Chapter 10
Thought of the day…
Sometimes you’ll do something stupid – just put it behind you and move on.
(It’s always possible to make it worse by doing something stupider, so try not to do that.)
I was on edge as we boarded the tender that would ferry us to shore. And why wouldn’t I be? I’d just invited Tommy to my villa. Which was bad – very.
And whatever it was he had to tell me – also bad. That much was obvious and if foreboding were a person, it would have tackled me and left me for dead in the dirt. Or in this case, the sea.
Then again, I had questions – so many questions – and it would be as good a time as any to get answers. Killing two birds with one ill-considered stone meeting.
‘Isn’t this exciting?’ Trudy shouted over the engine.
I broke out of my daze. ‘Yeah, it’s great!’
The yacht had been anchored just offshore, so the ride to the marina only took a few minutes.
The skipper manoeuvred the tender into a berth, and Tommy jumped onto the pier and secured it with two towlines, making the task look effortless.
It was as if he’d been a sailor his whole life.
That bloke in Sicily must have been a very good teacher.
As I waited to disembark, I smoothed down my windblown hair, which to those who know me was a sign that I was still out of sorts. I needed to get it together – I’d be on camera soon.
I was last to disembark and as he’d done with the others, Tommy reached for my hand to help me onto the pier.
But this wasn’t like boarding the sailboat yesterday; this was a two-foot step up with a sizable gap between the tender and the pier.
There was no way I’d manage on my own, so I placed my hand in Tommy’s.
It was the first time our hands had touched since we were married.
And it was everything I’d been terrified of.
Electric. Once I was on the pier, every instinct told me to snatch my hand away, but I kept it in his for a moment longer than made sense.
I looked up but we were both wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t be sure if Tommy had felt it too, the connection between us.
He finally let go and I inhaled deeply, catching my breath. Tommy cleared his throat, the only indication that this wasn’t one-sided, and he seemed about to say something when a booming voice called out, ‘Yia sas, yia sas.’
We all turned together and a rotund, dark-haired man in his mid-forties was speed-walking towards us, waving.
‘Hello!’ he said when he got to us. He broke into a broad smile. ‘I’m Michalis, your guide for the day.’ He was dressed similarly to Tommy in tailored shorts and a short-sleeved white shirt, only his was stretched taut over his stomach.
‘Yia sou, I’m Niki,’ she said, stepping forward. ‘We’ve been messaging.’
This excursion must have been her brainchild. She was Greek Australian and she’d got the job on Aetheria through her cousin. She probably had other connections in the Cyclades.
‘Yes, hello, nice to meet you in person,’ Michalis replied. They exchanged warm smiles, and Niki introduced Minh and Trudy, then Tommy.
‘Tom’s standing in for our colleague, Elsa,’ she explained. ‘She’ll lead this excursion from now on, but she wasn’t feeling well today.’
My eyes darted towards Tommy. He’d said that Elsa had been waylaid by work, not laid up with an illness. What was going on? I was so fixated on this anomaly that I nearly missed Niki introducing me.
‘Ah, the Divorced Diva,’ said Michalis, nodding at me appreciatively.
I sensed Tommy stiffen beside me. We’d never really talked about the Diva – hard to, when our contact was limited to the occasional text message – but she had come up once or twice. Tommy knew what I did for a living.
Still, I may have profited from my status as an ex-wife but unlike certain pop stars, I would never flaunt it in my exes’ faces. Rick hadn’t gone there either. No ‘Ally, why’d you leave me after forty-seven days?’ songs on Havoc’s latest album.
I smiled politely and Michalis must have sensed that he’d made a slight misstep, because he clapped his hands together loudly. ‘We have a special day planned,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
He headed back the way he’d come, and we followed single file towards the car park. Every step I took, I was aware of Tommy’s presence behind me – our connection still strong. At least, for me.
When he came to my villa later, I’d have to keep my distance.
I’d insist on standing with our backs to opposite walls, calling out across the room.
Or even better – we could talk on the phone, me in the bedroom, him on the sofa…
That would give us privacy from prying ears, but with no chance of me accidentally-on-purpose launching myself at him.
Perfect.
Except, not perfect.
Because Tommy’s voice had other-worldly properties. It wielded so much power that he could be calling from Timbuktu and it would still undo me – not just in body, but in every way that mattered.
And he wouldn’t be in Timbuk-bloody-tu – he’d be in the next bloody room. Gah!
It was decided – Tommy was uninvited to my villa. Whatever his big news was, he could send me an email like a normal person. I was about to tell him, but we’d arrived at a brand-new minivan.
With a push of a button on his key fob, Michalis opened the side door.
I eyed the interior. Hmm – a little too cosy for me and with my luck, I’d end up thigh to thigh with Tommy again.
So, I opened the front passenger door, climbed into the cab, and put on my seatbelt before anyone could question me.
The others got in the back and when Michalis climbed into the driver’s seat, he gave me a curious side-eye.
‘I get car sick,’ I explained. Not entirely a lie and I’d seen those winding roads as we’d flown over earlier. Best to be up front (and as far from Tommy as possible).
But it didn’t take long to forget Tommy and Elsa and all the other bizarre goings-on from the past few days, because Naxos was extraordinary.
Leaving the marina, we skirted the town of Chora, with its energetic waterfront, densely packed buildings, and the imposing Kastro Fortress.
‘It was built by a Venetian nobleman, who conquered Naxos 800 years ago,’ said Michalis as we craned our necks to see it. ‘The Venetians occupied Naxos for 350 years, then the Ottomans… Then, after eight years of war, we finally won our independence in 1830.’
Call it naivety, but I hadn’t realised that Greece had been occupied for much of the last millennia, nor that they’d had to fight for independence.
It certainly accounted for the varied architectural styles that contrasted – clashed?
– with the boxy white structures synonymous with the Greek Islands.
The town of Chora now behind us, we started an easy climb into the hills, the views expanding with each inch of road we covered.
To the left, the Aegean shimmered, its distinct, fluid shades of blue juxtaposing against the terrain – the russet-browns and ochre-tans of rugged, untouched earth and the vibrant greens of cultivated fields and terraces.
‘This is Eggares,’ said Michalis as we approached a small village on the slope of a lush, gently sloping hill. ‘My family is from here.’
‘You were raised here?’ I asked, turning towards him excitedly.
‘Yes,’ he replied with a puffed-out chest.
‘It must have been incredible,’ I said, my eyes returning to the view. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
I watched out the window, my eyes hungrily taking in every detail of the picturesque village. The buildings were quintessentially Greek – startlingly white, sharp angles, with archways and sky-blue domes.
The church was impressive – so imposing that it seemed almost out of place in such a small village. And as we got nearer, the ornate embellishments around the blue domes stood out – reminding me of Saint Marco’s Basilica in Venice, perhaps evidence of the Venetians’ lengthy occupation.
Venice – another place I’d been to only once before. With Tommy. Who would have thought that a short trip to Greece would include so many bittersweet memories of my first marriage?
God, if I’d known that ahead of time, I would have told Julian to go ahead and call Daisy Harrigan the Sexy Single – AKA Copycat Barbie.
We took a turn. ‘Are we going to the church?’ I asked Michalis.
‘To the olive press museum. My cousin Giorgios – he will meet us there.’
Now I love a good museum, but I wasn’t holding out much hope that a museum dedicated to olive presses – or was it just a single olive press? – would be particularly entertaining. But Minh and Niki would need content for their campaign, so if it was dull, I’d fake it.
It wouldn’t be the first time – professionally speaking, that is. I haven’t faked an orgasm since uni. If it’s not happening, no sense in forcing it.
Sorry, my mind’s wandering again. Where was I? Oh, yes… Eggares.
Giorgios was waiting for us when we pulled up outside the museum, wearing the exact same smile as his cousin. I looked between them twice before deciding they could pass for twins – even though Giorgios looked ever-so-slightly older. Not that I would mention it.
‘Sas kalosorízoume! Welcome, friends,’ he called out as we decanted from the minivan onto the museum’s forecourt.
Minh took photos of Giorgios shepherding us inside, then jogged off towards the church next door to photograph its impressive facade. I watched him over my shoulder, wishing I could follow. The church was even more spectacular up close.
‘We will have time to see it afterwards, if you like,’ said Michalis, giving me a knowing smile.
‘Sorry, I’m sure this will be very interesting.’ I wasn’t sure – how could it be? – but I was working, and I would fulfil my obligation without complaint.