meaty pepper and pungent black olives. My mouth upturned as I watched the dough’s blank canvas change into four different pictures. I used Sophia’s small pie cutters to divide the four lumps of dough further, into perfect rounds. I glazed the savoury ones with beaten egg and the sweet ones with milk.
Aahhh, imagine doing this every day of your life. Although I wasn’t naive enough to think it wouldn’t ever become routine…
I’d need an extra challenge, such as… I don’t know, perhaps creating an online shop. I’d also have a scone of the month and run competitions for local children to create a new recipe that they’d come in and bake. Plus I’d produce gift vouchers for locals to give as presents, a bit like Afternoon Tea at The Ritz, just with cheaper crockery, Greek music and sunshine thrown in.
I swallowed. Yes, I was lucky, not many people ever got near living their dream, but it was going to be hard, handing the teashop over completely to its owners in two weeks and leaving to return to my banking job in London.
Banking. Mathematics. Studying. Exams. This had been my life, up until now. If the opportunity came along to give it all up permanently and live here, could I really sacrifice everything career-wise I’d achieved? A chirpy voice inside me immediately answered yes. It listed all the reasons, including how well I’d been sleeping in Taxos and how I hadn’t suffered a single stress headache. Plus back in London I’d inwardly groan as my alarm clock woke me up each day, whereas here in dear Kos I gladly woke to birds and jumped out of bed.
Shoulders aching from kneading, scrubbing and sweeping up, I strolled home late that afternoon, having agreed with Leila that she and I would take the leaflets into Kos Town, early the next morning. Indefatigable Sophia had just set out to tour Taxos with the petition. Whistling, I breathed in the cedar pine aroma of the wooded forest with relish. An old man walking a donkey approached, as I came to the dusty road leading to the villa. I was carrying a small basket of scones back to the villa, for Henrik and me, and offered him one. Then two young boys cycled past and shouting something to each other, before laughing and stopping. I grinned as they greedily took one each. If Taxos lost the appeal, this road would be filled with unsteady tourists on mopeds, the engines of quad bikes revving in the far distance. I quickened my pace. That wasn’t going to happen. The leaflet showed how much Taxos had to offer without some tacky, fancy development.
I turned my key in the lock and the aroma of … mmm, garlic and fish welcomed me. Henrik came into the hallway, still in his shirt but with his tie off and shirt sleeves rolled up.
‘Something smells delicious,’ I said and smiled. ‘It’s so humid, you should have got changed. I’m gasping for a glass of water.’ Henrik mumbled something as I headed into the kitchen and put the basket down on the breakfast bar.
I stopped dead and stared at the sofa as someone stood up. Huh? What was smarmy Stavros with his dyed curly hair and generous waistline doing here?
‘A pleasure to meet you, Pippa,’ he said and came over to give my hand a wet kiss – urgh, those yellow-stained teeth. ‘Henrik kindly invited me to dinner, so that you and I could chat. No point delaying so let me be straight, and explain to you everything that is wrong and dangerous with your birdwatching and cycle tour plans to save the Taxos.’
‘Um, what birdwatching?’ I said, innocently.
He smiled. ‘Pippa, dear lady, Kos is a very small island.’
Damn. Somehow he must have found out about all our ideas and the leaflets.
Stavros stretched out his legs and put his arms behind his head. I forced my gaze to avoid the sweat patches on his shirt.
‘What do you mean, dangerous?’ I said.
‘For tourists and villagers – the former face injury, the second a stint in jail.’
My brow furrowed.
‘Take these boat trips and the cycle rides…’ he began. ‘I assume lifejackets and helmets will be provided, plus those in charge have insurance, no? Plus are up-to-date with first aid as well? And added paperwork will be needed for those premises offering pottery and baking classes…’
Damn – he really did know what we were up to.
‘Of course. I made sure the villagers drew up a list of permissions and licences to apply for. I’m handing it into the council tomorrow morning, when I’m in Kos Town.’
Stavros chuckled. ‘I suspected as much. With an astute businesswoman on their side, the villagers will do well. But…’ he shrugged, ‘… oh dear, the council is a busy place at the moment. I might have to suggest that such applications are buried for a while, to give priority to more important work.’
I gasped. ‘You can’t do that!’
He smirked.
‘This will mean that all of your little projects provide nothing but a healthy and safety nightmare scenario.’
My lips pursed. ‘Everyone involved is an experienced, safety-conscious adult. I’m sure nothing will happen. ‘
Stavros puffed out his chest. ‘Sorry, but it would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t inform the necessary authorities.’
‘And perhaps it would be irresponsible of me not to report your suggested illegal tax breaks,’ I said in a tight voice.
Stavros burst out laughing. ‘Dear girl, I have a strong network
of friends throughout the whole of Kos – most of the people you’d speak to owe me favours. They would not listen to a random tourist.’
‘Stavros is right, Pips,’ said Henrik. ‘Think it through – you wouldn’t want the villagers to get into trouble.’
I forced a smile. ‘Sounds as if you are both running scared… What’s the matter? Has it suddenly hit home that community spirit might defeat corporate greed?’
Stavros guffawed again and wiped a tear from his eye. ‘You live in a dream world, Miss Pattinson. Full of unrealistic ideals.’
I stared at the pompous mayor for a moment. ‘Look Stavros, what’s it going to take for you to leave off the villagers, for just two weeks?’
‘Do you really believe they stand a chance against us?’ He shook his head. ‘From what Henrik says, you are a savvy businesswoman who must realise there is no hope for Taxos without ThinkBig’s investment. I’m amazed you haven’t got on board with his proposal.’
‘I’m a human first and foremost and nothing compares to their passion,’ I snapped. ‘And if you are so convinced they’ll fail to defeat ThinkBig’s plans, why do the next two weeks matter? At least if the villagers make some attempt to save their way of life, the final outcome will be easier for them to cope with. These people are my friends – I don’t want them to feel any more miserable about this than necessary.’
‘I have a proposition,’ said Henrik, perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘Stavros doesn’t bury the necessary paperwork – in fact he hurries it through. In return, when all of your little ideas have come to nothing, before returning to England, Pippa, you promise to stand by ThinkBig and Stavros; you persuade the villagers to sign on the dotted line without further fuss.’
‘Pah! Hardly seems like a fair exchange!’ said the mayor.
Henrik shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised – the most successful developments are where you have the enthusiasm and support of locals. Think of your reputation, Stavros – if you end the villagers’ fight before they’ve even had a chance to prove themselves, you’ll always be the villain – whereas this way you’ll appear like some gracious saviour whom they respect. You can’t put a price on that.’
‘So you mean, play nicely,’ he said and gave a smile that didn’t come from his eyes, ‘Okay. Agreed. I will turn a blind eye to any indiscretions until the paperwork is in place – a process I will speed up – in return for your support, Pippa, before you go home.’
He held out his arm and I forced my hand to shake his and then Henrik’s. What did I have to lose? If the appeal was lost, ThinkBig’s proposition, however ghastly, probably was the best – the only – way forward.
‘I guess I should have realised Stavros would have found out about all our plans, eventually,’ I said to Henrik later, in bed.
He nodded. ‘Sorry about dinner, by the way – I wasn’t expecting Stavros to come by. But when he started talking about how the locals could get into trouble, I thought you should know.’ He gave a small smile. ‘I’m not a monster – I like Georgios and Sophia. And Leila’s pretty cool.’
‘You won’t tell her that I… what I said about Niko?’
‘Niko?’ Henrik’s smile dropped. ‘Nothing to tell, is there?’
I shook my head.
‘So, about my proposal, the ring…’
‘I don’t know, Henrik. There’s so much going on and–’
Ever the gentleman, he nodded, broad shoulders dipping down.
‘How about I… I give you a reply before we go back home?’
‘Really? Yes, sounds great.’ His face lit up.
So, I just had less than two weeks to save Taxos and decide my romantic future with Henrik, once and for all. No pressure then.
Chapter Fifteen
Pressure is all about force applied to a certain area and can often result in some sort of explosion… like when your moisturiser bottle congeals over, so you squeeze it dead hard and a huge gloop of cream fires out. Er, why am I talking physics? Because I’m glad to say that, unexpectedly the next few days were actually relaxed. Yes, the villagers worked hard and no one less than dear Sophia – by Friday she’d collected over one thousand signatures on her petition. Even Niko helped by keeping away from me where possible. Plus Henrik respected my desire to help the villagers and spent his time swimming or busying himself at ThinkBig’s offices – and didn’t keep mentioning his marriage proposal. What’s more, Stavros kept to his word and hurried through the paperwork for the locals.
To be precise, on Monday Leila and I circulated the leaflets in Kos Town. Most of the travel agencies were kind enough to put up our A4 sized poster in their windows. A couple said Taxos would definitely fill the gap in the market for tourists seeking more than hangovers and wet T-shirts – although the biggest one laughed in our faces. ‘Visitors won’t give a toss about viewing wildlife without free cocktails,’ he declared. I spied Leila admiring new luggage and then chatted over a baklava and coffee. She made me laugh, listened to me talk about London and spoke of her fondness for Grandma. Whether she was planning to travel or not, Leila was a kind-hearted person and helped me keep my resolve to stay away from Niko, because I couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting her.
When I returned to Taxos that afternoon – oh… my… God. Cousin Stefan had put up the wooden sign on the unused side of Sotiropoulos’ taverna.
‘Pippa’s Pantry?’ I said, in a choked voice and studied the illustrations of cakes and shells, either side of the words, courtesy of Demetrios. ‘Niko told you?’ Perhaps he wasn’t so cross with me after all.
‘No, Leila mentioned it,’ said Stefan. ‘Niko talked about it to her once – said another possible name was “Shiver me Sandwiches”?’
I caught Stefan’s eye and we smiled. ‘But what about when I’ve gone back to England… if the teashop stays in business, the title won’t make sense.’
‘Georgios and Sophia said you will always be in their hearts and say this is their way of showing it.’
My eyes blinked quickly for a few seconds.
Apparently a couple of the locals had already come by for some takeaway scones. Georgios told us that the Dellis’ animal pen was halfway complete, and Cosmo had cleaned up and serviced some old bikes for his tours. Pandora had made her first batch of turtle cakes, whilst Demetrios already had some ceramic animals in his kiln. I made a quick visit to the pottery to thank him for the drawings on my sign and couldn’t help buying an adorable turtle brooch that Postie’s wife had quickly put together.
Henrik met me back at the villa that night, for dinner. Neither of us spoke much about our day – but we enjoyed an evening dip in the pool and a bottle of red wine.
‘Let’s not forget we’re on holiday, Pips,’ Henrik murmured, after a few glasses. He ran a hand down my cheek and we agreed to have a night out in Kos Town, the following day. After which I fell soundly asleep on the sofa. Monday was an excellent start to the week.
Whereas Tuesday offered more challenges, accompanied by lots of finger drumming and prayers for business to come in. The leaflets were out there – all we could do was wait for the phone to ring. A couple of locals came to the teashop, (squee, Taxos had a teashop!) for a coffee and scone. I loved taking customers’ orders and seeing the looks on their faces when they bit into the food. Two small children ordered the glittery jam scones and I also put crayons and paper out for them. An elderly couple visited and gave me a hearty thumbs up for the roasted pepper and feta cheese ones. In the background I decided to play a CD of traditional Greek string music.
However, the phone in the taverna was decidedly quiet. We became over-excited at one point when it rang – all for nothing as it was just the hospital changing one of Grandma’s appointments. She came in from outside to answer the call herself. How great it was to see her out of bed and enjoying the August sun.
But a little despair did set in, when teatime arrived with no bookings for Georgios’ wildlife tours, nor Niko’s fishing trips and barbecues.
‘No wor
ry,’ Grandma said. ‘This morning’s coffee sediment said all will be well.’
And sure enough, as the sun set the sound of a harmonica floated through the doorway and Cosmo appeared with Demetrios (cherry cravat today), and Pandora who’d dyed her short hair a rich shade of chestnut. All three beamed– a group of six were booked in for a cycle tour the next day, and Demetrios and Pandora each had tourists arriving too – a family who wanted to paint ceramics and a group of young women keen to learn Greek baking skills.
That afternoon I made more scones, as Cosmo, Demetrios and Pandora had promised to spread word of Pippa’s Pantry. Old Mrs Dellis visited, eyes all sparkly, to say that thanks to many neighbours’ help, the pet farm’s pens were built.
In the evening I met Henrik in Kos Town, as agreed, for dinner and we feasted on fried whitebait, drizzled with an amazing lemon sauce. We drank cocktails and danced, me blocking out the fact that in just over a week I had to make a decision about our relationship.
On Wednesday… Hurrah! Bright and early the phone rang! (Okay, so I had a slight hangover, but a couple of painkillers and the walk into Taxos cleared my head). A hotel owner had seen our poster and said several older guests would love a day in Taxos. He rang later with exact numbers – fifteen for Thursday! They wanted to do the birdwatching walk, visit the pottery, have afternoon tea in my shop, plus buy cheese from the Dellis’ farm. Then a group of young men rang up, interested in the fishing trip and barbecue for the next day. And Demetrios stopped by to say he had more bookings for later in the week. During the day some Germans, who’d picked up a leaflet, spontaneously caught the bus here and Cosmo took half of them on a cycle ride, up to the cliff.
They loved the magnificent view of Turkey, apparently marvelling over the wild orchids, and then came back to mine for honey and fig scones. The rest of their group had gone on the birdwatching walk and been thrilled to catch sight of some bee-eaters and buzzards. I quizzed them about their stay in Kos and they said they’d be happy to sign any petition; that variety was the key to a good holiday, and whilst they loved the beach life, Taxos offered a different angle on their vacation. I also promised to make a little girl a special apple strudel – her favourite – if they called again the following week. Plus they were keen to come back to the pottery, and make personalised bowls for their pets.
Game of Scones Page 14
