Chapter 5
Chapter Five
G race couldn’t go back to the town beach. There were far too many hazards lurking there for total relaxation, current pupils and cocky young colleagues being the main ones. She deserved an afternoon of peace and quiet after her Saturday morning class of lively seven- and eight-year-olds, but she’d have to find somewhere else to go.
Striding past the path to the main beach, she upped her pace, and instead turned left and along the headland, enjoying the light breeze which regularly caressed the island. It meant that it never got anywhere near as hot as the Greek mainland, which would be a welcome relief as they approached July.
An impressive boat with its white sails flapping in the wind cut a path through the sea below her. Grace could see tiny figures rushing about onboard, and others lying flat out in bikinis on the shiny bonnet of the boat, or whatever the correct term was. Phil had been a keen sailor, dashing off in his waterproofs whenever he could to crew for mates with boats, usually based Portsmouth way. It was the trade-off for her spending time away with Sofia.
There were always trade-offs in marriage, but this one had worked for them. She’d been out on the boat with the crew once and felt her stomach lurch after the first five minutes. Never again.
Now there was no one she needed to consider or bargain with. The loss of her husband was a heavy price to pay for absolute freedom, but she owed it to him to enjoy the rest of her life as best she could. They’d had many a late-night chat in dim hospital rooms as the end approached, when he’d urged her to see more of the world and consider finding love again after he went, while she wept into her tissues.
In the immediate aftermath of his death, and for a good while longer, all she’d felt was numb, but like spring, little green shoots of hope were starting to sprout again, prompted by the soft caress of the Greek sunshine.
It was still too early for any thoughts of a new relationship, but reconnecting with her younger self, remembering what she’d liked and disliked before she became a wife and mother, was exhilarating. Not that she regretted a moment of their life together, but it was like the building blocks of who she was had been dismantled after Phil’s death, and it was up to her to put them back together. All the same elements were in the mix, but the shape would change, and a different Grace Foreman would eventually emerge.
The boat sailed on past as the breeze whipped the ends of the waves into little white peaks, which reminded her of making meringues, not one of her favourite tasks, although Phil and the girls had always loved them. Her years of cooking big family meals were well and truly over, thank goodness, but cooking for one was especially unfulfilling.
Finding out that you could buy freshly cooked meals in town, or grandma’s cooking as they called it here, was a delight. For around seven euros, she could pick up delicious dishes like gemista, green and red peppers stuffed with rice and herbs. There was also papoutsakia, the Greek for shoes, a hollowed-out aubergine stuffed with mince in a tomato sauce and topped with feta or, her favourite, briam, a huge variety of vegetables roasted in olive oil. You could even pick up the menu a week in advance, and plan what you were going to have.
Most Greek women spent quite a large proportion of each day cooking, as far as she could see, and it had been explained to her by Thanassis that the meals in the takeaway places were aimed mainly at working men, who needed a proper meal at lunchtime, poor things. But she wasn’t going to let the men have all the fun. You had to arrive at the shop by one in the afternoon to get the best stuff, so she was always watching the clock at the end of a lesson to make sure she got there on time. But it really suited her to eat at lunchtime and have something light in the evenings.
Grace adjusted the position of the bag over her shoulder. She’d packed her essentials, including the fashion and interiors magazines that she hadn’t had a chance to read on the plane when her mind had been whirling. She’d never get to wear the clothes, or live in the houses, but she liked to study the beautiful dresses and designer wallpapers to keep up with what was on trend. Some of it was laughable, and often just a direct copy of what she’d worn or decorated with back in the day.
The path widened slightly, and a cove below caught her attention. It was small, with just a few sun loungers and chairs on the pale sand, plus a little beach bar. Perfect. She’d been walking for about forty minutes, so she was unlikely to meet anyone she knew.
Grace made her way down to the beach and opted for a chair and parasol. The sun was strong, since it was the middle of the day, so she added her favourite white hat and more sun cream. The guy from the bar ambled over and introduced himself as Dimitris. He explained in perfect English that they never charged for the sunbeds as long as you spent a minimum of five euros on a drink.
After looking at the laminated menu he handed her, Grace’s eyes strayed to the cocktails. She decided to treat herself to a Harvey Wallbanger. The brightly coloured drink had been a staple back in her wine bar days, along with pina coladas and the even more lethal B52s. There was obviously a retro revival going on.
Armed with a drink, she sat back and prepared to let the strain of the week seep out of her. She’d go for a swim later, but for now, she wanted to read about which couture gowns celebrities had poured themselves into and what paint colours were in fashion.
With the first magazine open on her knees, something made her glance up at the shoreline. A man was coming into view. Tall, dark-haired and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, even from this far away he was fit. His long muscular legs covered the sand quickly as he came up the beach, head down, towards her.
When he got within a few feet, Grace almost dropped her drink in shock. It was Mr Grumpy from the villa garden. She let out an involuntary sigh, which made him look up. Their eyes met and recognition dawned on his face. He came and stood, legs planted in the sand, right in front of her. Close up, the tight T-shirt emphasised his broad chest and six-pack even more. A tiny glimpse of tattoo edged below the sleeve on his left arm. Grace lowered her sunglasses. What did he want? To give her another lecture on trespassing? She really wasn’t in the mood.
‘I was hoping to bump into you again.’
I was hoping not to bump into you were the words on the tip of her tongue. Just what was it about him that made her revert to her fifteen-year-old self?
Grace waited.
‘Seriously, I wanted to apologise for my behaviour the other day. I was a little… rough on you. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.’
Wow, a proper apology. Not what she’d been expecting at all. But it didn’t make the way he’d treated her acceptable.
‘Thank you for apologising, and yes, you were more than a little rough with me.’
She’d meant to say ‘on me’. Grace blinked hard to get rid of a vision of him pushing her up against a wall. What was the matter with her?
Something she’d said seemed to be amusing him. But he wasn’t off the hook by a long chalk.
‘Was there any reason for your… behaviour?’
‘We’d had a couple of dodgy characters hanging around the villa the previous day. I was a bit on edge.’
‘And you thought that I might be with them? Part of a gang maybe?’
She was going to keep this going a little longer.
‘Not at all. You don’t look anything like a gang member.’
‘That’s nice to know.’
He held out his hand.
‘Anyway, I’m Will.’
‘And I’m… Grace.’
Their eyes met, and she couldn’t help breaking into a big smile, which was mirrored in his eyes. Anyone under thirty-five wouldn’t have a clue what they were smiling about.
She held out her hand too and found it enveloped and shaken by his much larger one. He spoke first.
‘What are the chances, eh? Will and Grace . One of the best sitcoms ever made.’
‘Agreed. It was right up there.’
Grace could have appeared on Mastermind with the TV sitcom as her specialist subject. The story of New York interior designer Grace, and her flatmate and best friend, a gay lawyer called Will, was a must-watch in the late nineties. The romantic ups and downs of the lead characters had hooked Grace as a busy mum of two, back in the days when you had to wait for a new episode each week, rather than binge-watch a whole series in one weekend.
Will nodded his agreement.
‘Never missed it. Fabulous characters, and so funny. Groundbreaking stuff at the time. But wasn’t as keen on the revival.’
‘No, me neither.’
They actually had something in common. A week ago, Grace would have bet money that that was never going to happen. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.
Will took a step back.
‘Good to chat. I don’t want to disturb you further. Enjoy your afternoon. Fabulous earrings by the way. But I’d take them out if you’re going swimming.’
Grace’s hands went up to her ears. Damn. She’d forgotten to remove her sparkly gold drop numbers after lessons finished.
‘See you around sometime.’
Not if I see you first was what Grace wanted to say. There was still something about him she didn’t quite trust. He always seemed to be on the brink of laughing at her.
‘Yes, maybe.’
Will, whose name she could now never forget, strode off up the beach and onto the path to the houses above the beach, the individual muscles in his back moving in unison.
Grace touched her hand to her head.
Of course. Will was gay. Not that she was bothered either way. But it all fitted together. He was far too attractive to be straight, for one thing. Plus, he loved Will and Grace and had called it groundbreaking. Phil couldn’t bear the show and she’d usually watched it while he was at the pub and the girls were in bed.
Plus, Will had noticed her earrings. No straight man she knew cared about earrings. If you blindfolded them, they wouldn’t be able to tell you the style or colour of the ones you’d had on all day. And he smelt wonderful. It wasn’t conclusive evidence, but how many more clues did she need?