After the Honeymoon (8 page)

Yannis was a distant cousin of Greco’s who had been working on the mainland but had applied for the position of cook back on the island. Cara had been inexplicably opposed to Rosie employing him, but, as Rosie had told her, they desperately needed a cook and there were no other decent candidates. It was always worrying when someone new started, in case they didn’t fit in, and now she had this extra problem to deal with.

Couldn’t the villa cope for five minutes without her?

‘It sounds,’ said Greco soothingly, ‘as though you need a drink.’ Sharing the rest of the carafe between her glass and his, he gave a lazy smile before moving his chair closer to the table just as a motorbike zapped by. The wine felt good. Rosie could feel it sinking in as she stretched out in her chair, enjoying the buzz of the pavement cafe around her with its smartly dressed women in tailored skirts and sunnies talking animatedly to their girlfriends or men in dark suits.

Greco had been right. This break was exactly what she needed. Much as she loved Siphalonia, it could be too quiet and insular at times. Of course, she missed the sea. Without it, she felt dry inside. It was odd without Jack, too, although not quite as odd as she’d thought it might be. Maybe Greco had been right on that one too. A mother needed her space, just as a teenage boy did.

‘Anyway,’ added her companion, his eyes on hers as he signalled to the waiter for another carafe with an authority that suggested he had lived here all his life, ‘why the hush-hush over this booking?’

Rosie shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. In fact I don’t know their real name – not until I see their passports, that is.’

‘Aren’t you curious?’

‘Yes and no. More flattered really, that they’ve chosen to come to us, whoever they are.’ She shook her head. ‘It was a last-minute booking through the ad that my friend Gemma put up at her school in England, apparently.’ She groaned. ‘Such a nuisance about the flooding in the main guest rooms, or we could have put them there.’

That was one of the infuriating things about living in a small place. Simple plumbing parts weren’t always available. Greco gave her a reassuring smile, his hand brushing hers as he handed her the topped-up glass. ‘I’ll see if I can get those washers while we’re here.’

‘That would be great.’ Rosie had planned on trying to source them herself but DIY had never been one of her strengths. She felt a sudden warm surge of gratitude, which helped to ease the annoyance at having to give up her room at home.

‘They’re only here for a week,’ she added, as though reassuring herself. ‘I’ll just have to find some corner when I return.’

‘Or stay with me?’ There was the flash of a cheeky smile that could be interpreted as jokey or serious.

‘Not so fast,’ she said lightly. ‘We don’t want to spoil a good friendship, do we?’

His strong brown hand reached out and clasped hers around the wrist, sending little unexpected – but not unpleasant – electric tremors down her arm. ‘But you don’t rule out something more?’

She hesitated. ‘No. Not exactly. I don’t know.’

Was that the wine talking or herself? she wondered. Maybe it was because they were somewhere different; somewhere where no one was watching them, interpreting every move and nuance. It was like that in a small place, whether Greece or England, which was one of the reasons she had chosen to flee all those years ago. If she’d stayed, she’d have had to put up with the neighbours gossiping about her unmarried state along with her father’s snide comments.

But now what?

Rosie drained her glass, knowing she’d had far too much for the middle of the day, closed her eyes in the warm sunshine and tried to imagine herself in ten years’ time. Jack would be in his mid-twenties then, perhaps with a family of his own.

There would be some benefits in that, surely, she thought guiltily. She’d be able to do what she wanted without worrying about him. She could enjoy life on her own; after all, she wasn’t the kind of person who needed others around her all the time to make her feel complete. When it was quiet at work, there was nothing she liked more than to find a shady patch on the terrace and read a book, or to go for a swim before drying off on the beach, grateful that she didn’t have to make conversation with anyone, unlike some of the couples she saw struggling at the dinner table.

Then again, she thought, glancing at Greco lying back in his chair, eyes closed in a post-lunch haze, there were times when she desperately craved some male company. There were also times when, even though it made her blush to admit it, her body needed it, as well as her mind. And there was far more to Greco than she’d realised.

That reminded her.

‘Don’t you have a meeting soon?’ she asked.

His eyes snapped open as though he hadn’t been dozing after all. ‘Right. Thanks.’ Sitting up, he heaved a large bag onto his shoulders. ‘Want to come along?’

When Greco had first admitted at the airport that his check-in bag contained ‘stuff made from driftwood’, she hadn’t taken him very seriously. There were a lot of artisans in Greece, mainly amateurs who sold to holidaymakers keen on bringing back a souvenir.

It wasn’t until he’d opened it up that she realised how good he was. Stunned, she’d taken in the beautifully crafted jewellery boxes and small figures. ‘Did you really make these with your own hands?’

He had looked down at his broad brown fingers as though seeing them for the first time. ‘No one else’s.’ Then an uncertainty flitted across his face. It was a look she had never seen before on this man who generally acted as though he told the world what to do, rather than the other way round.

‘Thought I might see if anyone was interested in buying them,’ he’d added casually. ‘Not on the island. But in Athens.’

Instinctively, Rosie guessed why. If these beautiful pieces didn’t sell on the mainland, then no one on Siphalonia would be any the wiser. Whereas if they flopped at home, Greco might lose face. It was a measure of trust in her that he’d confided this much.

To her surprise, he’d already made some firm appointments with a couple of shopkeepers whom he’d found, he said with just a touch of embarrassment, on the net. She’d been impressed.

‘Have you worked out your profit margins?’ Rosie asked as they made their way down the street to the first meeting.

‘Not really.’ Greco shrugged. ‘Just wanted to see what they thought first.’

Rosie’s own business experience set alarm bells ringing. ‘Don’t undersell yourself,’ she said quickly, moving to one side as a pair of teenagers strode towards her. ‘I don’t want to interfere, but do you actually want me to go into the meeting with you?’

He gave her an amused smile. ‘Hold my hand, you mean? Like you do Jack’s?’

That wasn’t fair. ‘I’ve left him in charge of the villa, haven’t I?’

Another shrug. ‘Then let him sort out this room problem without worrying about it.’ He touched her arm briefly. ‘Meanwhile, you’re welcome to come with me, Rosie, but please don’t say anything. I know what I’m doing.’

Did he? Unable not to fear for him, Rosie followed Greco into the shop, looking around. It was one of those upmarket gift places with security guards on the door and some rather nice ornaments with pricey tags. Her friend had set his sights high. Rejection would hit him hard and, to her surprise, Rosie found that she really didn’t want that, even though she’d often thought, back home, that he needed to be taken down a peg or two.

‘Mind waiting here a bit?’ whispered Greco as the manager approached.

Apprehensively, Rosie pretended to busy herself by picking up a pair of jade earrings and then putting them down again. On the other side of the display, she could glimpse Greco laying out his wares and could hear low murmurings taking place between him and the manager. How she cringed for him! These shopkeepers were used to dealing with sharp-suited reps, not fishermen. Poor Greco had no idea what he was doing.

‘Utterly exquisite!’ exclaimed an American voice, slicing through her worries. ‘How much is that?’

Peeping through the display, Rosie could see a tall, elegant woman in a pair of tapered cream trousers, leaning over the jewellery box she’d admired earlier, made of driftwood and shells.

‘It’s not for sale, madam.’ The manager’s voice was smooth. ‘This gentleman is simply showing me his goods.’

‘Then may I buy it from you direct?’ The American, to Rosie’s astonishment, was opening her purse and handing over a fistful of notes to Greco, who promptly pocketed them with a satisfied smile. ‘Here is my card,’ he replied, extracting a slip from his wallet. ‘Let me know if you are interested in anything else on my website.’

He had a website? That was something he hadn’t mentioned earlier. The manager was now looking distinctly edgy. ‘You have more of those jewellery boxes if I place an order?’ he was saying now.

Greco gave an easy smile. ‘Only two.’

‘But there are four in your bag.’ The manager was pointing. ‘I can see.’

Her friend shrugged. ‘I need to keep them for my next appointment.’

The manager’s voice grew terse. ‘I will buy them all.’ He then named a price which nearly made Rosie drop the china pot she was ‘admiring’.

‘I’m afraid that is not enough.’ Greco then named a higher figure. Mesmerised, Rosie overheard the manager agree. A few minutes later, Greco walked straight past her and out of the shop as though he didn’t even know her. Rather cross, she hurried after him.

‘That was amazing!’

He nodded briskly. ‘Hang on a moment. It is not finished.’ He strode on and she had to run to keep up with him. Where was he going? Then he stopped suddenly, took a right into a little lane and then went down another on the left, into a small wine bar.

‘Haven’t we had enough …’ Rosie began to say before stopping. There was the tall American woman in the cream trousers. The same one from the shop.

‘Thanks,’ he was murmuring, giving her a brief kiss on the cheek. ‘I appreciate it. Sure I don’t owe you anything?’

The woman, a well-preserved forty-something, was almost purring. ‘Only the usual.’

Greco glanced back at Rosie, who was waiting awkwardly by the door. The wine bar was almost empty so she was able to hear nearly every word. ‘Sorry. My circumstances have changed. See you around, maybe. Keep the box.’

Then he walked back to Rosie jauntily, took her arm and steered her out into the street. ‘It was a set-up!’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘I don’t believe it. How did you manage that?’

Greco shrugged. ‘Let’s just say that an old friend owed me a favour.’

Should she be shocked or impressed? Rosie wasn’t sure, especially since that last glass of wine. Like many of the locals, she could hold her own when it came to drink, but she never usually had anything at lunchtime. Not when there was work to be done.

Just as well that her own appointments with the factories that sold her linen, and also pots and pans, weren’t until later.

‘It is time for a siesta, I think.’

Greco’s words reminded her that they had yet to check in to the small
pension
, where she’d booked two rooms on the strength of Trip Advisor reviews. They’d better not lead into each other, she suddenly thought. She should have checked that at the time.

‘Goodness. It’s quite nice, isn’t it?’ She was surprised, as they made their way under an archway into a little courtyard. Around them stood a squat, homely grey stone building with pale blue shutters, wrapped around the square. Greco opened the big green door in the middle to let her through first and she looked around curiously.

Like anyone else who ran a hotel, she was always keen to see how others did it and pick up some tips.

It might be a busman’s holiday but it was useful.

‘Two rooms,’ confirmed the girl at the desk. ‘Credit card, please.’

Greco got there first before taking the two sets of keys. The white iron staircase was quite elaborate and there was an air of nineteenth-century history along with a contemporary feel. ‘Connecting rooms, I see,’ commented Greco, as he helped her in with her case.

No!

‘Only joking.’ He grinned.

‘I hope you’re not playing me, like the manager in the shop?’ she shot back.

He didn’t laugh. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Rosie. That was business. When it comes to … to other things, I have changed. I need you to understand that.’

For a minute, they stood there, facing one another. I could let him kiss me right now, Rosie thought, amazed at herself. It would be so easy. So natural.

Then the moment passed and he turned and went into his own room. Rosie almost had to fight back the disappointment. Don’t be so ridiculous, she told herself, hanging up her clothes and then lying down on the bed. You must be crazy to even think of it.

For a while, Rosie lay there, wide awake. Usually, at siesta time, she was out like a light. It was such a civilised custom – there was nothing like a power nap to gather your energy before tackling the rest of the day, especially if you worked late into the evening as she did at home.

But this wasn’t home. This was Away. Perhaps this was why nothing seemed as it should. Tossing and turning on the cool, crisp cotton sheets, she eventually got up to look out of the window. The square below was deserted, apart from some pigeons. Everyone else was asleep too.

Everyone else was married.

No, that wasn’t true. But there were times when she couldn’t help wondering if she was ever going to find someone. At home, she could brush these thoughts under the carpet by concentrating on work. But now she was away from it, all the old doubts came crowding in. It wouldn’t be that long until Jack left home, and what would happen to her then? Would she end up as lonely as Cara, but without a kindly nephew to take her in?

‘So you are still awake?’ The voice came from the window next to hers. Leaning out, with the pigeons cooing above, was Greco, his black hair wet, suggesting he’d just showered.

She laughed, awkwardly. ‘I can’t sleep.’

‘You want to come here?’

It was said in such a way that for a moment, Rosie wasn’t even sure if it was Greco speaking. This wasn’t the usual cocky, arrogant face he presented to the rest of the island. This was someone who seemed nervous; shy, even.