Chapter 9
9
‘Who’s your dad gone on holiday with?’
Stella hoped her question would sound innocent, but Lily’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
‘Why d’you want to know?’
‘No reason,’ Stella replied nonchalantly, popping a spoonful of thick Greek yoghurt drizzled with honey in her mouth. It was delicious. ‘I just wondered, that’s all. He said he probably wouldn’t be able to call as there’d be no signal. He must be somewhere remote.’
‘He’s in Cornwall ,’ Lily said crossly. She seemed to think her mother had no right to ask anything about Al now they were separated.
‘How nice!’
Lily poured herself some orange juice. There was only a little left in the carton, which she scrunched up and pushed irritably away.
‘We need to do a shop,’ Stella observed. ‘Maybe you and Amelia and Will could pick up some things when you go into town?’
‘Yeah,’ Lily replied, before swigging back the inch or so of juice in one go.
The pair were having breakfast together in the garden, having woken up earlier than the others. It was a relief for Stella to spend time alone with her daughter, who usually managed to lift her mood.
The row with Louise the previous night had deeply unsettled her. What had been said couldn’t be unsaid, and she feared their relationship would never be the same again.
She’d resolved to do her best to be as amicable as possible for now, so as not to let a hostile atmosphere spoil things for everyone else. But she was resigned to the bitter fact that for her, the holiday wasn’t going to be the relaxing break she’d hoped for, but a painful ordeal instead.
She and Lily talked about all manner of things, including Lily’s hair, which she mentioned often.
‘D’you think I should get a fringe?’ Lily asked, pulling some hair over her forehead to show what it might look like.
A few days earlier, she and Amelia had discussed having bobs, or choppy layers.
Stella smiled. She loved these chats and knew how important hairstyles were to girls of that age, as well as nail polish, boys and whether or not to have their ears pierced.
‘Maybe,’ she replied, cocking her head to one side to prove she was giving the matter serious thought. ‘It’s lovely as it is, but it’s up to you. The only problem is, if you don’t like it, it’ll take a long time to grow out.’
Lily pondered this for a moment with a frown. ‘Mm. You’re right.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Maybe I could get just a bit cut off, like half a fringe. To about here.’
She indicated to a point just below her cheekbones.
‘Good plan. It needs to be long enough to tuck behind your ears, though. Otherwise it could get in your eyes and be quite annoying.’
‘But then it wouldn’t be like having a fringe at all,’ Lily retorted. ‘I want it to look different .’
After this, Stella couldn’t help steering the subject back on to her husband.
‘Have you managed to get hold of Dad?’ she ventured, crossing her fingers under the table. She knew she was pushing it but couldn’t seem to stop herself. She hoped Lily wouldn’t blow.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh! That’s good. How is he?’
‘He’s fine, Mum. Stop talking about him. He’s just going on lots of long walks, like he does.’
‘On his own?’
Lily glared at her mother across the table. ‘None of your business.’
‘Sorry.’ Stella leaned back, hands raised and flattened palms facing out. ‘What do you want to buy today, other than a straw hat?’ she said, quickly changing tack. ‘I saw some nice little sun dresses hanging up in one of the stalls.’
They were soon joined by Will and Amelia, who’d both turned a lovely shade of light brown. Lily was tanned, too, but her nose had started to peel and the skin underneath was baby pink, much to her disgust. She hadn’t been conscientious enough with the sunscreen, but would never admit it.
Stella went quiet, watching the three of them pouring out bowls of cereal and buttering chunks of white crusty bread. She was thinking about Al and trying to work out whether Lily’s responses gave any clue as to whether or not he had company on holiday.
All of a sudden, Lily’s voice rose above the others.
‘Sasha said you shouldn’t ever pluck your own eyebrows; it’s too hard. You should always go to a salon.’
‘What if you can’t afford it?’ Amelia piped up.
Stella’s heart missed a beat. Sasha was the name of the makeup lady who lived in the flat above Al’s. Why had she crept into the conversation?
Without pausing to think, she launched herself headlong into the chat.
‘Sasha’s right,’ she said. ‘I plucked mine when I was young and ended up with half an eyebrow. It looked terrible.’
Everyone laughed, including Lily. Encouraged, Stella tentatively cast another Mayfly.
‘Did Sasha give you any other tips you can pass on? Like the best brands of makeup to use? I could do with some advice.’
Lily shook her head. ‘Not really. I think she uses lots of different brands.’
‘I’d love to find a really good mascara that doesn’t clog,’ Stella persisted. ‘Can you ask her advice?’
She was hoping Lily would take the bait and agree to have a word with Sasha next time she was on the phone to her dad. That way, Stella would know for sure that they were together. But her plan failed.
‘I doubt I’ll remember,’ Lily replied casually, slathering apricot jam over the slice of buttered bread on her plate before glancing up at Amelia and Will. ‘Let’s leave straight after breakfast? Agreed? Otherwise it’ll get too hot.’
As soon as they’d gone, Stella went to find Louise, who was in her bedroom having just come out of the shower.
‘How did you sleep?’ Stella asked warily, studying Louise’s expression in an effort to gauge her mood.
‘Fine,’ Louise replied, rubbing her hair dry with one of her white towels. She’d wrapped the other tightly round her body and tucked the overlapping bit in front to hold it up. ‘You?’
‘Okay, too, thanks.’
‘Good.’
It was an awkward, stilted sort of exchange, but to Stella’s relief, Louise seemed just as keen as she was to paper over their nasty argument, at least for now.
‘Any sign of Jon?’ she asked fake-casually, as if his presence wasn’t the major problem they’d argued over last night.
Stella, sounding just as nonchalant, said she hadn’t seen him but almost straightaway, they heard him opening his bedroom door.
They both started. Louise’s door was ajar and she tiptoed over to close it as quietly as possible. Moments later, she spotted him out of the window in his bathing trunks, with a towel slung over his shoulder.
‘I think he’s going for a swim,’ she observed, darting away from the window in case he looked up.
‘I’ll read for a bit indoors,’ said Stella. ‘I don’t feel like talking to him if I can help it.’
She lay on her bed for a couple of hours, immersed in a novel. When her eyes grew tired, she texted Louise to ask if she knew of Jon’s whereabouts now. Apparently, he was asleep by the pool.
Stella’s eyes narrowed into slits and she cursed under her breath. Why was she the one who had to make herself scarce? He should have the nous to realise he’d upset her and take himself off somewhere, preferably for the whole day. Didn’t he understand she wanted to enjoy the pool and read her book in peace?
He was being incredibly selfish, but she wouldn’t call him up on it; she was determined to get through the holiday without another row. The one with Louise had been bad enough. She’d only beat herself up if she and Jon argued, and feel horribly guilty.
To avoid any risk of contact, she decided to forgo a swim just now and stay indoors to explore the house. She’d scarcely been in the rooms downstairs yet, save the kitchen, and was sure there’d be some interesting artefacts to look at.
Paintings adorned the walls of every room, small and large, and she stopped to admire the ones that took her eye. Quite a few depicted scenes from the ancient Greek myths, including Jason with his Argonauts, Atlas bearing the world on his shoulders and a gory one of Perseus slaying the gorgon, Medusa.
There were also a number of portraits, including several of the same woman at different stages of life. In one, she was young and attractive, perching coquettishly on a garden table in a silk floral dress, with a nipped-in waist and pussy bow. Dark curls peeked out from beneath her felt hat, set at a jaunty angle, and her red mouth curved upwards in a teasing little smile.
Next door, there was another painting of her in middle age, and a third when she was much older. Her hair, though still curly, was now white. Deep wrinkles encircled her eyes and she had sagging skin on her neck, around which hung a string of pearls.
She was wearing a pale-yellow twinset, typical of the 1950s, when Stella guessed the portrait had been done.
This time, however, there was no smile. The woman looked composed but tired, perhaps even a little bit sad. She had an air of quiet resignation, as if life had dealt her a disappointing hand, but she was determined to endure it with dignity.
Stella suspected she was the former lady of the house, though she couldn’t confirm it. Elsewhere, she noticed two paintings, clearly done by the same artist, of a handsome, distinguished-looking man, who was probably the woman’s husband. From his confident, upright, commanding demeanour, she guessed this was Leo Skordyles, the former mayor of Sfakia.
To her surprise, hanging in a prominent position on one of the walls, there was also a portrait of a young Katerina, who’d evidently been quite a beauty. Stella wondered who’d commissioned the painting and why. It struck her as unusual to have a picture of a servant on display. The previous owners must have been very fond of the housekeeper.
They had also amassed quite a collection of pots, including a strange terracotta vase in the form of a bull’s head, which sat on top of the piano.
Another of the anterooms was filled from floor to ceiling with books. Stella couldn’t read the Greek titles, but stopped to look at some of the covers.
Her gaze fell on a large, handsome hardback, which she pulled out.
She blew on the spine several times to clear away the dust, which went everywhere, including up her nose, making it itch. Her eyes watered, too, and she wiped them with the back of her arm.
The tome was very heavy and had a picture of an eagle on the front and a handwritten inscription on the first page. Her interest piqued, she settled on a red leather chair and quickly flicked to the middle section, which was filled with black and white photographs.
Soon, she was poring over images of Crete in years gone by: two elderly men with big, twirling moustaches sipping coffee outside an old-fashioned café, enjoying the passing scene; a peasant woman in a white headscarf on a donkey, with a baby in her arms and an older child behind, trudging into town, laden with baskets.
Although Crete had obviously changed enormously since those times, Stella couldn’t help thinking life for folk like Katerina and her neighbour, Eleni, the old woman who kept the chickens, perhaps wasn’t so very different.
After all, there weren’t any trains or buses, let alone cars, and they both had to walk up and down the steep mountain to fetch food, or keep livestock and cultivate their land so they could feed themselves.
Likewise, there were no cinemas or theatres nearby and socialising mostly took place, as it always had, in local cafés or people’s homes.
On turning to the next page, Stella noticed a small, loose, black and white photo, which she picked up. It must have been placed there for a reason, she mused, examining it with curiosity.
It was quite a casual-looking snap of two women.
There was nothing written on the back to identify who they were but that didn’t matter, as Stella recognised them instantly anyway.
The lady in the paintings she’d just seen was sitting on a garden bench smiling, her head resting comfortably on Katerina’s bosom.
Although the housekeeper was considerably younger, the way she was posing gave the impression that she was the mother, with an arm round the other woman’s shoulders, giving her a protective hug.
How Stella wished Katerina would appear right now and tell her the story behind the image! She popped the photo in an empty vase on the little table beside her, telling herself it would be quite safe there. She’d show it to the housekeeper next time they met, before returning it to its original hiding place.
Having seen enough of the books, she rose and strolled into the study area. Small and dark, it contained a mahogany bureau with a folding lid and brass handles, more chairs and an antique wooden table with a chessboard on top.
Intrigued by her photograph find, she walked straight over to the desk and opened the lid. A furtive glance over her shoulder confirmed no one was watching, so she eagerly turned her attention to what was inside. Anticipation soon turned to disappointment, however. The six pigeonholes were empty, as were the drawers beneath.
If the desk had once been in use, it had clearly been emptied and was now there just for show. It even smelled of lavender polish, rather than the slightly musty scent she associated with workspaces piled high with old books, pens and stacks of paper.
Closing the lid, she turned away in disgust. She’d done enough investigating for the day. Jon or no Jon, she wanted a swim, some lunch and a couple of hours in the sun. She deserved it; she’d paid for it, after all.
Her swimsuit and beach towel were on the back of one of the garden chairs, where she’d hung them last night to dry. As no one was about, she dodged behind a bush to change, plonking her clothes on the table to pick up later.
It was almost 2p.m. and the heat was so intense, she found herself hopping along the path leading to the pool to stop the baking flagstones from burning her bare feet.
Louise had moved her lounger into the shade under a tree and was reading a magazine. Meanwhile, Jon was spread-eagled on his seat by the water’s edge, still apparently sleeping after all this time.
‘D’you think he’s okay?’ Stella whispered to Louise when she was close enough to be heard. ‘I hope he’s wearing sunscreen.’
Louise put down her magazine and glanced at Jon disapprovingly.
‘He’s probably had enough sun,’ she said with a sniff. ‘He’s been out here for ages. Which one of us is going to tell him?’
Stella pulled a face.
‘All right,’ Louise said tetchily. ‘I’ll do it.’
Stella watched while her friend walked over to where Jon was lying and said his name. When he failed to respond, she poked him in the side and repeated ‘Jon’, much louder this time.
His leg twitched and he grunted something unintelligible before sitting bolt upright and staring round in confusion.
He was in such a daze, he clearly had absolutely no idea where he was. Before long, his eyelids started drooping and he shut his eyes again, as if intending to block everything out and go back to sleep.
Louise was having none of it.
‘YOU NEED TO GET IN THE SHADE,’ she shouted, shaking him roughly by the shoulder. ‘You could get heatstroke.’
Slowly, Jon started to rise from his chair and stagger towards the shade. Once his focus became clear, he spotted Stella, standing close by, watching, and an expression of fear and recognition crossed his features.
The skin on his face, chest, arms and thighs looked red, tight and burning. He swayed slightly and Stella thought he might faint.
‘Oh my God!’ she said, running over and grabbing him round the back with both arms. ‘Help! Louise! He’s going to fall.’
Louise rushed to his side and together, they helped him struggle to the lounger in the shade, where he flopped down.
Grabbing a bottle of water lying on the grass, Louise shoved it in his hands.
‘Drink this. All of it.’
She sounded cold, hard and angry. She’d come to his rescue out of a sense of moral duty, but it was obvious that as far as she was concerned, he was nothing but a pain in the neck. Her lack of sheer human sympathy made Stella cringe.
They both watched while he greedily glugged the water.
‘What an idiot,’ Louise muttered, before glaring at Stella. ‘Sunstroke can be really dangerous, you know. We’ve got to cool him down.’
Stella clenched her jaw and narrowed her lips to stop herself from lashing out and saying something she might regret. Louise intended to make her feel stupid, too, as if this was somehow all her fault. She supposed it was, in as much as she was the one who’d invited Jon. But Louise should have woken him earlier, instead of thoughtlessly leaving him to fry. She herself was far from blameless.
When he’d finished all the water in the bottle, he took a deep breath and scratched his head. He was already looking more normal.
‘I’ll get in the pool,’ he said. ‘That’ll sort me out.’
It seemed like a sensible plan. The women kept a close watch while he walked slowly, unaided, to the edge of the pool and sat down before launching himself in.
‘D’you think he’ll be okay?’ Stella asked as he bobbed beneath the surface and managed to swim a few strokes. ‘Should I find a doctor?’
Louise made a sucking in sound at the back of her throat, like a low growl.
‘No. He doesn’t need one. His skin’s going to hurt like hell, though. I should care, but I really don’t. He’s a bloody liability.’
Stella glanced at her friend, who was scowling. She looked angrier than Stella had ever seen her.
‘Hey?’ she said, hoping to go some way towards placating her, but she shook her head.
‘Don’t. Say. Anything,’ she muttered, extending her arm and placing her hand, face up, between them, like a barrier. ‘You want him to stay? You look after him. He’s your responsibility. I wash my hands of the whole affair.’
* * *
So much for trying to smooth things over with Louise. Her savage words about Jon had an air of finality that Stella couldn’t ignore and made her wonder if, after the holiday, their friendship would survive at all.
The last thing Stella wanted was to be Jon’s nursemaid, but as no one else was willing to care for him, least of all Louise, it was down to her.
After he came out of the pool, she followed him upstairs and went to fetch a bottle of aloe vera lotion from her bathroom.
She waited while he took a cool shower to remove the chlorine from his skin and told him to call her when he’d finished.
He was sitting on the end of the bed, wearing white boxer shorts and a black T-shirt, when she entered his room.
‘You’d better take off your top and lie on your front,’ she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘I’ll do your back. You can do the rest.’
‘Thanks so much.’ Obediently, he pulled off his T-shirt, turned round and lay face down on the crumpled white quilt. ‘I’m sorry for causing all this trouble.’
She didn’t reply; she was too focused on the task ahead. In the intimate setting of the bedroom, his nakedness made her shudder. She didn’t want to have to touch him and was afraid of giving him the wrong message, but the job couldn’t be avoided.
After squeezing some of the clear lotion onto her hand, she stood over him and began smoothing it into his back and shoulders. Despite the shower, his skin felt hot to the touch and she could already see painful little white, fluid-filled blisters starting to form.
‘How bad is it?’ he asked, lying perfectly still, with his head on one side.
‘Um, pretty bad,’ she replied truthfully.
He must have been in some pain because he winced a few times. But otherwise, he seemed relaxed, his arms at right angles, elbows bent and fingers spread wide.
A small cluster of cappuccino-coloured moles beneath his right shoulder blade caught her eye, along with a patch of soft, pale-brown hair on the base of his spine, just above his boxers.
Al’s back was quite different – much broader and he hadn’t any moles, or very few, anyway. Only a tiny brown birthmark above his right hip.
Had Sasha seen it? Stella tensed. She didn’t want to think about it. Come to that, she didn’t want to think about Jon’s moles or his patch of hair either. It felt wrong, like betraying Harriet. She wished she hadn’t noticed.
Jon shifted slightly, bringing her back to the here and now. She warned him he’d have to stay out of the sun for several days and might need painkillers until the redness subsided.
‘Uh huh,’ he murmured lazily. She realised his eyes were closed and a small, contented smile was playing on his lips. He’d forgotten to be angry and upset with her; he was enjoying her attention.
‘Right, that’s it,’ she said quickly, rubbing the last of the lotion onto his lower back and snapping the lid of the bottle shut. ‘You can do the backs of your legs and arms and your front. I’ll leave the lotion here.’
Rolling over with a sigh, he sat up.
‘That was wonderfully soothing, thank you.’
He tried to catch her eye but she avoided his gaze, wiping her hands briskly on the white towel beside him.
‘How often do I need to apply this?’ He’d picked up the bottle and was pretending to scan the instructions. She knew he was hoping to detain her; he was playing for time.
‘Several times a day.’
‘Will you do my back again later?’ He sounded wheedling and needy.
Frowning, she resolved not to go into his bedroom again; he might start to like it too much.
‘Bring the bottle downstairs and I’ll do it after supper.’
Her words obviously annoyed him. His face clouded over and she could swear his bottom lip stuck out, like a sulky child’s.
‘I’m feeling sick. I won’t want supper.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘I doubt I’ll be well enough to come on the walk tomorrow either.’
Was he trying to make her feel sorry for him? Or perhaps he hoped she’d beg him to join them?
‘That’s a shame.’
She secretly thought it would be a big relief if he stayed behind, but then guilt got the better of her and she berated herself for being mean.
‘I’ll bring you a glass of water,’ she said, more kindly. ‘They say you should drink lots if you have sunburn.’
Her newly conciliatory tone instantly perked him up.
‘Thank you for looking after me so well.’
He reached out and took her hand, giving it an unwelcome squeeze.
Goose bumps ran up and down her back and arms. She glanced at him sharply before snatching her hand away.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, turning on her heel and hurrying to the door.
Hector was in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. It was the first time she’d seen him today. He looked as if he’d just got out of bed with knotty hair, a scraggy beard and bare chest. Down below, he was in the black jeans he’d worn all week and she wondered if he ever took them off.
He grunted when she said hello but didn’t look up.
He seemed to have removed the entire contents of the fridge and sprayed crumbs all over the worktop and floor, but she didn’t comment.
‘Pass me the water, will you?’ she asked, and he handed over the bottle. After filling a glass, she went back upstairs and put it on the table by Jon’s bed.
‘I’m going for a swim,’ she said, giving him no opportunity to respond. ‘I haven’t had one yet. And by the way, I won’t be around for the rest of the afternoon. I need some peace and quiet. I’m off to read my book by the pool.’