Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
WILL
Day Seven
Something about last night at Sam’s has got my head spinning, and not in a good way. I wander the streets of Athens, staring but not seeing, unlike Tim, who has profusely thanked me for making him realise how much he cherishes Jemima, and how he doesn’t want to lose her.
Turns out Jemima told Tim everything during their meal, and it must have gone well because their curtains were drawn when I returned home last night and they were still drawn this morning when I left.
Unless they’re dead.
I pause, considering this, buffeted by someone passing by.
I’m sure they’re not.
Jemima seemed so disconnected from Tim at the pool. How long has that relationship been struggling? Can a single romantic evening help make everything better?
Perhaps reconnecting is all I need with Ollie.
I thought I was doing the right thing by putting distance between us, but if I wanted him back in my life, I should have been proactive in making that happen.
That’s why, when he texted this morning to ask if I’d thought any more about helping him, I replied almost instantly.
Now, I find myself waiting for him to pick me up from Syntagma Square.
Chewing the edge of my lip, I slip my hands in my pocket and look left and right, trying to remain casual and Chill Will but probably looking like I’m planning to rob the pharmacy across the road.
All Tim and Jemima needed was a moment together, one on one, to talk, to remember why they loved one another. Perhaps this is my chance to do the same with Ollie.
When a blacked-out Mercedes pulls up, I don’t bother to look at it. When someone whistles, I preoccupy myself with my phone.
‘Look up, would you?’
Ollie. Leaning and waving at me from the shining Mercedes that reflects my dazed expression.
I get in, relishing the cold air con on my skin. ‘Fancy ride.’
‘It’s a rental, but Alec has one just like it at home.’
Bam. Alec talk straight away. A constant reminder of how silly all of this is.
‘Well, get you. So, what am I helping with?’ I ask, as Ollie smoothly joins the flow of traffic and heads out of Athens city centre.
‘Wine tasting.’
‘Wine tasting? Oh, goodie.’ I cringe.
‘I thought you’d be perfect for the job.’
‘Why?’
‘You always did love your wine.’
That’s right, I did – I still do – and the fact he still remembers it has me wishing for old times.
‘Why do you need my help with that, though?’
‘I want your opinion. Want to make sure we’re getting the right wine for the table. Plus, I need someone to sample more than me so I can drive us home.’
I laugh, before saying, ‘Red and white, can’t go wrong, then.’
‘But surely it’s more than that?’ He beams, and I try to smile, but it’s hard to do when I’m winded.
His dark hair is ruffled, the buttons of his green and white striped shirt undone at the top, sleeves rolled up. He’s wearing athletic shorts, revealing his toned calf muscles, and brown penny loafers. His wristwatch glints with every movement of the leather steering wheel, and I gawp at it.
‘Is that the one I bought you?’
‘Hm?’ Ollie purses his lips, then follows my eyeline. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, it is.’
He blushes, just enough to make me want to press further. ‘You still have it?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? You still have a bunch of stuff I bought you?’
‘Oh, yeah, totally.’ I mean, maybe one thing. The rest I burnt in a witchcraft ritual with Alice in my apartment, which set the fire alarm off and resulted in a big evacuation of my apartment building at quarter to two in the morning. But Ollie doesn’t need to know that.
The watch is the most expensive thing I bought him. It reminded me of something a gentleman would wear on his country estate, and what with Ollie’s career ambitions, I thought it would suit him perfectly. He’s obviously thinking the same.
‘Woah.’
We turn off a road and drive down a lane flanked by vineyards, which go on for miles. We pull up outside a modest, understated family home, with white paint, blue accents and ceramic Roman roof tiles.
‘Mister Oliver?’ A Greek woman steps out, dressed in a blue linen shirt and cropped white linen trousers. She has a kindness that immediately makes me gravitate towards her. ‘And this must be Mister Alec.’
‘Oh.’
‘No.’
‘No, no.’
‘No, absolutely not.’ Ollie swipes his arms, shaking his head. ‘No, no, not Alec.’
‘All right, Ol, I think she gets it,’ I mutter. I hold out my hand. ‘Hi, I’m Will. I’m … a friend of Ollie’s.’
‘Eleni.’
Despite her shaking my hand with warmth, I feel nothing but cold. Cold at how I’ve introduced myself. Chilled that all of this could have been mine if I’d just been mature enough to accept it.
‘Well, it’s a pleasure to see you. Please, come.’
‘This is where it’s all stored?’ Ollie asks, hands on his hips, staring at the house.
She taps the side of her tanned nose. ‘Don’t let it deceive you.’
We enter into a building with whitewashed walls and spotlessly clean tiled floors. The windows are open on latches, letting in the warm Greek air. There’s a fly buzzing somewhere, but Eleni doesn’t mind.
I see what she means about the house. It sprawls away from us, and once we’re out of what I assume to be the living quarters, we find ourselves in a room that could double as a bar.
There are tables set up as if in anticipation of a truck load of tourists, and I hear the sounds of a chef from a nearby kitchen, singing along to a Greek song on the radio.
‘We appreciate you choosing us as your wedding supplier,’ Eleni says.
‘Alec said you come highly recommended.’ Ollie turns to me.
Then why am I here, I want to ask. They’ve already decided on the wine they want.
That’s when the seed of hope begins to sprout and climb, like the vines outside lining the acres of this sweltering landscape.
Maybe he wanted an excuse to be close to me again.
I try to read him, as if he might be able to convey what he’s feeling.
But he’s staring around in awe as we descend a staircase at the back of the restaurant, and step onto wooden planks that go on forever.
‘This is where we ferment the wine,’ Eleni explains, as she indicates the line of silver fermentation tanks to her left.
She walks backwards, unbothered by the uneven planks of wood.
‘You can see we have a few varieties, but we mostly use the Savatiano and the Xinomavro that we grow here, as we try to be as sustainable as possible.’
‘I imagine the Xinomavro has great tannins,’ Ollie says.
I stroke my chin. ‘Mm, tannins, yes.’
Ollie glances at me, bemused.
‘Yes, I’d say so,’ Eleni says. ‘This is essentially our production line. Just down there is where we age the wine. And further along where we bottle the wine. So, we do everything on site, which we are incredibly proud of.’ She comes to a stop by a doorway, pushing it open. ‘But here is what matters.’
Her eyes twinkle as we take in the rows of bottles all lined up, full and ready to be sold.
‘This looks incredible,’ Ollie says.
There’s a table standing in the middle of the room, two candles burning in the middle. It looks almost romantic, and I shiver, remembering that Eleni thought Ollie was coming with his fiancé, and not his strung-out ex.
‘Alec shouldn’t be missing this,’ I whisper.
‘He’s dealing with some logistics. This is my task,’ Ollie replies.
‘Best not let him down.’ It’s meant to come out as a joke, but it feels more like an accusation.
Ollie sniffs, rolling his shoulders. ‘I’m assuming these will be ready to ship out?’
Eleni nods. ‘We supply selected shops, as we believe our brand should be desirable, rather than something you can get anywhere.’
‘Ah, exclusivity,’ Ollie says, eyebrows rising.
‘Precisely.’
‘Nothing wrong with a supermarket wine, though,’ I say.
But it goes down like a lead balloon, judging by Ollie’s stricken face.
‘Ours is better,’ Eleni says, recovering. ‘Come.’
We walk the short distance to the table, where two wine glasses are waiting.
‘First up, one of our refreshing white wines.’
She cracks the bottle, artfully pouring a sample into both glasses. Taking mine, I swig and swallow. ‘Tasty.’
But Ollie is swishing the wine, and Eleni is smiling.
‘There’s a hint here of… Is that apricot?’
Bloody hell. When did he become such a wine connoisseur?
He was obviously downplaying it in the car.
When we were together, he was forever telling me to get whatever wine was cheapest. We even had whole conversations when he would insist on how wine is wine, and the whole industry is built off pretentiousness.
‘Yes, there’s apricot there.’
I hold my wine out, hoping Eleni will refill, but she doesn’t.
‘I like that one.’ Ollie inspects the bottle, holding it to the candlelight. ‘Will, did you like that one?’
I think of how quickly I drank it, and how I enjoyed it. ‘I did. Lots of … fermentation has gone on with that, I think.’
Eleni doesn’t smile. Ollie laughs, though I can see him glancing at Eleni to gauge her reaction.
Our next wine is a red, poured into a fresh glass that Eleni got from a box underneath the table. ‘Now that is fruity,’ I say, after I’ve purposefully made a show of holding it in my mouth. I sniff the glass for good measure. ‘Yes, very fruity.’
‘Really?’ Ollie, who only sipped it, takes a larger gulp. His brow creases as he swallows. ‘No, I wouldn’t call it fruity.’
Eleni holds on to Ollie’s every word. ‘Interesting. What would you call it?’
Ollie tilts his head, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Earthy, but not overpowering. Kind of like…’ He searches for the words, reminding me of Jeff Goldblum. ‘Like the changing of seasons. The first signs of autumn.’
I laugh, because he must be joking. There’s no way Ollie is talking like this. Like, who is he trying to impress? This isn’t poetry class.