Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  Fingers plucking his instrument slowly at first, then gradually gaining momentum as he moved around the onlookers, involving them in the music with head nods and encouraging gestures. Guests were reaching for their phones to video and snap pictures and Diana, a gaggle of well-dressed women her age at her back, bustled into the gathering, elbows out, desperate to find a space. Jackie’s jaw had slackened, her gaze fixed on the restaurateur.

  ‘Have you any idea what the wanging hell is going on?’ Melody was at Abby’s shoulder, whispering loudly in her ear. ‘I was going to switch the mood to a bit of George Ezra in a minute, not Taverna George.’

  ‘Did you know George could play the bouzouki?’ Abby asked her sister. ‘He used to have that little man who played in his restaurant. Why didn’t he ever play himself if he could?’

  ‘No idea … whoa! Hello!’

  Melody’s exclamation said everything Abby also felt the very second she saw Theo and Leon take to the floor. Dressed all in white, rather appealingly fitted white skinny jeans on their bottom halves, shirts with sleeves rolled up, tucked in and belted with red scarves tied as belts … it was like the best holiday eye-candy in one perfect scene.

  Melody sighed then. ‘Leon scrubs up well. Where did they get those clothes from?’

  Abby couldn’t reply. She was lost in looking at Theo, an expression of pure focus on his face. If he really wasn’t relishing the execution of this dance then no one would know it. He appeared poised and prepared …

  And then they began to move. A step left, a step right, arms around each other’s shoulders, a sirtaki dance straight out of Zorba the Greek, light-footed and perfectly in time to the song coming from the bouzouki. People began to clap in time, providing a back-beat, others tapping their heels to the stone floor, some lightly drumming on the tables with their fingers. All Abby could do was delight in what was going on before her, her love of Greece beginning to flow through her, like someone had just turned on a long-forgotten-about tap.

  Theo spun around as he and Leon broke away from each other and his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, deftly, yet tantalisingly slowly, unfastening each one in turn …

  ‘Sweet God,’ Melody breathed. ‘Are they … going to … is he … going to take off his shirt?’

  Abby found herself nodding, the inside of her mouth drying up quicker than unwrapped cheese left in the sun, the inside of her everything else flooding like she was caught in a really, really soaking wet day in November.

  This was so much more than just a routine Theo had been forced into. How long had it been since he had danced like this? He couldn’t remember. His existence before here and now, in Corfu, had become all about work and money and nothing about what he loved about life so much. And right in this moment, he was lucky. Even after everything, he was blessed, by so many things. Why had he forgotten that? Why had he been so intent on looking inward? Analysing what had gone wrong instead of recalling what had gone right. What could carry on going right if only he would let it. He had a chance. Unlike others whose lives had changed irrevocably.

  Jumping high in the air, he whipped open his shirt as he sprang, landing one-footed and slowly, shoulder by shoulder, shrugging off the material and inching the cotton fabric off his muscular form.

  A few women at the very front of the circle began to fan their faces with their hands and he moved towards them, grazing his shoes over the stones in a legato dance of pure seduction. Whether it would charm anyone into buying or selling a property today he didn’t know, but if this crazy idea of his aunt’s was going to help Abby in some way then he was willing to try – and while he was trying, he was going to enjoy every back-to-his-and-Leon’s-roots second of it.

  And then he saw her. Abby. Standing at the back of the circle, near the building’s entrance, watching him, tracking him, eyes not on Leon or George but on him and him alone. It made his every part ache with a longing he didn’t recognise. He wanted her connection so much. Yearned for it. To be observed in a way as if he mattered to her somehow. He stepped towards her, moving with purpose …

  As Theo edged towards her, moving his hips to George’s tune, Abby almost felt like she was floating above herself. It was like watching the whole scene from somewhere up in the clouds, slightly detached, but very much wanting to be part of it. Except she was Abby Dolan, not Melody Dolan. This gorgeous, sexy, Greek fantasy that every woman’s vacation dreams were made of was coming her way, Enrique Iglesias hot, and she was both quivering with need and shaking with fear, worried that whatever happened it was going to end up with her making a complete ninny of herself. If she was Melody she would be sashaying forth, her every step a killer catwalkesque swagger, her movements transforming into an alluring routine to rival Shakira. But she wasn’t her sister. She never had a use for stripper shoes or even considered purchasing hair lacquer from China …

  Abby’s cheeks fired up to woodburner-full-of-coal-and-logs level as Theo slid towards her, provocatively winding around giggling women, then high-fiving children. She needed to control the situation. Just like she had many, many times at The Travellers’ Rest. This was just the same as taking ownership of Stanley’s body odour issues. ‘Left unresolved’, her self-doubting mind whispered to her. She swallowed, tuning out of that side of her brain and trying to hone in on the rather sensual strumming of George’s playing. She took a breath. Now every single thing she was thinking was dirtier than … a channel she had stumbled across when she’d hit ‘adult’ instead of ‘shopping’ on Sky. She had to own this moment and that might have to involve surprising herself as well as everyone else. She stepped forwards, taking hold of Melody’s hand.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Melody hissed. ‘Abby!’

  Forty-six

  ‘I said what are you doing?’ Melody talked out of the side of her mouth like she was doing a rather poor ventriloquism act.

  ‘This is our party,’ Abby told her quickly. ‘Desperately Seeking, a fantastic estate agency, selling the Greek sunshine dream. It’s all about us, Brits who have settled on Corfu, at one with the tradition.’ She looked at her sister as they neared a revolving Theo. ‘We have to dance too.’ She waited for her words to hit home then quickly added. ‘Don’t swear.’

  ‘Abby, I don’t know Greek dancing!’ Melody exclaimed as all around them the invitees began to cheer and clap their hands harder at the presence of the two women in the dancing space. ‘I came here for the nightclubs, the cheap kebabs and the perma-tan.’

  ‘Leon can show you,’ Abby urged quickly. ‘Just think more The Durrells and less … Love Island.’ Giving her sister a shove towards the taxi driver who was proudly stamping his feet then flicking up his heels in a show of masculinity, Abby focused on the stunning vision of maleness right in front of her. And right then she knew what she wanted, even if it only lasted as long as her visit here. She stepped up to him, ensuring their bodies were only a mere very, very cheap thread count away, and locked her eyes with his.

  ‘I don’t care if you’re rich,’ she breathily informed Theo. ‘If you don’t mind that I’m only a few weeks out of a long-term relationship.’

  ‘You don’t?’ he answered, slipping even closer to her.

  She shook her head, taking one of his hands in hers, her other hand, moving to the scarf belt of his jeans and beginning to tug. ‘So just how Full Monty does this Pappas dancing get?’

  ‘Abby …’

  He looked a little bashful and that only made her more self-assured. For someone who danced so confidently and downright erotically, it was endearing to see he wasn’t without a degree of self-conciousness.

  ‘Spyridoula promised my guests a big … hot … Greek show.’ She had deliberately sounded out the word ‘hot’ for as long as she could possibly make three letters linger on her lips for.

  ‘You have no idea what I am thinking right now,’ he whispered. He pulled her tight towards him until her body was practically absorbing all the heat from his. ‘But, you should know, the best, very b
ig, very hot Greek shows always happen in private.’

  Abby was losing control now. She could feel it drifting out of her, her libido shaking up like one of Theo’s excellently made cocktails. No. She was going to be in charge. It was her life. Her destiny. Never again would she let someone make her decisions for her. She would definitely go back to learning Greek …

  ‘Is that so?’ she replied in sultry tones.

  ‘I want to show you,’ he whispered, still keeping up the dance but bringing her along with his every move.

  She smiled, all thoughts of ending up looking like a ninny evaporating. This was the new Abby. The confident Abby. The Abby who currently wanted to strip this man out of his white ensemble and straddle him.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I want to show you.’ With one tug she pulled the red scarf out of the loopholes of his jeans and swung it around her head like she was the winner of a lassoing contest. The onlookers let out a cheer. Then she wrapped the scarf around his neck, drawing him towards her, hips working a rhythm somewhere between her mum’s old-school Lionel Richie and one of Rihanna’s backing dancers.

  ‘I want this party to end,’ Theo told her in no uncertain terms. ‘So, I can take you …’

  ‘Take me where?’ Abby smiled. She had deliberately interrupted the sentence to make him stop right with the ‘taking’ element. Just the thought of it was sending her biorhythm into meltdown.

  ‘Everywhere,’ he breathed, his face closing in on hers.

  They were in public. She had to remember that. She was currently being scrutinised by half the village, including her mum, and everybody she was trying so hard to impress – and sell properties to. But his mouth was just millimetres away, those lust-filled eyes gazing into hers … She deserved this moment, this break from reality. Thinking was overrated when you were on holiday …

  ‘Nothing will happen here,’ Theo told her.

  What did he say? Why was he still talking? Why wasn’t he acting? In fact, in this New Abby moment, why wasn’t she just taking the initiative? She held her breath, edged her mouth towards his.

  ‘I will not,’ he repeated, gently edging back, still rocking her to the sound of the bouzouki.

  ‘What if I don’t give you a choice?’ She was damned if she was going to let him crush her libido right now!

  ‘I will keep us moving,’ he said, lifting up her hand and forcing her to spin a rotation in time to the song.

  ‘And if I make us stop?’ she countered, pulling him firmly back into her body.

  ‘Abby,’ he whispered. ‘I do not want to share our moment with Stathis, with Leon, with my aunt.’

  Damn it, he had a point. A good point. He was being professional and committed to this important, alluring dancing aspect of the party. She needed to remember the part where she wasn’t officially on holiday, where she was a member of the Desperately Seeking team, rebuilding their brand and shovelling holiday home potential at everyone they could.

  ‘If I get to kiss you again,’ he continued, voice pure lust. ‘If you let me kiss you again, It will be on a beach, the sun on our faces, wine on our lips, the scent of—’

  ‘Pastry.’ Why had she said that? Sun, sea, sand, sexy Greek and her favourite savouries would be sensory overload.

  ‘I was going to say “you”,’ Theo stated. ‘The scent of you, Abby.’

  She so hoped he was referring to her light Calvin Klein Beauty and not the July heat’s effect on her sweat glands.

  Another cheer went up from the gathered crowd and they suddenly all began to clap their hands in time. Abby’s attention was finally drawn away from Theo to Melody and Leon. Her sister was grinding and winding around a chair that had somehow made its way into the centre circle, Leon performing a solo piece around her, working at the buttons on his fly. A little temptation for the patrons wasn’t harmful but full-on nudity might just tip the balance, especially as they weren’t all that far away from the nearest church.

  She looked back at Theo, eyes pleading. ‘You are both wearing underwear, aren’t you?’

  He smiled at her. ‘I am not sure which reply would disappoint you the most.’

  Her sensible head was coming back. Perhaps she should have had a small Old Fashioned when it had been offered earlier.

  ‘Dance with my mum,’ Abby said, letting him go, spinning with a flourish to stay connected to the dancing. ‘Then Diana and her friends.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Theo asked.

  ‘To stop Leon taking his trousers off and to see a man about a raffle prize.’

  Forty-seven

  Theo couldn’t stop looking at Abby. With the sounds of the village, the village of all the summers of his childhood surrounding him, he was starting to feel content here. A resting point between island-hopping was turning into a feeling of belonging. And, really, the feeling that somehow he fitted in had nothing to do with being a Pappas. But it had everything to do with being Theo.

  ‘She is a very beautiful girl.’

  He hadn’t noticed his aunt come up to the makeshift cocktail bar, such was his distraction, but immediately his guard rose up. ‘Who?’

  ‘Theo,’ Spyridoula answered with a shake of her head. ‘There is no playing of roles in Greek dancing. You know that.’

  ‘I do not know what you mean.’ Still keeping a lid on things. Old habits die hard.

  ‘The daughter-of-Jackie, Abby. She is hard-working with a good heart.’ Spyridoula sniffed. ‘The other daughter-of-Jackie Melody … She tries, sometimes a little too much, but with very good hair.’

  ‘Do you just want to talk or do you want a drink?’ he asked, picking up a bottle of rum in anticipation of her order.

  ‘I need apparently three White Ladies. This is a cocktail, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Theo answered.

  ‘Diana says this is ordered in a book written by the author who is not her but has the same name.’ She shook her head. ‘I have either got that conversation right or I am drunk.’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Theo admitted.

  ‘So … another viewing for the villa tomorrow.’

  ‘There is?’ He feigned disinterest, hackles rising. He knew, no matter how settled he might be feeling, the Pappas holiday house was never going to be a permanent solution for his living arrangements, but he still didn’t like the fact his father was ready to sell on their family memories. Or perhaps sentimentality really did have no place in Dinis’s life. Hadn’t he shouted as much before Theo left?

  He looked up at his aunt then, suddenly struck by the element of nostalgia. ‘Why do you not cook, Spyri?’

  His aunt’s reaction spoke more than a thousand recipes. ‘You have been drinking your own cocktails,’ she spluttered. ‘You are drunk and high from your half-naked dancing with Daughter-of-Jackie, Abby.’

  ‘Stamatis told me you used to cook, years ago.’

  ‘You are seeing Stamatis while you are here now? That is news to me.’ She put her fingers to her earrings, twirling one around in her lobe. ‘That damp, dark, shed of his he hides in. Why would anyone want to spend time there?’

  ‘I like it there,’ Theo admitted. ‘It’s peaceful.’

  ‘It is a dump,’ Spyridoula countered. ‘It is a paradise for a hoarder. All little bits of this and little pieces of that, none of it any good to anybody.’

  ‘But why do you not cook?’ Theo asked again.

  ‘Why do I not cook?’ She threw her arms in the air as if that were her answer, but then followed it up with, ‘I do not make clothes any more either. Do you want me to talk about that also?’

  ‘Spyri,’ Theo began, ‘I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘What good can come from your questions about cooking? I ask you that, huh! Cooking, it is just a waste of time. Eating someone else’s cooking is much more full of pleasure and that is what I wish to spend my time and money on. Filling my stomach with food I have not had my hands in.’

  ‘Oh, I agree,’ Jackie interrupted. Theo had only just realised she was there.
He wondered how long she had been listening in to their conversation. ‘To some extent, that is.’ She pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Melody was always out and I was always too busy to think about all that preparation before. Happy with some crisps and a dip or a ham sandwich. But, now Abby’s here and we’re all together again, sometimes I think it might be nice to make something and enjoy it as a family.’

  ‘Take my advice,’ Spyridoula began. ‘Book a table at Eucalyptus Taverna and save yourself the disappointment when your bread does not rise or your meat overcooks.’ She put her finger up in the air as if she had just had a light-bulb moment. ‘All of the fine taste and none of the washing up.’ She focused back on Theo. ‘Are my White Ladies ready yet?’

  ‘In one moment,’ Theo said, shaking up his mixer.

  ‘It’s been a wonderful party,’ Jackie mused, looking out over the guests still enjoying the sound of George on the bouzouki, his nephews now accompanying him with a mandolin and small drum. ‘Everyone pulling together somehow.’ A contented sigh left her lips. ‘And thank you, Spyridoula for recommending us to Meredith. Melody is going to show her the little two-bedroom tomorrow morning while I’m valuing her property.’

  ‘Kanena provlima, Jackie.’ Spyridoula looked to Theo. ‘And any time you would like to borrow my nephew to dance for your customers—’

  ‘Ochi,’ Theo spluttered. ‘That was a once-in-a-lifetime event.’

  ‘Tell this to Leon,’ Spyridoula said, hitching her head back and indicating his friend, minus his shirt, still dancing with the eager ladies of the village.

  ‘We do have the panegyri coming up though,’ Jackie reminded him. ‘With everything being so hard with the business I’d not thought much about it but it’s always so lovely and with Abby here this year …’

  ‘She will stay?’ Theo jumped into the conversation. ‘For the panegyri, I mean.’