A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘I thought it was magical, and such a warm character to follow,’ Sara replied.

  Dorrie ignored her, turning to Chloë. ‘How are your wedding plans going? We’re so glad Alexa has chosen to celebrate here like my Dan and Soraya.’ Turning to Sandra and Sara she explained in great detail how wealthy Soraya’s Russian father was. ‘Now we’ll have two splendid events to look forward to.’

  How presumptive of Dorrie to think her invitation was automatic, Sara thought, glancing at Mel who rolled her eyes. ‘We are all well ahead with our plans. Soraya and Dan are coming over in her father’s yacht for the final details. They are bringing their wedding planner to check out suitable venues. Yuri is such a generous man, wanting only the best for his princess.’ Dorrie was boasting to anyone who would listen.

  ‘I’m not sure what’s happening,’ Chloë said. ‘Alexa has got her own ideas and everything is still very vague. They’ve decided to do the legalities in London first, with perhaps a blessing here at St Paul’s afterwards.’

  ‘Norris can play the organ then,’ Dorrie continued.

  ‘You should get Sara on the case,’ Mel announced, winking at her friend. Sara sat back into her chair, embarrassed. ‘She did a great job for Pippa and Duke.’

  ‘The least said the better,’ Dorrie commented. ‘I mean, the baby born on the very same day, and christened Harmony. What sort of Christian name is that?’

  ‘A lovely one for a gorgeous baby,’ Mel snapped, seeing the sneer on Dorrie’s face. ‘We could do with a lot more harmony in this sad world, the world she’ll inherit.’

  Dorrie took no hint from the feeling in the room that she’d overstepped the mark. ‘Alexa will make a beautiful bride, even if it is the second time around.’ There was a deafening silence at this remark. It was the perfect cue for Sara to speak up.

  ‘Actually, that’s my special focus. Second time around is just as special as the first. Couples are older, wiser, more aware of the reality of what it all means. They say a wedding is easy to arrange but a marriage takes longer, so I wish them all the joy in the world.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Chloë added. ‘Second time around with Simon has been the happiest time of my life.’

  ‘And me, with Jack,’ Sandra chipped in.

  Mel whispered, ‘You hit the nail on the head there.’

  Everyone was clearing up to leave when Chloë sidled up to Sara. ‘Come for coffee tomorrow morning. I liked what you said there. Perhaps we can discuss your ideas further. I’m sure Alexa would be interested and it would be a weight off my mind. It’s her day, not mine… You sometimes forget that, don’t you?’

  Sara smiled. ‘I’d be delighted.’

  ‘I’m sorry Dorrie said what she said. She’s so caught up in her son’s wedding. I gather the Russian papa has grand schemes and I fear poor Dorrie won’t get much of a look-in. Daniel’s a good son, despite all her forthright opinions. Each to his own views,’ Chloë said with a wry glint in her eye. ‘Dorrie won’t want to miss out on an invitation to our wedding. She’ll be sweetness and light until the card is on the mantelpiece. See you tomorrow then?’

  ‘There,’ said Mel as they walked home. ‘All sorted.’

  ‘Not exactly. Alexa is the bride and she’ll have to decide.’

  ‘Of course, but if Griff puts in a good word to Felix… I gather you met him at Christmas back in the UK.’ She tugged her on the arm.

  Sara was ready for this one. ‘It was just a business meeting to look at the photos in Manchester.’

  ‘Oh yes… was it a long lunch?’ Mel laughed. ‘Don’t be so uptight.’

  ‘Forget it… I have a business to kickstart: three weddings so far but hardly a lift-off. I have to make them work with no distractions.’ Sara paused.

  ‘Griff’s gone out of his way to help you, putting in a word here and there, I gather. Are you not the tiniest bit grateful?’

  ‘I am, it’s just…’ Sara couldn’t think of a smart reply. ‘I don’t want to get involved with anyone. Don’t push me, and anyway, he’s not interested in me that way.’

  ‘How do you know that? Come off it, don’t be coy. He’s interested and you know it,’ Mel replied, looking her straight in the eye.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ Sara turned in the direction of Ariadne Villa and sped down the hill hoping she hadn’t offended Mel. What’s up with me? Soon it would be a year since… None of her clients would want to know what a disaster she had made of things. All that mattered now was to make sure that their weddings here would be memorable and epic.

  March

  21

  Griff invited the deputy mayor, Dimitris, the doctor, the priest, local residents and Simon for lunch at the retreat. He wanted cross-party approval for his plans. Sparky was clambering over feet under the table and Griff brought out before and after pictures of his rescue dog.

  ‘Lucky Don and I were up in the hills when I found him collapsed in a dreadful state. I don’t understand the mentality of folk who do this to a dumb animal. Perhaps it’s time to educate people to show that animals have feelings too and in better health they will perform their duties with more vigour.’

  Dimitris looked at Sparky. ‘You’ve done a good job, Kyrie Griff, but strays are part of life here. With the recession some have to abandon them. Better to shoot them, I suppose.’

  ‘There was a decent rescue shelter but it was closed. Why?’ Griff asked, knowing it caused controversy amongst the expat community.

  It was Father Mikhalis who spoke. ‘It was little more than a dog pound, barking day and night. Kyria Julia was overwhelmed and sick herself.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Spiro nodded. ‘Before your time.’ Griff sensed he was trying to stay neutral.

  ‘I heard there’s been more poisonings lately? All I ask is the chance to form a charity to raise funds for regular vet visits to neuter the strays or find new homes for them so no unwanted puppies are destroyed. This would be, of course, expanding the good work the demos does. There are charities who will rehome them abroad.’

  ‘But they are OUR strays. Taking away their bits is not the Santaniki way,’ Dimitris said, looking for support.

  Thank goodness, Dr Makaris came to Griff’s rescue. ‘Vaccination and spaying costs but it is better than leaving them to starve. Griff is right, those left to guard orange groves need good shelter, water and winter protection; owners need to take advice.’

  Everyone nodded as they sipped their ouzos and munched on a selection of nuts and snacks.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ Spiro asked.

  ‘I thought a poster of Spartacus before and after to shock. Visits to the school to get our children involved. We could ask the vet to come and give a lesson in animal care.’

  ‘That will be expensive.’

  ‘Not if we find the right vet. Perhaps a glendi with dancing and feasting in honour of St Rocco or St Frances, patrons of animals, on their name day. We must educate the next generation. Working dogs are not just tools, useful equipment. Animals are living, breathing beings, worthy of respect, and should not be just beaten or left to starve or shot for no longer being of use. Owners could bring their pets for a special blessing.’ Griff was thinking off the top of his head. ‘A parade of pets, health checks. Just a few thoughts,’ he offered.

  He brought out chicken souvlaki and the cake Spiro had brought from the taverna to sweeten them all up. He wanted to encourage responsibility in a gentle way, not thrust his opinions down their throats, but he sensed the reaction was mixed. He hoped his enthusiasm was catching. Once they had left, he wondered if he had gone too far.

  *

  Griff wanted a breath of fresh air to clear his head. The first guests were due in tomorrow for a yoga workshop for writers. The patio needed clearing and yoga mats airing and disinfecting. The local ladies were in, changing sheets and housekeeping, laughing and chatting like starlings, and the kitchen crew were preparing for the season’s buffet lunches. It was all busy, busy, as Irini often said while deliver
ing instructions from her armchair. Mel, Katya and Sara dashed around like scalded hens. Easter was coming and everyone was washed out even before the onslaught of tourists arrived.

  Griff jogged slowly up the hill towards the higher olive groves and orange trees. Sparky was in his basket with a sore foot, sulking about being left behind, but Griff wanted to clear his mind. He was trying to think of a name for his new charity. Santaniki Protection and Animal Rescue Centre was a mouthful but perhaps SPARKS wasn’t a bad acronym. It was his rescue of Spartacus that started the whole idea off.

  Running was a lifesaver when his business collapsed; focusing on each forward step allowed him to rethink his options. Griff found himself close to the very spot where they had found the exhausted starving little dog with no collar or chain but with welts on his back where he been beaten.

  No one in St Nick’s recognised him or was bothered when he adopted the mutt. Now the posters were going up around the town. He hoped that there might be some interest but it was Metrakis, the drunken menace, who was spotted tearing them down wherever he saw them. ‘You foreigners butting in… Our dogs are our dogs, not yours,’ he yelled when Spiro turfed the man out onto the square with a roar of Greek expletives too fast for Griff to follow.

  Climbing higher onto the rocky outcrop where once a homeless family had sheltered in caves, he stopped to catch his breath and stare down at the turquoise bay. He never tired of the view or this wild landscape. It lifted his spirits in the early days when he had retreated to Santaniki to lick his wounds, feeling a failure on every level. The island magic touched him, renewing his energy and resolve to give something back into the community here.

  Was it the light and warmth, the lush green fruit groves, the white limestone rocks tinged with ochre and the last of the wildflowers? Was it the friendly warmth of the people in the quiet grandeur of the retreat house? He wished he could have met Elodie Durrante, the famous novelist. It was strange how he felt her presence in certain rooms, especially in her study that became a little museum in the tourist season. It was here Ariadne Blunt found her private journals that Simon had edited and brought out as an e-book and in print. They had a shelf of her books to sell during the courses.

  Griff thought he wasn’t psychic in any way and yet he sensed a tinge of Balkan Sobranies and a feeling of encouragement and optimism whenever he entered that room. He decided to broaden the scope of their courses, to use all the large garden for craft work, night camping, stargazing in the hills. There were endless ideas flowing through his mind as he lay back, entranced by the vista, until he felt a dark shadow behind him, turning around to face Metrakis and one of his sons.

  ‘Off my land!’ the old man bellowed in broken English.

  Griff replied in Greek, ‘This is an open trail, a shepherd’s track,’ determined not to give in to their menace.

  ‘You steal our dogs.’

  ‘What dogs?’ But neither man replied as Stavros Metrakis lifted his gun as if to shoot him but Griff stood his ground, towering over the squat farmer. ‘That’s not going to help anyone.’ He saw Metrakis hesitating.

  ‘Bugger off!’ Metrakis swore. ‘You stop your interfering or else…’

  There was no point in staying to argue his corner. While the men were laughing at his retreat, Griff knew he had made an enemy for some unknown reason. What was it with Greeks and their guns? For hunting, yes, but for some, was a gun in their hand a symbol of their manhood, their heritage and much more?

  Those two were bullies and you didn’t cross them lightly. He knew enough about feuding families to realise this family saw themselves as rulers in these hills. Step out of line or speak loosely and accidents might happen that could not be proved to have been deliberate. There was a dark side to every rural community. Silence was the safest bet amongst frightened folk. That’s how men like Metrakis kept their power.

  Griff was shaken by the encounter, knowing they could have shot him and claimed it was accidental, but why such threat for looking after dogs? How pathetic in comparison to all those Cretan island resistance groups who fought for their country in the war, brave, foolhardy at times, who went to their executions like warriors. Heroism at its finest. These two were just thugs with their pot bellies and swarthy beards. He pitied their wives, if they managed to attract any.

  The pleasure of his run was gone, their threat unsettling. It was all too easy to see this magical island as a benign paradise but it was like all other close-knit communities. There was a shadowy side and in isolated pockets only a thin crust of civilised behaviour. Griff felt his indignation rising up like bile in his throat. If Metrakis thought he could scupper their charitable scheme for a rescue centre, let battle commence.

  In the taverna that evening, he joined Simon, Mel and Sara. ‘Has Spiro spread the word?’

  Mel laughed. ‘A festival for dogs. I’m not sure St Nick’s is ready for this,’ she cautioned as she stroked Sparky. ‘We’ll do our bit as long as I don’t have a wedding booked.’

  ‘October the fourth is St Frances’s name day. The weather will be warm, tourists still about. It gives us time to organise the event; a garden party in the retreat?’

  ‘Your courses will still be in residence,’ Sara said.

  ‘The more the merrier. It will be something to add to their stay. I will talk to the school teacher and staff to see what they think.’

  ‘I hope you know what you’ve started. It won’t go down well in some quarters, yet another stranger interfering in local culture,’ Mel warned. ‘Dogs and cats keep vermin down.’

  ‘There’d be fewer of them if the bins were sealed and tourists picked up their litter,’ Griff snapped back. ‘But that’s another matter.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Mel whispered. ‘Walls have ears and not all my customers will see things as you do.’ She nodded in the direction of Stavros Metrakis, who was listening in, twirling his amber beads with a sullen look on his face. ‘He’s not one to cross. Ask Irini about his family. His sons are bully boys.’

  Griff eyed the bulk of the overweight man huddled in the corner with contempt. ‘I had the pleasure of his company earlier today.’ He raised his baseball cap in mock greeting.

  Metrakis, the man with three chins, turned to smirk and drink with his cronies who looked up at the group with suspicion. Griff sensed cruelty and menace in the face with the hooded eyes of a raptor. Why did the man suddenly remind him of his former business partner: jovial in his cups, hale fellow well met, but underneath a sinister cunning that knew no bounds?

  *

  Chloë laid the table out on the veranda. ‘I love spring, don’t you? All those wonderful wildflowers. Have you been up to Agios Nikolaos chapel high on the rocks? There’s a carpet of wild chamomile, daisies and poppies. You must see the wild orchids and tulips. It’s just beautiful.’

  Sara shook her head; between being busy online and trying to tidy Ariadne’s rampant garden, she had hardly left the villa. ‘I must try and get up there,’ she replied.

  Chloë’s house looked down towards the glittering silver bay, an ancient stone house built on a series of neatly planted terraced slopes, and above the house was an olive grove and bushes full of oranges, pomegranates and lemons. It was a dream setting.

  ‘Alexa wants a garden ceremony here but it is such a steep slope, I can’t see it myself,’ Chloë confided.

  Sara had discreetly surveyed the terrain after the book club one night. ‘There is a flat area just before the olive grove and perhaps that would make a platform.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s far too small. With all her London crowd and local friends, we’re expecting at least a hundred guests, and then there’s the wedding breakfast to consider.’

  ‘Griff said Alexa wanted a small affair.’ Sara was hoping she hadn’t spoken out of turn.

  Chloë poured the coffee. ‘That won’t do. I mean, what will our friends think if they are not invited?’

  ‘Perhaps there’s a compromise,’ Sara suggested. ‘A ceremony here and a part
y later.’

  ‘But where? I thought they might have had a blessing in our little church but Alexa says no. I suggested photos taken outside the chapel on the rocks up the steps but she said that was too narrow a path and Olympia might fall off. I’m hoping to fly over to help her choose her dress so it would be useful to have ideas.’

  Sara brought out her iPad with Pinterest images. ‘I thought you might like to look out over these settings, just ideas to share with her. Alexa emailed me with some decorative suggestions.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise that.’ Chloë looked a little put out. ‘I suppose it is her choice, after all.’

  Sara could see Chloë was feeling left out. ‘There is one solution, though, if you want more guests, family and friends. The retreat garden is large and open if the committee would rent it out,’ Sara offered.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t want it decked out like Pippa and Duke’s hippy nuptials.’

  ‘I don’t think Alexa is thinking on those lines either.’

  ‘You’ve discussed it with her already then?’ Chloë said.

  ‘It is just a possibility. The backdrop of the house, its views are rather spectacular in their own way.’ Sara could see it all in her mind’s eye.

  ‘But I wanted our daughter to celebrate in our garden.’

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s thought of that too,’ Sara added, sensing Chloë’s disappointment. She was finding it hard to let go of her own dreams for her daughter’s wedding. Tact was needed here.

  ‘Have you thought of the American custom of having an eve of wedding dinner, quite formal, a pre-party for close friends and family with a dinner laid out upon the flat area, drinks around the house on the veranda? It would extend the whole event,’ she offered with her fingers crossed as Chloë sat down to sip her coffee, staring out over the bay. Lost in her own thoughts.

  ‘Candles, silver, formal dress, yes, I can see that working. Their London friends can float around the gardens, admire the view sipping champagne… Yes, I think Alexa would like that. Shall I FaceTime her?’