Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
She had sold it for less.
The man at Sable to Skye, it represented the possibility for escape.
After ending the call with Sal, she went back to scrolling through her inbox. There were ten emails from Martyn, the most recent of which had arrived while she was still on the phone.
“You can run,” he’d written in the subject line, adding in the body of the message, “…but you can’t hide forever.”
Scare tactics—a ploy by him to make her believe he was close to tracking her down.
Skye deleted the email, then opened one from her mum, skimming the lines of text through narrowed eyes.
Demands and histrionics, further attempts at coercion.
Her finger hovered for a second over the trash can symbol, then she relented, firing off a reply saying she was fine and not to worry.
Back at Joy’s, she tiptoed into the bedroom and retrieved her clothes, dressing in the bathroom and brushing her teeth.
It was not yet six a.m., and out on the hillside, all was quiet, the houses blossoming pink below a reddening sky.
All at once, she was bombarded by a slew of conflicting emotions as dread fought with relief and loneliness battled remorse.
Movement helped, and so she walked, heading north through the village until she reached the Serfiotiko Beach trail.
Skye had yet to hike along it, though Victoria had been several times, as had Joy, and each had been effusive in their praise.
The path was rough and dry, littered with stones that tumbled away beneath her sneakers.
She managed to maintain a decent pace, spurred on by the unfolding scenery and the promise of the sea at her journey’s end.
The land on either side of the trail was scalloped by terraces, fields that were smudgy green in the emerging daylight.
She drew in a breath, tasting nothing but cool stillness on her lips.
Had Katerina from her letters taken this same route?
Had she stared out across the water, waiting for her lover to return, condemned to live in perpetual fear that he would not?
Their love for each other had been fierce and passionate—that much was clear from the words “S” had chosen to use, from the yearning he’d expressed with such eloquence.
Skye’s own experience with love had been lackluster by comparison: the feelings she’d had for her first boyfriend, Charlie, adolescent, those she developed for Martyn grown from a heart too broken by grief to feel much of anything.
She’d allowed herself to be carried along by the intensity of his adoration, telling herself that she would catch up, that in time, her love for him would flourish. What a foolish notion that now seemed.
Ahead of her, the trail tapered off, dropping from view over the cliff’s edge, where it would lead down to the beach beyond.
She crested the hill, a surge of pleasure expanding her chest as the glittering carpet of sea came into full and glorious view.
With a spontaneous burst of energy, she covered the remaining few yards at a run, sidestepping a stack of pale stones before coming to a stop in the shade of a bristly pine.
On the far side of the shallow cove, two squat buildings sat derelict, framed by tamarisk trees.
Military lookouts. Skye wondered if it had been the Greeks who had constructed them or their occupying aggressors.
How much of the war had reached these parts, and how many scars had it left on the island?
She turned away from the weather-beaten structures to stare instead at the water, squinting as the tepid sunlight turned the cresting waves diamond bright.
There was a small boat not far from the shoreline, seemingly abandoned, but as Skye drew nearer, she saw the top of a dark head emerge from beneath the surface.
The figure heaved himself up over the side, pulling off his snorkel and flicking back his hair.
He was tanned and broad-shouldered, instantly familiar.
The moment she recognized him, he looked up.
Their eyes met. Andreas raised a hand in greeting.
Then, without waiting for a response, he dived over the edge of the boat and swam toward her, cutting through the expanse of shimmering blue as gracefully as a minnow.
Skye averted her gaze as he stood, but not before admiring the lean lines of his body, the taut stomach and strong thighs, the way he strode boldly across the sharp-edged rocks as if they were sponges.
“Kaliméra,” he said as casually as if they’d bumped into each other at the mini-market.
“Hi.”
Skye dropped her eyes to his glistening thatch of chest hair, only to hurriedly look away.
“What are you doing here?” she went on as he continued to stare. “I thought you lived at the other end of the island.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “That is why I have the boat, so I can go wherever I like.”
“And you like this beach in particular?”
“Serfiotiko Beach is not so crowded. Now that it is the second week of June and we are in the summer season proper, the beaches on other parts of Folegandros are becoming a bit busier. When I am swimming, it is the fish I want to see, not the white legs of tourists.”
His eyes trailed down, and she blushed.
“I’ve been a bit too preoccupied to sunbathe,” she said. “And anyway, it’s very bad for you.”
“The sun is bad?” He threw back his head. “The sun is life.”
“The sun is wrinkles,” she countered, and Andreas laughed.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said.
“Fire away.”
“Why did you come to live on a Greek island if you do not like the sun?”
Skye fought the urge to smile.
“Nowhere else was offering houses as cheaply. If the lottery had been run in Norway, I happily would’ve moved there.”
“I am glad that you came here,” he said.
“You are?” Skye tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“In the beginning, when the municipality was discussing the possibility, many people here were not sure that it would work. The hippies, they do not mind so much, but some of the older generation were worried. This is a very traditional island, a very Greek island. I was one of the voices that was loudest in your favor, and if you had been bad people…”
“It would have reflected badly on you,” she finished, and he nodded.
“Nai. But then you came, and everybody was very nice, so it is OK.”
He hadn’t asked her what she was doing here on the beach alone so early in the day. Skye liked that about him—his ability to be disarmingly direct while simultaneously knowing when not to pry. Somehow, that quiet restraint made her want to open up even more.
“Thanks again for reading me that letter last night,” she said. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
Andreas bent and scooped up a flat pebble, turning it over in his hands.
“Kai ego,” he murmured. “Me, too.”
Stepping round her, he leaned back and threw the stone across the surface of the water, where it skimmed, bounced, and sank with a satisfying splash.
“I have copied it out for you into English,” he said.
“You have?”
“The one from last night, and I also began a second. I will try to do all of them for you.”
She moved toward him, drawn by an unexpected ache for connection. Her fingers brushed his arm, her touch featherlight, but enough to make him turn, his eyes finding hers with quiet intensity.
“That’s so…Thank you,” she said.
Andreas looked down at her hastily retreating hand.
“I will bring them to the house later, unless—” He paused, frowning slightly. “Unless you want to come now to collect them?”
“To your house?” Skye said. “Right now? But how would I get there?”
Andreas put a hand on her shoulder, turning her until she was facing the sea.
“éla,” he said, skin cool against hers. “We will go in the boat.”