A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘Not with that crew!’

  ‘It’s a thought worth pursuing,’ she added, seeing the hope in his eyes.

  ‘Just wait until I get up there.’ Griff jumped up but she pushed him back in his chair.

  ‘Caution is needed here. Don’t go alone. Irini says take Aristides. It could get ugly. Spiro will drive you up there with Duke and Wim. Wait here. If you rush in who knows what might happen. We don’t know that he is there.’

  ‘If they’ve harmed him… I’ll…’ Griff was beside himself with fury. It was then that Irini, overhearing the plan, came downstairs slowly and banged her hand on the table.

  ‘You stay away, Kyrie Griff. This is between our people. Yannis, the mayor, the policeman and Spiro will take care of this matter and I will go with them. I have words to say.’

  ‘Mama, no!’ Mel shouted. ‘It could be dangerous.’

  ‘He will not touch me… I know too much. Please, Kyrie Griff, let us do this our way.’

  ‘I have to come then Sparky will know it’s me.’ Griff was not going to be left behind like some timid onlooker.

  ‘Stay in the pickup then,’ Irini ordered, her face stern, her hawk eyes like slits. ‘We must take them by surprise.’ The fierce look she gave him was reassuring in some strange way. They meant business and if some local had shamed their friendliness to strangers, then honour must be restored. ‘Go back to your guests. Bring them here. Mel and Katya will give them supper. What we do, we do in silence…’

  ‘She’s right,’ Mel whispered. ‘Keep schtum and let us take care of things.’

  *

  Sara found Jason Metcalfe sitting slumped over his Mythos waiting for the ferry. Felix told her where he was hiding. ‘Flissa blew him out and flew back yesterday without telling him.’

  Sara stood over her ex until he looked up. ‘There you are. I want a word with you. How could you tell lies about what happened between us? It’s time things were cleared up once and for all.’ She ordered a frappé and sat down. Her heart was pumping but she continued.

  ‘You did me a great wrong, cheating on me. Well let me tell you, you are no Michelin star in the bedroom. How dare you complain about me to that whore? You’re just a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, a burger and chips, not fine cuisine. It was always about you, not me. You may be the body beautiful but that doesn’t make up for tenderness or imagination. I am so over you and, I guess, so is your latest squeeze.’

  ‘Have you finished?’ Jason snapped. ‘You’re doing my head in—’

  ‘No, I have not. You made a big mistake thinking I would put up with your antics. You let me think it was all my fault for not being good enough but let’s face it, you’ve a lot to learn about pleasuring a woman. A sorry wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘Sorry for what? It was you who shamed me in front of my parents and mates. You could’ve warned me.’

  ‘And find myself alone at the altar while you did a runner? No, I think what I did was just right. It’s taken me months to come to terms with our fiasco of a wedding day. You cheated on me because you didn’t really care. I was just another trophy for your cupboard. You would’ve ditched me sooner or later if someone better came along but I got in there first. Grow up, Jason, learn from your mistakes like I’ve had to do or you’ll go on making them.’

  ‘You can cut out all that psychology crap, leave it off.’ He looked up. ‘Thank God, here comes the ferry. I can’t wait to get off this scabby island. I wish you luck.’

  Sara watched him roll his case towards the ship, walking out of her life for ever. He would never learn and for the first time since her wedding day, she felt a tinge of pity for the man.

  As she turned to return home there was a shout.

  ‘Sara! You’ve come to meet me, how kind.’ It was Don Ford lugging his bag, waving to her. He had kept his promise to return in the off season. How glad she was to see him.

  *

  It was nearly midnight, dark and chilly as they rattled up the track to the Metrakis farm, a ramshackle collection of stone cube-shaped sheds, rusting farm equipment and old vans cluttering the entrance. Griff could smell the wood smoke rising from a small chimney in the house. An oil lamp flickered in a window. It was then their dogs barked, announcing their arrival. The door opened. Stavros stood bleary-eyed in a long shirt over his belly, his bare white legs thin and hairy. ‘What the hell is this?’ he yelled.

  Irini got out of the car seat, dressed in black, wrapped in a shawl, her headscarf covering her hair. ‘Kyria Maria Metrakis, do you have her dog?’

  ‘What bloody dog? Is this some joke?’ The torches of the policeman, the mayor and the men shone into his face.

  ‘You know the one, the poor beast Maria left behind.’

  ‘What are you talking about, woman?’

  Aristides stepped forward in his uniform. ‘We have reason to believe this is the wretched creature Kyrie Griff found starving, beaten and left by a track not far from here. He had crawled to find shelter from the sun.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ Stavros argued but Irini was not finished.

  ‘Maria, your wife, came to me the night she left with bruises on her cheeks and arms. She told me how you abused her. It was unspeakable. The doctor came out to dress her wounds. You tried to break her spirit but she left by ferry, crying that she was unable to go back for her pet because you chained it over there.’ Irini pointed to a post.

  ‘Rubbish! I never touched her,’ Stavros argued, but he looked vulnerable now, half naked, surrounded by local men and this avenging angel in black.

  ‘So, maybe you punished her little dog instead, chained it, threw it some grain now and then and kicked it out to die?’

  ‘This woman is mad but what do you expect from a Papadaki troublemaker?’

  Spiro leapt forward, about to thump him, but the men held him back. ‘You don’t talk to my mama like that. The Papadakis know all about your family.’

  ‘We want to search your premises.’ Aristides stepped forward, his hand holding his holster. ‘If the dog is not here, we will leave you in peace.’

  ‘Do what you want, you’ll find nothing here.’

  Griff couldn’t wait any longer and jumped out of the pickup; he called out for his dog but there was not a sound. Perhaps they were barking up the wrong tree after all but his instinct was on alert. He was sure Metrakis was holding something back.

  As they were searching with torches, Spiro tripped over something. ‘What’s this?’ He lifted a tin to the light. It was a tin of rat poison… ‘Is this what I think it is?’ He called the others to examine it more closely. There were fresh grains inside.

  ‘We do have details of the exact poison used to kill cats and strays in St Nick’s and Kyria Ariadne’s cat, Orpheus. If this tin matches our sample…’ Aristides threatened.

  ‘It’s never been out of this shed,’ Stavros said without conviction. He looked nervous.

  ‘Then what’s it doing out here half open?’

  ‘You have no right to search my property or remove my goods.’

  Irini was having none of it. ‘You Metrakis are mountain thugs. Your name is mud on Crete. There are many who still recall the murder of Anastasia and her family. Memories are long. Is that why you hide out here? I know what your family is capable of and you are cut from the same cloth, a bully, a thief and now a poisoner. When Santaniki knows this, there will be no hiding place for you on this island. Save your face and tell us where that dog is, or else I curse you to hell and back!’

  For a second there was silence then Stavros stuttered, ‘He’s my dog, it belongs to me. It got lost and the foreigner stole it. He owes me compensation.’

  They all sneered at this volte-face. ‘Pull the other leg, Metrakis. You saw how it recovered and blossomed into a fine dog that is heading the campaign to rescue strays. You waited until everyone was at the wedding and took him, lured him into your van. I bet he did not come willingly. Were you going to sell him online, given half the chance? Where is he?’
/>
  ‘How can I steal what is my property?’ Stavros shuffled from one foot to the other, his two sons peering behind him.

  ‘Don’t tell them, Papa.’

  ‘Shut up, you fool,’ came the reply.

  Griff had heard enough of these excuses and wandered off with his torch. Stavros was not stupid enough to put the dog in his yard. He was a sly one. Perhaps he wanted to hold him for ransom, the crazy man.

  Having jogged around this area enough, Griff knew all the farms had shepherds’ huts where they milked their sheep and goats for myzithra cheese. They were usually a distance away but not too far. He kept on whistling, calling out, hoping against hope in the silence. Only a bell owl answered his call.

  He was about to turn back but called one last time. A bark replied, a bark he would recognise anywhere. Sparky was calling out to him and all he had to do was follow the sound blindly, trusting his instinct until he came to a round stone hut, the barking and whimpering reaching a frenzy. ‘Sparky, I’m here, coming to rescue you, old boy!’

  *

  Mel sat with Sara and Don in the small hours after the last of the wedding guests staggered back to the retreat. ‘Welcome back, you’re just in time to see the drama unfold,’ Mel said as they filled Don in with the latest developments. He stoked up the fire while they made a pile of zucchini fritters, braised chicken pieces in red wine, a mountain of Greek salad with tomatoes, cheese, greens, finishing off with large slices of baklava. They were keeping themselves busy, trying not to think about what was going on up in the hills.

  ‘Irini has taken a new lease of life over this business. She dressed all in black like an avenging widow. I’ve never seen her look so fierce. Those Cretan genes were calling out for vengeance but I hope she’s not tired herself out and done something foolish.’

  Sara refused to go home until they returned. Earlier, she had stood before her carved statue of St Phanourios, hoping all the prayers offered to him to find things were true and not just a legend. ‘Do your stuff and I’ll bake another cake in your honour,’ she whispered. Thank goodness no one in Sheffield could hear her pleas. They would think she’d gone doolally.

  What if the Metrakis men got out their guns? Surely the mayor, policeman and Spiro were a match for any threats. As for Griff, now she knew how the men had defended her honour and given Jace a thumping, with black eyes and bruises for their trouble, all fears for her own reputation were forgotten in her concern for his safety.

  They drank endless cups of Greek coffee, tidied up, swept and mopped, cleared the tables and still they didn’t return. Mel was beginning to panic. ‘Should I call for reinforcements?’ she asked, just as the sound of wheels brought them to their feet with relief. ‘Spiro, Mama!’ Mel shot out of the door to greet them. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re back in one piece. I was so worried. Is Mama safe?’

  Spiro kissed her with passion. ‘All’s well and look who we have here.’ He pointed to Griff cradling Sparky in his arms. There was the little dog, none the worse for his adventure. ‘The warriors return,’ he said. ‘Mama was magnificent. That place is a hovel. They won’t be troubling anyone for a while.’ Spiro stood proud, sniffing the air. ‘What can I smell? I’m starving. My magnificent Melodia thinks of everything.’

  Irini beamed with pride at her son’s words. ‘I tore a strip off that man, threatened him with curses and exposure and he crumpled like the coward he is,’ she said.

  Griff was stroking the dog’s head. ‘I found Sparky chained up in a milking hut with water and some kibble, thank God, no harm done.’

  Aristides chipped in. ‘We think we have found the source of the poison on Stavros’s farm. If it is tested and found to be a match, then the Metrakis men are in for a grilling and substantial fine. They will pay compensation for the trouble they have caused but without Irini softening them up with her threats, I doubt they would have admitted anything to us. What a night!’

  Sara caught Griff’s eye and smiled. ‘So glad you’re all back safely,’ she offered and to her relief he smiled back with warmth. St Phanourios must have been watching overhead as they brought the supper to the table and everyone wolfed it down.

  ‘Don’t forget the meeting for the SPARKS night tomorrow, Sara,’ Griff said. ‘This little chap and me are heading for bed… what’s left of the night. You should all do the same and thank you once again for all your help. I dread to think what might have happened to Sparky if we hadn’t found him. Come along, Don, I think we can find you a bed. There’s a good crime story here, don’t you think?’

  Sara nodded to them both, relieved they were all home safe, men and dog, and that she and Griff were still friends. Aristides escorted her back towards Ariadne’s villa. ‘A good night’s work, Kyria Sara.’

  Sara thanked him, knowing more things had shifted than what happened at the farm. Jason had left with his tail between his legs and it was as if a weight was shifted from her shoulders. Giving him the hard word had released all that hateful venom out of her system. Now she could relax and enjoy her first Christmas among friends.

  Christmas

  35

  Sara never experienced such a festive season like this before. Everyone joined together in preparing decorations to sell at the traditional Christmas market in the plateia. Griff organised a stall for SPARKS. Together they made leaflets of information and adverts for the Abba tribute night. Chloë and the book club ladies baked mince pies by the dozen alongside a vat of Christmas punch, full of fruit and spices heated on a primus stove. St Nick’s was festooned with lighted boats in windows in honour of St Nikolas, patron saint of all things nautical. Christmas trees, artificial or made from pine branches, brightened up the square.

  In a decorated tent Griff was cajoled into his Uncle Jolly role as Santa himself. Sara was amused to see Duke carrying in little Harmony to meet him. He came out with a howling toddler. The weather was cool and seasonal but no snow was forecast as was the case two years before.

  Spiro and Mel grilled chicken souvlaki on sticks and the taverna was lit with lanterns and wreaths. Local artists displayed their work, jewellers, patchwork, weaving, olive wood sculpting, soaps, creams and cosmetics and candles scenting the air. Over the island there was a wealth of talent beavering away at their crafts.

  Then there was the carol singing in the community hall and a Nativity play by the school children with a feast of Christmas biscuits and breads, cake and sweets. Sara had never seen such goodies and ate far too much.

  Later she walked down to the beach with Don. ‘It’s great to have you back. You’re my ally. I missed you,’ she confessed.

  ‘Ally against who?’ he replied. ‘Griff? What is it between you both?’

  ‘I don’t know… You heard about Jason arriving, the man I should have married? It floored me at first. It was such a disastrous experience.’

  ‘Are you saying you will never trust another man again?’

  ‘Something like that. I was on the harbour giving my ex a piece of my mind when you arrived. Since his departure I do feel different. I admire Griff, who wouldn’t, but you know…’ She hesitated. ‘Not sure where it would lead. Why am I telling you all this?’ she asked as they found a bench to watch the gunmetal waves crashing onto the shoreline.

  ‘Because we’re friends,’ Don said, patting her hand.

  ‘Why did you return so early? I thought you were home for Christmas. Isn’t there family?’ She hoped she wasn’t prying.

  ‘Writing can be a lonely occupation. You get caught up in your own little world, in the bubble of edits, deadlines, launch tours. I had a wife. She was understanding at first and put up with my absences and schedules but I left her too long and she found someone else. I never blamed her. I can be a selfish old buffer when the work isn’t going well. I didn’t read the signs, too engrossed in being successful, pleasing audiences, acting the clown. It took its toll.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Don. I had no idea. You always seem so cheerful.’ Sara sighed, knowing now how everyone tr
ied to hide their sorrows by a mask of bravado.

  ‘Oh yes, good old Don who likes a tipple, flirts with the girls. It’s a well-honed act, my dear, and hard to keep up of late. Here on the island I can relax and no one wants a piece of me. To be truthful my latest book is a stinker. It has no legs and that’s scary for an author… Last night when I got back to the retreat, it felt like coming home and I had the strangest dream. I thought I saw someone standing over me, smiling, holding out a sheet of paper. I woke and a new idea just popped into my head. I was so excited, I shot out of bed, banging my toe and started writing. That doesn’t happen to the likes of me but it has now, much to my surprise.’

  ‘How wonderful. So you will stay on?’ Sara was so pleased for him.

  ‘Oh yes, I have to catch this story while it falls. Sound weird to you?’

  ‘Not at all. It was a dream that brought me back here to work, a wedding at sunset on a beach.’

  ‘Then I think this calls for a drink or two.’ Don hugged her. ‘If I were twenty years younger, Griff would have some competition, young lady.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I think Griff has had enough of me blowing hot and cold. Come on, we need to get you organised for the tribute night. You have to look the part, it’s your era after all,’ Sara laughed.

  ‘Don’t rub it in, you’re as young as you feel, and as a matter of fact, I’ve come prepared.’

  *

  Chloë and Simon opened their home for a Christmas Eve supper, a chance to dress up, exchange gifts and catch up on any gossip. The Papadakises insisted Griff, Sara, Don, Pippa and Duke share their Christmas Day.

  No one knew that Sara, Mel and Pippa were rehearsing a secret routine and Irini was sewing them costumes from old curtain remnants. Their confrontation with the Metrakis family was the talk of the neighbourhood. Irini held her head high as she recalled each detail, suitably embellished into a battle royal. Mel and Spiro sat back smiling but Markos drank in every word. ‘Yiayia, did you really fight them?’ he asked.

  ‘She fought them with words, mightier than any sword. Mama faced them with the truth and made them feel shame,’ Spiro replied. ‘That is a victory without guns, my son.’