by Mandy Baggot
The kitchen door banged open and Nico strode in, the strimmer in his hands. ‘Mrs Dimitriou,’ he began before looking. ‘Oh, I am sorry…’
Panos sprung away, distancing himself and moving towards the gardener. ‘What is the problem?’
‘I have no fuel for the strimmer,’ Nico said.
‘There should be some in the shed,’ Panos answered. ‘I will go and look.’
Imogen watched him turn back towards her, but she was quicker, moving her body in full circle until she was back focussed on the baklava. She picked up the spoon and recommenced stirring. The next thing she heard was the door closing again.
31
Acharavi Beachfront
‘Hello, Mum,’ Imogen greeted.
Her skin sparkling with droplets of sea water, the refreshing salt and sun lotion scent on her every part, Imogen had dropped her towel down onto one of the old wooden benches by the beach, drying her body off with the evening sun. The swim had been meant to clear her mind of the Panos situation but all she’d been able to do was think about how much he irritated her… before imagining what his lips would feel like on hers.
Panos hadn’t returned to the kitchen after Nico’s appearance with the garden tool. She had watched him, at first assisting the gardener with the strimmer, then pacing the grounds. Occasionally he had looked up to the house, for a while he had sat on the garden bench in the shade, looking at his phone but ultimately she knew he was avoiding being with her. She had just carried on making baklava, letting the sticky texture and the sweet, sugary smell override everything else. Eventually, Elpida had returned, taken trays from the oven, put more in and then she’d driven Imogen back to the restaurant where Harry and Risto were still dismantling the gazebo.
‘Have you managed to get another buyer for the restaurant?’ Grace asked. ‘Janie says it’s still on Rightmove.’
Imogen swallowed. What could she say? Just half an hour ago she had walked up to the craft shop on the high street and picked up some ornaments for the upper flat. They still didn’t have beds but there was now a small table and chairs, a rug she had found in the back restaurant area she had beaten the life out of until it no longer produced noxious dust, and an olive wood bowl containing fruits Elpida had given her. She was finding everywhere she looked in this town there was something pretty or charming she wanted to hang on a wall or position on a window ledge. Despite everything going on, every day here seemed to be another moment filled with glorious sunshine, smiles and good mornings from the locals. The white pebbled beach, the sand on Almyros beach just a short walk away, the lazuline water on every coast. She could see why Harry and Janie had been enchanted by the island all those years ago… why Harry thought his future lay here.
‘Mum…’ she began.
‘I’m worried sick here, Imogen. Have you heard about the Asian hornets?’ Grace asked.
‘What?’
‘Asian hornets. They’re invading,’ Mum said. ‘They’re in France at the moment.’
‘I don’t think we have them in Greece but there are a lot of mosquitoes,’ Imogen admitted.
‘And they spread malaria,’ Grace said. ‘I’ve looked it up.’
‘Have you?’ Imogen asked. Looking something up involved her mother moving from the sofa and using her laptop. This, despite the content, was a step forward on the grieving process.
‘Yes and there are snakes on Corfu too. About half a dozen different varieties and one, the nose-horned viper, is venomous.’
Imogen shivered and wondered whether it was quite as dangerous as the local property developer intent on poisoning the seafront. ‘Well, Harry’s restaurant is by the beach, Mum, and I haven’t seen any snakes.’
‘You need to tell him these things though, Imogen. He needs to realise that moving abroad isn’t an option for him. He has responsibilities, Janie and the children, here in England.’
‘He knows that, Mum. That’s the whole reason he’s here.’ She stopped talking and set her eyes out to sea, the waves gently breaking at the beach edge. A man wearing a straw Trilby hat was making another trip along the sand, a basket swinging from each arm. Fresh fruit – apples, oranges, melon – were nested inside one of them and fresh, sugary doughnuts were inside the other. Harry had bought one of each earlier and had introduced himself to the Greek – Spiros – telling him about his plans for Halloumi. Harry knew he had responsibilities. He wanted Janie and the children back full time. Why wasn’t moving abroad an option for him in her mum’s mind?
‘Harry’s well here, Mum,’ Imogen said. ‘He’s so much more like the old Harry.’
‘Because he’s on holiday,’ Grace said. ‘It’s only been a few days, as soon as it starts raining and reality sets in he’ll realise what a mistake he’s made.’ She sighed. ‘You’ll make him realise.’
‘He doesn’t think it’s a holiday,’ Imogen insisted. ‘He’s been working since we got here. Clearing… cleaning… taking things down and putting things up… he’s revelling in this project.’
‘Is he?’ Grace asked softly.
‘Mum, he wants Janie and the children back so desperately.’ Imogen let a breath go and looked to the mountains of Albania, the sky turning pink. ‘They holidayed in Corfu… they drank retsina in the tavernas and held hands on the beach… He wants Janie to see him as the man he was then… as the man he knows he can be again.’
She heard a sob leave her mum and she clamped her lips together, stilling her own emotion. ‘I think Dad would have understood,’ she whispered. ‘He always wanted us to be part of his travel adventures and we never really got the chance.’ She dipped her hand into her yellow handbag, finding the small compartment at the back and clasping her fingers around the pen there. Corinthia Palace Hotel and Spa, Malta. ‘Mum, this is Harry’s travel adventure and so much more.’
She gripped the pen, the feel of the plastic grounding her thoughts. She really thought Harry could make this restaurant a reality now. There was just that small matter of Panos Dimitriou and his ambition to own the beachfront. And her attraction to him – she couldn’t possibly tell her mum or Janie about that.
‘Those hotels,’ Grace said with another sigh. ‘All that opulence and grandeur and we never got to see any of it.’ She paused. ‘Sheets for five star hotels and no-more-than-a-three-star wage. Makes it even more of a cheek that they’ve been phoning me.’
Imogen sat up straighter on the bench. ‘Who’s been calling you?’
‘Some hotel group or other,’ Grace said with a sniff. ‘“Is that Mrs Charlton? This is Lisa from hotel liaison” or something like that.’
Imogen held her breath. Could it be the Wyatt Hotel Group? She was sure she hadn’t given a phone number, just her email, but could they have found Grace’s contact in the directory and tried to call her there? Had they looked at her application now? Were they going to offer her an interview? A fizz of excitement rushed through her.
‘What did they say exactly?’ Imogen asked as calmly as possible. She hadn’t told anyone about her application because she’d believed, in all likelihood, nothing was going to come of it. And, like Harry’s restaurant, she was a little concerned about everyone else’s opinion on it.
‘I told you. Lisa… or Lorraine… or was it Lindsey? From hotel liaison,’ Grace tutted. ‘She was about to launch into that usual spiel, I could just tell, you know, about how I need to visit their hotel for a “spa rejuvenation day” which would all be free and then they would try and entice me into joining their “members club” where you can’t even have a towel without putting down a mortgage on it.’
Imogen shook her head, trying to loosen her thoughts. Perhaps this was nothing. Her mum hadn’t even said the caller had been from the Wyatt Group.
‘What was the name of the hotel group?’ Imogen couldn’t resist asking. She moved her hand into the other section of her handbag and pulled out her phone. Maybe she had another email. She shot the screen down until a little wheel appeared at the top and started checking for
new messages.
‘No idea,’ Grace replied. ‘I didn’t really listen. As soon as I got that feeling she was trying to sell me something I switched off. That’s what April told me to do, you know.’ There was another sniff. ‘She could sense someone selling solar panels in seconds.’
Imogen watched her phone tell her there were no new emails and she dropped it back into her bag.
‘I met April’s great-niece yesterday,’ Grace continued. ‘Nice girl, hair in long plaits and wears those Army-type boots.’
‘Doc Martens?’ Imogen offered.
There was a pause. ‘Martin Clunes doesn’t wear boots like that,’ Grace said. ‘Not in the episodes I’ve watched.’
‘Is she selling April’s house?’ Imogen asked, moving the subject on.
‘I think so,’ Grace answered. ‘It’s all in the hands of the solicitors now.’
‘Listen, Mum, I’ve got to go now,’ Imogen said, getting to her feet. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were OK and to let you know that things here are… stabilising.’
‘Stabilising?’ Grace replied. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Well…’ Imogen started. ‘It just means that Harry and I are OK, we’re working on getting the restaurant up together and…’ What else could she tell Grace to ease her concerns? ‘And… there’s definitely no sign of Asian hornets.’
‘It isn’t funny, Imogen,’ Grace said, her tone a little snippy. ‘Huw Edwards was wearing a very serious face when he did his piece to camera.’
‘Well, I promise I will keep a look out for them and, if I see one, I’ll cover myself in garlic and hold up a cross.’ She thought about Elpida’s paste for bites.
‘That’s what you do to ward off vampires.’
‘I’m glad you’re feeling better, Mum.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Because… we’re opening the restaurant next week.’
‘What!’
‘If you could break it to Janie gently,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Bye, Mum!’
32
Sunset Taverna, Mount Pantokrator
‘Risto, straighten up your collar,’ Elpida hissed.
Panos watched his cousin do as he was told, slipping his fingers beneath the shirt fabric and adjusting it. He didn’t want to be here. Imogen and Harry were coming. Elpida had berated him about the Tomas’ Taverna deal and his plans for Avalon until she had started coughing so much he thought he was going to have to call a doctor. He knew how she felt about his plans. He didn’t want to cause her upset but he needed this. For so many reasons. His step-father John had been in the business news again that day. There was talk of his company buying out StoreCo. If it happened, it would be a big international coup and earlier Panos had found himself churning the information round in his head hoping desperately that the deal wouldn’t come off. It was a large move on John’s part and Panos had first-hand experience of what happened if someone stepped up and onwards too soon.
Elpida turned to face him. ‘You still have some apologising to do.’
He held up his hands in defence. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’
Elpida narrowed her eyes as they stepped onto the terrace. ‘The restaurant is not for sale. It is sold. Stop trying to buy this!’ She wagged a finger.
He swallowed, trying to maintain a nonchalant expression.
‘Imogen attacked me in the street.’ He followed his cousin and grandmother to a large table at the edge of the terraced area. He had been surprised no one had commented on the smell of paint in the Mercedes. He’d organised a complete valet in an hour but the seats were still a little damp. ‘The woman is crazy,’ he added.
‘Well, all I know is, I tell her what your business is and she comes back looking like an avalanche telling me you have bought Tomas’ Taverna.’ Elpida sighed.
‘You have bought Tomas’?’ Risto exclaimed, eyes bright.
‘I am looking through the paperwork,’ Panos confirmed.
‘I do not know what is wrong with you, Pano.’ Elpida stretched her arm out, highlighting the top-of-the-mountain scene in front of them. ‘Here is home. And business should always come second to home.’
Panos let his eyes stray to the view beyond the terrace. Green firs, carobs and cypress trees stretched out as far as the eye could see, all leading down to the ocean, sparkling with the last few rays of sun. It was a view that caused emotion to flood his gut. This restaurant evoked so many memories for him. His mother and father together, holding hands, laughing, dancing to the traditional band as the sun dropped below the horizon and darkness fell. He had separated himself from all that. Happiness never lasted. It was forced and fickle. It didn’t mean anything. Anyone who thought it did was living in the last century. To succeed you needed only self-belief. Faith was something that no one had in you but you.
He watched his grandmother pull out a wooden chair and sit down, dropping her patent leather handbag onto her knee.
‘In my mind we have some making up to do,’ she said, dropping her handbag to the floor. ‘I sell this restaurant to Harry and it is left like an earthquake has happened. Pfft!’ Elpida rolled her eyes.
Panos beckoned a waiter before sitting down next to his cousin. ‘I thought you were making this right by working there?’
‘Yes,’ Risto said.
‘Then what more making up is there to do?’ Panos asked.
His grandmother pulled her cigarettes from her bag, setting the packet on the table. ‘Did you know that they are sleeping on the floor?’ Elpida said.
‘Their business is none of my business.’
‘No,’ Elpida said. ‘Your business is destroying things.’
‘I am not my father,’ Panos snapped. ‘I am going to succeed where he could not. Why do you not want me to have this success?’
‘Christo failed because he let business eat him up, Pano.’
Elpida’s stare was like a laser slicing through his retinas. He straightened his back, lifting his body a little off the seat and turning to the waiter. ‘Can I see the wine list please?’
‘Pfft,’ Elpida said. ‘We will have a couple of bottles of house red.’ She slipped a cigarette from the packet, put it in her mouth and lit it up.
He wanted to interject and tell his grandmother he didn’t want what they always drank here. He needed to reschedule his meeting with Lafi as Imogen had ruined the last one by dousing him with paint.
‘Ah,’ Elpida said, standing up and resting her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘They are here.’
Panos pretended to study the menu.
‘The house red is good here, Pano,’ Risto said, nudging his arm. ‘And yiayia says she is paying.’
He ruffled his cousin’s hair good-naturedly. ‘Then we shall all drink as much as we can, no?’
Risto grinned.
* * *
Imogen hadn’t been able to take her eyes off the view from the second they’d been led out to the terrace. The mountain fell away in a blanket of greenery, every shade imaginable. Dotted throughout the limbs of trees were sparks of colour – vibrant pink, purple and yellow flowers, their petals turned up towards the falling sun. And there, at the bottom of the incline, was the sparkling sea, rolling backwards and forwards in front of the rugged coastline of Albania. Corfu was beginning to cast a magical spell on her. Her hands back in mixing bowls, the sun and sea on her skin, the sweet, humid air…
‘There they are,’ Harry said, nudging Imogen’s elbow.
She looked to the large wooden table at the edge of the balcony. ‘You didn’t say Panos was going to be here. You said Elpida was bringing her recipe book and we were going to try and finalise a menu.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Harry stated. ‘But maybe it’s a good thing.’
She slowed her pace, ducking behind Harry as he navigated his way around terracotta urns spilling begonias and geraniums. She didn’t trust Panos. There would always be that not-so-hidden agenda. And the fact he made her stomach twist with longing despite how inappropriate an object of affection he
was.
‘Come on,’ Harry said, linking his arm with hers. ‘You love food like I love food. Let’s go and choose a menu for our restaurant.’
She looked to her brother then, taking in the light in his eyes, the playful smile, his hair springing about like an eager Afghan. She nodded and faced the table. With a metre of solid oak wood between her and Panos she was sure she could talk about taramasalata and olives without getting flustered.
33
Imogen sipped the delicious red wine while Elpida waxed lyrical about the benefits of avocado. ‘So good for the skin.’
Imogen smiled. There had never been any need for avocados in the roadside café but she liked them. She’d made stuffed avocados with spicy kidney beans and feta for one of Daniel’s work colleagues and his wife once. That was vaguely Greek. Perhaps she should suggest it.
Elpida flicked over another page of the thick brown leather book on the table in front of her.
‘Fish was always our most popular dish,’ Panos said suddenly.
Elpida raised her head from the dusty book to eye her grandson. Imogen put down her goblet.
‘Was it?’ Harry asked.
‘Yes,’ Imogen joined in. ‘Was it… really?’ She couldn’t believe anything he said.
‘You want to know about the local fish?’ He fixed his eyes on her. ‘Well, I can tell you, it is fresh… soft… melt-in-your-mouth flesh that dissolves on your tongue and… it is like you can never have enough.’
As Panos described the food he rolled each and every word with his tongue. She looked away and took hold of her goblet.
‘Panos is right,’ Elpida said. ‘Fish dishes were our best sellers in the restaurant’s finest days.’ She paused, her eyes watching the sun’s silent decline.
Imogen looked too. She had never seen such a perfect sunset. From their position on the side of the mountain the circle of light looked like a giant fiery wheel turning quickly now from a vibrant orange to a deep magenta. Diners began to gather at the metal railings, cameras on video mode, capturing the slow whisper of the sun’s descent as it melted away inch by inch, slipping below the horizon. This was what she had to do for Harry, Janie and the children. Stop their family unit burning out and slipping away.
