A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘No pressure then,’ Sara answered, feeling her cheeks flushing at his gaze. He was being kind and perhaps thought her text amateurish but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting this yet.

  Time flew past as they chatted whilst walking across the bridges, pausing to take in the Quays’ vistas. To passers-by, they must look like a regular couple out for a day in Media City. It was still decorated for the season with snowmen and there were hordes of visitors.

  Sara felt strangely comforted by this thought. And then uncomfortable. They were friends, nothing more. She checked her watch; there was just time to view the Lowry gallery together. The wind whipped off the water. ‘Hope it won’t be so cold in St Nick’s,’ she whispered.

  ‘Better bring your fur coat, it’s not so idyllic in winter… rain, snow on the tops with unpredictable storms, violent at times and flooding. I don’t think you should suggest weddings off-season unless they’re locals. By the way, Felix and Alexa got engaged. There’s going to be a Bartlett wedding on the island in the summer. You must make a bid for the contract as half of London will be coming. Chloë and Simon may need your help. Even Chloë will find it hard to do everything herself and Alexa has firm ideas that might have them clashing. Mediation might be the order of the day.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Sara hesitated, knowing this would be a challenge. What she had seen of Chloë Bartlett, Queen Bee of the book club and a churchwarden of St Paul’s, she would make a formidable mother of the bride.

  ‘Faint heart never won fair contract,’ Griff quipped. ‘Have faith in yourself and remember the mantra: think big, keep it simple and do it yourself.’

  ‘Are you staying on next season or off to pastures new?’ Sara changed the subject, uncomfortable at the focus on all her plans and the interest in his blue eyes.

  ‘They want me to continue and I have no other plans except to add new courses and workshops. The Foundation has to pay its way and I am heading the Spartacus project. We want to set up a proper charity to help rehome dogs, foster out strays and educate the local children so it will need a good fundraising committee. Would you be interested in joining us?’

  ‘I heard about that from Mel. Yes, it sounds a good cause. If I can help in any way, I will.’

  ‘Talking of online PR, we want to sell a shedload of Elodie’s memoirs online to link to the retreat house and the museum. I’m sure there must be many would-be novelists who would love to write where she did. Have you read any of hers?’ Griff asked.

  ‘Just The Cretan Dancer. I liked the subject; a very romantic bodice-ripper – I can see why she still sells.’

  ‘Her agent hinted there’s an option out for a film, all hush-hush yet, and it may not come to anything, but these things take time and money.’

  Sara looked at the time. ‘Better be off to catch my connection. I can’t thank you enough for taking the trouble to come over. But, oh, I never asked how your Christmas went.’

  ‘As usual with my brother and his mob, chaos. One little darling got a bead stuck up her nose and a trip to A&E. Another kid ate so many chocolates he was sick. The toddler was having tantrums about sharing his present with his sisters while the baby just played with wrapping paper. I did my Father Christmas but they pulled my beard off and shouted, “It’s Uncle Jolly!”’

  Sara chortled. ‘Uncle Jolly?’ picturing the scene as his disguise was blown.

  ‘That’s why I prefer Griff to Jolyon. We all went to church for the Christmas Eve pageant, The Donkey’s First Christmas, and it pooed all over the chancel, such an awful stink. All the kids were delighted though. I must admit I’m a sucker for an old-fashioned country Christmas. You never know what will happen next…’ Griff paused, shaking his head. ‘I saw my ex, Flissa, at Felix’s engagement party. She brought along her latest, a gruff Yorkshire chap from your neck of the woods. What about your Christmas? Anyone special waiting for a kiss under the mistletoe?’

  Sara bristled at his throwaway remark. ‘I really must go,’ she said, making her excuse to leave the conversation right there. ‘Bye and thanks for lunch.’ She fled, leaving Griff staring at her abrupt departure.

  *

  Was it something I said? Griff wondered, watching Sara scurrying away towards the station.

  The woman was such a puzzle, like a door that opened and then shut in his face. What was it that drove her to abandon her family and business to set up in St Nick’s? There had to be a man behind this. She said so little about her life in Sheffield except that she was close to her parents and an only child. Why was she so guarded?

  He had no right to talk. His own business disaster had left him broke and embarrassed. He, too, had taken the chance of a new life. Simon and Felix knew his story but few else, so who was he to criticise Sara for refusing to disclose her reasons?

  Over the past months Griff had grown to enjoy her company but her reluctance to open up made him feel she didn’t trust him with whatever her secret was. The only man who got under her guard with his flirtatious teasing was Don Ford. They had danced and laughed at Duke’s wedding. To his surprise he found himself jealous of their closeness. There was so much more to Sara Loveday than just a pretty face and a steely determination to succeed. What was she really like behind all that reserve? Griff smiled, knowing he would make it one of his New Year resolutions to find out.

  19

  Sandra and Jack couldn’t believe how cold they felt in the chill winds coming off the moor. They’d gone for a drive to look over their town but the driving rain did nothing to cheer them. Coming home to an empty house felt strange. Jack brought out the Christmas decorations, more out of habit than desire. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a let-down after St Nick’s and I’m nithered,’ he said. ‘Have you rung Julie yet?’

  ‘She was out but I’ll take round a card and some honey and oil, then we can make arrangements for a proper visit. Val next door has asked us round for Boxing Day and I feel we ought to do something ourselves to announce our engagement. What do you think?’

  Sandra was admiring the antique ring she had chosen from Fattorini’s in Harrogate. It was a hoop of amethysts and diamonds set in gold to replace her original wedding band. It was now time to let Paul’s ring go into her drawer. She wanted to tell Julie the good news before anyone else but feared Julie might not be so enthusiastic. She rang up again to say they were home for Christmas and she’d got some bits to give them. But it was the answerphone again and Julie had never given her her mobile number.

  Sandra bought a Christmas holly wreath for the door, wrote some cards and letters but she felt uneasy. Better to go now and get it over with and teatime was a good time to catch Julie after work. The cul-de-sac at Meadow Croft looked festive with Christmas trees in the windows, fairy lights in the gardens and wreaths on the doors. She saw lights in Julie’s house but Sandra hesitated, feeling nervous as she rang the bell.

  The door opened and Julie stared at her mother. ‘Oh, it’s you. I wondered when you were back.’

  ‘I did leave two messages on your phone. I brought you some Cretan honey and olive oil. Can I come in?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Julie did not offer a kiss or a hug, leaving Sandra feeling the chill of this welcome. ‘How long are you staying for?’

  ‘Time’s our own these days but we couldn’t miss Christmas here. How’s things… Colin all right?’

  ‘We’re fine, your granddaughter’s got a new boyfriend and they’ve gone to Tenerife for Christmas. You want a drink?’

  ‘That would be nice.’ Sandra’s heart was crying out for some warmth in the offer. Taking off her coat and gloves, she sat upright at the kitchen table. Everything was in its usual place, not a spoon or a cloth on the granite surfaces. ‘So, what’s new?’ She was trying to relax but Julie was making the tea with her back turned.

  ‘We’re going to friends for Christmas. We didn’t know if you were coming back, Mum,’ came the reply.

  ‘That’s okay, we’ll have it on our own. My next-door neig
hbour has invited us for Boxing Day. I was hoping to see you all together…’ They sat across from each other, the table like a barrier between them.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve nothing in the tins to go with the tea. Colin doesn’t like mince pies,’ Julie said. ‘I’m not doing much for Christmas as we’re dining out this year.’

  Sandra nodded, recalling those happy days when Julie used to help fill the mincemeat in the patty tins and put a wish list up the chimney for Father Christmas. Her daughter looked tense, her brow furrowed and she had put on weight that didn’t suit her.

  ‘I’ve got some good news…’ Sandra took a deep breath. ‘Jack and I have decided to get married. I’m not getting any younger and what with my health, I want to make the most of things.’

  ‘I see.’ Julie looked out of the window. ‘What’s brought this on all of a sudden?’

  ‘It just feels the right time, love. Look, he’s bought me this ring,’ she said, stretching out her left hand. Julie barely glanced at it.

  ‘Where’s your wedding ring… Dad’s ring?’

  ‘I thought you’d like to have it one day. Oh, please say you’re happy for me and Jack.’

  ‘What do you expect me to say, congratulations?’ Julie stood up and went to the sink.

  ‘Oh Julie, why are you so angry? What have I done wrong? It’s been twenty years since Paul passed away. Am I expected to live in purdah for the rest of my life? I can’t change what happened and I know you were gutted but it wasn’t my fault, or yours, he got sick.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. You do what you want, it’s no skin off my nose,’ came the guarded reply.

  ‘But I want you to be there for me. Come to Santaniki and be my best man – or my best woman.’ Sandra tried to smile.

  ‘Don’t be daft, where do we get the money to go gallivanting when we’ve got college fees to pay?’

  ‘You know money is the least of my problems. We would pay your fares and the house we rented is huge. There’s room for all of you. Please say you’ll be there for me?’

  Julie turned to her, arms folded across her chest. ‘Why? You’ve never bothered before and Jack isn’t my cup of tea.’

  ‘He’s kind and helpful and it’s not been easy living with the big C. Jack makes me happy and I just want my daughter to be happy for me too. You’re my girl. I suppose I’m asking for your blessing.’

  Julie looked surprised. ‘It’s not me you should be asking, is it?’

  ‘You mean from Paul? He’s gone, love. He was generous to a fault. He wouldn’t mind me finding some happiness.’

  ‘But I mind you jetting off into the sunset with your lover boy, living the life of Riley while we’re stuck here working our socks off to pay fees.’

  ‘It was your choice to send them to private school and if it’s the money, let me help you out. But it’s not that, is it? You resent me starting over with a new man. Love isn’t a piece of cake that gets cut in pieces until there’s none left; love has an endless supply and keeps on giving. I don’t know how long I can keep cancer at bay. It’ll get me in the end but I want to enjoy the future I have left and I want you to be there for me… for us to have good times together. None of us know what’s around the corner.’ Sandra felt her disappointment choking in her throat.

  ‘Don’t be morbid, Mother. You look fine to me.’ Julie looked at her watch. ‘Any road, I’m going out in ten minutes to pick up Colin from work.’

  ‘Will we see you over Christmas or New Year?’

  ‘I’m not sure… we’ve made plans.’

  Sandra knew this was hopeless so put her gloves back on. ‘Oh, well, don’t let me stop you. Think about my offer. You’re still my little girl. We had such good times, didn’t we? I’ll just have to live off those memories. I’ll be off now. Have a nice Christmas.’ She stood up to get her coat. ‘I can see myself out.’ She couldn’t wait to leave or let Julie see her tears. Her heart ached with sadness that she had tried and failed once more to make a bridge of understanding between herself and her daughter – she wouldn’t ask again. ‘Bye!’

  ‘Mum…’ Julie shouted but the door was shut and Sandra didn’t hear her calling.

  February

  20

  When Griff returned to Santaniki, Spartacus gave him a rapturous welcome. Mel’s boys, Markos and Stefan, loved walking the dog but Irini was relieved to see the back of him. Mel and Spiro went off to Athens on a short out-of-season break. He saw the lights flickering in Ariadne’s villa. Sara had returned without contacting him but he wasn’t going to interfere with her plans.

  There was so much mail to see to and repairs to check over. The retreat house smelt damp and chilly. Rufus’s house was buzzing with visitors and parties but it all left him empty inside. As for his time in London, he was all too aware of being a failure, reminded of the duplicity of his business partner’s greed and cunning. Griff had paid his dues quietly and left the only business he had known to escape into this new life. He must make a success of this post. No point in going over all that again.

  Listening in to one of the writers’ courses in the autumn, he was intrigued by the idea of keeping a log of thoughts and feelings every day, something that no one else would ever read. It all sounded very New Age but he would give it a go, sitting down each morning to put his heart on paper. It was oddly liberating letting off steam as his words sped along the page. There was so much confusion inside him waiting to be released. It was time to clear his head, moan and groan, and then see what evolved as he aired his innermost wishes.

  He filled pages of an exercise book with anger over his past, anger over Flissa letting him down and feeling life was passing him by. Then there was his concern for the fate of the stray dogs and cats that sparked his Spartacus project. It was about time to make sure it got off the ground.

  First things first, a meeting of the community must be a priority to gauge interest and commitment. No use it being just a foreigner’s idea, it had to win the hearts and minds of the local residents. Perhaps he could invite a vet from the big island to give a talk with illustrations about animal healthcare, raising funds to pay for a spaying week. It was better to get things going before spring came and the bitches got into season. Griff sat down to make a list of emails and dates.

  Spartacus was a photogenic little mongrel with appealing eyes and a ruffle of grey and white coat. He was a joy to behold, lively, faithful and good company on dark nights. He was disobedient at times, sparky, no man’s slave, with a will of his own but he did know who was the boss. On dark nights when Griff lit the olive wood fire, Spartacus would sneak up and rest his chin on his legs, happy to just sleep and snore. He would make a good poster boy now his life of hunger and dirt was ended. Not every dog or cat could have that luxury but if they were spayed and checked over, it was a start, a fresh start, just as he had found hope and purpose here on St Nick’s.

  Griff mustn’t trespass on the legal duties of the demos who were obliged to see to strays, but a private charity could work alongside them to help foster and rehome suitable dogs abroad. But a charity was going to cost. Perhaps they could perform a jazz night fundraiser to start the project off.

  First, he would speak to the mayor and the demos to get them onside. Perhaps some of the tavernas would adopt a stray, keep an eye on them, point out those injured or sick. His mind was bursting with ideas which he noted in his log. Now, though, he must see to this house and check the artists, authors and musicians who were booked in for the season, tidy up the garden, prune back bushes and practise on his keyboard. He wondered how Sara Loveday was making out with her wedding planning. He’d like to help her but sensed she saw his interest as an intrusion; better to stick to his own plans and keep out of her way.

  *

  Sara had three tentative enquiries from her island wedding brochure. She suggested that they might like to come out to view the setting and discuss their ideas with her. One couple immediately dropped out, not wanting the expense of an out-of-season trip, but two ot
hers decided to visit before Easter for a long weekend. Sara booked them into the best hotel and organised their flights but only one couple turned up.

  They were the perfect clients who explored the island, chose the exact spot, discussed the wedding breakfast, put down their deposit and confirmed their far-off date. Everything else was done online. But you would not get rich on one booking. It was lucky that Sandra and Jack turned up at her door one evening to discuss their own marriage plans.

  ‘We want it to be in our home by the pool in our villa. There’ll only be a few of us. We want a little blessing in the Anglican church first, then a party.’

  Sara was delighted to be asked, hoping Mel would organise catering from the taverna when she called in to tell her this news.

  ‘Have you spoken to Chloë about Alexa’s wedding yet?’ Mel asked. ‘Get in there quick. I know Griff gave you the heads up.’

  ‘Yes… yes, but…’ Sara was hesitating.

  ‘What’s bothering you?’

  ‘It’s Chloë. I think she’ll want to do it all herself and she is such an organiser. I don’t want to be pushy.’

  ‘Come on, Sara, that’s not going to get you noticed. Chloë may be Queen Bee but she’s only got two hands like everybody else. Simon is a sweetie. Talk to her at the book group tonight.’

  ‘I’m not sure…’ Sara was dithering.

  ‘If you don’t, I will and that’s an end to it.’

  It was Dorrie Thorner who set the ball rolling that night after the wine and tapas break in Chloë’s magnificent stone house. Sandra, like Sara, had joined as a temporary guest, being an avid reader of romantic sagas and crime. They were discussing A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles that enchanted everyone except Dorrie. ‘It was too long for me and the print too small and I got confused jumping back and forward in time,’ she announced.