A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘And you smell delicious, by the way,’ he said, before kissing her gently. ‘We’ve been orbiting around each other for months, coxing and boxing. I knew there was something in your past. There were moments when I sensed you wanted me but then…’

  ‘I know, but that was then, this is now.’ Sara kissed him, this time withholding nothing. Sparky jumped up, barking, not wanting to be left out. ‘We might have to finish this in private,’ Griff laughed.

  ‘No time like the present then,’ Sara replied, pointing to the stairs, hoping she had made her bed.

  ‘Sparky… stay, stay here, good boy,’ Griff ordered as the little dog watched them retire to her bedroom, his head on his paws, looking forlorn, sensing it was going to be a long wait.

  Three months later

  ‘What are you doing for your birthday next week?’ Mel asked as they were sitting on the terrace of the retreat sipping iced lemonade.

  ‘I’m trying to forget it. Who wants to admit to the big four-oh?’

  ‘Nonsense, it’s the new thirty. Has Griff made any plans to celebrate with you?’

  Sara had moved into the retreat with him after the New Year and Don Ford was now renting Ariadne Villa. She was keeping quiet about the date. ‘He’s had to go back for his niece’s confirmation. She’s his goddaughter.’ They had made a brief visit to the ancestral home in the Shropshire hills where Sara was greeted like a long-lost sister. ‘He did ask me to come but knew that Mum and Dad had emailed to say they would like to visit to celebrate with me. We’ll be staying on Crete for a few days to explore the island. They were insistent I joined them. I’m really not bothered about it. I find birthdays depressing, another year older and all that.’

  ‘We celebrate our name days here but I don’t think there’s a St Melodia yet. My baptismal name is Maria so I get plenty of cake and flowers then. Have you a second name?’

  ‘Catherine… after my gran. I always think it a waste of a good name. It never gets used except on a passport or at a wedding.’

  ‘I must say you look so happy. I can see it’s going well with Griff. I’m sure he’ll bring you something back from his visit. Any more wedding bookings?’ Mel was always interested in her business. She was becoming a dear friend.

  ‘Three confirmed bookings for May and June so I’m glad of this quiet break now.’

  Later, Sara took Sparky for a walk onto the stony track. Spring was in full blossom with roadsides a riot of wild flowers, poppies, daisies and tulips.

  How could she explain to Mel her new life with Griff? He was everything she could wish for, tender, passionate and considerate. What had she done to deserve such a change of fortune? She didn’t mind her birthday being low key. It was good of her parents to make the long journey here but she would take the ferry and meet them at the airport.

  It would be a packed few days visiting the museums and the botanical gardens of Crete, a trip onto the Omalos plain to see the wild orchids and tulips. They were going to stay at a bijou hotel behind the harbour in Chania, returning to St Nick’s on her actual birthday. It was a shame Griff wouldn’t be there to greet her, Mel would be busy and even Don had returned to London for some publisher’s bash. She was trying not to feel a little deserted but it seemed everyone was otherwise engaged. They had taken her at her word that she didn’t want a fuss.

  *

  Sara loved waiting at Chania airport to meet her visitors and brides-to-be. Dad hugged her. ‘It’ll be good to have you all to ourselves for a bit,’ he said. ‘I remember holding your mum’s hand trying not to faint as she pushed you out into the world. It seems like only yesterday.’

  Sara smiled, sensing this was going to be a quiet but loving birthday to remember.

  *

  Mel was up a ladder fixing lanterns to the olive trees. ‘How does this look?’ she shouted to Spiro who with Duke and Simon was trying to erect an arch of foliage and flowers by the entrance to the garden of the retreat. ‘Has Natalie brought the cake yet? Thank goodness she’s back from her travels.’

  Nat was a founder member of the book club alongside Chloë and Ariadne Blunt. She was their star baker. Her cakes were to die for. Chloë was busy filling vases for the table filled with roses and blossoms while Dorrie and Sally were helping Don put up a big banner by the entrance to the drive.

  ‘Are you sure she’ll want the whole town to know she’s forty? I would hate it,’ Dorrie said.

  ‘Why not?’ Don replied. ‘Anyway, we’re only putting Chronia polla on the street lamps. She’ll think it’s for someone else.’

  It was all hands to the pump that morning, roping in everyone who knew Sara – even Irini was busy preparing dishes for the feast. Mel was not going to let her friend get away scot-free from this landmark birthday. What were a few porky pies when it came to giving Sara this surprise?

  Griff was on hand supervising. He had returned yesterday with Don. Little did his lover know to what lengths her friends were going to keep this a secret. There were helium balloons to tie up and the big dining table extended for the dinner.

  Allan and Josie, Sara’s parents, were in on the deception and had a tight schedule to fill so that they returned to the island after all the other guests were assembled. Even Sparky would have his role to play but that was for later. Everyone was entering into the spirit of the event.

  Irini had to keep them in the taverna long enough with cake and name day treats. Mel ordered a little icon of St Katerina from the monastery at Agia Triada on the Akrotiri peninsula. Irini would give this to her from the family. Allan and Josie knew to string things along until the signal to come up was texted. The party was being planned like a military campaign.

  The one drawback was how to get Sara out of her usual jeans and T-shirt into something partified without arousing suspicion, but Josie came up with the perfect solution. Mel was so excited for her friend. She, who planned so many happy events, was going to get a celebration all of her own.

  *

  When her mum had finished unpacking her case, she brought a parcel into Sara’s room. ‘These are for you from us.’ Sara opened the box to find a string of creamy pearls. ‘How lovely! I’ve always admired yours…’

  ‘I’ve kept these for years, they’re natural ones. My aunt left them to me. She’s the one who lived in Hong Kong, never married but everything she bought was genuine. I think every woman of a certain age should wear pearls, fake or real. Try them on.’

  Sara sat by the mirror to admire their effect around her tanned neck. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And there’s something else from her too. I thought it might be useful on a model for one of your online wedding blogs.’ She opened a package wrapped in tissue paper and lifted out a full-length ivory satin wedding dress. ‘This was Hilda’s. It was never worn. Her fiancé died in Burma during the war. I found it folded in a cupboard. How could I part with it? It’s beautiful, cut on the bias. She was tall like you. I thought you might like it.’

  Sara fingered it with care. There was a scent of rosemary and lavender, not mothballs. ‘It’s perfect, vintage and expensive by the feel of the satin. I’ve been thinking about a vintage angle for when I do another wedding fair. Mum, it’s too good to have sticky fingers touching it. I’d wear it myself…’ Sara laughed, seeing her mum’s face. ‘Don’t go giving me ideas.’

  ‘Dad and I are so proud of you, making a new life out here, much as we miss you, and now you’ve got Griff. The first time I met him I had a feeling he was right for you. It’s a pity he’ll be away on your birthday, love.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back and forth. I need to be seen at some wedding fairs, if only to give Paradise Tours a run for their money.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it. What with the artists’ courses, a big house to run and a business of your own…’

  Sara smiled. Trust Mum to fuss. I might be forty in a few days but there’s life in the old girl yet.

  *

  ‘Oughtn’t we to be getting back to the retreat?’ Sara said a
s she sat in the taverna sipping village wine and wondering how she would eat the enormous slice of chocolate cake Irini had baked specially. Her parents sat back, in no hurry. ‘Thank you so much for this icon. It will sit in my office.’

  ‘It’s St Katerina in honour of your own second name,’ she explained. Mel must have tipped her the wink when she had asked about her middle name.

  ‘I really think I should be getting back now.’ She was surprised Mel wasn’t there to greet them. ‘Where’s Mel?’ she asked, but Irini shrugged her shoulders. ‘On the beach with the boys, I think.’

  Sara stood to make a move and then her mother nudged her, throwing half a large glass of red wine over her jeans, soaking right through to her legs with a blood-red stain.

  ‘Oh, how clumsy of me,’ her mum cried.

  ‘No worries, I’ll change when I get back.’ Irini rushed over with a damp cloth, only making things worse.

  ‘You can’t walk through town like that on your name day. You have a case of clothes right here. Change into something. I will wash your jeans,’ she ordered, pointing to the toilet. ‘There’s no one in… It is too hot for trousers.’

  Her mother was rooting through her bag. ‘Here, put this on.’ She held up a floral printed sundress they had chosen in Chania, and the pearls. ‘I’d like to see the effect.’

  ‘I’m only going up the road in the jeep.’ Sara was feeling pressurised into complying. She didn’t see Dad winking at Irini. She tried not to feel annoyed as she peeled off her shirt and wet jeans, stepped into the floral dress and ran a comb through her tousled hair. The sea crossing had done it no favours. She fixed the pearls and shook her head. What a fuss about nothing. It was not like Mum and Dad to dawdle when there was a swimming pool to cool down in. They climbed into her old jeep that was parked in the harbour to take them back.

  ‘Oh, look,’ said her mother. ‘What does that sign say?’

  ‘Many years, their version of happy returns,’ Sara answered, noticing there were posters all up the road on the lamp-posts. She’d never seen that before. It was then she saw the helium balloons by the entrance to the retreat. What was going on? Had someone booked the garden without her consent? She turned her back for a few days and someone had taken liberties. Then she saw the banner on top of the huge arch. What was going on? ‘Happy Birthday, Sara!’

  Then all hell was let loose as friends were popping out of bushes, waving and smiling: ‘Welcome back.’ How had they managed all this behind her back? She turned around to see her parents grinning.

  ‘You knew about this?’

  ‘You didn’t think we were going to let you celebrate your big birthday with a pizza and a pint?’ Dad replied.

  ‘Now I get all that pantomime in Irini’s was done to get me changed…’

  Sara walked slowly up the drive to greet her friends who were all done up to the nines in party gear. There were bottles of fizz and bouquets, cards and kisses. It was all too much to take in. Such a pity Griff wasn’t here to enjoy it with her. Then Don appeared from nowhere. ‘You are supposed to be in London,’ she said with her hands on her hips in mock rebuke.

  ‘So I was, but not for long. Happy birthday, my dear Sara. This is for you.’ He produced a parcel wrapped in foil. ‘Open it later.’

  She spied Simon and Chloë, Dorrie and Norris, Pippa and Duke, Sally and her husband. ‘I never expected this.’ Her eyes were filling up. ‘Is this all your doing?’ She pointed to Mel and Spiro who were arm in arm together, laughing.

  ‘Not exactly.’ A familiar shape stepped out of the trees. ‘Happy birthday, darling!’

  Sara spun round in surprise and ran into his arms. ‘You deceitful devils. Here’s me thinking nobody knew or cared. Thank you, everybody.’ She could hardly speak for crying.

  Griff led her to the veranda where the feast was being laid out and in the middle was a gorgeous iced cake piped with roses and ivy leaves. It was too beautiful to cut. There were pictures taken, corks popping, glasses clinking but she had eyes for only one man as the local musicians began to tune up for dancing. Sara could hardly breathe or eat for excitement. ‘When did you get back?’ She nudged Griff.

  ‘After you’d gone. Look who are over there.’ A couple were waving to her. It was Griff’s brother Rufus and Serena, his wife.

  ‘They came all the way out here for me?’

  ‘I thought it was about time they came to see where we live and work. They are mighty impressed.’ Griff turned to Sara. ‘It’s going to be quite a night.’

  *

  Griff could see the delight on Sara’s face. She looked radiant as they tucked into her favourite dish; rooster, oven roasted in red wine with a side salad of greens and Nat’s home baked rolls. The house had never looked so festive. Looking up, he saw a shadow flitting across the top window as if someone was looking down on them. Was Elodie giving them her blessing? She would approve, he was sure, for the novelist had known real love in her lifetime. Now there was one more task he must perform before they danced the night away.

  Taking his leave, he found Sparky snuffling for leftovers under the table and took him inside to put on his special pouch. ‘Come on, old boy, you can do the honours.’ Leading the dog to the table, Griff banged his spoon on the table to gain attention.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for giving so generously of your time and effort to make this a memorable night. Mel and I could not have done this without you. As you may recall, Sara and I did not get off to the best of starts. She thought me a burglar and I thought her one of those annoying tourists, but over time we have become the dearest of friends. She is working tirelessly for our dog rescue charity which I am happy to announce can now begin to rehome strays across Europe. Tonight, though, is not about all this good work.

  ‘Tonight is about wishing Sara, here, a happy birthday and all the very best success for the future. She has made herself part of this community, building up her business, bringing welcome income into our tourist economy. It is only right that Sparky and I give her something from us to add to this splendid celebration.’ Griff motioned Sara to stand up and Sparky jumped onto the chair.

  Sara saw Sparky was carrying something in a little pouch around his neck. ‘What’s this, for me?’

  Griff nodded. ‘Open it,’ he said as she released his present from the collar. ‘I hope you like it.’

  Sara unwrapped the paper to find a small leather box and lifted the lid. Inside was a ring; a half hoop of diamonds with a large emerald in the middle. She was speechless, looking to Griff in surprise. ‘It was my grandmother’s,’ he whispered as he placed it on her finger. ‘Marry me, Sara Loveday, please, and soon…’

  There was silence as their guests waited for her answer. Sara grinned. ‘Of course… but only if I can book the olive garden.’ There were cheers and a roar of congratulations. She looked across to her mother who was wiping her eyes with tears of joy. What a night to remember, she thought, as she looked down at the lanterns flickering, the candles in jars, the scent of white jasmine. Here was the perfect wedding venue and Aunt Hilda’s dress was waiting to be worn at last, but most of all, here was the best man in the world beside her. If this was what forty was going to be like, bring it on.

  Recipe

  LOST AND FOUND CAKE

  (Phanouropita)

  500g self-raising flour

  250ml water

  250g sugar

  200g olive oil

  250g chopped walnuts

  250g raisins

  2tsp baking powder

  1tsp ground cinnamon

  Zest and juice of 1 orange

  Heat oven to 150°C.

  Put all the above in a bowl and mix well. Pour the batter into a 25cm diameter baking tin. Bake for one hour.

  Traditionally shared into forty pieces!

  It is said it will help unmarried girls find a husband; others bake this cake to help people find the right path or to help farmers find stolen animals.

  Acknowledgements

&nb
sp; Without some helpful anecdotes and experiences from my dear friends, Trisha and Mike Scott, and the professional expertise of wedding planner, Elizabeth Cradick (elizabeth@weddingsincrete.co.uk), my heroine would have failed on all fronts. Any mistakes are therefore my own.

  Spartacus bounced unplanned into my story, inspired by my own rescue dog, Mr Beau. I am grateful to my friend Heather Welham for information on the dedicated work of ARIA (Animal Rescue In Apokoronas) and their rehoming services.

  Many thanks once more to my agent, Judith Murdoch, editor Rosie de Courcy and copy editor Liz Hatherell for their excellent editorial advice, and the team at Head of Zeus for their encouragement.

  For David and I, falling in love with the island of Crete all those years ago has been a great source of inspiration and joy. As for St Phanourios and his powers, he has not let me down yet in finding anything mislaid.

  Leah Fleming

  About the Author

  Leah Fleming found her true calling as a storyteller after careers in teaching, catering, running a market stall, stress management courses in the NHS, as well as being a mother of four. She lives in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales but spends part of the year marinating her next tale from an olive grove on her favourite island of Crete.

  leahfleming.co.uk

  @LeahleFleming

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