‘But they’re still waiting for the new chef.’
‘Exactly!’ Melissa, who had been making a rather gratifying fuss of him after the ring-rescuing mission, gave him one of her melting looks which always reduced him to submission. ‘I was talking to Jack when I went back for that medicine and he was telling me that they’re a bit down on numbers this year.’
Hah! Maybe they ought to sort themselves out a bit then.
‘They’re desperate to make things work, so he’s doing the cooking himself until the new chef arrives. If we can tell the manager that the food was good, it would really be a feather in Jack’s cap, don’t you think?’
She could be so sweet, his Melissa. Always thinking of everyone else, even when it was a boy she hardly knew.
So they’d gone to dinner, which was served on the patio overlooking the olive grove, and found that they were the only ones there apart from Emma, who kept telling the whole story of the ring over and over again. ‘I don’t know whether to tell Tom or not,’ she was saying to Melissa. ‘He’s asleep again now, you know, otherwise I wouldn’t have left him to come up here.’ She gave a little simper. ‘It’s so nice to have someone to talk to.’ Then she looked worried. ‘Just as long as I’m not intruding.’
Don’t worry about that, Winston only just stopped himself from saying. The kids were doing a great job of that without any help from anyone else. While the two women were nattering on – mainly about school stuff and someone called Gemma Balls – he finished eating (the stuffed vine leaves were surprisingly good) and slipped out towards the kitchen.
Jack was chopping up watermelon with a large knife as he came in. ‘Everything all right, sir?’ he asked.
Maybe it was time to put the room argument behind them. Just until the owner got back. ‘Sure. Great food, by the way.’
The boy flushed with pleasure and then glanced at the watermelon. ‘I’m afraid this is all there is for pudding. I ran out of time and there isn’t anyone else to help.’
So he had to do all the prepping and washing up too? Winston was impressed. He couldn’t see Freddie or Alice doing that. ‘What happened to the French couple, the ones in the other cottage?’
‘They ate earlier.’
Really? If they were here to spy on him, they’d have made sure they were here at the same time. For God’s sake, he had to stop this paranoia stuff.
‘Look, I was wondering,’ he began. ‘You mentioned some kind of club or disco when we arrived.’ He felt in his pocket. ‘The thing is that I’m concerned my stepdaughter might be a bit bored without anyone else of her own age. Any chance you might like to take her there this evening?’
Jack’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve got to finish up here first.’
‘Sure, I understand that. We don’t mind if she’s out until midnight or so, just so long as you’re with her.’ He brought out a couple of notes and laid them casually on the side. ‘This might help towards drinks. There’s only one thing. Please don’t tell her that I suggested it or she’ll think I’m interfering.’ Winston held his breath. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Well …’ The boy looked as though he wanted to say something.
‘Go on,’ instructed Winston.
‘I just wondered if you could do something for me, sir. I saw you working out this afternoon, at the top of the hill.’
Shit. His cover was blown. He’d been recognised. How bloody stupid he’d been.
‘The thing is that Mum got this local chap in to do yoga classes every morning, but he’s cancelled on us. She doesn’t know that yet. I don’t suppose you could run tomorrow’s class for us, could you? Only we’ve already had a couple of bookings and I don’t want to let anyone down.’
Winston liked this kid. He had initiative. ‘That wasn’t yoga I was doing. It was a general workout.’
Jack’s face fell.
‘But it so happens that I’m a trained yoga teacher too.’
‘Really?’
The relief in his voice said it all.
‘And you won’t tell Mum?’ He was flushing furiously now. ‘She’d go mad if she thought I’d asked a guest to help out.’
‘Hey. It’s fine. It will be just between us. Both things.’ He glanced at the notes still on the counter and held out his hand. ‘Deal?’
The boy’s handshake was firmer than he’d expected. ‘Absolutely, sir, although I don’t really need any money.’
‘Please.’ Winston was sure on that one. ‘I insist.’
‘Don’t be late!’ Melissa said again and again when Alice had finished dolling herself up. If he had a daughter, thought Winston, there was no way he’d let her go out dressed like that. Her skirt was more like a scarf tacked on to her knickers.
Melissa was turning to him worriedly. ‘I’m still not sure we ought to let her go. She doesn’t even know the boy.’
‘Mum!’ Alice scowled with that same condescending look and tone that she’d used on him earlier. The one that said she was in the right and everyone else was an idiot. How could his wife put up with it? ‘I’m nearly fourteen. Stop fussing. Jack says he goes there every week.’
‘Jack says! Jack says!’ taunted Freddie.
‘Piss off, twat-face!’
‘Alice,’ said Melissa mildly. ‘That’s not very nice.’ Then she hugged her daughter. ‘You look lovely. But please be careful.’
There was a knock on the door. Flushing, Alice ran to it. On the other side stood Jack. Winston had to admit that he scrubbed up well. He hardly recognised the boy who’d been chopping up watermelon a couple of hours ago. Instead of an old apron, he was now wearing a crisp white shirt and his hair was combed back neatly.
‘I promise I’ll look after her, sir,’ said Jack, looking straight at him and then at Melissa.
Alice flushed again. ‘See you later, Mum.’
No goodbye to him, noticed Winston. Still, it was wonderfully peaceful after she’d gone. Freddie was much better when his sister wasn’t around, Winston noticed. He was quite happy playing on his phone.
Melissa was quiet too. Good quiet or bad quiet? It was difficult to tell. In fact, he was beginning to realise how little he knew about his new wife, especially since the children had arrived. She’d been … well, quite distant with him. Maybe what they needed was a quiet, romantic evening on their own. It was only ten o’clock, after all. Plenty of time for a walk along the beach.
‘I don’t want to leave Freddie,’ frowned Melissa when he suggested it.
‘But he’s perfectly happy in his room with that new gadget of his,’ he’d pointed out. ‘It’s not as though we’ll be far away.’
Melissa had made an I’m not sure face. ‘It’s OK when he has his sister. I’d rather we stayed here in case he needs us.’
How would they ever learn to be independent? thought Winston crossly. But he could see that Melissa wasn’t to be moved. So instead, they snuggled down and listened to the iPlayer, her head in his lap. It was rather cosy, really. Maybe, Winston told himself, this was what it was all about. Quiet, married bliss …
‘Winston, Winston!’
Dimly he was aware of Melissa shaking him, her long dark hair brushing his face as she leaned over his side of the bed. He must have fallen asleep. ‘Wake up. It’s nearly two o’clock. And they’re still not back. I’m really worried. Something must have happened to Alice.’
TRUE HONEYMOON STORY
‘My first husband and I got locked in our bedroom on our first night and had to be rescued by the B&B owner.’
Author (first time round)
Chapter Twelve
ROSIE
Had they really been away for just three days? Incredible to think it was only Tuesday. So much had happened. So much that shouldn’t have.
Rosie waited at the harbour, shivering slightly, not because of the breeze whipping across the water but because she really wasn’t sure what was going to happen now.
If they hadn’t gone away to the mainland, this would never have happened. Gre
co would have just carried on flirting in his easy manner and she’d have continued ignoring him and getting on with what she did best. Running the Villa Rosa. Making sure that everyone was happy. Trying to find new business in the recession (hopefully, the new direct flight path from the UK would now attract more custom). Keeping an eye on Jack. Not allowing herself the luxury of thinking too much about herself.
And now, just because she’d had a little break, she’d thrown caution to the wind and embarked on a relationship which not only couldn’t work – they were so different! – but was bound to cause problems in their day-to-day lives.
Rosie could just see it now. The nudge nudge, wink winks at the taverna, where Greco would be bound to tell everyone about his conquest. The sly little pinches of her bottom when he passed her in the street. The melting down of professional distance which she’d worked so hard to maintain.
Why had she done it? Rosie asked herself, as she watched Greco stroll back towards her on the deck, carrying two cups of coffee. He was a simple fisherman, for heaven’s sake, albeit a very sexy one.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson before? A lesson which had been brought home – as if it needed to be – by the article on that man who had reminded her so much of Charlie. Rosie shivered again. Her one and only love seemed like another world away, now. Never again would she allow someone else to change her life like that. Somehow she had to extract herself from this mess.
‘I was thinking,’ said Greco, handing her a cup of coffee, deliberately brushing her hands (or so it seemed). ‘It might be difficult when we get back, mightn’t it?’
Her mouth went dry. ‘What do you mean?’
Greco laughed. She rather liked the way he laughed; it was a deep, throaty love-of-life laugh with a flash of white teeth – beautifully straight, without any need for the braces of her own youth. Then he began to trace the outline of her face with his finger. ‘You are an intelligent woman, Rosie. You know precisely what I mean.’
He swigged back his coffee and tossed the cup in a bin. Then, putting both his arms around her waist, he forced her to face him. ‘We had something special in Athens but I’m no fool, Rosie. I know we were taken over. We were not in our own territory. I think we both did things we might not have dared to do at home.’
Both? Rosie felt a wave of embarrassment crawling over her. So Greco had his doubts too? How humiliating!
‘You regret what happened then,’ she said curtly, turning away.
Immediately, she felt his body close in on hers, behind, his arms wrapping around her. Pulling her in. It felt good. Warm. Reassuring. Her pulse quickened.
‘I didn’t say that, Rosie.’
She kept her eyes steadily on the horizon: a thin grey-blue line. Across the water somewhere was the island. A place she had learned to call home. Safety. Yet now, because of what she had done, it didn’t feel quite so safe after all.
There was a loud hoot from the white funnels which made her jump; the boat had started. Within a few hours they would be back. ‘It certainly sounds like that,’ she replied, trying to keep her voice light.
He spun her round without warning. His face was so close to hers that she could smell the lemon cologne; observe the way his dark eyebrows joined together; drown in his deep blue eyes even though she fought to look away. ‘I am simply giving you a chance to forget that any of this happened,’ he said softly. ‘I do not want you to think that you have committed yourself if you do not want to.’
His eyes were so tightly locked on hers that Rosie felt hypnotised, unable to move.
‘I am aware that you are a mother first and foremost, but also a successful businesswoman in your own right.’ He shrugged. ‘You might not want to carry on with a simple fisherman.’
Weren’t these the same words which had been pounding round her own head? Yet when he said them, they made her feel selfish and shallow. Yes – he had made the first move. But she could have said no.
‘I’ve really enjoyed the last few days,’ she said, blushing furiously. ‘And besides, you’re not a simple fisherman.’
It was true, despite what she’d told herself only a few minutes ago. Greco, she’d discovered over the years, was a great reader. In fact, this had been a contributing factor in the slow cementing of their relationship. He often borrowed her books and when he began to order his own through Amazon, would suggest one or two authors she had not come across before.
His taste had surprised her. Poetry. Short stories by a Canadian writer. A rather clever crime book, too, by an author whom she’d skipped over in the past. ‘I like to read on my boat when the water is still,’ Greco had told her, shrugging. ‘It calms the mind and fools the fish.’
Right at this moment, she was beginning to feel fooled herself. So what if she had fallen for a fisherman with a past? Yes, he had a reputation, but that was when he had been younger. Now he seemed responsible. Mature. Loyal. There had been plenty of admiring glances in his direction from women over the weekend in Athens, including some rather well-dressed ones. Yet Greco had, to his credit, failed to give them a second glance or even show that he was flattered.
She could, Rosie told herself, do a lot worse than throw her lot in with a solid, reliable man who also happened to press the right buttons in bed. Besides, she thought, glancing at an older woman sitting on deck with a small white dog for company, this could be her last chance.
‘It’s up to you.’ Greco’s hands were cradling her head, his eyes still locked on hers. ‘You can forget this happened if you like and I swear on my mother’s soul that I will never tell anyone. Or we can continue back home, regardless of the gossip that you and I will undoubtedly create.’
His eyes twinkled yet his voice was serious.
‘What about Jack?’ she said.
Greco gave another of his big shrugs. ‘He is almost a man, Rosie. It will not be long before he goes to college and flies the nest.’ He looked a little wistful for a moment. ‘Besides, it might be good for the boy to have me around more. I would have liked a son like that. It is a shame his father died before his time.’
Rosie looked away. Conversation about Jack’s father was never something she wanted to encourage, especially when it was founded on a lie. It made her feel uncomfortable. Yet Greco had a point when he said that Jack could do with a male figure. At fifteen, it was becoming even more important than when he was younger. Could this be a good thing, her and Greco? Not just for her but for her son too?
‘We could see what happens,’ she said, taking a deep breath.
Something flickered in Greco’s eyes. ‘See what happens?’ he repeated. ‘That sounds very modern to me.’ He put a finger under her chin, tilting it up to him. ‘Do you know why I haven’t committed to anyone before? It is because I wanted to be certain.’
His voice dropped so that she had to strain to hear it over the scream of the gulls. ‘And I am certain with you, Rosie. But I need you to be sure of me.’
Her lips were so dry that she could barely reply. ‘It’s very soon,’ she managed to say. ‘I mean, all this has happened so fast. But I do care for you, Greco. And I would always be true to you.’
His eyes flickered again. ‘That is all I ask.’ Then he bent down and his lips met hers. Every bone in her body vibrated; and not just because her back was pressed against the ship railings. Sometimes, she told herself, you just had to take a risk …
Greco held her hand as they got off the boat and continued to do so as he waved his other hand in greeting at one of the local boys who had arranged to pick them up from the harbour.
The excited look on the boy’s face as he took in the hand-holding was an indication of what was to come, thought Rosie with a rush of panic. He’d be on his mobile now within minutes, alerting the rest of the island. The English woman from the Villa Rosa had finally succumbed to the charms of Greco the rogue. All it had taken was a ‘business trip’ to Athens.
‘So,’ said Greco jauntily as the boy started the car up. ‘How has it been du
ring our absence?’
He spoke from the back with his hand on Rosie’s knee, a gesture which the boy could see, from the way he kept grinning inanely in his rear mirror. ‘Good. Very good, although we had some trouble at Andidavies last night.’
Rosie mentally tuned out. Andidavies was the local nightclub. There was always trouble there, usually involving bored kids or holidaymakers who had had too much to drink.
‘It is to do with Jack,’ added the driver casually.
Rosie started. ‘What do you mean?’
He turned round briefly with a grin and then back again to take a sharp corner which sent his crucifix swinging from the mirror. ‘Your boy took a girl there. But there was an incident with a motorbike.’
Rosie’s mouth went dry. ‘Are they all right?’
‘I don’t know the details, but …’
They were here now. Rosie scrambled out of the door almost before the car had stopped. Leaving Greco to sort out the cases, she tore up the path to reception. No one was there. Oh my God. She should never have allowed Jack to be on his own. Fifteen was too young. She’d been an irresponsible mother …
‘Jack!’ she called out, racing towards the pool. There was a plump blonde woman sitting there on a lounger.
‘Are you looking for that boy at reception?’ she said, leaning on one elbow and peering over her paperback. ‘He’s gone to the market to get some fresh fish for lunch.’
So at least he was safe. ‘I heard there’d been an accident with a motorbike,’ stammered Rosie.
‘Not exactly an accident.’ The woman looked excited. ‘But he took a girl out on one of those scooter things, without telling her parents. Well, her mother. The father’s actually her stepdad. They’re staying here. And when they found out, they weren’t too pleased.’ Suddenly, she flushed. ‘Whoops, here they come now.’
Rosie stared at the slim, extremely beautiful woman with long dark hair floating towards her. Straggling behind was a sulky-looking teenage girl and a younger boy with freckles.
But it was the man Rosie couldn’t take her eyes off. A very tall, handsome man, possibly of West Indian extract. Bald. Rather like the man in the newspaper she’d seen in Athens, although of course that was impossible.
After the Honeymoon Page 12
