Sunday 10th September 1
Karmela selected some bread, two slices of locally cured cinnamon and herb apóchti and a handful of the farm’s own sweet, oval-shaped cherry tomatoes. On Sundays, breakfast was a cold buffet to give Zina more time off, but still she was running around making coffees and teas for everyone. That girl never stopped.
As Karmela returned to the table, the others were discussing their plans for the free day. She herself wanted to visit the famous Akrotiri archaeological site she had glimpsed on her morning walks with Iain and Sybil. It was such a shame he could not come too, but it was hardly likely to be dog friendly.
“Susan wants to get on with her family research,” said Ellen, “so this afternoon we’re heading to a village called Megalochori where we think her grandmother came from. Zina’s volunteered her mother to take us, which is so sweet of her, and I guess we might need her help to translate if we do find any long-lost uncles and aunts.”
“That sounds really interesting,” Diana replied. “Sophie and I are going to be lazy. We’ve booked ourselves a spa day at a beach club up the coast. This is meant to be a holiday, after all.”
“Everyone’s worked hard this week,” said Jo. “Today’s your time, although I have put a free writing prompt on the board if anyone fancies it.”
As the others drifted away, only Karmela and Jo were left at the table. “So what are you up to?” Karmela asked. “Writing?”
She could have sworn that for a split second Jo looked startled, but then she said, “Actually, I’m interested in seeing Akrotiri as well, if I wouldn’t be imposing.”
“Of course not. I would love your company. I was thinking of doing some work first, then going later this afternoon, once the cruise ship passengers have moved on. Besides, I talk to my mother every Sunday morning. She is always keen to check on my progress.”
“Mums are so important, aren’t they?” A smile lit Jo’s face. “I think I said how amazing mine is. She’s my best friend as well.”
“I cannot imagine my mother being that. Let us say we have a different sort of relationship.”
Jo looked down at her plate and chased a croissant crumb across it. “I know how lucky I am.” A pause. “Anyway, how about we go for a swim and have some supper at a taverna on the beach after we visit the archaeological site? I know it’s not far, but it’s hot and I’m happy to drive.”
Karmela grinned back at her. “I will leave the swimming to you, but supper sounds good.” It would be a real treat to spend more time with Jo, to get to know her better. Perhaps getting her to talk about her mother would be a good place to start winkling her out of her shell.
When they reached the site entrance just before four o’clock, it was as quiet as Karmela had hoped. The clerk in the ticket office was reading his book, and the cobbled walkway towards the entrance deserted. A trickle of people was leaving, with others enjoying a quiet drink in the terrace café. Two dogs lazed in the shade close to the doors to the building which sheltered the remains. Just as well Sybil was not there– it was far too hot to rush around containing the havoc she would have surely created in wanting to play with them.
The excavated part of the ancient city was enclosed by attractive local stone walls in every shade of ochre and black, and protected from the elements by what was proudly described on the information panels as a bioclimatic roof. Strips of daylight filtered between the wooden slats, illuminating the excavated buildings as far as the eye could see– a mere fragment of what would have been here before the volcano erupted. Half closing her eyes, Karmela imagined the street set out below them filled with people bustling to and fro, in and out of the houses, stopping to talk and shop on the way.
“Oh, wow,” breathed Jo as they surveyed the scene in front of them, and Karmela could only agree. Broad wooden walkways stretched around the edges of the site, the ruins beneath two or three storeys high in places, all buried by volcanic ash millennia ago. No wonder people called this place the Pompeii of Greece.
They had hired audio guides so wandered around in silence, trying to take everything in. Karmela could barely believe the degree of preservation. The walls of whole houses were clearly visible, with square-lintel doors and tiny windows, in places still emerging as excavations carried on, through layers of ash tens of metres deep. But although the scale was impressive, the whole place lacked the soul of other sites Karmela had visited; the wall paintings had been removed, and only a handful of storage jars remained; the whole human story as lost as the city once had been. It was a crying shame, and Karmela felt the loss keenly.
“I do not know if it is me,” she said, “but it feels a little… sterile. If I have the right English word.”
“It’s exactly that. Incredible preservation of what we’ve seen, but I read there were once wall paintings and beautiful artefacts.”
“They are all in the museum in Fira, but with this fancy roof you would have thought they could have kept them here. I keep trying to imagine the daily lives of the people, but it is so hard.”
Jo smiled. “Yes. To picture the women of the houses, the rich ones being pampered, the slaves busy at their work, the conversations…”
“The alliances and friendships. But I suppose imagine is all we can do. As writers– if I can call myself that– I suppose it is what we do.”
“You can certainly call yourself a writer,” said Jo, her words filling Karmela with warmth.
Out in the sunshine again, they walked down the road towards the shore. While Jo headed for the sea, Karmela stopped to browse the tiny shop that raised money for the excavation and bought a book about ancient Akrotiri’s discovery. She planned to start reading in one of the beach-front tavernas that clung to the narrow strip of land between the sea and the hillside behind.
Much as Jo had been the perfect companion with whom to visit the site, over a beer Iain would have come into his own. He always had something diverting to say, perhaps a funny story about Sybil or his time in the forces, told in his typically British self-deprecating manner. As well as being entertaining, Karmela found it rather endearing. As was the way he drew conversation out of others, even Jo who was gradually beginning to lose her shyness.
Karmela was loving her morning walks with Iain too. Flirting was definitely not the order of the day, although they did find plenty to laugh about. And when he spoke of his indecision over what his future might be career-wise, about finding a forever home for him and Sybil, she felt especially close to him. And not just because that was when the long looks returned.
Karmela settled at a table above the narrow black pebble beach and watched Jo swim around the short concrete jetty, her head bobbing up and down between the gentle waves. Once her beer arrived she opened her book, but it proved impossible to put Iain out of her mind. If she had met him at home in Zagreb she would have had no compunction about asking him out, but here things were different. They were colleagues, almost, for the rest of the month, and perhaps dating colleagues was not a good idea. Although now she came to think of it, she had watched at least two long-term relationships unfold in the staffroom of the history faculty with barely a ripple, so maybe…
No doubt it would be a risk, but she had taken risks with her feelings before. Or had she? No, not actively, not consciously, she had not. From the distance of eighteen months she could see that now. She had become part of the other book club members’ lives in Dubrovnik so easily she had hardly realised what was happening, but she had certainly not sought it out. So, given she had stumbled blindly into the most wonderful friendships of her adult life, could she find love in the same random way? Maybe this time she should reach out and grab that chance of happiness. Or maybe she should get over herself and concentrate on her book.
Oh, she was overthinking this, intellectualising it as usual. How did she feel? The smile playing around her lips was a bit of a giveaway, as was the unfamiliar sensation in the pit of her stomach when Iain looked at her. Sranje! She really, really, liked the guy. But what could she actually do about it?
Jo emerged from the water not far from where Karmela was sitting and looked around. Karmela waved and, smiling, Jo picked up her towel, wrapping it sarong-like across her chest.
“Fancy a beer?” Karmela called.
“Yes please. I just need to dry off a bit first.”
She was a pretty woman, Karmela thought, especially now the thick make-up she normally wore had been washed off by the sea. She had a glow about her, fresh from her exertion. Although in her bikini she had looked painfully thin, her smile was as natural as Karmela had ever seen it.
“You look really happy,” she told Jo when she joined her at the table.
Jo considered this for a moment. “Know what? I am.”
“You sound surprised. Have you been missing home? Your husband? A month is a long time away.”
Jo looked down at her glass, then back at Karmela. “I don’t want to lie to you. I wanted to get away. Rees and I… we kind of live separate lives. Maybe it will do us good to be apart.”
“That sounds tough. How long have you been married?”
“Not that long… About a year after Only. Ever. You. came out.” She laughed. “Everything happened at once, and probably far too quickly. How about you?”
“I have always been single. My experiences as a refugee meant I had no desire to date, and it took me years to get my head around friendships even. I left two good friends behind in Sarajevo and one of them was killed in a bombing raid, so perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I was frightened of being hurt again.”
Jo nodded. “Like I said last night, I lost a very good friend too. I don’t know if you ever get over it.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the wash and draw of the waves over the pebbles, the low music from the bar next door. Karmela thought about suggesting they raise their glasses to lost friends, but Jo’s face was closed. Clearly that part of the conversation was over.
* * *
For once the farmhouse was silent around Zina as she stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes, sinking into the comfortable faded red cushions of her childhood. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been alone here, but she’d managed to persuade Mama to take Susan and Ellen to Megalochori, and they’d be gone for at least a couple of hours. Although it felt strange here without her, Zina had been heartened by the fact that her mother had at least put on a little make-up. Surely that was progress towards a more normal life too.
Even though it was Zina’s day off, Lambros was somewhere on the farm. Somewhere. Doing something. No doubt she should go and find him to see if he needed any help, but now Zina was settled she had no enthusiasm at all for moving. Even picking up her phone was too much effort. A third of the way through the retreat’s first month, and already she was exhausted, if not by the hard work, then by the endless monotony of her days.
She hadn’t planned to take Sundays off, but thanks to the group’s kindness she had at least some downtime. Obviously she couldn’t ask Ekaterini to work seven days a week, so she’d been expecting to have to do everything herself. When last week she’d explained Sunday’s meals were rather simpler because of it, her guests had decided that after breakfast they would fend for themselves so that Zina could have a break too. But the brief respite it gave her still wouldn’t be a patch on the lazy weekends she and Lambros had shared in Athens.
After a hectic week at work, they’d normally slept late on Saturday mornings before heading out for lunch with friends, then maybe to the cinema, or more often than not snuggling on their very own sofa to watch a movie with a bottle of wine and meze from the deli. Oh, the bliss of it. Just the two of them, not having to worry about anyone else. She so wanted that part of their life back; surely, surely it would ease the niggles between them? The niggles which were becoming increasingly regular.
Zina was almost asleep– or at the very least, dozing into a daydream where she and Lambros were enjoying a romantic dinner at her favourite marina-side restaurant in Piraeus– when she heard the screen door from the terrace open and close. She opened her eyes, blinking.
“It’s hot out there,” Lambros said, fanning himself with his sun hat.
“Cool in here though.”
“You look very comfortable.”
“Care to join me?”
“God, yes. But I’m more than a little sweaty.”
“I don’t care.” She sat up and swivelled around to make space, stretching her legs in front of her and wriggling her toes. “Would you like a drink?”
He nodded. “You stay there; I’ll get them.” He disappeared into the kitchen, then called, “Where’s your mum?”
“I got her to drive some of my guests to Megalochori for the afternoon.”
“That must have taken some doing! But why didn’t you tell me? Clearing the last of the tomatoes could have probably waited.”
Zina smiled to herself at the “probably”. In other circumstances it might have riled her, but after her snooze she felt pretty chilled, and anyway, she didn’t want to break the moment. Especially when Lambros came back with a bottle of Assyrtiko wine from the local co-operative.
“Just like old times,” he said, opening it with a single twist of the corkscrew. God, he was strong these days and those new muscles of his were seriously hot. She grinned lazily up at him, then he settled next to her, putting a glass in her hand.
“To peace and quiet.” The rims chinked. “And to us.”
“Yes, to us,” Zina murmured, snuggling closer as he put his arm around her shoulder. He was right; he did whiff a bit, but she didn’t mind. It was his scent– familiar, comforting. And she had him all to herself.
“So the tomato plants are all pulled?”
“Yes. I need to be sure I’m ready for the pistachio harvest. Yiannis said it could be any day now.”
“Are there lots of nuts?”
“Thankfully, yes. I’ve borrowed his machine for removing the husks and the drying yard is ready. Hopefully by the end of the month the money will start rolling in.”
“Then I’ll need a few more bookings to beat you.”
“No competition, Zi. Not today. Let’s just chill. Even if I don’t miss Athens, I do miss our lazy weekends.”
“Me too.” For once they were on exactly the same page, and the thought gave Zina a spark of hope that with a bit more money, and a bit more time, they could go back to being the way they’d always been. Just having Lambros’s arm around her shoulder made her wonder if she’d been worrying unnecessarily. They were both so busy, both so stressed, and a few hours of togetherness like this would make all the difference.
Zina took another sip of wine, its citrus dryness tingling on her tongue. Mama should be gone at least another hour, so they had time to enjoy this moment. Her thoughts were already turning to the bedroom, but today they didn’t have to dive straight in for a silent, fumbled quickie. They had time, real time, to sit together and share the wine and their thoughts. For a little while longer at least.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she groaned.
“Can’t you just leave it?” Lambros asked, pulling back her hair and kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“What if it’s Mama, saying she’s coming home early? Honestly, Lambros, if it isn’t I’ll just let it ring.”
But it wasn’t her mother. It was Iain. They looked at the tiny screen together, and when Zina picked up, Lambros shifted away from her with a sigh. But how could she not answer it? The call was from a guest.
“Zina, I’m so sorry to disturb your afternoon off, but there’s a guy who’s turned up saying he’s Jo’s husband. She isn’t here and, well, he’s none too happy. He’s calling the retreat all the names under the sun for not having twenty-four seven reception.”
Jo’s husband? Zina couldn’t afford to have him badmouth her business. “Tell him I’m on my way.”
She stood, but Lambros stayed on the sofa, looking up at her accusingly. “Can’t he just phone his wife? Why do you have to get involved?”
“Because it’s my retreat house.”
“And your afternoon off. Our time together. Our only time.”
Zina sighed. “And if the call had been to say your precious goats had escaped, what would you have done?” Lambros shrugged, but she knew he couldn’t argue. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
She all but jogged up the path, stopping only in the shade of the building to brush the dust from her denim skirt and retie her hair in its ponytail. She needed to appear at least fractionally professional, even if she’d had no time to change into her work clothes.
As she rounded the corner, Iain was nowhere to be seen so presumably he’d beat a hasty retreat as soon as he knew she was on her way. The stocky man with a face screwed up like a chicken’s arse was sitting at the table with a bottle of her best Chianti in front of him, and didn’t even stand to greet her. How could lovely Jo be married to someone like that?
“Oh, so you’re here. At last.”
Despite his attitude, Zina crossed the courtyard and reached down to shake his hand, holding hers in front of him until he could ignore it no longer. “I’m Zina Sideris, the owner. How can I help?”
“You can find my wife. I come all this way to surprise her, and she’s not even here.”
“I believe Jo wanted to see the archaeological site at Akrotiri. Have you tried calling her?”
“She isn’t answering her phone. Honestly, she’s such an airhead. She probably hasn’t even taken it with her.”
Zina gritted her teeth and smiled. “I think it closes soon. I’m sure she won’t be long.” Actually, she wasn’t sure of that at all; Jo and Karmela had definitely spoken about having dinner on the beach, but as well as his general demeanour, the dismissive way he’d spoken about Jo put Zina on her guard. “I see you’ve found the honesty bar. Is there anything else I can get you while I’m here?”
“Something to eat. It was a four-hour flight and the best they could serve was a poor excuse for a panini. I’m starving.”
“The kitchen’s closed, but perhaps I could rustle something up for you.”
“Closed? I thought you provided food?”
“It’s Sunday.” She said it as though it explained everything.
“How long have you worked in hospitality?” he snapped.
No, she wasn’t having that, but neither could she be rude. However much she was struggling with the idea, this man was Jo’s husband. She had to put her instant loathing of the guy and her niggling doubts that all was not well to one side and be professional.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” she told him. “In the meantime, enjoy the wine.”
* * *