Chapter 7
AMBER
A stocky, blond man growls, ‘Put her down, Dominic, for God’s sake.’
Dom does as he’s told and beckons me over.
‘Amber, come and meet my best friend Simone and her reprobate husband, Felix.’
Best friend? My eyes widen. Funny how Dom never mentioned that. But as much as it needles, I refuse to let it show and force myself to smile.
Simone’s own smile fades when we come face to face.
Her gaze travels over my crumpled, grubby linen trousers and cheap Shein top and she extends a limp hand like she’s expecting me to curtsy.
She has the kind of glossy, patrician elegance you can’t fake and I have to fight the ridiculous urge not to drop to one knee and kiss her dainty fingers.
The blond guy – Felix – pecks me on both cheeks and hands me a glass of rosé.
‘Get that down your neck. I’m sure it’s been a long day.’
‘Actually, could I have something soft? I’m not a big drinker.’
Felix frowns as if I’m talking in tongues, then shrugs and bustles off, returning moments later with a bottle of Coke and a tumbler.
I wander over to the low wall that circles the terrace. From this side, the villa is even more picture-perfect, its sloping tiled roof the colour of burnt sienna, a blast of colour against the white facade. ‘What a beautiful spot. Dominic says you designed the villa yourself.’
‘I did.’ His chest puffs out. ‘Found the land, talked the old boy who owned it into flogging me a couple of hectares for a song’ – he guffaws at this – ‘then project-managed the build from the ground up. A lot of love, sweat and tears went into this place, Amber, let me tell you. A lot of blood, sweat and tears.’ His expression darkens.
‘That’s why I’m so fucking livid about that Russian wanker’s monstrosity.
’ He waves a hand angrily at the building site below us.
‘Villa Olympus, he’s calling it, the knob. ’
‘Christ, don’t get him started on the new villa,’ Simone says, gliding over.
She touches my arm lightly and gives me a warm, practised smile.
I blink, momentarily thrown. Just now she looked me up and down like I was something the cat dragged in.
I tell myself I must have imagined it, that my insecurities are skewing the way I’m seeing things, because there’s no denying it: Simone’s acting like we’re old friends.
‘Are you sure you won’t have a glass of wine?’ she asks. ‘Felix flew it in from Navarra specially.’
‘No, really. I’m fine. Thank you.’
Dominic lopes over and asks Simone how the plans for her birthday are going.
I use the opportunity to observe her. She is tall, maybe a smidgen taller than me, and we share the same build, but whereas I think of myself as gawky, she is willowy.
Elegant. She’s wearing a kingfisher-blue organza dress with a tight bodice and shoestring straps.
Blood-red toenails peek out of sparkly sandals.
The effect is ethereal, like something one of the fairies might wear in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
My hair, still stubbornly escaping its ponytail, is bitumen-black.
Simone’s is a dark mahogany and cut in a shiny, razor-sharp bob that skims her bare shoulders.
Even though she’s ten years older than me, her bright skin is smooth and unblemished.
Botox? Fillers? I shut the thought down.
So what if she’s had a little help pushing back the years? It’s none of my business.
‘We’ve booked a table at Yannis’s uncle’s taverna for my birthday meal.
’ She turns to me. ‘You’ll find everyone’s related on this island, Amber.
But we can probably all trace our ancestry back to Charlemagne, so who am I to judge?
’ She tinkles with laughter and I do the same, even though I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
‘I’m having some Cristal sent over from the mainland for the old girl’s birthday bash,’ Felix says, wandering over, a large glass of wine in his hand.
‘Hey, less of the old.’ Simone swats him on the arm playfully, but there’s a sharp edge to her voice. ‘Anyway, haven’t you heard? Forty-five is the new twenty-five.’
‘If you say so.’ Felix winks at me as Simone glides away to check on dinner. ‘And how old are you, Amber?’
Heat reddens my cheeks. ‘I’m, um, thirty-four?’
‘Did you hear that, darling?’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘Amber’s only thirty-four. Just a baby.’
Even though I tell myself he’s only joking, his gaze unsettles me and I’m glad when Simone reappears, her expression tight.
‘Supper will be ten minutes. Where’s Willow?’
‘In her bedroom planning how she’s going to save the world, I expect. I’ll ask Maria to fetch her.’
‘Maria is busy. Fetch her yourself.’
Felix takes a large slurp of his wine and doffs an imaginary cap. ‘Anything for you, my sweet.’ He deposits the wine glass on a rattan table and saunters off, his hands in his pockets and his flip-flops slapping on the marble tiles.
‘How is Willow?’ Dominic asks. ‘I haven’t seen her since Felix’s fiftieth last summer.’
‘What, our own little Greta Thunberg?’ Simone’s voice lacks any trace of warmth. ‘Trying.’
‘Mrs Pearson?’ A small woman wearing an embroidered white shirt and black trousers, her dark hair coiled in a low bun, appears at Simone’s side. ‘The appetisers are ready.’
‘Thank you, Maria. We’re on our way.’ Simone extends a Pilates-toned arm and tells everyone to follow her into the villa. ‘It’s just a kitchen supper tonight, nothing fancy. We didn’t think you’d want a heavy meal after all that travelling.’
Dominic must see the disappointment on my face. ‘Don’t worry. Maria’s kitchen suppers are legendary. Veritable banquets by anyone else’s standards. She’s easily the best cook on Pelagia.’ He blows the housekeeper a kiss and, blushing, she shoos him away. Simone rolls her eyes.
As we step into the kitchen, I see what Dominic means.
A long, wide table is groaning under the weight of dishes of stuffed grape leaves and pitta breads, Greek salads and creamy dips, zucchini fritters and bowls of plump black and green olives.
Felix is filling glasses with red wine the colour of mulberries.
A girl is at the sink, her back to us. Her fine blonde hair falls in a loose plait down her back.
She’s dressed from head to toe in black, from her baggy hoodie to her scuffed Converse.
‘There you are,’ Simone says with a huff.
The girl – Willow, I assume – finishes filling her glass with water from the tap, then turns around.
For a second, a look of pure joy fills her face, but, just as quickly, she clocks me and glowers. I pull out a chair, pretending not to notice. Everyone sits except Willow. Simone tsks and snaps at her, ‘Are you going to have something to eat or not?’
‘Not hungry.’ She drains her glass, slams it on the counter and stalks from the room.
In the silence that follows, I pluck at the skin between my thumb and forefinger, wishing I was back in my shabby but homely house share, not in this ridiculously opulent villa where I feel completely out of place.