Thursday 7th September
K armela stood at her window, towel wrapped around her, sipping an espresso. It did not matter that she was barely dressed because as her room overlooked the farm track Zina had fitted privacy glass. It was an absolutely genius idea and Karmela had hardly closed her curtains since she arrived.
Now she watched Iain stroll past, Sybil dancing around his legs. She saw them set off most mornings and yesterday had begun to wonder about joining them; it would be nice to take a little exercise in the cool of the day– it was far too hot later on. Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted to get to know Iain better, that was the truth of it. On a one-to-one basis.
The man and his dog crossed in front of her, the pale light around them beginning to bleed colour into the olive grove beyond the low mounds of the vines. Iain was smiling to himself as he glanced towards her terrace, the almost involuntary movement making up her mind. She would sling on her clothes and head out. If their paths were to cross, then so be it.
The first faint rays of the sun were glimmering over the hills behind her as she cut the corner of the vineyard to the path between the nut trees and an empty field, the grass and weeds scorched almost brown by the summer heat. The continuity of agriculture throughout the ages never ceased to amaze Karmela; the Ragusan women in her story would also have known vines, olives, pistachios. It somehow made her, a city woman through and through, feel closer to the land. As she skirted the orchard she admired the trees. Only a foot or so taller than she was, their low-crowned broad canopies and curled oval leaves sheltered generous bunches of nuts which appeared pinkish-purple in the low morning light.
At the far end of the pistachios, the track passed the farmhouse. Lights shone from almost every window and faint strains of traditional Greek music reached her. She had seen lights in The Retreat House kitchen too, so she guessed Zina was already preparing breakfast. God, it was hard work running a place like this and Karmela had every admiration, not only for her host’s vision but also for the endless commitment required to make it a reality.
From the conversations they now shared most evenings she knew how tiring it was too, but Zina remained relentlessly cheerful. She liked nothing more than to talk about The Retreat House and when Jessica had asked about the interior designs, she had fallen over herself to share her resources and every detail of how she had achieved the look. The conversation had not interested Karmela particularly, but it had been wonderful to see the others bond over a shared passion.
The goats began to bleat as Karmela passed their enclosure, and in the broad gully ahead she caught sight of Iain and Sybil. Showing her full greyhound turn of speed, the dog was racing up and down the dirt track with Iain in pursuit, pretending to try to catch her as she flew past him time and time again, his breathless laughter carrying on the still morning air.
Karmela did not speak until she was a few yards behind him.
“That looks like fun.” He swivelled around as Sybil raced past his legs, barking in delight as she skidded to a halt in front of Karmela, raising a small cloud of dust.
“D’you want to take over for a while? She’s worn me out.”
Karmela crouched to fondle the dog’s ears. “Well she is used to racing.”
“She’s meant to be retired. When I got her from the rescue they told me that very often former racing dogs get lazy, but not this one. Although to be fair, she does sleep for most of the day.”
“It is not too boring for her, being here?” She looked up at him and could not help but notice that unshaven and in the low early light, his features appeared more rugged, and a fizz of attraction shot through her.
Iain shrugged. “It isn’t too different to my last posting. We got up, went for a walk, then into the office where she snoozed in her basket next to my desk. I couldn’t leave her at home after she pulled up the carpet behind the front door and jammed it completely. Would you believe I had to borrow a crowbar to get in?”
“Oh, Sybil, did you?” Her tail wagged enthusiastically, thumping into Karmela’s legs. “I thought you were in the air force, not an office?”
“Flying a desk. All my eyes were good for in recent years, I’m afraid.”
She gazed up at him, admiring that unusual green for what was about the hundredth time in a week. “They look all right to me.”
“They’re not bad, but they need to be twenty-twenty to fly. Especially at high speed.”
“I guess they do.” So he had not risen to her rather clumsy attempt at flirtation. But as she stood and stretched she noticed him glance at the strip of midriff she had unwittingly revealed then look quickly away.
What the hell did that mean?
Oh, she was so useless at this.
He pointed down the track. “We’re heading along the gully for another few minutes. Care to join us?”
“I would love to. It is far too hot to walk later on. I did not think it would be at this time of year. I know I am here to write, but I miss walking to and from work every day. It is my only exercise.”
“You’re no gym bunny then?”
Karmela laughed. “What a wonderful turn of phrase– I must remember it. Although it has made me picture girls on running machines with white fluffy tails pinned to their arses.”
Iain snorted. “I’ve never thought of it like that, but now I’m having trouble getting the image out of my mind. We used to go to this night club in Hong Kong…” He shook his head, pausing for a moment. “I suppose English is a rather strange language.”
“I think all languages are; we each have our peculiarities. It is fascinating.”
“Is that fascination why you want to write?”
“Oh no, I never had any desire to. But when I spent my year in Dubrovnik researching the republic’s medieval women, their stories were so wonderful, and I made friends too, and one of those new friends suggested I make them into a novel. Jessica is very encouraging, but I am still not sure I can do it.” She had barely admitted that to herself, but it had been so very easy to tell Iain.
“The piece you read out last night was so evocative. It was as though I really was on the harbourside with Filipa.”
“Thank you. I found the same when I was writing it. How are you getting on?”
Iain screwed up his face. “Struggling a bit, to be honest. I’ve had all these wonderful characters and stories in my head for years, but when I try to write them down they turn into wooden blocks. Still, I have a one-to-one today, and I’m sure Jessica will have some ideas about how I can animate the buggers.”
A skitter of rocks tumbled down the gravel-strewn slope above them, and Sybil’s ears pricked dangerously before she dashed upwards. As they swivelled around, Karmela saw the white face of a goat appear over the lip.
“Oh no. She has form with that creature,” Iain groaned, then started yelling after Sybil who paid him not a blind bit of notice.
The gully rose too steeply to scramble up and chase the dog so there was only one thing for it. Praying she would have more luck than Iain, Karmela put her thumb and index finger to her mouth and whistled as loudly as she possibly could. Sybil stopped in her tracks and turned, shook herself out, then half ran, half tumbled down the slope, landing at Karmela’s feet.
Thank god for that.
She crouched and fussed Sybil’s ears, murmuring what a good girl she was.
“Where did you learn that?” Iain asked. “Do you have a dog yourself?”
“No, and not long ago a dog would have been way out of my comfort zone, but a colleague has a spaniel and walking her is great fun.” She grinned at him, then stood, grabbing Sybil’s collar. “But maybe put her back on her lead? It might not work a second time.”
He nodded a little ruefully. “You’ve shown me up good and proper.”
Karmela shrugged. Most men she knew would not have admitted it and she very much liked that he had.
“Come on,” she told him. “It must be almost breakfast time and I am starving.”
* * *
When Jo arrived in the studio she wasn’t surprised to see Karmela hard at work scribbling in her notebook. Her glossy helmet of hair obscured her face, but when she looked up her serious, dark eyes were alive with creativity. Already she was so much further advanced than the others, not just because she had prepared a detailed plan, but because she had an innate understanding of how words should flow. The raw talent in her writing shone through, which was very exciting.
Not only that, but Jo liked Karmela as a person very much and looked forward to their late-night chats, with Zina as well. She just wished she was able to give a little more of herself, but how could she? There was so much she could never share, not with anyone, and her shyness was a more than convenient mask to hide behind.
As Jo set out her notes for the morning’s session on narrative voice, Sophie followed Diana into the room, as usual sitting on opposite sides of the table. Sophie was a bit of a worry for Jo. She didn’t seem to be gelling as well as the others, although she wouldn’t go as far as to call her difficult. Yes, she questioned things more, but that wasn’t a bad thing if it enriched everyone’s understanding. She was just, oh, Jo didn’t know, a little cold? No, that wasn’t quite right either and it niggled her that she couldn’t put her finger on it.
It was the only niggle though and Jo was not only enjoying working with this lively and thoughtful group of people, but was becoming increasingly confident. Already they were so supportive of each other. Nobody was backwards in coming forwards with their opinions, but they all listened respectfully to everyone else’s too. The main issue so far had been getting everyone apart from Karmela to critique the others’ work constructively rather than just pick out the positives.
It took courage and trust to share your work with others. The group had reached that point surprisingly quickly, with everyone other than Sophie happy to share their writing hopes and fears as well as their words. Trust made this the perfect environment for everyone to flourish. And Jo was increasingly uncomfortable about an important piece of information that she herself was holding back.
At precisely two minutes to nine, Iain’s arrival interrupted her thoughts. Honestly, you could set a clock by that man. Jo assumed it was his background in the forces. After nodding in her direction, he attached his tablet to its keyboard and started to tap slowly away. She knew he was struggling with his novel, but at least he had managed to make a start, and she hoped yesterday afternoon’s one-to-one had helped him to see the wood from the trees.
Unusually, Susan didn’t appear. Jo decided to give it until the end of free writing time, then go and knock on her door. She needed them all here this morning to hear what she had to say. Before she lost her nerve. Because if she left it any longer it would be too late and the words would remain stuck inside her head forever.
Jo flicked through her notes. Not that anything there would help. As she’d thought about it last night, she’d realised this was something she had never actually told anyone before. So why now? And it had to be now. Now, now. If Susan was much longer, Jo was terrified she wouldn’t do it. But she didn’t want to feel any more of a fraud than she had to. Not here, not with these people.
Footsteps hurried up the wooden stairs, and Susan rushed in, her cheeks almost as pink as her glasses.
“Sorry, Jessica. I was reading. Ellen went out sketching early and I thought, you know, just one more chapter.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“Don’t worry. Free writing is something you can catch up with on your own if you want to.”
Now or never. Clenching and unclenching her hands under the table, Jo took a deep breath.
“Right everyone, finish your sentence.” Iain’s tapping stopped, and one after the other, three pens were put down. “There’s something I want to tell you. A little confession, if you like. My real name isn’t Jessica. It’s Jo, and I’d like you to use it.” Her laugh sounded forced. “I thought if I left it any longer I wouldn’t ever tell you, but it feels as though there’s a lot of trust between us. The thing is, it’s a secret alias; most people think I really am called Jessica Rose, so I’d rather you didn’t mention it to anyone outside the retreat.”
Sophie’s head jerked up, her eyes fixed firmly on Jo, when normally she avoided her gaze. Her mouth opened, but Karmela spoke first.
“Thank you so much for sharing that with us, Jo,” she said. “It feels like such a privilege. Do you mind me asking why you chose to use a pseudonym in the first place?”
Jo was wrong-footed, not only by Karmela’s question but by Sophie’s stare. Her skin tingled, the colour rising up her neck as she struggled to find an appropriate answer. “I think it was my husband’s idea,” she said eventually. Karmela was still looking at her expectantly. “He knows how shy I am, you see, and my privacy is important.” That, at least, was the truth.
“And we will all respect it,” said Diana. “I feel honoured you’ve chosen to tell us, Jo.” Diana looked around the table. “We really are lucky to have such a lovely close-knit group. We were strangers just a week ago, and I already feel we’ve known each other forever.”
There was a murmur of agreement, although Jo couldn’t be sure that Sophie joined in. But the warmth from the others felt almost like a hug and she basked in it for a moment. Sophie was just being Sophie, after all. Karmela’s question had been perfectly valid and Diana’s words heartfelt. It was going to be all right.