Chapter 14
The following day, we had the morning free to ‘find a place that thrills you,’ as Jillian put it, and then at three o’clock we were due to go to the much-anticipated wine-tasting experience.
Beryl and Effie decided the place that thrilled them most that morning was the roof terrace where they were planning on sketching the view while Costas made them endless cups of coffee and brought them plates of Nina’s baklava at regular intervals.
Anita and I decided to go down to the little harbour where we found a café where there were comfortable chairs and charming waiters who didn’t seem to mind us hanging around for two hours.
Anita did a few rough sketches of a fishing boat, while I drank coffee and closed my eyes against the sunshine, which gradually peeked out from under the shade of the yellow parasols.
I didn’t think I had been this comfortable within myself for months.
And I was contented, right through to my bones, with a gentle breeze from the sea, the restful sounds of the water and lazy chatter of the few people who were about.
Why couldn’t life be like that all the time?
Were all the people around me just generally cheerful and it was all a coincidence that we had come here at the same time?
That man with the two teenage sons, the woman with her toddler in a stroller, that family eating ice cream; all of them looked happy.
Perhaps it was easier to be content in a warmer climate.
But that couldn’t be the sole reason. So what was it?
‘You look very relaxed,’ Anita said, looking up from her sketch pad, ‘more so than I’ve ever seen you.’
‘I like it here. I’m so glad I came,’ I said. ‘The hotel, the company, the food; it’s all lovely.’
‘And Will?’ she asked, giving me a sly look. ‘You two are getting along famously, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,’ I said, feeling myself blush.
‘I can tell,’ she said, making some sweeping strokes of her pencil over the paper. ‘It was just the same with Sophia when we went to Rhodes, and she met Theo. A sort of sparkle between them. It was very sweet to watch.’
‘And what happened?’
‘She sold her house and bought one in Rhodes. You could do that reasonably easily back then, and they are still together.’
‘Well, obviously that’s not happening,’ I said with a little laugh, ‘but I do like him. And I’m curious about him, he gives so little away.’
‘I expect he wants to put his past behind him, all things considered.’
‘What things?’ I said, rather sharply.
‘Well, his days as Doctor Bill on that awful morning television programme. Didn’t you recognise him? I knew I remembered him from somewhere,’ Anita said. ‘I like what I’ve done here. I might even have a go at doing a watercolour wash when I get back to the hotel.’
‘I thought I was the only one who realised who he was,’ I said.
‘You didn’t say anything.’
‘Well, nor did you! And I didn’t watch that programme much, because Malcolm didn’t approve of it. So what do you know about him?’
‘Who, Malcolm?’
‘No, Doctor Bill of course, don’t be daft.’
Anita shrugged. ‘Only that he was everywhere once upon a time, and then there was that business with his wife—’
I sat up, alert to find out more.
‘What business?’
‘Golly, where have you been hiding? Don’t you remember?
She ran off with that bloke, the one in that thing.
That pop group. You know who I mean; nasty little mouth, and didn’t seem to own a hairbrush, thought he was God’s gift.
He was always in the papers coming out of nightclubs with some twiglet young enough to be his daughter.
Benjamin something. Barker? Ben Johnson?
No, he was an athlete, wasn’t he. Benjamin Franklin? No it can’t have been him. Um… um…’
‘And then what happened?’ I said rather breathlessly.
‘I think he just gave it all up and left. I hadn’t heard anything about Doctor Bill for years and then he pops up here.
There was no mistaking that jawline and those eyes.
Beryl and Effie had never heard of him, so they weren’t that interested when I told them.
Look, if you’re that concerned, why don’t you ask him? ’
‘I’m not. And I couldn’t,’ I said.
‘Why not? It’s not as though you’re asking for his autograph across your bosom like they used to.
I suppose those were the days before social media, and the newspapers actually published the news back then, and didn’t fill their column inches with celebrity gossip and pictures of girls in bikinis with – what do they insist on calling them?
– pert derrières. Can you catch the waiter’s eye next time he goes past? I’d like some more coffee.’
I thought about this for a while. Wondering what it would have been like for Will back then.
Did he enjoy the fame or did he find it a burden?
Did he still have a lot of famous people for friends?
Did that make us rather boring as a result?
He evidently didn’t want his past life to be brought up again and discussed.
He had been so considerate when I made a fool of myself falling over that evening; perhaps I should show the same sort of discretion.
‘Can we not talk about this to the others?’ I said. ‘If he has spent such a long time avoiding being noticed, perhaps we should respect that?’
‘If you like,’ Anita said with a shrug, ‘although it’s been such a long time.’
* * *
I thought about it a great deal that morning.
In fact, it was so much on my mind that I was quite surprised when we were joined just before one o’clock by Beryl and Effie, who had been wandering around the town buying souvenirs and exploring the many little churches in the town and were now looking for a snack.
‘Do you know there are over a thousand churches on this island alone,’ Effie said as she settled down to read the menu.
‘That’s about one for every twenty people who live here.
The curator of one of them told us people used to build them to celebrate their favourite saint.
And on the saint’s day, the family had to hold a panigyri and invite all their relatives and the neighbours. It must have cost them a fortune.’
‘I was told that people built them because a church doesn’t have to pay the electricity company to connect them. And then after a while they quietly add on a house,’ Beryl said.
‘Yes, that makes sense.’ I nodded. ‘You wouldn’t get away with that in Lower Begley.’
‘Nor would you get grilled Halloumi with fresh pomegranate seeds,’ Anita said, looking at the menu. ‘I’m definitely having that. And some water. Absolutely definitely no wine.’
‘I wonder how my daughter is getting on at home,’ I said after our order had been taken. ‘She says her library might be closed at the end of the year. It’s such a shame; they are doing all they can to get people in and it’s always busy when I go there. I don’t understand it.’
Beryl nodded. ‘You know what Albert Einstein said. “The only thing you absolutely have to know is the location of the library.” And he didn’t do too badly, did he? Before the internet, people used to think the cause of stupidity was lack of access to information; well, now we know it wasn’t that.’
‘You need someone with influence, the mayor or the local MP or something. To take a stand,’ Anita said.
‘I don’t think either of them would lift a finger,’ I said, ‘and I don’t actually know either of them.
I see the mayor in the paper occasionally, giving awards to local businessmen.
And there was a television crew in Begley Mortimer not long ago, filming an episode of the Antiques Roadshow, and he was there, centre stage, in his robes. Other than that—’
‘A protest march then?’ Effie said.
‘You know society is seriously messed up if librarians start marching,’ Beryl snorted, ‘and people today just seem to find out things on their phones rather than books.’
I held up an admonishing finger. ‘Nicky says a good librarian can find something more accurately than a search engine.’
‘You’re right. Ah, here comes our food. Gosh, do we really need more to eat?’ Effie said. ‘My trousers are getting tighter by the day.’
‘We have specially selected snacks to go with the wine tasting later,’ I said, ‘which means we will fall out of the place absolutely stuffed.’
‘I bet it won’t be a beige buffet either,’ Beryl said. ‘I’ve not seen a sausage roll since I arrived here.’
* * *
We returned to Hotel Costas just after one thirty to find Susan and June, wearing almost matching sundresses, already sitting outside waiting for the minibus.
‘I hate being late for anything,’ June said. ‘It’s genetic. I can’t help myself. I’d rather be an hour early than a minute late for something.’
‘Me too,’ Susan agreed. ‘If I say I’ll be somewhere at nine o’clock and I’m late, you’ll know I’ve had an accident. I’d probably be lying on the kitchen floor unconscious.’
‘Or your car will have had a puncture.’ June nodded.
‘Or I’ve had a stroke, or burglars have broken in and are holding me hostage.’
‘Have any of these things ever happened to you?’ I asked.
‘No, but it happens all the time in Los Angeles. I watch that series. And the one in New Orleans. Drug cartels and men with guns all over the place. It’s very worrying, to think they might come to Lower Begley, looking for drug donkeys.’
‘I think it’s drug mules,’ June said. ‘I always worry when I go through security that I’m going to be searched for cocaine.
I’d be hopeless with a lie detector. My pulse rate rockets at the sight of sniffer dogs in case they mistake my perfume for something else.
My husband bought me Opium perfume in duty-free once; I didn’t dare use it.
And I’m just as bad with traffic wardens. ’
Beryl snorted. ‘I don’t need any drugs. At my age I can get the same effect just standing up too quickly.’