15. MYKONOS
FIFTEEN
MYKONOS
Tess woke up just after six o’clock, rubbed her eyes, yawned, stretched, and made her way out onto the balcony. And there, bathed in the early morning sunshine, was the island of Mykonos, with its blindingly white buildings along the waterfront and up the hill. And windmills!
Tess had always been intrigued by the rather squat white windmills that featured in so many photographs of the islands. And this island was theirs for the day. She was here to enjoy the sun, the scenery and the culture, so what did it matter if she found a soulmate or not? After all, there were still several ‘hearts’ yet to meet after she got home… not that she’d be holding her breath.
They must have cruised around a hundred miles overnight and then anchored offshore until dawn.
‘Oh, wow!’ Orla had suddenly emerged from the cabin. ‘That looks so beautiful!’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Tess said dreamily.
‘Talking of beauty,’ Orla went on, ‘shall we ring for that gorgeous Spyros to bring us some breakfast? After I’ve beautified myself a little, of course. ’
‘Why not?’
Twenty minutes later Spyros was duly summoned, and appeared with a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and a big smile. ‘Good morning, ladies!’
‘Good morning, Spyros!’ Orla beamed. ‘I think we could manage a light breakfast before honouring Mykonos with our presence. Just fruit, rolls and coffee – what do you think, Tess?’
Tess nodded and Spyros flashed them another of his smiles before disappearing.
‘How old do you reckon he is?’ Orla asked.
‘Far too young for us!’ Tess laughed. ‘But since you ask, probably mid-twenties.’
Shortly afterwards the object of their admiration reappeared with a laden tray. As he turned to leave, Orla asked, ‘What should we be seeing in Mykonos, Spyros?’
‘Very beautiful place,’ replied Spyros. ‘You like beach? Beautiful beaches. You like nice food and wine? Many good tavernas. Many hotels, many rich peoples, many old buildings. You will like.’
‘I’m sure we will, Spyros, thank you,’ said Tess, dishing herself up a generous portion of yoghurt and honey. The rolls were obviously freshly made and smelled delicious. She’d ration herself to one and one only, and then walk as much as possible in an attempt to keep her weight from rocketing.
‘That Spyros sends my hormones haywire,’ Orla muttered.
‘What about Ricky?’ Tess asked. ‘Five minutes ago you didn’t want to be leaving him!’
‘Just because you’ve got a luscious pair of Manolo Blahniks, doesn’t mean you can’t admire a gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choos,’ Orla informed her. As Tess attempted to work out the logic of this, Orla added, ‘Anyway, Ricky’s already emailed and says he’s missing me, so it’ll make him appreciate me all the more.’
‘Didn’t I tell you just that?’ Tess asked.
‘You did. And I hope you’re right. He’s in Grimsby at the moment. Do you suppose they’ve got attractive women in Grimsby?’
‘Why wouldn’t they have?’
‘Just so long as he doesn’t meet any. Now, what are you planning to wear today?’
At ten o’clock Tess, wearing a yellow sundress, and Orla, in a sleeveless top and shorts, waited to disembark, with strict instructions to be back on board by 6p.m. In front of them was Mykonos Town. They’d been told it was customary in Greece to give the principal town the same name as that of the island. But to confuse matters, it was known as Chora by the locals.
Tess thought the town was enchanting, with its narrow cobbled streets, the white buildings with their colourful shutters and doors, and the shops selling all manner of souvenirs, icons, pottery and clothing.
‘They must be rubbing their hands with glee when they see us coming,’ Orla reckoned. ‘And I bet they double their prices whenever they see a cruise liner on the horizon.’ She stopped to examine some postcards. ‘I wonder if I should send one of these to Ricky?’
‘There’s a very good chance Ricky’ll see you before he sees the postcard,’ Tess said. ‘If it’s anything like Italy, I think they get sent by carrier pigeon.’
It was already very hot and there was the whole island to see, which Tess had to admit was not walkable. Spyros had advised them to take a taxi. ‘Very cheap,’ he’d said. Tess somehow doubted that anything would be very cheap round here, but there seemed little alternative if they were to do any exploring. There had been a fleet of taxis waiting when they got off the boat and Tess wondered if they’d all be gone by now, as they retraced their steps. They were in luck. One taxi still remained. The driver introduced himself as Grigoris. He looked about sixty, tall, craggy, wearing jeans with a snazzy red shirt unbuttoned just enough to display a forest of grey hair on his chest, adorned with just the one silver chain.
‘I take you nice places,’ said Grigoris. ‘We have very good day. I very cheap.’ He wasn’t very cheap but, after some mental calculations, Tess and Orla decided he was probably worth it if they wanted to see anything of the island.
‘Very comfortable,’ Grigoris continued, ushering them towards his Mercedes. ‘Also air-conditioning and music. You like music?’ With that he switched on the CD player and some very loud bouzouki music blared out.
After persuading him to turn it down a decibel or two, they set off round the island. Orla wanted to know if he had anything by Demis Roussos. Yes, he did, and he had Nana Mouskouri too, because foreign visitors had never heard of anybody else in Greece. Except maybe Melina Mercouri.
‘You like?’ he asked, waving his arm out of the window as they passed some luxury hotels and beautiful sandy beaches. ‘Many tourists here,’ continued Grigoris, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the open window. ‘Very cosmopolitan. Some men, you know, they come here to find… um, other men. You know?’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Orla. ‘Just our luck! ’
‘Ah,’ said Grigoris, ‘but most Greek men here prefer the ladies. English ladies.’
‘That lets us out,’ Tess sighed.
They went to Ornos, described as a typical Greek island village: cobbled, whitewashed, with geraniums everywhere and lots of little old ladies dressed in black. Exactly as the postcards decreed it should be.
‘You go now to taverna for lunch,’ Grigoris ordered, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, the other waving at everyone he passed. ‘I take you to nice place.’
‘Probably belongs to his brother or his cousin,’ Orla muttered, but they were both becoming decidedly peckish and needed a break from Grigoris’s endless chatter. He deposited them at an ancient building with a garden alongside, filled with vines, geraniums, and rustic tables and chairs. A very attractive Greek woman came to take their order and recommended something unpronounceable, which turned out to be a filo pastry concoction with spinach. They both declined the tray of sweet pastries proffered afterwards, and Tess worried again about her weight. Since it didn’t look as if they’d be doing much walking today, perhaps she could run round the deck later, when it was cooler?
They found Grigoris outside, deep in conversation with a man who looked just like him.
‘My brother,’ he explained as he led the way back to the car.
‘Does he live here?’ Tess asked.
‘Of course,’ replied Grigoris. ‘The taverna belong to him.’
Orla nudged Tess. ‘I told you so.’
As they set off again Grigoris informed them that Mykonos had, over the centuries, been under the control of the Romans, the Catalans, the Venetians and the Ottomans before becoming part of Greece. Then his mobile rang and he chatted animatedly to the caller with one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other just touching the wheel as he drove with his elbow out of the window.
‘He wouldn’t get away with all that at home,’ Tess said, praying they wouldn’t meet anything on the sharp bends, which he navigated with a couple of fingers.
‘I don’t suppose they have many more accidents than we do,’ Orla said dismissively.
Tess tried to concentrate on the landscape. She was fascinated by the windmills. They were such a defining feature of the countryside and, according to Grigoris, were built by the Venetians but repurposed over the years, and many had now been converted into homes. They stopped briefly at Lena’s House, a nineteenth-century traditional Mykonian residence which had belonged to a wealthy shipping family. Some of the original furniture was still preserved in what was now a museum. And there seemed to be a terrific number of churches. When Tess remarked on this Grigoris told them that, for years, if an islander wished to build a house, he was required to build a church on his land first. Then, near Kastro they stopped outside the Panagia Paraportiani, the Church of Our Lady which, they were informed, was one of the most famous architectural structures in Greece.
‘I’m beginning to suffer from an overdose of culture, so how about taking us to a nice quiet beach for an hour or two?’ Orla suggested.
The ever-obliging Grigoris knew just the place and, after about fifteen minutes, they drew up near a small deserted cove. ‘I return after one hour,’ he said, ‘to take you back to ship. ’
‘Why on earth didn’t I bring my swimsuit?’ Tess moaned, looking at the inviting turquoise water as they strolled barefoot on the sand.
‘Well, I’m going in there in my bra and pants,’ Orla said. ‘There’s no one around and, even if there was, would it matter?’
‘I don’t suppose it would,’ Tess said, watching Orla stepping out of her shorts and removing her top. The allure of the sparkling sea was too much, and she pulled her sundress off over her head and ran, laughing, into the water. It was like stepping into a warm bath, and they had to wade out some way before it was deep enough to swim.
‘Oh, this feels wonderful!’ Tess exclaimed, as she plunged into the cooler, deeper water and commenced a careful breaststroke. As she swam, she thought of long-ago summers when she and her sister had braved the icy waters of the sea at North Berwick. All gritted teeth and gooseflesh. But this was something else! She thought about her sister then. Was Barbara coming to the wedding? Omar had died some years previously but she had decided to remain in Nice, where the climate suited her better because the British weather did nothing to alleviate her arthritis. She rarely came back, even after their parents had died, but she did email Tess occasionally. Her only son had emigrated to Australia and he most definitely was not coming to the wedding. But Barbara? Who knew? She’d been sent an invitation, of course, but was still yet to give a firm response. Well, in spite of all the hoo-ha at the time of her elopement, she’d had a long and happy marriage with a successful, wealthy man, even if the source of his income remained in some doubt. But as ever, Barbara was a law to herself.
As Tess pondered over her sister, she heard Orla shout, ‘I’m going back to dry off. ’
Reluctantly, after about ten minutes, they both made their way back to the beach.
‘Wish we’d thought to bring towels,’ Tess said.
‘We’ll just sunbathe until we’re dry,’ Orla said. ‘It shouldn’t take long in this heat.’ Then, glancing at Tess, she said, ‘Just as well Grigoris isn’t around, because your knickers have gone all transparent!’
Two hours later, they were back on board the White Rose , having thanked Grigoris profusely and sworn that they would, of course, hire him again next time they came to Mykonos.
‘As it’s taken me sixty-two years to get here for the first time,’ Tess mused, ‘I don’t think he needs to count the days until our return.’
It was as they were heading back towards their cabin that Tess caught sight of someone vaguely familiar, running along the deck towards the swimming pool. She stopped dead.
‘What’s up?’ Orla asked.
‘That guy,’ Tess said, pointing to where she’d seen him running. ‘I’m sure he’s the one who had me jogging all over the place. Wally, he was called.’
‘It could be him, I suppose,’ said Orla. ‘But then again, there must be dozens of guys running around who all look much the same.’
‘I expect you’re right. I can’t imagine him going on a cruise anyway, particularly as he’s vegan.’
‘I seem to remember from the brochure that one of the restaurants – “Vitality”, I think it was called, specialises in vegetarian and vegan food, so he wouldn’t starve,’ Orla said .
Tess then forgot about him as she showered and got dressed for the ‘Greek evening’ during which, according to the brochure, there would be typical Greek food, wine, music and dance, plus a chance to meet guests from all the other groups on board.
‘I’ve not seen that before,’ Orla remarked, as Tess appeared in a silky black and white patterned jumpsuit. ‘When did you get that ?’
Tess resisted saying, ‘What, this old thing?’ and said instead, ‘I bought it for the cruise. You’re the one who was going on about jumpsuits being the in thing. So I decided to get with it.’
‘Well, it’s very nice,’ said Orla.
It must be, Tess thought happily, because Orla does not dish out compliments lightly.
The event was to take place al fresco, with the main deck transformed into an enormous dining room, tables and chairs positioned round an area where three bouzouki players were strumming as they arrived. It was already dark, and hundreds of tiny lights were strung overhead. On one side was a long bar, and on the other a long table on which the buffet was laid out. There were already crowds of people milling around, and the first person they met was Alan, tonight attired in a white shirt, unbuttoned most of the way to best display his collection of medallions on a bright pink, sunburned chest.
He raised his glass. ‘Hi, girls! You look like you’ve caught some sun!’
‘Not as much as you!’ Tess exclaimed. ‘Where did you get yours?’
‘Right here, by the pool,’ Alan replied.
‘Didn’t you want to explore the island?’ Orla asked.
‘Didn’t see the point,’ he said. ‘I can see it from here. I’ve taken a few photos, so that’ll do me. ’
‘It’s such an interesting island,’ Tess told him. ‘You should have gone ashore. Where’s Barry?’
‘Not feeling so good. He’s staying in his cabin.’
Tess felt sorry for Barry, who seemed so sadly out of place amidst all this colour and laughter. He would have liked some of the places they’d seen today, though, and would no doubt have been a mine of information. Perhaps he was simply shy. She wished she’d taken the trouble to knock on his door this morning and persuade him to join them.
There was no sign of the jogger that might have been Wally, but Tess noticed the man with the Art Malik looks again. Tonight he was wearing a black shirt with white trousers, and standing near the bar talking to a small fat man with a shock of white hair. She wished she had the confidence to go up and introduce herself, as Orla would surely have done, but could only hope that their paths would cross at some point. Was he from MMM or some other group? While Orla chatted to Alan, Tess found herself in conversation with a jovial gang of four women from Sheffield, all members of MMM, and all on the hunt for a man.
‘We thought it would be a laugh,’ said Peggy, who appeared to be their spokeswoman. ‘And, who knows, one of us might just snare someone!’ Much guffawing ensued. Peggy was a large lady with dyed auburn hair and an enormous bosom precariously contained in a low-cut strappy top.
‘Trouble is,’ put in one of her companions, with pink hair and protruding teeth, ‘there’s twice as many women as men here.’
‘So we’ll only get half a bloke each!’ Peggy added, and they all collapsed in further giggles .
‘At least we’ll get tans,’ another one with bright green eyelids said, ‘and the wine’s not bad.’
The wine was cheap and there was plenty of it. As Tess edged her way towards the bar, she collided with the good-looking Asian man, who was now on his own and drinking what looked like an orange juice. He was even more attractive up close. They both apologised at the same time.
‘My fault entirely,’ he said, smiling. ‘May I get you a drink?’
‘Oh, thank you, yes, that would be lovely. I’d like a wine – red wine, please.’
‘No problem.’ He pushed his way towards the counter.
Tess could not believe her luck. She checked that her bra straps weren’t showing and fluffed up her hair with her fingers. As he waited at the bar, where the two bartenders were working flat out, she composed several sentences in the hope she’d be interesting enough when the conversation began.
When he came back and handed Tess the wine, he asked, ‘And what do I call you?’
‘I’m Tess,’ she said, accepting the glass. ‘And you are…?’
‘Sanjeev,’ he replied. ‘Nice to meet you, Tess. And what do you think of the White Rose ?’
‘She’s a beautiful ship,’ Tess said.
He nodded in agreement. ‘I was pleasantly surprised. I’ve never fancied cruising before.’
‘I planned to come on a cruise once but it never happened,’ Tess said. It wouldn’t be a very good start to the conversation if she admitted that her previous cruising plans had involved a past lover, and that now she was only there in the hope of meeting someone like him .
‘And where do you come from, Tess?’
‘Originally from a little place near Edinburgh, but for the last forty-odd years I’ve been living in Surrey, not far from Kingston upon Thames. A small town called Milbury. How about you?’
‘I live in London, for my sins. Fulham, to be exact.’
‘Do you work there?’
‘Yes, at the Royal Marsden.’
‘Oh, so you’re a doctor?’ He looked like a doctor, she decided.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘An oncologist, actually. I specialise in bone cancer.’
‘How interesting!’ Tess was impressed. ‘What a very worthwhile profession!’
Sanjeev smiled. ‘It is, and I consider myself very fortunate to be doing this work. Do you work, Tess?’
‘I’m a dressmaker,’ Tess replied. ‘I run a little boutique with a friend of mine, who’s here somewhere.’ She cast her eyes around but could see no sign of Orla.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘so you have clever fingers.’
‘It’s the only thing I’m much good at,’ she admitted sadly.
‘Nonsense! I’m sure there are many other things which you haven’t even tried yet.’
What a charmer he is, thought Tess. He had beautiful eyes, the brown very dark and like velvet, the white bright and shining. And framed with the most gorgeous long black lashes. And he had a natural charm, not just chat-up lines. Here at last was someone clever, handsome and charming. Trouble is, she thought, there’s an awful lot of women on this boat who are probably all thinking exactly the same thing. Not least Peggy and her gang. She’d be killed in the crush .
At that moment the tall, willowy blonde whom Tess had seen him talking to the previous night appeared from nowhere. ‘Sanjeev!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve been looking for you!’ She laid a proprietorial hand on his arm. ‘Remember I was telling you about my friend, Professor Woodrow? Well, he’s on this cruise with his delightful wife, and very interested in meeting you.’ She didn’t even glance at Tess.
‘Well…’ He hesitated. ‘Do you mind, Tess? Lavinia knows how much I’d like to meet this gentleman. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again? I do hope so. Will you excuse me?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Tess said, turning away and silently cursing Lavinia, who was purposefully leading him away, her hand on his elbow. To make matters worse, Lavinia only looked to be in her mid-forties and was beautiful in a cool, Scandinavian sort of way. Perhaps he liked a contrast to his own dark good looks? And that Lavinia had seemed as if she were out for the kill. Was she an MMM member or part of another group? Tess wondered. Never mind. She sipped her glass of wine and supposed she should look for Orla.
She found Orla deep in conversation with the tall bespectacled Ed of the previous day. Tonight he was wearing a snazzy multicoloured blazer with a white T-shirt and trousers.
‘Oh, there you are!’ said Orla. ‘Look who’s turned up again!’
Tess was surprised at Orla’s change of attitude; perhaps he wasn’t such a pontificating old bore after all.
‘Did you know Ed is a photographer?’ Orla asked.
‘Yes, he mentioned it yesterday,’ Tess replied.
‘Ah, but did you know he’s having an exhibition in the art gallery on deck four after we leave Crete, to display all the great photos he’s taking? ’
‘Places or people?’ Tess asked him.
‘Both,’ Ed confirmed. ‘But I’m looking for unique shots. Offbeat moments, unusual angles, that sort of thing. I’ll bring my camera along when people start to loosen up, have a few drinks, throw a few plates, start to dance. Everyone’s far too inhibited at the moment.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ said Tess, resolving not to have too much wine.
‘It’s the story of a voyage,’ he continued. ‘People coming on board, uptight, nervous, feeling their way – right up to the time when they finally disembark, friendly, relaxed, maybe even partnered.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing!’ chortled Orla. ‘And did you know, Tess, that we’re supposed to wear an MMM badge so that we can all recognise each other? Apparently there’s a group of doctors and bigwigs from some chemical company or other on board and, believe it or not, a group of over-eighties on an archaeological beginners’ course. Everyone has different badges.’
‘You are kidding!’
‘No, I’m not. Here’s yours.’ Orla handed her a tiny gold badge in the shape of a heart. ‘Pin that on somewhere.’
Tess was still trying to get her head round the archaeology course for the over-eighties. Antiques chasing antiques! Then she tried to remember if Sanjeev had been wearing a gold heart, but she couldn’t recall that he’d been wearing any kind of badge. Perhaps he was from the doctors’ group, or whatever they were. Perhaps Lavinia was his wife or partner? Heaven forbid! She decided she would waste no further time dwelling on his eligibility.
She turned her attention to the buffet. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Me too,’ Orla said. ‘Fancy eating with us, Ed? ’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ He gazed at the buffet. ‘Don’t suppose there’s a cat in hell’s chance of getting steak and chips?’
‘Doubt it,’ Tess said. ‘This is, after all, a Greek-themed evening, on a Greek ship, in Greece.’
Ed sighed. ‘Minced lamb and aubergines have a limited appeal night after night. Then again, the Greeks aren’t known for their culinary expertise, are they? I’ve been told the Italian restaurant on deck five is very good, so I might try that tomorrow.’
They found a table and then headed for the buffet. Tess chose the kotopoulo lemonato – chicken cooked in a lemon and basil sauce – along with horiatiki , a tomato and feta salad. Ed had organised a large bottle of red wine from the bar, the bouzoukis were in full swing, and everyone was eating, drinking and relaxing. There was no further sign of Sanjeev or Lavinia. It was becoming more and more crowded, and the atmosphere was jovial and friendly. Ed had his camera at the ready but nothing had caught his eye yet. He seemed nice. He was from Newcastle, and was divorced with four adult offspring. He owned a photographic shop, he said, selling all manner of cameras and equipment, because photography was his thing.
Tess abstained from even looking at the desserts, but Orla found some orange cake and Ed tackled some loukoumades , yeast and honey buns. In the meantime, the wine flowed and people began to get up to dance. The bouzoukis predictably struck up the theme from Zorba the Greek and about twenty people rushed from their seats, linked arms and attempted to dance Greek style, most tripping over their own feet.
‘Come on, you two!’ Ed was already standing up. Laughing, Tess and Orla joined him and, insisting on being in the middle, he proceeded to do the steps faultlessly while they stumbled around trying to emulate him. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for the rhythm and the footwork.
‘You’ve done this before!’ Tess said.
‘No, I haven’t. I’m just lucky I’ve got good coordination. I’m waiting for my invitation to Strictly Come Dancing !’
By this time, almost everyone was on the floor doing their own version of the dance. When the music paused, one of the managers took to the floor to implore people not to throw their plates. ‘I know that is what we are known to do,’ he said, ‘but not here, please!’ Everyone cheered.
The three wandered back to their table and Tess, laughing, said, ‘Now I’m convinced I’ve got two left feet!’
‘Well,’ said Ed, ‘I’ve only got that one.’
‘What do you mean?’ Orla asked.
‘Just the left foot,’ he replied, grinning. ‘Because I haven’t got a right one.’
‘You are kidding!’ said Tess.
‘Nope,’ Ed replied, stretching out his leg and lifting up the fabric of his trousers. Tess and Orla both stared in disbelief at his prosthetic leg.
‘My God!’ Orla exclaimed. ‘It is artificial! How on earth did that happen?’
‘Motorbike accident when I was seventeen. I’ve been living with Jake for a very long time.’
‘Jake?’ Tess queried.
‘Yes, that’s what I call him. Do you remember the song that went “I’m Jake the peg, with my extra leg”? It just seemed like a good name. ’
‘But how on earth can you dance so well?’ Tess was full of admiration for anyone with the gift of good coordination and the ability to remember a set of steps with two feet, never mind just one.
‘You have to adapt,’ he said. ‘Just look at all those one-legged runners in the Paralympics. They’d outrun most people any day of the week.’
Tess sighed. ‘A snail could outrun me!’
There followed a cabaret, during which some professional Greek dancers took to the floor, arms resting lightly on each other’s shoulders, their dancing and the music becoming faster and faster, everyone clapping in time. Then there was a girl with a haunting voice who sang several folk songs, as well as more popular ditties such as ‘Never on Sunday’.
At this point Ed had found some brandy, and was waving the bottle in the air saying, ‘Some decent booze at last!’ Tess thought the very least they could do was have a few little nightcaps and was surprised, when she consulted her watch, to discover it was nearly one o’clock. By now she was feeling decidedly tipsy and leaned back to close her eyes for a moment, which was not a good idea as everything started spinning around. When she opened them, she noticed Ed had just put his camera down on the table.
‘I hope you haven’t taken my photo!’
Ed grinned. ‘As if!’
The music had slowed, and there were only a few couples left swaying together on the dance floor, groups of women looking on wistfully. And no sign of that lovely doctor or anyone Tess recognised, other than Orla and Ed, who had joined the others on the floor. Ed had been the perfect companion, dancing with them both in turn throughout the evening. In between numbers he’d headed off with his camera at the ready, hoping to catch people unawares.
Tess had had enough. It was time for bed – if only she could stay on her feet and find her way to their cabin. Why, oh why, had she been persuaded to drink those brandies?
Thankfully Orla returned and said quietly to Tess, ‘I’m ready for bed, how about you?’
Bidding Ed goodnight, they linked arms and set off unsteadily towards their cabin.