Chapter 4
4
‘She’s a real character! So’s her son. I bet that flat’s noisy when all the family’s at home.’
Louise hooked an arm in Stella’s as they left the café after paying the bill.
April was newly positioned in her shop doorway when they walked past, with a toddler playing at her feet.
On catching sight of Stella and Louise, she bent down to pick up the child, balancing him on her hip and waggling his wrist to make his chubby hand wave.
He was in nothing but a nappy and T-shirt and was tanned and a bit grimy, with lots of messy black hair, like his older brother. He looked cute and rather grave, which made Louise and Stella smile.
‘God knows how she copes with four kids,’ Louise whispered. ‘Two seems like a lot to me.’
‘I suspect they don’t wash much,’ Stella replied dryly, remembering Meaty’s grubby feet. ‘But I’ll say one thing, she’s certainly doing a great job with their English. Meaty’s totally fluent – he’s even picked up her accent!’
It was a relief to escape the heat and stroll up the main street, which was shady and cool by comparison. They had to watch where they were going, though. The place was quite crowded now and stands were spilling out on either side of the walkway, displaying rows of brightly coloured clothes, hats, jewellery, beach bags and postcards.
Louise stopped a few times to look at cheesecloth shirts and gold earrings, while Stella was more interested in the food stalls, selling local honey and olive oil, bunches of fresh herbs and bags of spices, shelled almonds, walnuts and bottles of Cretan raki, a type of very strong, clear brandy.
Seeing the nuts reminded her of a delicious Greek basil, walnut and feta pesto, which she used to make. Al and the children loved it. They’d have it with pasta or jacket potatoes, for a simple weekday supper.
They were also keen on her classic moussaka, with cinnamon spiced lamb, aubergine and a creamy, nutmeg-spiked sauce. Al used to ask her to make extra so he could take it to the office and have it for lunch the next day. She’d always pop a few homemade sweet treats in his bag, too, as a surprise.
She’d honed her skills at a top London cookery school after A levels, having decided to forgo university in favour of following her passion – food. After that, she’d worked at several leading restaurants and established quite a reputation for herself as a sociable, hard-working, creative chef who specialised in seafood and game.
She went back to it after Hector was born, but found the hours hard to manage. Her then husband was drinking heavily, so she couldn’t trust him with the baby, and when the marriage started to implode, it became clear she’d need to be at home much more.
Luckily, she had a little money saved to start her own venture, and Deliciously Yours was conceived on the back of an envelope in her kitchen. It wasn’t easy running a business as a single parent, but her mother and father helped with childcare, and friends, including Harriet and Louise, rallied round and kept her sane.
‘This is Diktamo , or Dittany in English. It only grows on the mountains and gorges of Crete.’
The male stallholder held up a small white bag for Stella to sniff. It had a strong, distinctive, aromatic smell, something like oregano mixed with lemon.
‘It is very good for the stomach, the digestive system, good healing qualities. You want some?’
Stella hesitated. She could find a recipe when she got back to the villa and surprise everyone tonight or tomorrow with a new tasty dish. She used to enjoy doing that. Reaching in her bag for her purse, she was about to pay when something Al once said rang in her ears and pulled her up short.
‘You never cook any more, you just buy ready meals. It’s not good for the children.’
It was one of the last things he’d uttered before he left. That and, ‘You’re spending all your time with Jon and Jemima. What about Hector and Lily? What about me ?’
She’d felt guilty, but instead of talking things through and trying to find a compromise, she’d been defensive and mean. She wasn’t proud of herself, but in her mind at that time, Al should have seen how stressed she was and backed off.
‘You’re so selfish,’ she’d snapped. ‘Everything’s about you.’
He’d looked hurt. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes, it is. I’m trying to support my best friend’s poor family and all you can think about is your stomach. You’re a grown man; you can make your own fucking meals from now on.’
It was almost the last straw. Ever since they’d met, cooking his favourite meals had been one of the ways she’d shown him how much she loved him.
That night in bed, when he’d tried to get close to her and she’d pushed him away for the umpteenth time, all of a sudden, he’d sat up straight and turned on the light.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this any longer, Stella,’ he’d said dully. ‘It’s not a marriage any more. Your coldness is killing me. I’ll find somewhere to rent. It’s sad, I know, but these things happen. We’ll be better off apart.’
Silence had descended and Stella thought he must have been able to hear the pounding of her heart.
At that point, she’d had a choice: she could have begged him to stay and promised to spend more time at home with him and the kids. But she didn’t. She felt spent, with barely enough energy to put one foot in front of the other, let alone fight for her relationship.
‘If that’s what you want,’ she’d said wearily, wiping away the tears that had started to trickle down her cheeks. ‘You’re probably right. I can’t give you what you need. Perhaps it’s for the best.’
‘We’ll speak to the kids tomorrow. I’ll find a flat nearby with a spare room, so they can stay anytime. We’ll make this work for their sakes.’
‘You wish to buy?’ The stallholder waved the bag of herbs in front of Stella’s nose, making her snap out of her daydream.
‘Or something else?’ he went on. ‘Some basil? Saffron? Cumin?’
Stella shivered. ‘Not today, thanks.’
She looked round for Louise, who was on the other side of the street, holding up a beaded necklace, and put the money back in her purse before returning it to her bag.
‘I might come back tomorrow, sorry,’ she said, embarrassed, and she started to move away. ‘Thanks again.’
As the women wandered on, they heard quite a bit of English being spoken, as well as German, French and Spanish. Louise’s eye was caught by a leather shop, with a pair of gladiator-style Greek sandals in the window. There were also bags, belts, purses, glasses cases and wallets on display in a multitude of colours.
‘Shall we go in?’ she asked, and Stella nodded, following her friend into the dark room, which smelled of oil and wax, chemicals and perfume. It was a heady mix but Stella liked the scent; it reminded her of the favourite leather jacket her father wore when she was a child.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she became aware of a very old man sitting behind the wooden counter. He had snow-white hair and a bushy white moustache. A jaunty red and white scarf was tied round his neck and knotted in front, like a cravat.
Stella nodded in greeting before asking if she and her friend could browse.
‘Of course,’ the man said with a charming smile, supporting himself with his hands on the counter top while he rose as gallantly as he could from his chair.
He was tall, extremely thin and deeply wrinkled. He had on a pale blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and the skin on his tanned arms looked as dry and fragile as parchment.
‘What can I do for you two ladies?’ Despite his advanced years, there was a definite twinkle in his eye. ‘It’s not often I see two beautiful women in my shop at the same time!’
The old devil! Stella laughed, but Louise wasn’t easily flattered and announced crisply that she wished to try on a pair of the gladiator sandals.
The man produced a wooden stool from behind the counter for her to sit on, before rootling round in a room at the back of his shop for the right size.
On returning with a shoebox, he swayed from side to side like bamboo in a gale and Stella steeled herself to catch him. Luckily, there was no need. By extending his arms like windmill sails, he managed to balance long enough to hand the box to Louise, before tottering back to his seat and slumping down with a barely disguised sigh.
Surely he should be taking it easy, not working in a shop? Stella felt quite angry on his behalf, until she decided he must enjoy the job and it probably kept him young. His body was falling apart but there was certainly nothing the matter with his mind.
Louise loved the tan leather sandals, which strapped up the ankle and had a double buckle fastening.
‘Do I look like an ancient Greek noblewoman in them?’ she joked, admiring her feet from several angles.
‘Like Aphrodite!’ the old man replied with a wheezy smoker’s chuckle. ‘Or Hera, the queen of Olympus!’
‘Not Maximus, anyway,’ Stella commented wryly, meaning the Russell Crowe character from the Hollywood film, Gladiator . ‘Your legs aren’t hairy enough.’
After paying for the sandals, Louise was on the point of leaving when the old man mentioned his daughter, Marina.
‘She’s an artist, a painter. She’s very good. You should take a look at her work. She sells it from her studio. It’s right here, at the end of the street.’
Stella said they’d definitely pay a visit, which seemed to please him. However, when he asked where they were staying and she told him, his expression changed.
‘That place?’ he said with a sneer, which took her aback. ‘It shouldn’t be rented to foreigners; it should be lived in by a person from this island, a local person or people. It’s not right.’
‘Oh,’ Stella said, wide-eyed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’
The old man shook his head and waved his hand in the air dismissively.
‘It’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.’
Stella glanced at Louise, who appeared as mystified as she was.
‘We haven’t met the owner,’ Stella went on. ‘We’ve only had dealings with Mrs Papadakis.’
Secretly, she rather hoped at this point he’d let slip who the owners were, but on hearing the housekeeper’s name, he sneered again.
‘Her? Pah! That woman’s nothing but trouble.’
‘That was weird,’ Stella commented when she and Louise finally left the shop and stepped out into the sunshine again. ‘What a strange reaction!’
Louise nodded. ‘He’s obviously got some sort of grudge against Katerina. I wonder why.’
Intrigued, they decided to visit the old man’s daughter’s studio right away, but when they checked the time, they realised they’d already been gone a good few hours.
‘We’d better get back. The kids are probably awake by now.’
As they strolled the other way up the high street, Stella’s phone rang. It was Jon and she had that familiar sinking feeling again.
‘Why did it have to be Harriet?’ he blurted before he’d even said hello. There was a crack in his voice. ‘She was a good person; she had so much more to give.’
Stella swallowed. He hadn’t improved since yesterday, then. In fact, he sounded worse. She desperately wanted to help, but it was hard to find the right words.
‘She was a wonderful person, a one-off,’ she replied gently. ‘Cancer’s just so cruel. It doesn’t discriminate.’
Louise stopped to look at some cheap sunglasses on a rotating display stand, giving Stella space to move a little way away and talk in private.
‘I’m sorry I can’t make things better,’ she went on. ‘I’m always here to support you.’
‘I know you are.’ He made a choking sound, which she felt deep down in her gut. ‘I’m so lost without her. At least work’s some sort of distraction. I don’t know what to do with myself now it’s the holidays.’
‘Why don’t you come and join us?’ The words escaped from her lips before her brain had time to catch up. ‘There’s a spare room with a double bed and plenty of space. You can swim and go for walks and read. It’d be so good for you. You can hang out with us if you fancy and not if you don’t. The flight’s only four hours; it’s easy.’
Jon hesitated. ‘I’m not?—’
‘You don’t need to decide now.’ Stella was on a roll, swept along by her own idea. ‘Have a think and talk to friends. We don’t need much notice, or any, really. You can let us know the day before if you like.’
‘It’s a really kind offer, but?—’
She was convinced he was going to say no. Maybe it was just as well. After all, she hadn’t checked with Louise. Then again, surely she wouldn’t mind. She knew how much Jon had suffered.
There was a pause and Stella wondered if he’d bring the conversation to a close. To her surprise, though, his voice came back louder and clearer than before.
‘I’ll give it some thought, I promise. I’ll let you know asap.’
* * *
Seeing that the conversation was over, Louise re-joined Stella and the women continued their journey.
‘All right?’ Louise asked.
Stella nodded. ‘Sort of.’
‘What was it about?’
‘The usual stuff. Why did Harriet have to die, how lonely he is. I feel useless a lot of the time. I mean, what can I say?’
‘It sounds like he just wants you to listen,’ Louise replied. ‘You’re doing all you can. I wish he’d occasionally give you a break, though, and talk to someone else instead.’
A group of young English women walked by, wearing skimpy tops and shorts and laughing loudly. They weren’t looking where they were going and one bumped into Louise, who wobbled, almost knocking over a display of hats. Luckily, she managed to right herself just in time.
‘Careful!’ she said sharply. The woman paused briefly to apologise, but Louise scowled.
‘Miserable cow,’ one of the other girls muttered as they sauntered off. Her friends tittered. ‘Looks like she’s eaten a lemon.’
Stella had to agree. Louise had rather overreacted. What had got into her? After all, the woman had apologised. She decided she wouldn’t mention her spur-of-the-moment invitation to Jon just now.
By the time they reached the end of the street, thankfully Louise had recovered her equanimity and stopped, pointing towards the bay. ‘Look! An artist! I wonder if it’s the leather shop man’s daughter.’
The woman in question was perched on a little wooden stool at the water’s edge in front of an easel, attached to which was a large white parasol. Her pink and red tie-dye dress looked startlingly bright in the morning light, set against a backdrop of cobalt-blue sky and sea.
She was wearing a big straw hat and her long, dark, wavy hair ran down her back like a waterfall. Stella thought she looked like a character from a play or film, too dramatic to be real.
They strolled in her direction and peered over her shoulder, careful to keep a respectful distance so she wouldn’t feel crowded.
The big canvas on which she was working was half covered in thick splodges of oil paint in flamboyant pinks, yellows, oranges, blues and greens.
It was impossible to tell what the image depicted, but to Stella, it gave a rather dreamlike impression of sea and sky. It was a joyful, celebratory painting, like a fanfare. If you had it on your wall, it would make your heart sing.
Stella and Louise hadn’t made any noise, but the woman must have sensed their presence because she turned and gave a wide, serene smile.
She wasn’t as young as Stella had imagined. She was probably in her mid- to late-fifties but was still beautiful, in an unconventional way.
She was very slender with olive skin, a long, slim face and high cheekbones. Her nose, which was dead straight, seemed to spring from her forehead, and there was hardly a dent where glasses would normally sit.
Her dark-brown eyes were quite deep set, crinkled at the edges and framed by thick black lashes and smooth, arched brows. She wore little makeup, save black kohl, and had an air of quiet composure, as if it would take a lot to disturb her peace of mind.
‘That’s lovely,’ Stella said, still staring at the painting. ‘I really like the colours.’
‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’
The woman placed her palette on her knees, put down her brush and shifted round to give the strangers her full attention.
Her dress was full length and sleeveless. There was something relaxed and elegant about the way she straightened her lean, tanned arms, cupped her hands over her knees and neatly crossed her ankles. She wore a chunky silver bracelet round her wrist and another round her upper arm.
‘Please don’t let us interrupt you.’ Louise sounded quite dismayed. ‘We were just curious to see what you were doing.’
The woman shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. It’s getting a bit too hot now. I was thinking of packing up anyway.’
She couldn’t rise without dropping her palette so she extended a hand from her seated position. Louise took it first, then Stella. The hand was surprisingly small and cool.
‘I’m Marina, by the way,’ she said. ‘I live here. My studio’s just up the road.’
She pointed in the general direction.
‘Oh! I think we just met your father in the leather shop,’ Louise said. ‘He mentioned you. I bought a pair of his sandals.’
Marina gave a tuneful little laugh, like wind chimes tinkling in the breeze.
‘He’s always trying to push my work, bless him. He’s my most ardent fan – my best promo guy!’
Stella grinned. ‘Well, his efforts certainly paid off with us. We couldn’t resist coming over. We’ll definitely visit your studio.’
Marina uncrossed her feet and stretched out her legs. She was wearing leather sandals, quite like the ones Louise had just acquired, and her toenails were painted orange.
‘Are you on holiday?’ she asked, and both women nodded. ‘Where are you staying? Here in Porto Liakáda?’
‘We’re renting Villa Ariadne,’ Louise explained. ‘Our children are here, too – we’ve got four between us. They’re teenagers, though, so they don’t get up early.’ She raised her eyebrows and Marina smiled back, amused.
‘Do you know it?’ Louise went on. ‘The villa, I mean? It’s very beautiful.’
‘Oh yes, I know it.’
‘Who owns it?’ Stella asked quickly. She was even more eager to find out now, after the old man’s odd reaction in the shoe shop.
‘Ah, you’ll have to ask Mrs Papadakis that,’ Marina replied, much to Stella’s frustration.
She was about to say they had asked, but the housekeeper had ignored them. She didn’t, though, fearing it might seem rude. She was beginning to think there must definitely be more to the villa and its owner or owners than met the eye. The mere mention of it round here seemed to stir up so many peculiar emotions.
Marina quickly changed the subject.
‘I love your earrings.’
She was admiring Louise’s array of gold studs and sleepers. The artist pushed away the thick curtain of hair on one side of her face to reveal her own ears, decorated with four silver hoops of differing sizes. ‘You see! We think alike!’
A speck of dust flew into Stella’s eye and she removed her sunglasses and tried to rub it away.
In an instant, Marina’s focus switched again to her.
‘Let me look at you properly.’
The woman was gazing intensely at Stella’s face, which made her feel shy all of a sudden. She wanted to replace her shades, but didn’t wish to be impolite.
‘Is my mascara splodged?’ she joked.
Marina didn’t reply. ‘You look sad,’ she said instead, leaning forwards over her palette and frowning.
Stella shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Do I? What makes you think that?’
Sensing Stella’s unease, Louise sprang to her rescue. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say. You don’t know anything about her!’
Marina scarcely blinked, but she leaned back a little and softened her gaze. Her eyes, though, remained firmly on Stella.
‘I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. What I wanted to say was, I think you’ve suffered, but you’ll soon be reunited with someone you love.’
All of a sudden, Stella felt herself wobble. She was surprised the stranger’s words had had such an effect.
Louise must have noticed her friend sway, because she glowered at the artist and placed a protective arm round Stella’s shoulders, drawing her in.
‘How dare you upset her! You’ve no idea what she’s been through.’
‘Forgive me. I meant no offence.’
Marina’s stillness was disarming. She glanced at her lap, where the palette was still resting, and didn’t budge.
With a sigh, Louise gave Stella a gentle squeeze before turning her in the direction of the steps.
‘C’mon, let’s go home. I’ve had enough of Porto Liakáda for one morning.’
They didn’t look back but were aware of Marina’s eyes following them until they were out of sight.
Stella took deep breaths as they slowly ascended the steps. She felt winded, as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
‘What the hell was she thinking?’ Louise muttered, almost to herself. ‘Stupid cow.’
Digging in her shorts pocket, she found a wodge of tissues, which she passed to Stella. ‘Here, take these. Who the fuck does she think she is?’
They stopped for a moment while Stella blew her nose.
‘What do you think she meant about being reunited with someone I love?’ she asked, tucking the damp hankies in her back pocket.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ Louise said with a growl. ‘Forget it.’
Despite being naturally sceptical about anything supposedly supernatural, Stella didn’t feel entirely convinced. ‘What if she meant Harriet? Does she mean I’m going to die too?’
‘Don’t be silly. She’s just a weird woman who doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’
‘She didn’t seem weird.’
Louise paused for a moment. It was true, they’d both liked Marina straight away. She had warmth and style – and was clearly a talented artist. But that didn’t mean she could predict the future. She wasn’t the prophet Cassandra, for God’s sake!
‘Let’s keep going,’ Louise urged. Even her walking seemed angry. ‘Look, I know it was unsettling back there. I wish it hadn’t happened. Maybe she fancies herself as a fortune-teller. It must get pretty dull here in winter with no tourists. The locals probably need someone like her to liven things up.’
‘D’you really think so?’ Stella was still doubtful.
‘Absolutely. Marina doesn’t know about Harriet, remember. I reckon she was trying to intrigue you, to draw you in. P’raps it’s the way she sells her paintings, getting tourists interested in her so they flock to her studio. Don’t give her any more thought, she’s not worth it.’
Stella was quiet after that, until they reached the cottage of Eleni Manousaki, the elderly woman with the chickens.
The door was open, though the owner was nowhere to be seen. A grey and white cat was lying on its side on the front step, enjoying the warm sun.
‘Oh look, kittens!’ Stella cried, pointing to three or four tiny balls of fluff nestling against their mother’s tummy, half hidden in her fur.
She crouched down to look more closely. The kittens were all the same colour and very well camouflaged.
‘They can’t be more than a few days old. They’re so sweet!’
The mother cat gazed languidly at the two women and didn’t stir, but the tip of her tail twitched, warning them not to come any nearer.
Stella backed away, anxious not to upset her, but thanks to the distraction, she’d temporarily forgotten about Marina and managed to enjoy the last part of the journey, chatting with Louise about plans for the next two weeks.
‘We must visit the palace at Knossos if we have time,’ Stella said, ‘and I’d like to do the Aradena Gorge. The photos look amazing.’
‘Josh said we have to visit the caves at Matala. The Romans used to bury their dead there and apparently in the sixties, they were occupied by hippies.’
Josh was Louise’s on-off partner. They didn’t live together, and Stella had a feeling Louise wanted more commitment, perhaps marriage, even, but he didn’t. She’d tried asking Louise about it, but she was too proud to admit it.
When things were going well, she and Josh seemed to have a lot of fun, but all too often, he became distant for no apparent reason and failed to call. At these times, she threw herself into her work and pretended not to care, but she wasn’t herself and it was obvious she really minded very much indeed.
Stella was surprised her friend put up with her boyfriend’s careless behaviour, especially when she was so strong in other ways. She felt a bit sorry for her in this regard, but couldn’t offer help or advice unless Louise opened up and asked for it.
The women had almost reached the sandy track that led to the gates of the villa when Stella caught the toe of her boot on a tree root and fell to the ground.
She landed on her hands and knees and rolled onto her back, where she lay for several seconds, hugging herself into a ball.
‘Ouch! That really hurt.’
Louise crouched down and looked anxiously at her friend. ‘Are you okay?’
With help, Stella managed to sit up enough to examine her wounds. The palms of her hands were covered in grazes, and dark-red blood was trickling down her calf from the cut on her knee.
‘More injuries,’ she said gloomily, reaching in her back pocket for the wodge of tissues Louise had given her earlier and dabbing at the blood. ‘I wasn’t looking properly.’
‘The cut isn’t too deep,’ Louise commented. ‘I bet it’s painful, though. D’you think you can walk back to the house?’
Stella leaned on Louise’s shoulder as she hobbled and hopped towards the villa. The cut stung, there was a lot of blood down her lower leg and the big bruise on her other knee had turned deep purple.
‘I wish I wasn’t so clumsy. I don’t feel as if I walk round with my eyes half shut, but maybe I do.’
‘You are accident prone,’ Louise agreed with a wry smile. ‘Maybe you should start wearing protective gear when you go out. I’ll get you a crash helmet and knee pads for Christmas.’
It was only a joke, but it reminded Stella of Marina’s disturbing words about soon being reunited with someone she loved, and her face fell.
Louise, noticing, frowned. ‘I’m sorry?—’
‘It’s all right.’ Stella pulled back her shoulders. She was smiling, but a shadow had passed over her and Louise cursed the artist yet again.
What Stella needed was a great big confidence boost, she was thinking. Not the strange mutterings of some crazy woman who thought she was the Oracle of bloody Delphi.