Chapter 7 #3
Though very small, it turned out Porto Liakáda was a lively place, humming with sights, sounds, smells, colours and activity.
Dark-haired waiters and waitresses in smart shirts and trousers or skirts stood outside their restaurants, smiling as they passed and pointing to the displays of fresh fish on offer.
‘We cook for you, beautiful ladies?’ one waiter said, gesturing towards an enormous, goggle-eyed fish nestling in a bed of ice on a large metal tray. In his thirties, probably, the waiter had slicked-back hair, a big bushy moustache and a gold chain round his neck.
‘We put on barbecue for you, with lemon, garlic, local herbs. Magnificent!’ He opened his arms wide and grinned.
‘It’s a bit early in the morning for me,’ Edie replied, patting her stomach to show she was still full from breakfast.
‘No, no!’ the waiter cried. ‘You come back at lunchtime or tonight. We make proper Crete feast for you! You will love it!’
Edie laughed. ‘I’m sure we will. Thank you. I need to speak to my friends first, though. I’ll let you know. Maybe tomorrow or the next day.’
The waiter pulled a mock-sad face then his grin reappeared, even wider than before.
‘Of course. You come back when you are ready. Rest assured, we will look after you.’
‘Tsk. That’s Vasileios. He’s such a flirt,’ Anthea muttered, rolling her eyes again. ‘He tries it on with all the girls. He even had a pop at me, can you believe? I’m old enough to be his mother!’
‘Do you know everyone in the village?’ Edie asked, thinking she was beginning to like her new friend a lot.
‘Pretty much. It’s not difficult. When I lived in London for a while, I hardly knew anyone. But here, everyone talks to you and before you know it, you’re telling them your life story.’
After that, Edie tried her best not to catch any other waiters’ eyes, fearing she’d never get further than a few paces. But she didn’t feel harassed; it was just that everyone was so friendly and full of banter.
There were quite a few stalls selling tempting summery dresses, brightly coloured cover-ups for the beach, towels, hats, sunglasses and jewellery.
The styles were right up Maisie’s street – casual and a bit boho. Edie wouldn’t have a problem finding a gift to take home for her daughter. She might well be tempted to buy something for herself, too, on another day.
Her attention switched to an interesting-looking leather shop on the right, with a pair of Greek-style gladiator sandals in the window. There were also bags, belts, purses, glasses cases and wallets.
When she suggested going in, however, Anthea excused herself.
‘I don’t need any more shoes or bags. I’ve got too many as it is. You take a look, though. There are some nice things. I’m sure I’ll see you later, or another day. It’s been lovely chatting.’
The door of the leather shop was open and when Edie poked her nose in, she was assailed by a heady scent of oil, wax, chemicals and perfume.
The interior was very dark, and a quick scan revealed she was the only customer.
She was in two minds about whether to enter, but then a voice called, ‘Please! Come!’
Tentatively, she took a few steps inside and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she became aware of a very old man sitting behind a wooden counter, surrounded by untidy piles of shoe boxes in different shapes and sizes.
He had wisps of white hair, which had been neatly trimmed, a snow-white moustache, dark, deep-set eyes and tanned, wrinkled skin. He was wearing a pale blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, with a rather dashing red and white scarf round his neck, knotted in front like a cravat.
Although he was seated, Edie could tell he was very thin, with stick-like arms, a scrawny neck and paper-thin skin. His smile, though, was wide, generous and charming.
‘Good morning, madam,’ he said in a heavy accent. ‘You are English, I presume?’
Edie laughed. ‘Yes. Is it that obvious?’
The old man continued to smile. ‘Forgive me, but I can always tell an English lady from, say, an American or European.’
‘Really? How?’
‘Ah,’ said the man, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘English ladies are more… how shall I say? Refined . That’s the word. You are not loud and aggressive like Americans and you have better manners than Europeans. Where in England are you from?’
The old devil! He seemed harmless, but Edie could imagine him being a right one in his younger days.
When she told him where she lived, he said he’d visited London once but never Surrey. His daughter would undoubtedly know it, though.
‘She’s a successful artist, a painter,’ he said proudly. ‘Marina, she is called, Marina Makris. That’s my name, Makris. She’s not married,’ he added, lowering his eyes. ‘Though she has had many offers.’
There was a pause, then his face lit up again. ‘She has been all over the world. She has her studio right here, in the village. Just a few doors down.’ He pointed to the right. ‘You must go and look. She’s very good. She has admirers from America, Japan, Athens, everywhere!’
Edie said she’d definitely check out the studio, then asked if she could browse round the shop.
‘Of course!’ Mr Makris put his hands on the counter top and started to push himself up. It obviously required a good deal of effort and Edie would have liked to help, but feared offending him.
Her heart leaped into her mouth when he gave one final push, lost his balance and flopped back into his seat with a groan.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously, and he waved a hand in the air.
‘Old age,’ he muttered, shaking his head disconsolately. ‘It’s so tiresome. No one wants to be weak but unfortunately it cannot be avoided, if you live as long as me.’
Time was getting on for Edie, too, and she didn’t want to keep the others waiting. She took a quick look at the leather goods, which Mr Makris said he mostly used to make himself, but now imported from elsewhere.
‘I’ll definitely come back,’ she promised as she said goodbye. He looked quite sorry to see her go.
‘You are a very gracious lady,’ he said, which made her secretly smile, wondering if he’d perhaps mistaken her for a minor noble in Downton Abbey , the famous TV series.
Then, as a seeming afterthought, he added: ‘Er, where are you staying, if you don’t mind me asking? Here in the village?’
When Edie told him she was renting Villa Ariadne, his response startled her.
‘That place again?’ He wrinkled his nose, as if there was a bad smell. ‘That woman, Katerina Papadakis, makes a fortune out of people like you. You should have chosen somewhere else. I would have given you suggestions. There are plenty of beautiful villas round here.’
Edie raised her eyebrows. ‘The price wasn’t too bad, to be honest. I was quite surprised actually; I thought it would be more. It’s a gorgeous property with amazing views.’
But Mr Makris was having none of it. He bent down and reached for something under the counter, before passing her a white card with his name, email address and phone number on.
‘Here are my details. If you come to Porto Liakáda again, call me first. I have friends who can help. They will give you a much better price than Mrs Papadakis.’
Edie left the shop puzzling over why the old man had it in for Katerina. She seemed to be kind and honest and certainly not a money-grabber. Perhaps there was bad blood between them. There must be all sorts of age-old feuds going on in a tiny place like this. Edie would love to know the truth.
She was intending to take a quick look at the studio before searching for the others but on leaving Mr Makris’ shop, whom should she see but Hannah and Jessica.
They were sitting round a table in a café opposite and appeared to have company.
‘Edie!’ Hannah called, spotting her friend. ‘Come and join us!’
The table was in the shade under a blue and white canopy overlooking the harbour. Folk were getting on and off small boats moored to the jetty and in the distance, Edie spotted the bow of one of the big passenger ferries rounding the headland.
It was after 1p.m. now and the sun was high in the sky. She could feel how much the temperature had gone up since they left Villa Ariadne and longed for a cold drink.
‘Hi!’ she said, glancing at her friends as well as the newcomers.
Hannah pushed out a chair and beckoned to her to sit down.
‘This is Marina,’ she explained, gesturing to a very slender, olive-skinned woman with a slim face, high cheekbones, a straight nose, deep-set, dark brown eyes and long black wavy hair that ran over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall.
She was wearing a long, flowing, beachy yellow dress with spaghetti straps and chunky silver jewellery. She was probably in her mid or even late fifties, Edie decided, but still beautiful, in an unconventional way.
‘Hello, pleased to meet you,’ the stranger said with a serene smile, shaking Edie’s hand. ‘This is my half-brother, Jean-Luc.’
Edie turned to the man beside Marina and tried not to show her surprise. For a start, he was remarkably handsome, with one of those strong-jawed, straight-nosed, angular yet sensitive faces most women find irresistible.
He looked quite a lot younger than his sister and his name didn’t sound a bit Greek. Moreover, Mr Makris definitely hadn’t mentioned a son, though he’d waxed lyrical about his daughter. What was going on?
‘Enchantée,’ Jean-Luc said, with a lazy, drop-dead gorgeous smile. He rose, took her hand and brushed the back of it with his lips.
Edie’s heart fluttered and she felt quite giddy and had to tell herself to grow up.
‘What brings you here to Porto Liakáda?’ Jean-Luc asked, sitting down again.
Edie was more interested in asking him some questions but decided to be patient. Settling down beside Hannah, she explained about the holiday and the fact she and her husband hadn’t been back to Crete since their long-ago honeymoon.
‘How romantic!’ Jean-Luc said with a grin. ‘Has the island changed much since you were last here?’