“You wonder how, with your experience, you could be taken in by a con man,” said Paris.
“You’re doing it again. Unnerving me.” There were many more reasons for her feeling unnerved in his presence than him reading her mind. He had not bothered to dress for the walk back, carrying his clothes over his arm. His very nearness was enough to throw her emotions off kilter. And that terrified her. After Tony, she vowed never to trust another man. She would never let anyone get close to her, and make her vulnerable again.
Not that she believed Paris was interested in her in anything other than a professional capacity. At best she brought out his caring side. At worst she was an interesting case study, and the Stefan stuff had only served to make her more interesting.
“I’m just trying to tell you to stop being so hard on yourself, Shelley. People make mistakes. We trust others because we’re basically honest human beings ourselves and we’ve a tendency to believe the best of people. When you love someone, it’s harder still to believe the worst in them, as you think it reflects on your judgement. But when they let you down, it’s their failure. Not yours.”
“A year ago, I had a home of my own and money in the bank. Now, at the age of thirty, I’m back living with my mother and if she hadn’t paid for this holiday I wouldn’t be here. How can I not feel a failure, Paris?”
He stopped and turned to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She liked the way it felt. “Because you’re not. A lot of people would want to hide under the duvet and never leave the house again. I’ve seen it happen during my work with victim support. But despite your misgivings about being here, you came. That’s because deep down you haven’t given up. You’re getting your life back on track. The fact that your mum had to pay is of no importance. Allowing that took some courage too. She loves you a lot, you know.”
“Really? She’s the one who keeps telling me I’m a failure.” Shelley walked on, not wanting to push Paris away, but feeling even more unsettled by his touch. She told herself he only meant to be kind, yet she couldn’t help but notice the electricity that passed from his fingers through the fabric of her tee shirt.
“Does she? I got the impression your mum thinks she’s the one who’s failed, because she couldn’t make you see that Tony was a conman. She blames herself for not trying harder to make you see the truth.”
“You got all that from my mother?” It seemed unlikely to Shelley. Her mum was as tough as they came.
“Reading between the lines, yes.”
“Hmm, my mum doesn’t have anything between the lines. She’s a completely open book. What you see is what you get.”
“No. You feel defensive about what happened, so you’ve read your mum wrong.”
“Thank you, Sigmund.”
“For the record, I hate Freud.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence but not the uncomfortable kind. She felt safe with him there. She might tease him about his tendency to analyse people too much, but a lot of what he said she knew deep down to be the truth.
“Tell you what,” said Paris, as they neared the farmhouse. “I’ve got to go to the mainland tomorrow to pick up some supplies. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll get away from the wrinklies a bit. We could have a couple of hours over there, and maybe get some lunch. I could show you around the town.”
There had been no one in her life since Tony. She was not short of offers for dates, but she turned them all down. The idea of spending time alone with Paris was more appealing than Shelley could have imagined. Nevertheless she was surprised to hear herself say, with more enthusiasm than she intended, “Oh yes, that would be lovely.”
“I think so too,” said Paris, gently.
Shelley did not know how she made it through the next morning. The lesson was Dancing with Silk, and involved them dancing around the room, waving large silk ribbons after them. At first they all felt a bit daft, but that gradually turned to laughter. Especially when Len threw himself into it with such aplomb, like a latter day Rudolph Nureyev. Shelley wondered what his friends at the police social club he often spoke of would think of him. Her guess was that if they were here, he would not enjoy himself nearly as much.
She realised that was the point of this holiday. To take people out of themselves. Have them doing things they wouldn’t normally do. And if it all felt a bit silly, what did it matter? Yaya was laughing too, clapping her hands to the music, to show that she certainly didn’t expect everyone to take it all too seriously.
Paris came to get her just before noon, and stood laughing because she had somehow got herself tied up in Mrs Caldicott’s ribbons as well as her own. As she giggled, struggling to break free, he watched her with what looked like appreciation in his eyes.
“Oh, hang on, dear,” said Mrs Caldicott, “I think that’s your ribbon. No, no it’s mine. This one is yours. No, that one’s mine too. Oh no it isn’t. It’s Minnie’s. Minnie dear, it would have been much better had you not attempted to free us. Now we’re all tied up.”
Shelley realised that for the first time in a long time she was really laughing, right down to the pit of her belly. Tears rolled down her cheeks as they became more and more entangled, until Yaya, also laughing, came along and deftly sorted out the ribbons.
Finally Shelley was able to free herself, and join Paris.
“You looked very pretty, wrapped up in all those colours,” he said as they walked amiably to the jetty. She was glad that her face was already flushed from dancing, so he could not see her blush. “Not that you don’t look lovely in that dress.”
She had agonised over what to wear, and settled on a plain white shift dress, which had a black band around the waist. She had brought it in case dinner turned out to be a formal affair. “Very Audrey Hepburn,” said Paris.
“Oh, in that case, I’d better put on my huge sunglasses,” said Shelley, taking them out of her handbag and putting them on. “There, does that complete the image?” She tried to sound flippant, not wanting to let on how nice it was to be compared to someone who was still considered one of the most beautiful women ever to have lived. In her heart, Shelley knew that she was neither as beautiful or as slender as Audrey, but walking along a beach road, with a handsome man at her side, she allowed herself the fantasy of pretending to be just for that day.
Paris stood back, and put his hands in the formation of a frame, squinting through it with one eye. “Absolutely perfect, dahling,” he said, affecting a Cary Grant accent. “Now, let’s go and have Breakfast at Tiffanys’. Well, I don’t think we’ll get that far in one afternoon. Let’s just make it lunch at a nice little taverna I know near the church.” He held out his arm, in a gallant gesture, and she threaded her own arm through it.
As they walked the last few steps to the jetty, Shelley hoped that he was not standing close enough to her to feel her heart beating rapidly. His arm on hers felt safe and strong, and as both their arms were bare, there was also the delicious sensation of skin on skin, sending a thrill through her whole body.
She felt both excited and confused at the same time. Did he like her as much as she liked him? Or was he just being nice to her because a) he thought she was a bit unstable or b) she was the only person near his age on the islet. As kind as he was to the older guests, she reasoned it must be nice for him to spend time with people of his own age occasionally.
Or, she thought more darkly, maybe he made a point of singling out one woman every week for his attentions? Her brother, Rob, had once worked as an entertainer in a holiday camp, and was always coming home with tales of his conquests. That was before he met his wife, and fell hook line and sinker into marriage and two point four children. But it had taken him a long time to get there.
Shelley decided it was best just to enjoy the day and not ask too much from it. That way she would not get her heart broken again. As that thought entered her head, it also occurred to her that Paris might have the ability to hurt her more than Tony ever had. When she finally accepted that Tony was
conning her, she was not heartbroken in the sense of being madly in love with him. Thinking about it, she did not know if she had ever really been that much in love. Or maybe she just told herself that to lessen the pain. No, she had been infatuated, but not in love. She had always known that they would not spend their lives together. Part of her was relieved that it was finally out in the open and she had to deal with it head on. She was more hurt by the way he had left her broke and humiliated, living off her mother’s charity.
The ferry ride to the mainland was a far more sedate affair than their arrival several days earlier. The Aegean Sea twinkled in the sunlight. Shelley rested against the railings, looking out. She was glad that Paris was not the sort of man who demanded conversation all the time. He just stood next to her, their bodies not quite touching, but close enough for her to feel the warmth of his. It made her feel, at least for that moment, that she could trust him with anything.
“What you said about my mum,” she said, after a long, comfortable silence. “I think you’re right. I’ve been too hard on her. See … my dad did the same thing to her. Not quite as spectacularly as Tony did with me, but when he died he left mum with thousands of pounds worth of debt. It was lucky that the house we lived in was rented, otherwise we’d have been homeless. But because he’d talked her into have so much of the debt in her name, it took her years of hard work to pay it off. I think she’s disappointed in me because she thought I’d learn from her mistake.”
“I don’t think she’s disappointed in you at all, Shelley. How could she be? You’re a bright, charming young woman, who does good work helping others. She’s probably just sad that she wasn’t able to save you from making the same mistake. Parents don’t realise that sometimes they have to let their kids make their own mistakes. It’s the only way any of us learn.” His blue eyes darkened considerably and he gazed out into the sea, as if he saw something there that caused him immense pain.
“You sound as if you’re speaking from bitter experience,” she said, tentatively, reluctant to pry too much.
Paris took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself against what was to come. “When I was younger, I got in with a bad crowd. Did some really stupid things. Drink, wild parties, casual affairs. My mum and dad tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen to anyone, let alone them. Then when I was twenty-two one of my friends, Harry, was driving whilst heavily drunk. He killed a woman crossing the road and died from his own injuries a few days later. When I saw his parents at his funeral, and witnessed their guilt and shame that the son they’d invested so much time in not only killed himself, but also took someone else with him. Harry was a good person, underneath all that wildness, but that’s not how people remember him. Who can blame them when an innocent life is lost? It could have so easily been me driving that car in that state. I knew then that I never wanted to put that same pain and shame on my parents’ faces. I cleaned up my act, and decided I wanted to help victims come to terms with their loss.”
“I’m so sorry for your friend and for the woman who died,” said Shelley, putting her hand on his arm. She admired his frankness about his earlier life, and was slowly but surely beginning to think of him as Mr Wonderful.
Paris only had to pick up a few supplies, mainly for the office. He arranged for them to be left at the jetty before the last ferry left at five o’clock, then he and Shelley walked around the small town. It didn’t take long, and after a delicious lunch in a quiet taverna, where they chatted happily about art, music, books and films, they found themselves at the church.
It was cool inside, just as it had been on the day they arrived, but this time there was no impending storm. Once again, Shelley was enthralled by the play of light on the stone floor. It was almost, but not quite, as beautiful as the windows themselves.
“Annette said that Yaya maintains these windows,” said Shelley, as she and Paris sat close together in a pew. She was not sure she should be feeling the things she felt, so she waffled on, hoping to take her mind off his proximity. “She does it beautifully. Much better than my sorry effort the other day in the stained glass class.”
“It’s the one thing of which she’s very proud,” said Paris. “She refuses to let anyone else near them, despite many offers of help. The trouble is,” he paused a moment, his face becoming sad. “She won’t be with us forever, and there aren’t many left now who have her skills. I’ve tried to persuade her to teach others, but she won’t be budged.”
“I can’t blame her for feeling a bit possessive,” said Shelley. “But you’re right, it would be sad if there were no one left to care for them. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is sitting in a Christian church an ambivalent feeling for you? I mean, with your mum being Jewish.”
“I always feel I’m lucky to have my feet in both cultures,” he said. “And extra fortunate to have parents for whom religion doesn’t really matter. What matters is how good a person is inside, not which Gods or saints they choose to worship.”
Shelley nodded her agreement. Her mum had brought them up to believe the same.
“Does your mum ever come here? I mean to the islet?” Shelley asked.
For some reason Paris changed the subject completely. “I forgot. There’s a museum in the town, and in there is a picture of Yaya as a young woman, taken just after the war. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, that would be interesting.”
He led her to a small but steep side street. Partway up the hill was a tiny entrance into an even tinier museum. Most of the artefacts inside were either from the classical period of Greek history, or from World War II.
“This house was where the resistance used to meet,” Paris explained, “so it seemed the obvious place for the museum. It’s small, but holds a lot of history in its tiny walls.”
“My grandfather used to collect World War Two memorabilia,” Shelley told him as they started to look around. “It was a passion of his.”
“Was?”
“’s not dead,” she said. “Sadly, he had to sell a lot to pay his care home fees. He just kept a few old medals. It would be nice to think that some of the stuff turned up in museums, but I doubt it.”
“That is a pity. More people should be able to see them. It brings the whole experience to life, when you can see the artefacts. The Aegean Islands were occupied by the Germans right up until nineteen forty-five,” he said, explaining the exhibits as they walked around. There were old landmines and shell casings, alongside documents from that time. “But the mainland was free from occupation several months earlier in nineteen forty-four. It is said that the entire Jewish population of Greece was wiped out.” He stopped for a moment, and Shelley felt it wise to say nothing. There were some horrors for which there were no suitable words. “The Greeks didn’t fare much better. The Nazis murdered entire villages. Can you believe that? Whole families wiped out in the blink of an SS Officer’s eye. They looted quite a lot too. I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but they stole the rubies from the church on the islet. No one has ever been able to find them.”
They moved further into the museum, which was dark, apart from the lights illuminating the exhibits. The space was so small they spent much of the time standing extremely close together. “Here, this is Yaya,” said Paris. It was a picture of a very beautiful young woman, standing outside the local hospital. Shelley was surprised to see that she was heavily pregnant. “See,” he pointed to a printed card beneath the picture, “there’s her name. Helena Georgiadis.”
Shelley froze, but Paris did not seem to notice. He moved on, then realised she had stopped. She stared up at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “This was a stupid idea. Fancy bringing you to this miserable place on what’s supposed to be our lovely day out.”
“No, no,” said Shelley, struggling to regain composure. “It’s fine. I just felt a shiver run up my spine, that’s all. All that sadness…” Her voice faded away, and she hoped that the explanation for her sudden change satisfied him. It
seemed to. He took her by the arm, and led her to the ferry.
She was quiet on the crossing back to the islet, but thankfully he was too, both lost in contemplation. She did not want to be silent. She wanted to ask him why, when she had mentioned Helena’s bay, he had not thought to mention that Yaya’s first name was Helena.
It was the sort of thing that most people would do, she reasoned to herself, and she could almost hear him say it aloud, No, there’s no Helena’s Bay but that’s Yaya’s name. But the trip across was a long one. By the time they reached the islet, and he had chatted to her a little more, she had convinced herself she was being silly. After all, she could have found out Yaya’s name herself, had she but asked. In fact, it was probably on the holiday brochure, amongst the listed classes. Paris may have even assumed she knew it because of that, which means he had no need to remind her when she mentioned it. She realised she would probably look really foolish if she brought it up and that were the case. Another instance of her supposed delusions. And it had been such a wonderful day, apart from that one moment of awkwardness at the museum. She wanted the blissful feeling to last.
So when he held out his hand once the ferry had pulled in, she took it gladly, and they walked hand in hand to the farmhouse together.
Chapter Eight
Dinner was a much more relaxed affair than the previous evenings, with wine and good conversation flowing freely. Shelley laughed more than she had for a long time as Len treated them to tales of the hapless criminals he had arrested over the years, and Miss Charters talked of her own time as a dancer at the Windmill club.
It was hard for Shelley to believe that the demure Miss Charters was once in a nude review.
“It was much more modest than it sounds,” Miss Charters told the diners. “Everything was in those days. We weren’t allowed to move in case anything jiggled. That was until someone let a mouse loose on the stage. Then everything jiggled. I received at least five proposals of marriage after that night. Turned them all down, fool that I am.”
The Secret of Helena's Bay Page 5
