Chapter 1 #2
Edie was super proud of Amina but also knew she was vulnerable. She felt quite maternal towards her and sometimes had to stop herself clucking round her like a mother hen.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Amina said suddenly, moving to one side to let another teacher enter the room.
Edie raised her eyebrows. ‘Of course. Anything.’
Amina explained she was having trouble filling in one of the many university forms, some of which had changed in the past year. She had to do it all by herself as neither of her parents spoke much English.
Edie offered to stay behind after school the next day to go over things with her.
‘They’re absolute pigs, those forms. As you know, I had to help my kids do theirs. I should find it easier third time round.’ She made a face. ‘Famous last words, perhaps.’
Amina laughed.
‘Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.’
The afternoon went quickly and Edie had a spring in her step when she left the school building, clutching a canvas bag stuffed with Year Seven essays to be marked.
It was dark outside but at least it had stopped raining. Her black VW was in the staff car park at the back of the school and she waited for another car to leave before pulling out.
It was only a twenty-minute drive through the winding Surrey lanes to her village outside Guildford, and she found herself reflecting on how much longer her commute might have been if she and Ralph had stayed in London.
They’d decided to move when Maisie was six and Ollie four, wanting them to have more space and freedom. The children loved the area when they were young but had complained as teenagers, because everything was so spread out.
As soon as they were old enough to drive, however, their parents had helped buy each of them a second-hand car and the moaning had stopped.
Overall, Edie thought, she and Ralph had made the right call. It was a relief not to have to deal with London traffic, road cameras and 20mph speed zones.
Here, they could hear birds tweeting and were surrounded by gorgeous countryside. She sometimes hankered after West End shops, theatres and restaurants, but not the crowds.
Cobbler’s Cottage was in a row of cosy-looking, detached Victorian homes set back from the lane and facing a common. The double-fronted, red-brick property had a smallish front garden surrounded by a white picket fence and filled with neatly trimmed shrubs.
There were white-painted plantation shutters on all the windows and in summer, pink roses rambled over the triangular-shaped porch canopy. Beneath it, the blue-black front door, with its heavy iron, horseshoe-shaped knocker, seemed to beckon to you.
‘Come in!’ it seemed to say. ‘You’ll be sure of a warm welcome here!’
Edie pulled into a special bay, cut into the grass verge just across from her gate, and turned off the ignition.
The hall light was on but the rest of the house was in darkness. She guessed Ralph was still in his garden office out back. As she walked up the front path she could hear Dilly, their Border Terrier, yapping wildly on the other side of the door.
‘Shh, Dilly! Be quiet. It’s only me,’ Edie whisper-shouted while she fiddled with the key in the lock. You had to use a special knack, or it wouldn’t turn properly.
The yaps morphed into ear-piercing squeals and Edie hoped she wouldn’t find a puddle on the floor. When she opened the door at last, Dilly hurtled out, running rings round her heels before jumping up and scratching her calves with sharp little claws.
‘Ouch!’ Edie plonked the heavy bag of school books on the ground and bent down to pat the dog’s head and stroke her soft, pointy ears. ‘I must remember to make an appointment with the groomer.’
Dilly rolled on her back to expose her round, pink tummy.
‘Soppy dog,’ Edie cooed, giving her a tickle. ‘Now, out of my way. I need to get in the house.’
Once inside, she abandoned her big bag at the foot of the stairs and strolled down the narrow hallway. She could hear the dog’s nails tap-tapping on the wooden floor as it trotted after her.
Flicking on the overhead spots in the kitchen, Edie blinked several times in the bright light. It wasn’t long before her eyes adjusted, and she made a beeline for the kettle.
‘A nice cup of tea is what we need, isn’t it, Dilly?’ she said, glancing at the dog at her feet while turning on the tap.
With some satisfaction, she reached for her favourite blue-and-white-striped mug, neatly placed in one of the sage green, Shaker-style cupboards.
The kitchen never ceased to give pleasure; they’d saved up for ages and it had only been finished eighteen months ago. Everything in it had been carefully chosen, from the antique brushed brass taps and handles to the polished concrete floor.
After popping a bag of Yorkshire Gold into the mug and filling it up with boiling water, she turned to the oak-topped island in the middle of the room.
It was virtually crumb-free, but she gave it a quick wipe anyway, and it was only now she noticed a note poking out from beneath the rough, blue ceramic fruit bowl sitting on top, which she loved. It had been made for her by a potter friend.
The handwriting was Ralph’s. Glancing out of the glass doors into the garden, she realised his office was in darkness. He was out then. Surprising. He normally worked till about 7p.m.
Afterwards, they’d have supper together, then she’d do her marking while he, well… He usually sloped back to his office and read or listened to music. Or he’d watch TV in the sitting room with the door shut, so as not to disturb her.
She went back to the note and read it quickly.
Hi hon, hope today was OK. Gone to golf lesson. I’ll have a bite in the pub with Peter after. Might be late! Don’t wait up xx
Peter was his best local mate. A bit of a boozer, so they’d no doubt hang about till closing time. Had Ralph told her he was taking golf lessons? She didn’t think so. But why would he? Pilates with the girls was more her thing.
A nasty niggle in her stomach made her pause. When did they stop telling each other stuff? After the children came along? It couldn’t have been that long ago; she and Ralph were a team back then.
True, he’d never been a big talker and she’d sometimes wished he’d open up about his feelings more. But it hadn’t seemed to matter much when they first met because they were so much in love and lust that in her eyes, he could do no wrong.
Later, once they had kids, they were just so busy getting by, she barely thought about it, and they were certainly good at divvying up the tasks so family life ran smoothly.
Maybe the cracks began to show once the kids became more independent, Edie mused. He’d set up his own, one-man publishing business and started working from home about eight years ago, when Maisie was fifteen. That was when they’d installed the garden office, aka his man cave.
It soon became his favourite place in the world and he often went in there just to chill. This used not to bother her; after all, she was usually busy with work and the children anyway.
But now Maisie had moved out and Ollie was at university, the house felt empty. Edie hadn’t realised quite how big a presence they’d both been, Ollie, in particular.
She used to like nothing more than having a full table, and his mates would drop by a lot. She’d whip up huge bowls of pasta for them all, or a giant chilli con carne, and listen in on their chat.
It was Ralph who’d driven Ollie to university for his first term and Edie had wept bitterly when she’d said goodbye; she couldn’t help it.
‘I’ll be back soon, Mum,’ Ollie had said, giving her a big hug and kissing her on the cheek before pulling away.
‘I know.’
Edie had wiped her eyes and managed a smile. She didn’t want to make him feel sad or guilty; it wouldn’t be fair.
‘Just think – no more smelly sports kit or filthy rugby boots to trip over,’ he’d added, with a laugh. ‘You and Dad can do whatever you want. Why don’t you book a weekend away? You’ve always said you want to explore the Lake District. Why don’t you go there?’
‘Good idea,’ she’d replied, acting keen. But in truth, she couldn’t muster any real enthusiasm. It would probably rain every day and the prospect of being holed up with Ralph in some typically shabby UK hotel or guest house was, frankly, unappealing. What on earth would they talk about?
Ralph must have missed their son, too. They used to go fishing at the weekend and watch footy on TV. He and Edie had never talked about their new situation. Perhaps they both found the subject too painful.
Dilly was scratching on the bifold door so Edie let her out into the garden.
It was just after 6p.m., too early for supper.
Picking up her mug of tea, handbag and an open packet of shortbread biscuits, she strolled over to the squashy cream armchair in the corner and sat down, kicking off her shoes and curling up her legs underneath.
‘Right,’ she said to herself, placing her mug on the floor and reaching for the phone in her bag. ‘Time for some research.’
Soon, she was lost in features and travel blogs about Crete, its history, food and culture, as well as the best areas to visit. She remembered she and Ralph had been to the north side of the island on their honeymoon, so this time she focused on the south.
Nowhere seemed too far from either of the two international airports, but she couldn’t decide which towns or villages to home in on.
Idly, she typed, ‘luxurious peaceful villa to rent in southern Crete, near sea, own swimming pool’.
Expecting the search engine to throw up a raft of links to suitable rental companies, to her surprise, the very first name that came up was that of a single establishment – Villa Ariadne.
Curiously, the description contained the exact same keywords she’d used. It even claimed it was perfect for two couples, though it could sleep up to five people.
She clicked on the website link and was taken straight to the home page.
The pale blue font looked old-fashioned and the photographs were grainy, leaving her to suspect the site hadn’t been updated for some time.
However, the outside of the house looked very appealing, with a grand yet welcoming facade and an avenue of olive trees leading up to it.
And the blurb, written by the housekeeper, was really rather charming.
Katerina Papadakis welcomes you to the magic of Villa Ariadne and Porto Liakáda. No roads, no cars, no mopeds. You will arrive here by ferry from Chora Sfakion, fifteen minutes away, and immediately feel as if you have left behind the stresses of the modern world.
Villa Ariadne is a historic jewel. Built by the Venetians, sections date back to the fifteenth century. While retaining many traditional features, however, it has been lovingly updated to create a modern, luxurious yet laid-back and uniquely calming home.
Everywhere you look, there is some piece of art, pottery or sculpture to delight tired eyes and soothe weary souls and senses.
Everywhere you go, you will be able to lose yourself in nature, whether in the mountains, by the coast, in the azure Libyan Sea, or just at home in the villa’s gardens, filled with aromatic flowers and trees.
The villa is set high up in the White Mountains overlooking Porto Liakáda, where discos and clubs don’t exist, just a few quiet bars and restaurants by the beautiful bay.
Night life is you, your conversation, your next drink, as you gaze up at the night sky and feel yourself start to reconnect with what really matters in life…
Edie thought it could have been written just for her; it was uncanny. It was almost as if someone or something out there knew she was feeling sad and wanted to reconnect with her husband, but didn’t know how.
Quickly scrolling through the photo gallery, she found herself impressed with everything the villa had to offer: the large, airy bedrooms, some with sea views; the modern bathrooms and kitchen; the spacious dining room; interesting artwork; and most of all, the pool and lush green garden, filled with brightly coloured flowers.
Tucked away in a private stone courtyard, there was even a square-shaped plunge pool, decorated with beautiful blue and white mosaics. Edie could already picture herself with her nose in a book, cooling off in the crystal-clear water.
On the third and final website page, there was a lot of information on things to do and see around Porto Liakáda. There were no reviews of Villa Ariadne, however, and she couldn’t see anything about the price.
The only way of finding out was to email Mrs Papadakis. Edie suspected the house would be taken already and even it was free on the dates she asked for, it would probably be far too expensive. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained…
‘ Dear Mrs Papadakis ,’ she typed, before going on to explain what she wanted and asking how much it would cost.
She was about to sign off when something made her hesitate.
‘My husband and I had a dreamy honeymoon in Crete many years ago,’ she quickly typed, ‘but we haven’t been back since. Now our children are all grown up, I’d love to try to recreate some of those happy memories and maybe even recapture some romance!
‘I look forward to hearing from you.
‘All very best, Edie Lovell.’
Swiftly, she reread what she’d written and wondered if she should delete the final paragraph.
Perhaps it sounded too personal and odd.
After all, most couples seeking a romantic holiday wouldn’t invite their friends, too.
Mrs Papadakis had no idea Edie wanted Hannah and Mac as a buffer, in case the silence between her and Ralph became deafening, the atmosphere between them unbearably chilly.
There again, it was unlikely the villa would be available anyway, so why waste time fretting about what the woman might or might not think?
She pressed send and waited to hear the satisfying whoosh as the email went on its way. It was done.
Her tummy fluttered. Crete, the birthplace of Zeus, king of the gods, and also El Greco, the Renaissance painter. The centre of Europe’s first advanced civilisation and home of the fearsome half man, half bull, the Minotaur.
A place of rocks, mountains, deep gorges, pebbly beaches and secret coves with soft, golden sand. In other words, a land of contrasts.
It could be exactly what she needed.