by Leah Fleming
‘I don’t get this.’ He was really confused now. ‘What’s she done to offend you?’
‘Not me, poor Jace over there. You should watch out for her. Did you know she ditched him at the altar on their wedding day? She was off her head, accusing him of horrid lies. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn…’ She paused, knowing she was doing just that.
You’re relishing all this, Griff thought, but said nothing. His ex was determined to put him in the picture.
‘I wouldn’t want her to lead you up the garden path by that butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth look. I know I let you down at a difficult time but I’m still very fond of you. I’d hate to see you hurt again the way I hurt you. Darling, you deserve better.’ She touched his arm and kissed him on the cheek, her familiar perfume reminding him of their intimate moments. Jace marched over.
‘What’s this? I can’t leave you for five minutes and you’re on the prowl.’ Flissa winked at Griff as she took Jace’s arm. ‘Think about it,’ she whispered, leaving her host reeling from her warning. He shook his head in disbelief – surely not. After all this time Sara had said nothing. Come to think about it, she was very coy about her past, guarded even, and reluctant to let herself go with him. So that was the score. It was hard to believe she would do such a cruel thing on her wedding day. Suddenly, he felt as if he didn’t know the woman at all.
*
Sara paced up and down the olive garden in the moonlight. She couldn’t sleep, feeling sick and foolish to have fled from the party but Mel assured her she had no reason to feel ashamed. It wasn’t she who’d betrayed their trust. He had let her down and she had reacted on the spur of the moment. It wasn’t too late to compose herself and explain to Griff the reason she’d deserted the scene but that could wait. Her first priority now was to her clients.
Tomorrow was Chloë and Simon’s special pre-wedding dinner and there was plenty there to keep her out of sight of the guests. Seeing Jace posing in that room with his new girlfriend, so much more elegant and glamorous than she was, reinforced her lack of confidence. Was she here under false pretences? She was no Shelley Dorney with her exotic clients but a mere amateur, an events planner, and yet there was more to her than that. Mel believed in her, as had Sandra and Pippa. Time to retire and sleep off her hangover.
There was a ping next morning on her phone. Mel was texting her: RUOK? Let’s go for a swim early doors. How can I slope off when there’s so much to do? she thought, but an early morning swim in cool water would wake her up and help her do her best to make the Bartlett celebrations a night to remember.
‘It’s not about you,’ she said aloud. All things pass, so will this, and she found herself repeating that mantra. You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone, just get on with the day ahead and give Alexa, Felix and their families a wonderful evening. There would be time to mull over things later.
After a leisurely swim with Mel, Sara felt she could face the day.
‘Did you tell Griff why I was upset?’ she asked her friend.
‘No, it’s not up to me. All he knows was you disappeared for no reason and I was too busy covering for you,’ Mel replied. ‘That Flissa woman, his ex, was all over him like a rash and your Jace was none too pleased. I think he’s met his match with her, she’s a piece of work.’
‘A glamorous piece of work…’ Sara replied, reminding herself of the slim, expensively dressed woman who would appeal to Jace’s vanity.
‘All legs but no tits, as my brother would say,’ Mel laughed.
‘Mel, wash your mouth out!’ Sara chuckled.
‘Good, keep that smile going, pin it tight and you’ll get through today. We don’t want to spoil Chloë’s big do and it’s going to be fantastic. Smile, ignore those two, be the pro I know you are… Smile when your heart is breaking,’ Mel burst into song,
‘How do you stay so calm and cheerful?’ Sara pushed Mel on to the sand in jest.
‘Years of living with Irini have taught me some survival skills,’ Mel replied, wrapping a towel round herself. ‘Now, we deserve a full English breakfast. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to eat again?’
*
Griff woke early and went for a run with Sparky, having drunk more than was good for his head last night. Helping clear up and prepare for breakfasts with Mel’s staff, it was nearly dawn before he got to bed. Flissa’s warning kept ringing in his brain. Had he got Sara Loveday all wrong? No wonder she blew hot and cold with him. It all made sense. She had escaped to St Nick’s to start over where no one knew her sordid secret but now she was found out. All that interest in his charity, the retreat, waiting at Mel’s place, was it all for show? Was she the devious little minx Flissa was suggesting? Perhaps he’d had a lucky escape because he misjudged her completely and yet… Sparky loved her and dogs never lie. Mel had befriended her and she was no pushover. How many times had he heard his mother say, ‘Darling, judge someone by their friends.’ It was all so confusing and he had a best man speech to perfect for the big day and a kilt to try on with all its trimmings and a bit of a stag do to organise after Chloë and Simon’s dinner…
He had thought about taking the men on the ferry to Chania but it wasn’t practical. Why not wild camping out in the hills with a campfire; a boys’ own beer fest? They could watch the dawn with the glorious winter sun rising from the water. It was still so warm so that none of them could believe it was not summer but nights got cold. They would need blankets and sleeping bags. He had plenty of those in the retreat. At least he could keep out of Sara’s way. He didn’t want thoughts of her spoiling the fun. He would invite Duke and Spiro to join his merry band for a great night’s jaunt, Bear Grylls style.
32
As she parked the jeep, Sara looked up at Chloë’s stone house, imagining it shimmering by torchlight. There was a huge wedding wreath on the door and swags of winter greenery lining the steps to the entrance. Everything was ready for the evening’s celebrations; the chimney in the outdoor fireplace was stacked ready with olive wood. It was a stroke of Mel’s genius to suggest they recycle tins by filling them with dried scented herbs and little candles, covering the tables with Cretan tablecloths in scarlet, black and gold. The olive and lemon trees surrounding the patio would be full of lanterns. Light, heat and colour were important on a cool winter’s night.
Chloë and Alexa found vine leaves on which each of their guests’ names was handwritten in gold lettering and clipped to napkins and place settings. They made Christmassy bunting to hang around the outside that Chloë hoped she would sew into a quilt on winter nights.
Sara was envious, knowing the lengths that she’d taken to make her own wedding reception in the hotel special. Once the news of the disaster in the wedding venue reached the hotel, tables were quickly emptied by the staff. The wedding guests disappeared into pubs and Sara returned home with her parents. These sad thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wailing as Alexa brought in Olympia in the middle of a tantrum.
‘She won’t wear the dress I had made for her and keeps shouting “scratchy… scratchy”.’
Chloë took a closer look. ‘No wonder, the underskirt is like wire netting. Who made this?’ She examined the back for a label.
Alexa confessed, ‘I got a friend to knock it up from an old ballgown of mine.’
‘She’s not going to put this on tomorrow, is she? Let me rip it out. Honestly, Alexa, couldn’t you have taken her to a decent bridal shop? Poor little mite.’ Mother and daughter glared at each other. Sara left them arguing. Wedding nerves were on display so she crept out of the room, only to see Jace and Flissa climbing the garden stairs. There was just time to dart into the dining room to hide. They were the last people she wanted to meet.
Simon was sitting in a corner mulling over his iPad for news. ‘You are escaping too?’ He smiled over his specs. ‘It’s bedlam in the kitchen and Olympia’s screaming blue murder. I’m afraid I’m keeping out of the way. I do hope it will be okay. Chloë has put her heart and soul into thi
s evening.’
‘And it shows, tonight will be special and the meal will be delicious with lots of courses. The taverna team will do her proud, so don’t worry.’
‘Have you heard the latest? The boys are going camping overnight into the hills for a sort of stag do. Griff’s organised it.’
It was the first Sara had heard of the plan. ‘Is that wise? You never know what can happen. I recall one event in Sheffield when a coachload of guests decided to hit the bright lights of London for the stag night. Forty chaps went out… only three came back the next morning for a wedding at three o’clock. They’d gone into Soho and the rest you can imagine…’ she said, recalling the mayhem that followed.
‘The groom?’
‘Dragged almost unconscious onto the coach by the best man and a mate, thank goodness.’
‘Ah, the perils of demon drink,’ Simon laughed. ‘I’m certain Griff will make sure they are back first thing. If not, we’ll send a posse out to fetch them. He’s a sensible man. They invited me to go but I’d rather sleep in my own bed than on a damp outcrop of rock.’
Sara was relieved that this meant Griff wouldn’t linger after the dinner and she would be busy clearing up in the kitchen. It would be all hands to the pump to make sure everything was ready for Alexa’s big day.
By the evening, the party was in full swing. Alexa was wearing a slinky purple velvet sheath, Chloë in a black evening dress. The expats and neighbours of the village were all dolled up to the nines in party gear and Olympia was running around in a pink tutu with sparkling tights. The lanterns flickered and Pippa whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t you think women over forty look wonderful by candlelight?’
Sara had to agree. ‘It adds mystery and allure to our faces but you still have a year or more before you hit that milestone. I have only a few months to go,’ she replied, nudging her. ‘Can’t say I’m looking forward to it. The weather’s being so kind to us tonight, when you think of poor Dorrie’s do.’
‘She’s here in full warpaint. I’m glad she’s got over the… er, better not say,’ she whispered as Dorrie approached in a silvery brocade trouser suit.
‘You’ve hit the mark once again, Sara. Though it was a pity no one turned up for the St Nicholas Eve service at St Paul’s, or at the chapel on the rock. It is such a special day for the Greeks. We should honour St Nicholas too, not reduce him to Santa Claus.’
‘I know Irini and her friend went to church. I’m afraid most of us were very busy here but thank you for reminding us of the omission,’ Sara retorted. ‘That woman!’
‘Shush, she’ll hear you,’ Pippa warned, seeing Dorrie within ear shot.
‘Let her, I don’t care. You’d think after I did her a favour…’
‘Dorrie can’t help seeing herself as the guardian of our moral conduct. She still looks down on Duke and me and can’t bring herself to call Harmony anything other than “Baby”, bless her. She’ll be as jealous as hell of Chloë’s success.’
‘Who’s babysitting for you tonight?’ Sara asked.
‘She’s down at the tavern with Irini. I’ll not be staying too long.’
‘No rest for the wicked. I’d better see what’s happening in the kitchen.’
‘Want a hand?’
‘No thanks, you’re a guest so find that handsome husband of yours and get the music going.’
*
Griff took the men up towards the caves. He’d found head torches for everyone but the path was steep to where they laid a firepit out of stones and rocks like the shepherds made in the hills. It was a fitting end to a great evening. Everyone was full of delicious dinner and wine. Simon had made a brief speech and welcomed everyone. The girls dressed up for the occasion. He looked for Sara but she was keeping out of the way, no doubt ashamed. What a hypocrite she was planning weddings when… He didn’t want to think about her. Spiro and Duke joined the gang, plus a new Dutch couple, Wim and Dirk, friends of local residents who were on a cruise. They had helped him prepare the camp in advance.
Felix was on form, leading them in a chorus of dubious rugby chants. Any sheep or goats fled at the strange cacophony of noise echoing around the rock. They’d brought midnight snacks in rucksacks with blankets and jackets from the reserves in the retreat. When it grew chilly, they roasted village sausages and souvlaki sticks over the fire like boy scouts. There was a case of Mythos beer chilling in the caves. Spiro brought a guitar and began to sing some ancient local songs. Everyone sat around chatting under a canopy of stars. ‘Here’s to the bride and groom, chronia polla, many years,’ he toasted and they clinked mugs. Spiro joined Griff to light up a cigarette. ‘Who wants one?’
‘Thanks, no, if I have one, I’ll want the packet,’ Griff confessed. ‘What a fine night for December,’ he added.
‘Ah, the snow will come then and the storms. Two years ago, there was a family living here,’ Spiro said, pointing into the cave.
‘Yes, Mel told me… Where are they now?’
‘On the mainland. That was quite a winter but tomorrow will be fine. We will dance for the couple and you will all join us. In Greece, the man dances and the women watch. We dance like peacocks showing who is the strongest and most virile. You Brits dance like penguins. How can you take a woman like Sara in your arms and just shuffle around in circles? I know you like her.’
Griff needed to put Spiro straight. ‘That’s her ex-fiancé over there, the muscleman, Jace,’ he whispered. ‘She dumped him on their wedding day; a woman like that is not to be trusted.’
‘Is that so? Who told you that?’ Spiro said, staring across at the man in question.
‘Felix’s cousin, she warned me.’
‘The one who eats you with her eyes. I wonder why?’
‘Is it not true then?’ Griff felt confused.
‘Oh yes, Melodia told me a little but it was not as you were told.’
Griff sat up. ‘What happened then?’
‘It is not for me to repeat but do not trust that man.’ Spiro pointed to Jace who looked up, seeing them staring at him.
‘What’s up, mate?’
‘Tipota… nothing, just telling my friend how you screwed up your wedding. You tell Kyria Felicia another story, I think.’
Jace shot up at this insult. ‘Now you listen here… you don’t know the half of it…’
‘You forget, my friend, my wife knows everything.’
Jace rushed forward. ‘She’s a liar then.’
‘You call my wife a liar… You are the liar.’ Spiro jumped up, punching Jace in the jaw, knocking him back. Griff then sprung up between them, caught in the crossfire as Jace was launching a fist towards Spiro but not before Griff landed a blow to Jace’s nose. There was a crack as bone hit bone. Felix was on his feet, ready to enter into the fray.
‘You broke my bloody nose, you maniac.’ Jace lashed out to fell Griff. Felix pounced but Wim and Dirk held him back. ‘Think, what Alexa will say if you turn up with half a face?’
Duke stood up. ‘Cool it… This is supposed to be a fun night, not a punch-up.’
Felix brushed his jacket. ‘If my cousin has spread a lie, it is because she was told one, matey. She must have believed what you said to be the truth. I won’t hear another word said against her.’
Jace was holding his nose but got no sympathy from the onlookers. He was going to have a shiner in the morning but he was stuck on the rocky outcrop knowing it was too dark for him to retreat down the track alone.
Griff gathered himself. ‘I’m sorry, Felix. Let no one say a word about this in the morning. We don’t want anything to spoil Alexa’s day.’
The fight had silenced everyone. They retired into their sleeping bags but a wild and chilly wind brought them, one by one, into the shelter of the cave. The evening had turned sour. Griff couldn’t sleep. His ribs were aching and his head spinning. This had not been a good idea and he was confused. What had happened between this man and Sara? Who was telling the truth?
*
‘I don�
��t know what happened last night but I hear Griff’s got a black eye and Jace’s nose is facing sideways. Spiro is not saying a word,’ Mel said as they were finishing off decorating the community hall. ‘Flissa’s fella had to see Dr Makaris to put it straight. Stag nights usually end up in a ruck,’ she laughed. ‘Felix was down first thing to the pharmacy for arnica. No one will say what the punch-up was about.’
Sara was too busy decorating the tables to show much interest. They had a red, white and green theme to the tables, with red gingham tablecloths, jars full of red carnations with sprays of silvered twigs, swags of green foliage from pine trees, scenting the room better than any spray, candles in pretty red holders that would flicker in the dark. The stage was lined with pot plants ready for the band and the dancers, sound systems checked, heating ready if it got cold.
Alexa wanted Cretan rugs as wall hangings as it was the very saint’s day of the island and pictures of St Nicholas lined the window ledges. It ended up as a sort of mixture of Greek and English themes but very colourful. She had chosen a melange of hot dishes, warm fresh tomato soup with basil, roast lamb chops with mint and rosemary, vegetarian risotto with pine nuts and sultanas and spices, bowls of fruit, cheeses and a traditional English wedding cake iced with holly leaves and berries.
Their blessing service was a private affair with just close family and friends who filled the little church. Olympia was the flower girl in her frilly dress with no scratchy lining.
Sara kept her head down, avoiding any of the ceremonial, feeling a bit like the hired help, knowing that was her place to stay in the background until required. She took pictures of Alexa in her beautiful red velvet cloak shimmering in the sunlight over a simple gold silk shift. The bride carried stems of white lilies, her hair caught up in a ripple of curls. Chloë stood behind her in an ankle-length dress of emerald green slub satin and for a moment Sara felt a stab of envy.
