by Mandy Baggot
She knew he had meant the comment in jest but it stung. What would she be doing? There was still nothing from the Wyatt Group. Home was going to be endless plates of egg and chips and the latest offering from ITV. A regular visit to her mum and her upcoming conservatory then something with David Tennant in it. She swallowed.
‘Hey, come on, today’s going to be great,’ Harry said, swinging both arms around her and drawing her into a hug. ‘Elpida said there’s some group dance the whole village does. Something to do with asking the gods for a good olive harvest. I might need your help. You know how bad I am at dancing.’
Imogen stifled a laugh against his chest and looked up. ‘Whatever you do, just don’t embarrass Olivia and Tristan.’
52
Halloumi, Acharavi Beachfront
‘Shall I hang this one up over here?’
Olivia had one foot on the low wall of the terrace and another stretched out behind her like a ballerina’s as she balanced tentatively, a string of bunting in her hands.
‘Careful, Olivia. If you fall and break something it’s an hour to the hospital,’ Imogen said, moving to hold onto the girl’s free arm.
‘You sound like Mum,’ Olivia moaned.
‘Who wouldn’t have even let you climb up on that wall,’ Imogen added.
‘There!’ Olivia said, hooking the bunting over the outside of the pergola. ‘We might need to get some sticky tape if it gets windy.’
‘It can get windy in Corfu,’ Imogen replied, helping the girl jump down.
‘I like it here. It’s always sunny,’ Olivia said, using Imogen’s hand to spin underneath her arm like a fork twirling spaghetti. ‘And Daddy’s happy.’
Imogen smiled. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘And Mummy’s happy too. She even held Daddy’s hand last night.’
‘I know,’ Imogen answered, smiling.
As Olivia span around her, squealing with delight as giddiness started to take hold, Imogen looked again at the view right outside their restaurant. White stones mixed with ecru sand, the turquoise water rolling gently in and lapping the shore. People sat on striped deckchairs, lay on sun loungers under blue and white striped parasols and further up the beach there was a flurry of activity around a makeshift stage.
* * *
Panos watched them from across the road on the edge of the beach. The little girl bobbing up and down decorating the front of the terrace area, Imogen with paperwork on a board, counting on her fingers then writing numbers down, looking at her phone, then back to the papers. He knew now, despite everything he kept trying to tell himself, what he felt wasn’t just physical attraction. There was so much more. Something so deep it scared him to death. She was his match. But they were still two people at odds over beachfront property.
He took a breath of the sweet, humid air rolling off the sea and, through his sunglasses, his eyes went to the length of road skirting the sand. Restauranteurs, bar owners and residents were all out in force preparing for the afternoon and evening festivities. The fragrance of a cocktail of fruit invaded his nose – watermelon, guava and kiwi – all in abundance in the back of the van loading produce onto a stand. There were stalls going up all along the road, a buzz about the area that reminded him of the market at Arillas. It was life. Greek life. Corfu life. Alive, well and prospering. And there was his sign, outside Tomas’ Taverna, heavily hinting at something else.
Walking across the road, Panos stepped up onto the terrace and paused, watching Olivia and Imogen dancing together on the tiles. Suddenly Imogen spotted him and stopped dancing. She stepped back and started brushing the wayward strands of blonde hair off her face.
‘Kalimera,’ Panos greeted them both, bowing towards Olivia.
‘That means “good morning”,’ Oliva answered. She waved her hand. ‘Yassou.’ She smiled. ‘That means “hello”.’
‘That is very good,’ Panos said, clapping his hands. ‘You speak wonderful Greek already.’
Imogen jutted out her chin. ‘If you’re looking for Elpida and Rhea, they’re in the kitchen with Harry and Janie.’ She indicated the bunting above his head. ‘Olivia and I are on decorating duty and Tristan is playing with Socks.’
Panos furrowed his brow. ‘Socks?’
‘It’s our cat,’ Olivia answered. ‘It’s short for Socrates.’
He smiled. ‘Very good.’
‘You’re the man who bought us beds, aren’t you?’ Olivia continued. ‘And the man who wants to build Peppermint Rhino.’
‘Um, let’s just talk about the beds shall we?’ Imogen jumped in quickly.
‘Are you sleeping well on these?’ Panos asked Olivia.
‘Mine’s better than my bed at home,’ Olivia admitted.
‘And you?’ Panos asked, his eyes on Imogen. ‘How is your bed?’
She shuffled her feet. ‘It’s—’
‘Immy,’ Harry said, bouncing out onto the terrace. ‘I’ve phoned the permit guy. His name’s Spiros – what else! We need to pick up the permit today… Hello, Panos.’
‘Yassou.’
‘Today? Where from? Here in Acharavi?’ Imogen asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Harry said. ‘Corfu Town.’
‘But… you can’t… you’ve got so much to do here,’ she answered. ‘And I need to get back in the kitchen as soon as I’ve finished out here.’
‘I was rather hoping you could pick it up. He doesn’t need me in person and I’ve got the fire man coming soon. Elpida has the kitchen covered.’
‘Oh, Harry! That awful drive up from the airport almost killed me,’ she stated. ‘And I need to be here, getting ready for this afternoon and tonight.’
‘I could take you,’ Panos interjected.
He felt every single set of eyes go to him and felt the need to qualify his statement. ‘I have made deliveries for Elpida already. She does not need me to help set up for the party until later.’ He swallowed, realising he really wanted to take Imogen to Corfu Town. ‘And I know Spiros. If there is any problem I can deal with this.’
‘That would be brilliant,’ Harry said almost excitedly.
‘It’s OK,’ Imogen said. ‘I can drive the Micra… I mean I’ve done it once, I can do it again.’
‘The Mercedes will be quicker,’ Panos said.
‘Speed around those bends? I do want to get there.’
‘I have been on these roads since I was sixteen.’
‘And was it donkey or moped?’
* * *
Imogen bit her lip. That was a low, horrible comment brought on by the fact her stomach was zinging down a zip wire at the thought of being alone with him again.
‘I think it’s a good idea Panos goes with you,’ Harry said. ‘Those roads are tricky and…’ He looked sheepish. ‘Spiros said he’s only there until one o’clock.’
‘Harry!’ Imogen exclaimed. ‘That’s only an hour and a half. What if I get lost or… break down or…’
‘I know where the office is,’ Panos stated.
‘That’s settled then,’ Harry concluded. ‘Come on, Olivia, come and see what’s happening in the kitchen.’
‘Do you really have a donkey?’ Olivia asked Panos.
‘Not anymore,’ Panos answered with a smile.
Olivia and Harry left them alone and Imogen turned her attention to the beach. Anything to stop herself from having to look at him.
‘Are you ready to go?’
She turned back. ‘Are you?’
‘Come,’ he said, leading the way off the terrace. ‘The sooner we get there the sooner we can come back.’
Looking at his perfectly formed body in that near-transparent white shirt and black jeans, Imogen strengthened her resolve. The sooner they got there the sooner they got back was just fine with her.
‘One kilometre over sixty and I’m out,’ she said, hurrying behind Panos.
He turned, a smile on those ridiculously full lips. ‘That is OK. I will find you the nearest donkey.’
53
C
orfu Town
Imogen and Panos had reached Spiros’ office just in time. She was in possession of the permit and Halloumi was good to take part in the festival and open its doors on launch night.
Imogen thought she had seen most of Corfu Town during the stressful drive from the airport en route to the north of the island a week ago. It was busy and noisy with hundreds of people and twice as many mopeds to navigate around. In her opinion, it wasn’t somewhere to spend quality time. You got out as quickly as you could, to quiet roads – albeit, pothole-ridden roads with hairpin bends – and you only went back when you absolutely had to. Like for your return flight or… for a vital business permit. But now, as she walked along the Liston with Panos, the reality was nothing like she had expected.
Tall Venetian-influenced buildings in lemon, terracotta and peach lined narrow streets and alleyways. Wares spilled from doorways and hung from ropes and stands – tourists’ fare of postcards, keyrings and multi-coloured sunhats sat alongside beautiful artwork, natural soaps and sponges and local lace. Nestled in between the riot of colour were the more muted tones of designer-branded stores – leather handbags, watches, high-end clothes. It was somewhere in between a shopping street and a Tunisian souq.
The very old mixed with new in a fusion of styles Imogen had never encountered before. Wooden shutters over windows of all shapes and sizes – standard rectangular, circular and arched – white wrought-iron Juliette balconies and rope rows of washing hanging across the maze of streets. Slender, sky-touching palms met pale, weeping willows and in the very centre of the town was a village green that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the depths of the English countryside.
‘Here they play cricket,’ Panos stated, as if reading her thoughts.
‘Really?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Really. Just like the English.’
‘It’s so beautiful,’ Imogen remarked, her vision going to the arcade of arches to their left, white canopies shading some of the tables on the piazza from the intense heat of the midday sun.
‘We should have a drink,’ Panos suggested.
She shook her head. ‘No, we have to get back. There’s a lot to do.’ She looked at her watch to emphasise the point. If she stopped, if she sat down in this picturesque setting with the sun on her back, the scent of citrus and bougainvillea, cooking coming from the numerous cafes, her guard would drop.
‘I would like to talk to you,’ he said softly.
Even his voice was beautiful. It wasn’t fair. She looked up, focussing on the salmon-and-white tower ahead of them, a bird sitting on top of one of the two bells. It was like her right now. Poised to make a move should its situation become precarious.
‘Please, Imogen, it’s important.’
She turned to him then and stopped walking. Something about him was different. His eyes revealed a contrasting layer, nothing like she had seen before.
‘Please,’ he said again.
She swallowed, bringing up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. ‘One drink,’ she agreed.
* * *
Panos led the way to the café bar at the edge of the water. It was one of his favourites in Corfu Town, a place that epitomised the beauty of the whole island. Under a large cream-coloured sun shade they sat at a table on the very edge of the terrace overlooking the cerulean water with the Old Fortress as a backdrop. To him it was one of the most serene, calming places on Earth.
He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes moving from the view and resting on Imogen. She sat back in her chair, face turned up to the sun, eyes closed. How he wanted to caress the soft skin of her cheek with his fingers, let his lips glide over hers again. He swallowed the coffee down. He didn’t even know where to begin, or whether saying anything was going to do any good.
‘Rhea and I…’ he started. ‘We really are not together anymore.’
He watched her open her eyes and look back at him.
‘We were never wholly together at all,’ he admitted. ‘Well, obviously, we were… in some ways, but…’
She didn’t speak, and he suddenly felt like he was giving an awkward talk to a committee where he hadn’t quite done his homework properly. Trousers was the word he wanted to use and internally he cursed Elpida’s damn analogy.
‘For me,’ he started again. ‘The relationship was not serious.’
‘And for her?’ Imogen asked. ‘I’m guessing if she flew over a few islands to come here the relationship was more serious in her opinion.’
He cradled his coffee cup. ‘I think she wanted it to be. I think she thought I could be a different man. The man she wanted.’
Imogen sat a little further forward on her seat and picked up her tea cup. ‘But you can’t be?’ She sipped at the drink.
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t be the man she wants. I’m not quite sure that this man exists.’
‘Rhea’s nice,’ Imogen replied. ‘I like her.’
‘I like her too,’ he admitted. ‘But not in the way she needs me to.’ What did he want to say? ‘Imogen, I want you to know that I am going to help Alejandro Kalas start up a community market in Acharavi.’
After mentioning it to his grandmother this morning he hadn’t really made a final decision but, sitting here, his life in Crete felt a million miles away. He wasn’t ready to back down on the complex along Acharavi seafront, but he was ready to make a commitment to the community in another way.
‘Why?’ Imogen asked. Her tone was full of suspicion and he could hardly blame her.
He let out a breath. ‘It is a good scheme. I have been over the information. I think we can make it work in Acharavi just like it is working in Arillas and other areas.’
‘And what about the beachfront?’
She fixed her eyes on him until he could feel the burn of her stare on his skin.
‘It is my business, Imogen. I am always going to have to look at new opportunities,’ he admitted. ‘But, I would also like to try something different.’ He paused. ‘Like you helping Harry build a restaurant business.’
He watched her ease herself back into the chair, settling into the pale biscuit-coloured cushioning.
‘I don’t think Harry really needs me now,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not sure he ever did. I think I was more like a cooking comfort blanket for him. A bit of security from home to cling on to until he found his feet… or your grandmother.’
‘I think you have been much more to him than that.’
‘Do you?’ she asked. ‘Because Elpida cooks Greek food far better than I can. And he’s ignored almost all of my business budgeting advice and you don’t need an NVQ to wrangle goats.’
He reached across the table for her hand and she moved it away.
‘Don’t, Pano,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’ She let a breath go. ‘Because I like it too much and I shouldn’t like it… and I’m leaving at the end of next week.’ The humid air hung between them.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He could offer her nothing but now. He had never been able to offer anything else.
‘My mum needs my help. She’s going to move house and she’s playing it down but it’s going to be a big wrench for her.’ Her eyes moved to the line of yachts moored on the water underneath the fortress. ‘It’s the right thing to do but it’s our family home and… things are still up in the air with Harry and Janie… It’s my job to be there for my mum.’ She turned back to him. ‘Family’s always been my thing. I’m not a career girl or a party girl, I’m the one who papers over the cracks and holds things together.’
‘You said you wanted to be hotel girl,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘When I dared to dream.’
‘You mean you have stopped?’
She shrugged. ‘Any day I’m going to get a rejection email from the Wyatt Group.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because I don’t have the qualifications or the experien
ce.’
‘There are other companies you could try.’ He moved the salt cellar on the table, picking it up and rolling it in his palm. ‘To try and be rejected is not failure. But, to not even try is the very worst failure of all.’
He watched her reaction to his words. She was still looking into the mid-distance, perhaps the top of the Old Fortress, thoughts as layered as the stone walls.
He put the salt cellar down. ‘Do you think Harry and Janie will be reconciled?’
‘I don’t know but I really hope so.’ She paused. ‘I don’t really know why they broke up in the first place. There never seemed to be one solid reason, just a lot of little things happening all at once… Harry’s accident and his depression…’ She leant forward, picking up her tea cup. ‘And as much as I love Tristan and Olivia, children are always trying.’
‘You think there is still love there?’ Panos asked her. He observed her again as she thought about her reply.
‘I think there will always be some sort of love there. They have the children together so there’s always going to be that connection.’ She put her cup back down. ‘But maybe that isn’t enough. And, I suppose maybe it shouldn’t be.’
He nodded. Was that what had happened to his parents? He hadn’t been enough to keep them soldered together? His father had destroyed their lives when he’d got complacent and gambled with everything they had. Their love had burnt out, got too broken to be fixed, or could probably have been mended if only either of them had wanted to try.
‘I am not sure I know what love is,’ he stated.
Somewhere between the strong coffee, the memories he was restoring and the ambience of the setting, his thoughts had escaped and it was too late to take them back. It felt like the words were floating there, hovering above the table.
* * *
Imogen watched him, half present, half somewhere else. She could see he was thinking deeply.
