A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘He seems a nice chap. We’ll forgive him that he’ll not play cricket for Yorkshire,’ Dad joked and gave her a knowing wink. Sara shook her head.

  ‘None of that. I’m not in the market for anything more than friendships so don’t be getting your best suit out of mothballs.’ She was already thinking ahead about the Bartlett nuptials on St Nicholas’s name day, 6 December. The community hall was to be decked with English-style decorations. Chloë wanted Mel to cater and planning lists were piling up on Sara’s desk.

  At least there were no local formalities this time. She shared lots of emails with Alexa to make sure it was her wishes, not Chloë’s. Alexa was her mother’s daughter, a well-organised woman. Olympia would be a flower girl so no bridesmaids to worry about. Felix, the groom, Griff’s friend, was to wear a kilt and she wondered how Griff would react to that. This second time around wedding was much more relaxed and a pleasure to plan.

  Alexa emailed, I did all the white wedding stuff with my ex, Hugh. This time I want no fuss. Don’t let Mummy bulldoze you into anything. There was one request that puzzled Sara. Could we have Ariadne’s Christmas choir to sing in the church?

  It was Mel who explained that Ariadne Blunt had organised a group of expats into a carol singing choir. ‘Not many of us left but I’ll round up as many as I can and I’ll ask Della to come over as well. There’s Pippa and Duke, Griff… all the others are scattered abroad now and won’t be back this side of Christmas.’

  Before Sara could blink, it was time for the olive harvest. Soon they were all helping with the olive collection, all hands to the pump in Chloë’s grove and the retreat; a seasonal marker that winter was on its way, such as winter was on a Mediterranean island. Time to focus on stripping fruit, the trek to the olive press and gallons of emerald green liquid to share around. Then came the annual ritual of harvest suppers in thanksgiving for a decent crop. It was a relief when all was safely gathered in. Sara loved being part of this annual event.

  She tried to imagine herself back in Sheffield, on those cold wet windy days of November, stuck in an office, dashing to engagements. It was now a world away. Could she really be letting that safety net go? What if she couldn’t make a decent living here?

  Sara joined the Millars and a gang of helpers to collect drupes from the retreat. In return they were invited back into the house for a supper of moussaka, sausages and an enormous bowl of mixed shredded salad.

  ‘Someone’s been busy,’ she joked to Griff, impressed by the effort he had made.

  ‘The staff took pity on this bachelor and brought most of the dishes so I got off lightly.’

  ‘Oh, a Jacobs join then?’ she replied.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s when everyone brings a dish or two and they’re piled on the table to make a feast. Some call it a faith supper… You have to have faith that there will be enough to share and there always is.’

  Griff laughed, his eyes sparkling, and she felt a shiver of anticipation that this was going to be a memorable evening. She was one of the last to leave as Sparky would insist on sitting on her knee.

  ‘Have a drink before you go,’ he offered, pointing to his private sitting room.

  ‘I shouldn’t, you look done in. Perhaps just one. Do you think it will be a decent harvest this year?’

  ‘One of the best. We’ll have gallons of oil to share and you must have some too.’ They sat in comfortable silence. She looked around the room with its faded grandeur. ‘There’s an atmosphere to this house, something special, as if…’ She paused.

  ‘So, you feel it too.’ Griff edged closer. ‘It’s Elodie Durrante, I’m sure she haunts the place… in a nice way. Visitors comment on it. I think when someone has been happy in their home, something of their spirit lives on. I’ve been rereading her journal… the original, not the edited version. She describes her marriages and lovers. Poor woman was not as successful in her private life as she was in public. You must read them. I find it moving in parts, especially about the love of her life she lost. I guess we all have those episodes in the past.’ Griff was very close now. ‘The ones who got away but are never forgotten.’

  Sara sensed he was waiting for a response. Oh, how she wished she could relax and sink back into his arms and let him kiss away all the turmoil and tension inside her, but she stiffened and sat up. ‘I must go. It’s late.’

  ‘You could always stay,’ he suggested, caressing her shoulder with his long fingers. ‘There’s no one else here.’

  ‘No, sorry. I really must… things to do.’ She felt him recoil at this reply.

  ‘I don’t understand you. I get the feeling you like my attentions and yet the minute I draw close, you shoot up like a frightened rabbit. Am I such a turn-off?’

  ‘Not at all, Griff. It’s just… I can’t explain. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.’

  ‘Then share with me…’

  ‘I can’t, don’t push me. We’re friends and I really enjoy your company. Let’s leave it at that. I’m sorry.’ Sara stood to leave. ‘Thanks for a great supper but I have to go.’

  She made for her jeep. Sparky was racing after her wanting to play. ‘Back, Sparky. I don’t want you run over.’ She was crying, tears of frustration and disappointment. Why can’t I let myself go? Why am I afraid to show my feelings? What the hell is wrong with me?

  December

  31

  Griff was making sure that the retreat was ready for wedding guests. They were going to use the guesthouse in the garden for a bridal suite. Felix and Alexa were staying on for Christmas before taking a honeymoon in the sun later.

  Chloë, Simon and Sara were busy preparing for the big day and family and friends were arriving early to make the most of the recent warm weather, rumoured to last for the season. Griff had told his brother that Uncle Jolly would not be arriving until the New Year and they must find another Santa Claus.

  Their Abba fundraising night would be after Christmas and there was still much to organise as well as presents, minutes and agendas for the retreat committee. He mustn’t neglect his plans for next year’s courses, must organise tutors and see to any more house repairs. The retreat, grand as it was, was a hungry beast and needed constant attention. Spiro and a gang of house repairers were only too happy to lend a hand as the market for building new holiday homes had dried up. It was rented properties that were in demand now.

  Sara was very focused on this coming wedding; in fact, she was distant at times with a tense look on her brow. What was it that made her blow hot and cold with him? She was part of his everyday life, supporting his campaign, taking notes at meetings, volunteering to help with fundraising. Perhaps he was taking her for granted. She had her own business to run but she knew that without a decent slug of cash their new charity would be a nonstarter.

  Felix’s family arrived full of excitement and bearing gifts. Then business friends and wives and lastly the groom’s cousin, Flissa, appeared with her new man from London. Griff was surprised this affair had lasted so long as Jace was not her usual type; muscle ripped with the thick neck of a weightlifter, making Griff feel puny and unfit.

  ‘You met Jace in London. He’s wondering if it’s warm enough to swim.’ Flissa looked towards the garden pool. ‘Hmm… not a bad place. Stuck on that plane for four hours and then a choppy ride over here, we need to work out.’

  ‘Sorry, pool’s closed and cleaned out now. You can stretch your legs uphill though,’ Griff offered but could see Flissa was unimpressed. Her eyes turned towards the house.

  ‘You’ve landed yourself in some pile. That old girl in the hallway must have been loaded, building this in the middle of nowhere. Don’t you think she looks like Agatha Christie? Come on, Jace, let’s get changed and make the most of this gorgeous weather.’ Flissa grabbed his arm. ‘Let’s find our room. I hope you’ve given us a sea view.’

  How had he ever fancied that silly creature, all elbows and skinny thighs? Griff thought she couldn’t hold a candle to Sara who wa
s willowy but somehow rounded and complete.

  Soon the house was filled with excited guests. He was hosting drinks and a supper supplied by Mel from his kitchen where the staff were busy preparing a vat of pork in wine and lemon sauce. Everything was laid out in the dining room and on the veranda. Elodie’s home looked every bit the country house. The lamps were lit as darkness fell and Sara was coming in later to check on last-minute details.

  Seeing the buzz around the rooms made Griff realise they were wasting a third of the season, closing up for winter. There could be opportunities to use the house for longer writing retreats off season; a sort of hermitage for writers and artists to find the silence and isolation needed to finish off projects or to prepare for new ones. Flights were possible, ferries did run and some artists would pay for the privacy to work in comfort. He was looking forward to Don’s return for Christmas.

  Sara arrived in the kitchen in her usual business wear: black trousers, white blouse, her hair scraped into a net for hygiene purposes.

  ‘Come and meet the guests,’ he ordered but she hung back.

  ‘I’m not dressed for the dining room and Mel needs me here.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Mel. ‘Get in there and introduce yourself.’

  Sara gave Mel a thunderous look and followed Griff with reluctance. She wasn’t usually so nervous round guests so he shoved a glass of fizz in her hand. ‘Get that down you. This is Sara, our wedding organiser and she’ll be doing sterling service with Chloë over the next few days.’

  Sara smiled as she mingled and then froze suddenly, fleeing the room, pushing Griff aside as her glass crashed onto the floor.

  *

  It couldn’t be… not him. She must be dreaming. But there was no mistaking his height and dark looks as he stood sipping champagne. It was him. She ran back into the kitchen. Mel caught her look of panic.

  ‘I’ve got to go. I can’t breathe. I’m not going back in there.’ Her pulse was racing so fast she thought she was going to faint.

  ‘Sit down. Fetch her some water,’ Mel said, guiding her to a chair. ‘Has someone upset you?’

  ‘Sorry, I have to get some air,’ she snapped. ‘Please, let me go…’

  ‘You’re not making any sense, Sara. Calm down. This is your big break. You can’t just walk out on everyone. I don’t understand you.’

  ‘How could you… you don’t know the half of it. I’m off… I just can’t stay here,’ Sara replied just as Griff came through the door.

  ‘Sara, you’re wanted—’

  ‘Sorry,’ she called out, pushing a chair between them. ‘I’m leaving.’ She fled into the olive garden with Sparky chasing after her. ‘Go away!’ she yelled but the dog followed her to a bench, sitting in front of her and resting his nose on her thighs to comfort her. She stroked him as the tears flowed. ‘Oh, Sparky, what a mess I’m making… Of all the islands in all the world, he had to turn up here. I hope he didn’t recognise me.’

  ‘Who didn’t recognise you?’ Mel was standing right behind her. ‘Who are you afraid of in there?’

  ‘It’s none of your business…’

  ‘But it is my business to see you running out on the job in tears. We worked hard to get this wedding. I don’t want to see you throw it away. It’s time you came clean. I guessed ages ago that you didn’t come to Santaniki for a holiday, did you? Were you running away?’ Mel held out a hanky.

  Sara wiped her eyes. ‘It’s a long story…’

  ‘We’ve got all night… the party is in full swing and the food is on the table. I’m not budging until I know what’s eating you.’ Then she produced a bottle of Cretan red and two glasses. ‘Get that down you. You looked as if you’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘Right on the nail, Mel; a ghost from my past standing there as bold as brass.’ Sara gulped down a glass in one. ‘The man I was going to marry, the man I lived with for two years who I thought loved me.’

  Mel grabbed her hand. ‘Do I hear a “but” coming? What went wrong. Who is he?’

  ‘I can’t bear to say his name. Let’s just say he was a businessman from a local family firm who travelled all over the world for them, a man who likes all the trappings of success. Don’t ask me how I caught his eye at a conference we were hosting but he swept me off my feet, charmed my parents: the white knight on a charger lifting me out of my flat on the Totley Road into his amazing apartment. I moved in, we got engaged and what a celebration that was. My diamond engagement ring was like a knuckleduster. We set a date and he left all the planning to me. There was no budget. I was to have whatever I wanted to make our day fantastic. Who would not want a dream wedding and I was in my element. Nothing was too much trouble. I put such love into the preparations, the designer dress, the hotel venue. We chose a register office, the big one in the city. He was abroad in the USA, flying back the day before our wedding, leaving it late as usual.’

  Sara paused for another glass of wine.

  ‘And then? This sounds like the plot of a movie,’ Mel said, trying not to interrupt the flow.

  ‘The night before our wedding day, I took my parents and friends out to the best Italian restaurant. It was then the phone rang. It was from Baltimore and I thought it was from him. It went dead on me… Then it rang later just as we were leaving. There was this text. “Do you really want to marry this guy?” That was all but there was an attachment… a video.’

  Sara paused to take another slug of wine. ‘It has played over and over in my mind ever since. He was with a woman in bed, laughing. Someone was recording them like a porn movie. I thought it was a joke but it was his bare body thrashing about. It was then he laughed and said, “I wish my girl could screw like you. You could give her some lessons.” The bitch posted this to me on the eve of my wedding. I sat in the taxi trying not to believe what I had just seen.’

  ‘I hoped you wiped it,’ Mel whispered.

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘So, he ditched you like that?’

  ‘I wish he had but no, he flew back as if nothing had happened. He had no idea, I guess, what she had done.’

  ‘But the wedding was off?’

  Sara paused again. ‘I didn’t want to let my parents down. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘You went ahead and married the bastard?’

  ‘Not exactly… I meant to, of course, but it was too easy…’

  ‘What happened next?’ Mel asked, gulping down her wine. ‘If Spiro had done that…’

  ‘There are other ways to pay back.’ Sara felt herself going cold. ‘The wedding day went ahead as if nothing had happened. I did all the beauty stuff, hair, make-up, dressed myself in my oyster silk designer dress, carried my bouquet with my father and arrived at the register office. I walked down the aisle as if in a daze, as if I was floating outside my body, watching myself go through the motions. There he was in his morning suit, all smiles and charm, but when the registrar asked if there was any reason why we should not be married, I knew I must say “YES” very loudly. I pulled out my iPad from behind my bouquet and lifted it up, saying, “I think the groom might recognise this,” showing those closest all the gory details. I’ve never seen anyone go so white and then red, or disappear so fast. I’ve never seen him since… until tonight. The look on my poor dad’s face was one I’ll never forget. No one knew where to put themselves. I had my revenge, Mel, but it didn’t sit easy once my fury died away, but now…’

  ‘You did what you had to do. I’d have taken out a gun and shot him. I hope you kept the knuckleduster ring,’ Mel asked.

  ‘What do you think funded coming here?’

  ‘Good for you. I gather he’s come with Felix’s cousin, Flissa.’

  ‘I wish her luck with him. As you guessed, instead of three weeks in the Maldives, I came here on a whim – stuck a pin into the Greek islands and Santaniki it was. There, you have the sad ballad of Sara Loveday’s disastrous wedding.’

  ‘I think you were very brave and resourceful but why on earth run a wedding bus
iness?’

  ‘Because I want others to have what I did not get. I want to make it right somehow.’

  ‘Then powder your nose, pin on a smile and be the great professional you are. Ignore the man. Give him no quarter.’

  ‘But there’s unfinished business between us.’

  ‘Alexa’s wedding is not the place to do it. It’s her dream wedding second time around. I can cover for you up front if you need me. Who else knows… Griff?’ Mel looked concerned.

  ‘No one else knows except you – and Sally – and I’d prefer it that way for the moment. You can tell Spiro, if it helps.’

  ‘Ah, so you’ve noticed too. We’ve been getting on each other’s nerves. I get jealous, silly really, but the girls do go for him, but nothing like you’ve been through.’

  Sara sat back. ‘Thanks for listening. Better out than in, as they say, but I was so shocked to see him.’

  Mel smiled. ‘Have another glass. Can you tell me his name now?’

  ‘Jason Mason Metcalfe… Jace to his friends. He doesn’t like Jason. He says he sounds like a footballer. He’s such a snob.’ Sara found herself relaxing. In sharing her story something had shifted inside her. You survived and made this new life for yourself. With friends like Mel on your side, anything is possible.

  *

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Griff cornered Mel.

  ‘Sorry, I must see to the clearing up.’ Mel made her excuse. It was not up to her to put him in the picture.

  Griff returned to his guests, confused by Sara’s exit. It was Flissa who took him by the arm, leading him into a quiet corner. ‘So that’s the little minx who led poor Jace a merry dance, and her a wedding planner… what a joke!’

  ‘What are you talking about? Sara is very efficient and professional.’

  ‘You could have fooled me; no wonder she did a bunk when she saw him.’ Flissa smirked, her thin lips in a tight line as if she was enjoying this revelation.