by Leah Fleming
Why did men in kilts look so distinguished, so masculine and handsome? she thought, as she watched from a safe distance. Griff was no exception in his black velvet jacket.
Perhaps this was as good as she could hope for here. Was it time she returned to the UK and put into practice all she had learned? Not in Sheffield or Yorkshire but in pastures new? Somewhere in a county town where she could work online and find wonderful venues for local weddings.
St Nick’s had been her healing place with a chance to develop new skills and an understanding that each generation needed to marry in its own unique style.
She thought of the wonderful Cretan wedding of the doctor’s son and new wife now starting out together in their twenties; Pippa and Duke wanting a different day to celebrate their union; Sandra and Jack, second time around, celebrating with their family, as were Alexa and Felix. She had helped them all fulfil their dreams. Money wasn’t everything in making a wedding day special. Poor Daniel and Soraya, so mismatched, who found that out too late, and lastly her own ghastly wedding fiasco. She had so much experience to offer clients now.
She loved living here, making new friends and experiencing all the four seasons on this magical island with its distinctive culture. Was a chapter of her life really coming to an end? The thought of going back home with her tail between her legs like Sparky when he got told off held no joy. Sara felt her spirits plummeting into a deep gloom and it wouldn’t do. People were depending on her to be in control, smile and welcome guests and make the evening festivities go with a bang.
‘You’ve been standing over that vase in a trance… cheer up, missus.’ Mel smacked her on the bum. ‘Penny for them… we’d better crack on. The bride and groom are on their way.’
33
Griff sat in the church clutching the rings. He was feeling self-conscious about his black eye and being the butt of jokes and winks. Ariadne’s depleted choir sang their favourite carol ‘Love Came Down at Christmas’. It was all rather magical and Sally the vicar gave everyone a warm welcome.
Jace didn’t show at the service with Flissa. He was nursing his wounded pride out of sight somewhere down by the harbour, by all accounts. Flissa caught Griff’s arm coming out of the church. ‘What happened last night? Jace is furious. Felix was being very coy… something to do with that Sara.’
‘I think your beau owes you an apology.’
‘For what?’ She looked puzzled.
‘Let’s put it this way: he’s been economical with the truth about the wedding that never was. There’s more to it than his version of events. Let’s leave it at that but I don’t think he’s one of life’s keepers, Fliss.’ Griff didn’t want to discuss the matter further but Flissa was insistent.
‘Now you’ve got me worried. Sorry if I got things wrong but Jace was very cut up seeing her here.’ She paused, her cheeks flushed, gabbling on trying to gain his interest. ‘You did right to begin a new life after the Bannerman affair and I was no help, was I?’
‘You can do better than Metcalfe.’ Griff felt some pity for her.
‘I did but I let him go, didn’t I?’ She gave him one of her puppy looks but Griff was immune to her obvious flirting.
‘That’s past history. If I’ve learned anything here, it’s that you can find new challenges, forgive yourself for past failures and move on. It’s not impossible. Don’t waste time looking for love that doesn’t last. Remember you’re only as rich as your friends. When the chips were down for me, I found out just who they were and you weren’t one of them.’ He knew he was hurting her with this comment but he wanted no misunderstandings. ‘I’ve been rereading Elodie’s memoir. She had relationships sussed. Trust your instincts even if they let you down now and then. But I must go…’ Griff made to escape.
‘We can still be friends.’ Flissa held out her hand.
‘Of course, must dash,’ he replied. Poor Flissa would learn the hard way that tanned muscle and good looks were only skin deep. She had abandoned Griff in his darkest hour when his confidence was at rock bottom and now he was confused himself, misjudging Sara’s own tragic experience with Jace as being all her fault. They were two of a kind, both had suffered humiliation but had found fresh starts here on Santaniki.
Sara was orchestrating these great wedding events and he was creating fresh impetus to the retreat. He hoped Elodie was looking down on his effort with approval. He had found her jottings inspirational, honest and revealing. She had got her priorities right, ditching her two husbands to live her own life. He would have loved to have met her in person but she was there on the page and her words would live on.
There was just time to nip back home to check on tonight’s guest accommodation, sheets and towels changed, bathrooms cleaned, give Sparky his dinner, and bathe his swollen eye. Then he remembered he was best man and his speech was still on his bedside table. He would need to push on or Felix would be panicking that he had done a bunk.
As he reached the drive, Katya and the cleaners were finishing off. ‘Where’s Sparky?’ he asked while the girls smiled at their boss in a skirt.
‘Out in the bushes, somewhere in the garden.’
‘Spartacus!’ he yelled, but the disobedient little mutt didn’t come to greet him. There was no time to fuss over him. When he was hungry, he would find his bowl. Griff grabbed his speech and ran down the hill to the plateia where everyone was lingering over drinks while the photographer was posing guests in groups.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Felix rushed to his side.
‘I forgot my speech.’
‘No time for that, we need some location shots and you are included.’
Griff was soon swallowed up in the crowd, ushered towards the statutory beach scenario. The locals stared at the men in tartan as their pleats swirled behind them. His own grandmother was a McFarlane so he could wear the tartan with pride. Griff was glad his calves were strong enough to look good in traditional socks.
There was a procession of guests and onlookers as they walked up the hill to the hall by the square. The reception party greeted the bride and groom with cheers, the tables looked bright and his speech went down well enough. Spiro translated to some of the Greek guests but he was relieved when it was all over and he could relax.
Simon’s father of the bride speech was brilliant and Alexa got up to put her side of the story. Griff kept a lookout for Sara but she had disappeared into the kitchen with Mel, and he sensed she was avoiding him.
The bride and groom did the customary first dance, unrehearsed and relaxed as the floor filled with guests until Spiro’s troupe burst into the space and displayed their moves. Then they got everyone up to link up and try some simple steps to ‘Zorba’s Dance’. Olympia had fallen asleep on Chloë’s knee and still Sara made no appearance. He knew she would be somewhere and he was desperate to explain.
*
‘Time the boys went home, Yiayia. Look, they’re snaffling sugared almonds off the tables. They’ll be sick,’ said Mel as she grabbed them both. She needed eyes in the back of her head when those two were getting into mischief. The food was going down well and Spiro’s group had got guests onto the floor. Sara was still hiding in the back thinking everyone now knew her secret but that wasn’t so.
She and Spiro had talked long into the night about her sad story and how Jason betrayed her. It was good to feel closer to her husband once more when he told her how he had defended her honour. She was relieved there were no knives or guns involved.
Once the boys were dragged away, she began to clear away dishes while the men were dancing when Flissa leaned over and pointed to Spiro. ‘Who is that? I’d like to take him home with me. He’s sex on legs,’ she whispered.
Mel bent over with a gravy boat hovering ever closer to Flissa’s scarlet lacy dress and cleavage. ‘If you do, lady, I will have to kill you. That’s my husband.’ The look on Flissa’s face was a treat. ‘I should look a bit closer to home, if I were you,’ she continued. ‘Your partner has a roving eye. Or has he not
told you about his conquests in Baltimore? You should see the video…’
‘What are you talking about?’ Flissa replied.
‘Nothing, I thought you knew…’
‘About what?’ Flissa flashed a venomous glare in Mel’s direction as she walked away smiling. That should set the cat among the pigeons.
*
It was late and the Cretan musicians played on until the small hours. Griff escorted some of the oldies back to the retreat. The music rang out across St Nick’s. It was time to escort the bride and groom to the guesthouse for the night, lovingly decorated in their honour with rose petals and favours on the bed, candles lit. Horns hooted, guns rattled. No one would be getting any sleep that night.
It had been a fabulous day. When Griff finally staggered back into the retreat kitchen, he saw that Sparky’s bowl was still untouched. ‘Sparky!’ he yelled into the garden but his dog didn’t greet him. Perhaps he had hidden from the gunshots. Griff was too tired to explore further, assuming that in the morning Sparky would be at the door waiting.
*
Sara slept in, exhausted from all the backroom preparations that had made Alexa’s wedding such a success. Chloë presented her with a huge bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne as a thank you. It was all too hectic to worry about Griff and Flissa or Jace. She caught a glimpse of him with his black eye and had to laugh. At least Felix had arrived unscathed from the stag night punch-up.
Bits of the fracas were leaked among the kitchen staff and Jace was somewhere in the centre of it with his broken nose. Flissa wasn’t telling anyone why he didn’t show up at the wedding or reception. Trust him to bunk off like he did with her. For all his muscle he was a spineless coward. How had she ever thought he was the man for her?
The guests were out on a tour of the island while the newlyweds slept on. Both sets of parents had clubbed together to give them a week on the famous luxury ship Hebridean Princess, touring round the Scottish islands so Felix could touch base with his ancestral home on Skye, seat of Clan MacLeod.
Olympia would have ‘Gampy and Ganima’ all to herself. No one was budging until after Christmas and Sara had no plans since there was the SPARKY fundraiser to organise.
Posters and invites had gone out, asking for fancy dress materials. They had the post-Christmas lull to recuperate and prepare for the event. She hoped people would be enthused and ready to party. Part of her wanted to back out, feeling awkward around Griff.
When she roused herself out of a stupor of self-doubt and made for the minimarket, she was met by Pippa with Harmony strapped to her chest.
‘Have you heard? Spartacus is missing. No one has seen him in the town or around the square. He doesn’t stray far as a rule. Griff is distraught in case he’s been poisoned, though there’s not been any incidents of late. He’s out searching with Duke. I do hope the little dog is okay.’
‘He’s tough and streetwise,’ Sara said but worried all the same. Sparky was their poster boy. The children in school had watched the vet showing them how to examine a dog for mange and fleas. ‘He’ll turn up. There may be a bitch on heat… Oops, he’s no longer entire, is he?’
‘He may be trapped somewhere out by the rocks.’ Pippa waved goodbye and headed uphill.
Sara wanted to help look, knowing how much Sparky meant to Griff and to their campaign. It was not like him to wander far from his master. Perhaps Mel might know more.
In the taverna, Irini was knitting furiously like Madame Defarge and smiling for once. ‘It was a good night for everyone. My son was a star.’
Mel was at work in the kitchen stirring the beans with Katya, business as usual for them. Spiro was out taxiing guests around the coast and the villages at the other end of the island.
‘Sparky is missing,’ Mel greeted her.
‘I know. No one seems to know exactly when he disappeared. I guess while we were all at the wedding.’
‘Dogs vanish, they have a will of their own,’ Irini contributed, not looking up from her needles.
‘He’s no ordinary dog,’ Mel shouted back. ‘He’s special, rescued, restored back to health and Griff’s companion and our poster boy.’
‘Poof! You English make such a fuss of them. Pets are for children.’ Irini had spoken but Mel was having none of it.
‘You saw the pictures of him, unrecognisable, barely alive and ill-treated by someone.’
‘He reminds me of Maria’s little pooch. She was very fond of him.’
‘Maria who? Perhaps he’s gone back to her.’
‘I doubt it, she left years ago. Poor Maria, such a martyr…’ Irini sighed, shaking her head.
‘But which Maria? There are many Marias in this town.’
‘Maria Metrakis, Stavros’s wife… the one who got away.’
‘Didn’t Sparky come from that area?’ Sara asked. Mel put down her cloth and they both gathered round Irini to question her.
‘It’s not him… I never saw it again after she left. Perhaps she took it with her. Stavros would have shot it a long time ago.’
‘That’s the same man who tore down our posters, the one who sits on the square twiddling his beads, dressed like a tramp?’ Sara said. ‘Do you think Sparky isn’t lost but taken?’
‘Whatever for, a useless dog to be fed and watered?’ Irini carried on counting her stitches.
Mel looked at Sara and rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Shouldn’t we tell Griff? Why didn’t you mention this before? You’ve seen Griff’s dog plenty of times under the table in the taverna.’
‘As I said, Melodia, all little dogs look alike to me. If you venture up there, take Aristides, the policeman. Stavros and his boys will not be challenged on their own property and you must find proof before you go making accusations against the Metrakis clan. I will pray to St Phanourios.’
‘Why would he take little Sparky? It doesn’t make sense,’ Sara said.
‘Who knows what goes on in that madman’s head?’ Irini looked up. ‘This is man’s work, not for you. The police have had a bellyful of those brothers over the years. Aristides will know what to do.’
34
It was the book club’s Christmas supper and Sara knew what she was going to take. If St Phanourios had any clout then she must make a Lost and Found cake to share among the group so Sparky would be found quickly, safe and well, not lying somewhere poisoned like poor Orpheus. His poisoner had never been detected.
She chose a recipe online, and placed her statue of the saint where he could oversee the proceedings and bless her efforts. She gathered the ingredients together on the table; flour, water, sugar, olive oil, chopped walnuts, cinnamon, baking powder and a lemon from the garden. Mixing everything in a bowl, she poured the thick batter into a baking dish to cook for an hour.
Hovering over the oven, afraid it might burn, she prayed it would rise and not flop back. Looking up to the wooden statue she smiled. ‘Now it’s up to you.’
Sandra had invited the club to her big house by the shore where she had gone to much trouble decorating it with fairy lights and bits of greenery. ‘I’ve just heard about Griff’s little dog. I hope they find him soon.’
‘Don’t worry, St Phanourios is on the case,’ Sara laughed, handing out slices of her cake with pride. ‘Irini says he finds all sorts of strays and even finds a girl a husband. Perhaps he’ll add me to his list.’
Dorrie Thorner looked down at the plate. ‘This all sounds pagan to me.’ Mel gave her a look that said shut up. ‘Still, this does look tasty, Sara, and not too dry. But you can’t beat an Aga for making moist cakes.’
‘Where would you find an Aga on Santaniki?’ Chloë replied. ‘This is delicious. I shall make a wish for the poor dog to come home. Now who is going to kick the evening off with a seasonal reading?’
‘Just before we do,’ Sandra looked around, ‘I want to tell you all that Jack and I are going back soon for good. Julie has invited us for New Year. We’ve had a wonderful stay, thanks to all of you, with so many happy mem
ories to cherish. When I’m lying under a scanner with my eyes clammed shut, I shall take along my Cretan music CD to relive that wonderful night, dancing under the stars on my wedding night.’
Everyone clapped and wished her well. ‘You will come back. I just know it.’ Mel gave Sandra a hug. ‘There will always be a welcome for you here.’
They settled down to read out their chosen poems and stories as darkness enveloped them and firelight flickered, letting them imagine they were back in Britain on a winter’s night.
How could I leave all this? Sara thought. Sandra and Jack were going back to family. Much as she loved her parents, there was nothing else waiting for her in Sheffield. Here she felt stronger, in control of her future. She had faced the worst in seeing Jason again but knew there was one more thing she must do, if she was to banish him from her life once and for all.
*
Griff had searched all day, down by Sunset Beach where they often walked, up to the rock cave in case he’d followed his scent, around the cafés on the harbour in case he was scrounging for food. He must be starving by now. He feared the worst outcome. Hot and flustered, he trudged on, looking in alleyways, asking locals with no result.
Sparky was part of his life on the island and if he returned to England, Sparky would be coming with him. Duke and Wim had gone in opposite directions to him but all to no avail.
It was nearly two days since he went missing and Griff prepared himself for bad news. Had he been in some accident that no one had thought to report, or was he trapped down some gully?
It was Mel who poured him a stiff whisky when he arrived tired and dishevelled at the taverna. ‘Any news?’ she asked but he shook his head and slumped over the table.
‘We’ve lost him,’ he replied. His cheeks were sunken with tiredness, his forehead burnt by the sun.
‘Not necessarily,’ Mel replied. ‘Irini told us an interesting thing. Sparky reminded her of Maria Metrakis’ pet, the one who may have been left behind on the farm.’
