Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance) (27 page)

‘
O
h
! It is time!’ Elpida exclaimed, swaying into Imogen as they stood in the dancing circle after a lively traditional Corfiot dance rejoicing the gods and asking for a good harvest. There had been left and right and sashaying this way and that and Imogen had spent more time trying not to tread on Janie or Elpida’s toes.

Her sister-in-law looked happier than she had seen her in some time and Olivia and Tristan were also caught up in the atmosphere, forming friendships over home-made lemonade and jumping games with the village children.

‘Time for what?’ Imogen asked, moving backwards as all the people encouraged the circle to widen.

‘This dance excite her every year,’ Cooky chipped in, her bosoms almost falling out of the low-cut jade dress she was wearing.

‘If it’s complicated I’ll have to sit down,’ Imogen said. She unwound her arm from behind Elpida’s shoulder.

‘No, you stay,’ Elpida said.

‘I’m almost better at making pastry than I am at dancing,’ Imogen stated.

‘Hush, this is where you get the gossip,’ Cooky informed.

‘I’m lost,’ Imogen answered.

‘This is dance of lovers,’ Elpida stated. ‘Only people that dance are people in love.’

‘You get the married couples, bound to each other for all eternity and it is very sweet, but…’ Cooky giggled. ‘We like to watch the ones we have been watching all year come out!’

‘
Come out
,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s just a dance. What if these people don’t know it’s a “dance of lovers”.’

‘Pfft,’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘Everybody know. Besides, you only have to listen to the music.’ She closed her eyes and sucked in a lung-filling breath. ‘The Greek
bouzouki
… the trumpet… the heady, passionate rhythm of the tango.’

A fizz of sensation shot up Imogen’s spine as the first wail of the trumpet started to play. Straightaway, couples began to slip out of the wall of the circle and dance in twosomes in the centre, some a little apart, dancing formal, stately movements, others pinned together with not even a gasp of air between them.

‘Look, there is new girl from the post office,’ Cooky remarked. ‘And Zico from Versus Club. I tell you there is something going on there!’

Imogen felt like a voyeur looking into the souls of these dancers. Were they really being bewitched by the music to come out and show the town their feelings towards one another? Was she really starting to believe in Elpida’s Greek wives’ tales?

‘It is like a statement,’ Elpida said, as if reading her mind. ‘Like putting a ring onto someone’s hand and pledging life-long love.’

Imogen shook her head. ‘So that’s it, is it? The girl from the post office and this Zico are destined for a lifetime together?’

Elpida looked at her as if the very idea of it not being true was madness. ‘You are still too English,’ the Greek woman said. ‘You only believe what you see on YouTube.’

‘Zoella’s hair tips maybe,’ Imogen answered. ‘Apart from that…’

‘Ai!’ Cooky exclaimed. ‘Your brother is out there!’

‘What?’ Imogen stared hard across the circle, trying to pick out Harry.

There he was, dancing so close to Janie, not even a cocktail stick’s width apart. Their eyes on each other, moving perfectly in time to the music.

Imogen shook her head. ‘Harry won’t know what this dance means… I mean, what it’s supposed to represent, according to Greek ancient history.’

Elpida smiled at her. ‘Look at them, Imogen. They do not need to know the history. They are busy making their own story.’

She couldn’t keep her eyes from them. Her brother, leading Janie around the road, leaning her back and forth, copying the moves of the other couples around them. Olivia and Tristan were sat at a table next to their parents, picking at a
meze
in between clapping their hands together and avidly watching. It seemed that almost the whole of Acharavi was in love tonight.

‘
Y
ou are not dancing
?’ Rhea asked Panos.

He shook his head slowly, unable to draw his eyes away from Imogen. She was stood in the line, next to his grandmother and Cooky, watching the couples take their places in the centre of the circle, moving to the hypnotic beat of the tango.

‘Pano,’ Rhea breathed. ‘You should dance.’

He turned and looked at her, wondering if things between them were still unclear. ‘You know what this song is.’

‘Yes, Pano, it is the same all over Greece.’ Rhea let go of a wistful sigh. ‘It is the song of lovers.’

‘Then it would not be right for us to…’ he started.

She smiled at him. ‘I did not mean with me.’ She hitched her head across the street. ‘You have not been able to take your eyes from her.’

He blinked, his vision blurring for a second then focussing right back where it
had
been for the majority of the evening. Imogen, her cheeks flushed from the Greek dancing, an intense look on her face as her eyes concentrated on the couples swaying in front of her. His whole business world was falling apart. The last thing he should do was get caught up in the Greek tradition he always seemed to be battling against. Wasn’t it?

‘Go and ask her to dance, Pano,’ Rhea urged. ‘If you feel even half of what is written on your face then… you must.’

Could he? The song was part of his family history. His grandparents had danced to it every year, holding each other close, looking into each other’s eyes as if they were the only ones in the world. His mother and father had danced to it too. The thought stamped on his heart. Was every memory he had so tainted by his father’s demise that he couldn’t remember how things really were? Had he been letting the tumultuous end of his parents’ relationship take over
all
his thinking? What about the time they had loved? They
had
loved once. Deeply. Taking a breath he put one foot forward, stepping into the road.

T
he music
was
hypnotic and as Imogen stood and watched the number of couples grow with every bar of the song, she felt like she was a witness to something special. It was like the first dance at a wedding – intimate looks, two people frozen in time, seeing and feeling nothing but each other.

A familiar scent of lemon and sandalwood twisted her attention away from the scene and she looked up to see Panos in front of her. She swallowed, feeling self-conscious, almost bare, as his dark eyes appraised her.

‘Will you…’ he began tentatively. He stopped talking, held out his hand to her. ‘Imogen, will you dance with me?’

It felt like mosquitoes had taken flight in her belly and were busy spearing her with their probes, each jab injecting a new slightly terrifying sensation. She looked at his hand, then over his shoulder at the couples in the circle.

‘Elpida said…’ she began hesitantly.

His eyes seemed to enlarge, holding hers hostage. ‘It is the dance of lovers, yes,’ he answered.

Now her heart was hammering faster than the
bouzouki
players fingers were moving over the strings. Elpida had said it was a statement akin to someone putting a ring on your finger…

‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘Dance with me.’

With her mouth as dry as the Corfu sand and her stomach still dealing with the equivalent of a plague of locusts – or Asian hornets – she lifted her hand, letting it glide into his.

The heat from his skin did nothing to play down her emotions and Imogen tensed as Panos walked them to a space in the centre of the circle right next to the grey stonework of the ancient pump. Positioning her hand in his and setting her other on his shoulder, she stilled, looking only at him.

‘I can’t dance,’ she whispered, her lips trembling.

He smiled then, pulling her in close, and a gasp left her as their bodies connected together. Re-clasping her hand tight in his, he then latently slipped his other hand down the bare skin of her arm. It felt like a whisper of satin, making each fine hair shift upwards in anticipation. His arm snaked around her waist until nothing could separate them, heads close, eyes locked together.

He put his mouth close to her ear. ‘Just listen to the music,’ he said. ‘Then.’ He paused. ‘You will begin to feel it.’

Imogen closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the band wash over her, until the music and the tension in her torso was all there was. Letting Panos move her slowly back then forward, she started to step with more confidence, following the rhythm of the musicians.

‘Look at me,’ he whispered.

She very slowly opened her eyes, the lights from the bulbs swinging from the trees and along the frontage of the
tavernas
dazzling her for a moment. He swayed her backwards, leaning into her, stepping in time to the tango beat and she let herself be led, following his footwork as best she could.

Everything else melted away except him and his irresistible inky eyes. She was now the one fastened to this moment in time, showing her soul to the villagers of Acharavi – and that really
was
what she was doing. Whatever she felt for this man, it had an unparalleled intensity and here, on this night, there was no other place on Earth she wanted to be.

She shifted her hand, taking it off his shoulder and letting her fingers explore. As they continued to dance a slow tango tempo, she let her hand glide across his chest, her fingers seeking out every subtle dip and curve of his pectorals then lower, smoothing her way down over his tight core.

And then his hands were slipping down her body, from her shoulders, descending past the sides of her chest wall until he had her waist. He picked her up, spinning her around before catching her and bending her back in his arms as the music came to an end.

Her breath was catching in her throat as she looked up at him, his hand at her back, holding her up, his other hand entwined with hers again. She felt giddy, overcome with a heady sensation she had never experienced before. He gently lifted her up until they were back on level terms again and the rush of blood to her head began to dissipate.

‘I have never danced to that song before,’ he spoke softly, connecting his other hand with hers.

‘Pano,’ she breathed, his name almost not making it past her lips.

He took her face in his palms and drew her towards him, his mouth covering hers in an instant. And she clung to him, desperately pressing her mouth to his and not caring that the whole town was watching.

‘
W
here are we going
?’ Imogen asked as Panos pulled her away from the main street.

‘You want Elpida to start talking about big, fat Greek weddings?’ he asked her. ‘Cooky to begin designing a cake?’

She stopped moving with him and snatched back her hand. Crossing her arms over her chest she gave him a hard stare. ‘So, what, you’re ashamed of me now? You don’t want to be seen with me?’

‘No,’ he said immediately. ‘No, nothing like that.’ He took her hand back, softly caressing both sides between his. ‘I just…’ He kissed her lips tenderly. ‘I don’t want this moment to end. I want to hide… from everything… and to keep you for myself just a little bit longer. Separate the eggs for just a little more.’

Imogen kissed him back, her hands sliding into his dark hair as he held her. Quickly she broke herself away. ‘Elpida’s coming!’ she hissed, her eyes picking out Panos’ grandmother heading towards them.

‘Run!’ Panos urged, pulling her towards the nearest side road.

W
alking with Imogen
, her hand in his, felt like the most natural thing in the world. But hand-holding, taking someone in his arms for anything other than sex, letting someone in emotionally, was all completely new to him. And it scared him. Terrified him.

‘Where are we going?’ Imogen asked into the darkness, the mountain range still just visible against the midnight-blue of the sky.

‘We are almost there,’ he answered.

‘Isn’t this the road to Elpida’s house?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re taking me home for coffee?’ she queried.

‘Not quite that.’ He started the walk up the incline which led to his grandmother’s home.

‘
Ouzo
?’ Imogen guessed again.

‘If that is what you would like.’

‘I don’t want that grape stuff made by the Lasko family. My mouth is still recovering.’

‘I might have a cure for that,’ he answered, smothering her mouth with his and savouring the taste of her lips.

She broke the kiss. ‘Is our tango going to be the talk of the village tomorrow?’

He could tell she was grinning, even in the dark. ‘Absolutely. Spiros from the shop on the corner, Zico from Versus Club…’

‘The girl from the post office,’ Imogen added.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

He tightened his grip on her hand as they rounded the hill and he came to a stop just before Elpida’s property. ‘We are here.’

‘Where’s here?’ She looked around, her head twisting. ‘I don’t see anything.’

He watched her looking right and left in the dark, searching for something that wasn’t there. He smiled. He could see the outline of the treehouse but only because he knew it was there and every line of its make-up was ingrained in him.

‘Up there,’ he said, moving close behind her and pointing up into the boughs of the olive tree.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘A treehouse?’

‘Yes.
My
treehouse. One of the most important buildings I have ever been involved in constructing.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ she whispered. ‘This means something to you.’

He nodded. ‘Yes… and I want to share it with you.’

P
anos made
her climb up first while he waited behind, perhaps a little afraid that she might fall. But with her flat sandals and a dress that was elasticated in all the right places she made light work of the lower boughs before a make-shift ladder appeared and she was able to climb into the wooden house among the foliage.

It was maybe two metres square and tall enough for her to stand up in without fear of bumping her head on the roof. She walked over to the window opening and leant against the frame, looking out. Even in the blackness of the night the view was incredible. Trees of all shapes and sizes made a dark thicket, dots of individual light picked out rural homes, clumps of gold signified small hamlets and then bigger groups of villages all cascaded down to the orange, yellow and mix of colour that was Acharavi. Beyond that was the ocean, almost mingling with the sky, the glow from towns across the water in Albania the only thing marking the border between earth and air.

She heard Panos climb into the room and she turned her head from the scene. ‘It’s a beautiful view.’

Panos stood behind her, circling his hands around her waist, his body tight to hers, his head nuzzling her neck until she could feel his breath on her skin. ‘I wanted you to see it.’

‘You used to play here? When you were small?’

She felt him nod. ‘Yes.’ Then a sigh left him. ‘Out of all the memories I have of family life when I was a child, this house in the tree is one of the good ones, perhaps…’ He took a moment. ‘Perhaps the best one.’

She turned to face him, taking his hands in hers. ‘Tell me.’

He hesitated for a second, then grabbed for something on the shelf to his right. He shook out a blanket, laying it on the floor. Slipping off her sandals she sat down, curling her legs up underneath her and watching as he did the same just opposite, their knees almost touching.

‘We built it together,’ he began. ‘Me and my father. In one weekend. Early morning until late at night until it was ready.’ His eyes went to the window and the view. ‘I was six and it was the happiest few days of my entire life. How must that sound to you, Imogen?’

She shrugged. ‘Some times are just made more perfect than others.’ She smiled. ‘I have one day that makes me feel happier than the rest.’

‘With your husband?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘No… nothing with him.’ She smiled. ‘Mum, Dad, Harry and me spent a day on the beach in Bournemouth. I was ten and Harry would have been fourteen. There was nothing remarkable about it except we laughed the whole day long. We swam in the sea, Harry made a sand aeroplane Airbus would have commissioned… I admired the lifeguards and Mum and Dad held hands and collected shells.’ She smiled again, recalling that perfect sunshine summer in August when everything had been simple and she was just a girl with her life stretching out in front of her. ‘Mum made so many egg sandwiches we were still eating them three days after that trip.’

Panos reached for her hand. ‘I don’t know what to do, Imogen.’

‘What do you mean?’

He sighed, dropping his eyes for a moment. ‘I do not think I can develop the beachfront now.’

A gasp left her and she quickly swallowed it down.

He let go of her hand and put his fingers to his eyes, closing the lids and pressing the skin as if they hurt. ‘I do not know what I am doing any more,’ he admitted.

‘Where has this come from?’ she asked, studying his expression.

He shook his head. ‘I came back here conflicted and I thought if I could just put my mark on the town, make it
my
place again, then everything would be… right.’ He sighed. ‘But then the restaurant was gone and my grandmother was so much older and all these memories just started haunting me like ghosts in Greek traditional clothing.’ He shook his head again. ‘And I hated it as much as I craved it.’

She didn’t know what to say. She reached for his hand again, taking it in hers and smoothing her fingers over his.

‘I think I got it wrong,’ he stated. ‘I think I came looking for something that wasn’t there.’ He looked to the window. ‘I think I wanted justification for staying away all these years, for keeping out of touch with my mother, for distancing myself from this place.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I think I wanted to believe that my father was this hard-hearted monster, who put deals and business ahead of me and my mother and… in part that was right but… it was not the whole of the story.’ He adjusted his position slightly. ‘He did not fail because he could not adapt to modern business. He did not even fail because he ran out of money. I think he failed because ultimately he cared and he loved. Because he tried to juggle too many balls at once, keep everyone happy. And, in doing that, he made no one happy. And it ended up killing him.’

‘Pano…’ Imogen began.

‘My father twisted himself up so much trying to
be
somebody, that when it came down to it he ended up being a somebody nobody wanted.’ He took a breath. ‘When all we wanted him to be was the man we loved before everything else took over.’ He sighed. ‘A simple man who built a treehouse with his son.’

The urge to put her arms around him was so strong but she sensed to move now would be the wrong thing to do.

He looked deep into her eyes. ‘I know you have to go, Imogen,’ he whispered.

She nodded. ‘Yes… yes I do.’

‘And, although I want to commit to the community market plans… I still don’t know where my home lies.’

She smiled. ‘A little over a week ago I’d never even been to Greece before.’ She reached up, her palm finding the fine bristle on his jaw. ‘Now I somehow feel like I’m swimming in the middle of it.’

He put his hands over hers. ‘Is this a good or a bad thing?’

‘It’s a complicated thing.’ She sighed. ‘Before Halloumi, my family were all together in the UK. Now Harry’s here and my mum’s moving house and after tonight I don’t know how Janie is going to feel… It’s going to be a little bit different that’s all.’

Panos smoothed his free hand over her hair. ‘You told me earlier today that making a change is a good thing.’

‘I know I did.’

‘But
different
is not right for you?’

His words made her smile. ‘Different just takes a bit of getting used to.’

‘And me?’ he whispered. ‘Do you think you could get used to me?’ He held her face in his hands and his breath mixed with the humidity of the night, warm currents of air caressing her cheeks.

‘You said you’re not sure where your life lies,’ she answered, her tone delicate.

He shook his head then. ‘No.’ He padded his thumb against her bottom lip. ‘I said I am not sure where my
home
lies.’ He swallowed. ‘Wherever I am… I was hoping that you would be part of it.’

Imogen kept her eyes fixed on his and saw the depth of meaning seeping out from underneath those long, dusky lashes. He was truly exposing his soul to her now. He was ready to face his demons, confront his issues with relationships and he wanted to take those first steps with her.

‘What I feel for you, Imogen… I cannot begin to express,’ he started, his every syllable like a pounding heartbeat.

‘I know,’ she replied, placing her hands on his. ‘I know, Pano, because I feel it too.’

H
e saw
her visibly shiver as she spoke and it sent a shockwave of lust rippling through him. He wanted her so much in every way – physically, sexually – but knowing his heart was alive and
leading
this made every pull of need double in intensity.

She was quaking now underneath his hands as he held her face, but he wasn’t going to rush. He wanted to savour every second of each moment. The expression in her eyes mirrored everything he was feeling and he held her gaze, looking, feeling, soaking it all up and letting the weight of their shared passion fill him.

Her breaths were coming thick and fast like his, and as she finally blinked, breaking the visual contact for a brief second, he couldn’t hold off any longer. He kissed her, his mouth claiming hers with such force she fell, taking him with her onto the blanket. He broke from her, his breathing out of control. ‘You are OK?’

She responded by reaching up, her hands in his hair, dragging him back down towards her,
her
mouth taking his this time and her fingers clawing at the buttons on his shirt. He ended the kiss, sitting up on his knees, astride her, removing his shirt, all the while holding her eyes with his. He threw the shirt to one side, leaning forward, palms flat on the wooden boards either side of the blanket she lay on, just looking at her looking up at him.

Reaching up, her index finger trailed over his skin and he closed his eyes, letting each tiny sensation spark its way into his consciousness. He shifted slightly as her fingers grazed his navel, slipping lower, centimetre by centimetre towards his waist. He opened his eyes, wanting to see her.

Under his gaze she slithered, as if he had cast a cold spell around her bare shoulders. He leaned in, his mouth dropping to the skin around her collarbone, his tongue delivering hot, moist circles as he worked across the breadth of her chest.

‘Pano,’ she called into the dark.

His name on her lips had his arousal stinging hard and, as patience began to leave him, he pulled at the fabric of her black dress, wanting more and more inches of her exposed to him.

P
anos pulled at her dress
, rolling the material down her body and discarding it. Naked from the neck down, the only barrier between them was her panties and his trousers. Imogen watched him appraising her, his deep plum eyes languishing on her breasts until they tightened too much to bear, aching for his touch.

As his mouth descended on her once more she sent her fingers to the waistband of his trousers, squirming as he nipped at her breasts, shudders of longing weaving through her body. She unfastened the fly and pushed the fabric apart, inching it down over his hips until he had no choice but to assist. With one hand he wriggled free of his trousers and underwear until every part of him was bare to her. The sight of him took her breath and as he relieved her of the last scrap of cotton and lace she shivered in anticipation of what was to come.

‘Imogen,’ he spoke, his whole weight on his palms as his eyes roved over her. ‘My Imogen.’

It was a declaration of possession but one that didn’t hold any fear for her. She
wanted
to be his. She wanted him to be
hers
. More than she had ever wanted anyone to be part of her life before.

She reached up, both her hands on his muscular shoulders. ‘Be mine,’ she whispered.

He needed no other words. She could see he was ready, just like she was, to join together in something that had been creeping up on them both over the past week. What had started out as a brute chemistry had grown into something so much stronger, something that now couldn’t be halted even if they wanted to.