Chapter 3
HOTEL MARGARITáRI, AVLAKI, CORFU
‘Look at that one! He has to be ten years old and he wears cushions on his arms to swim!’
The only thing that was swimming for Faye right now were these figures in front of her eyes on a spreadsheet she couldn’t get to add up.
She had had to learn everything about running a hotel from the bottom up but there were some skills she had picked up more quickly than others – numberwork was not one of them.
And she wouldn’t be looking at the rows and columns, sitting in the outside bar area with Katerina pointing out everything she found off-putting about their guests, if she hadn’t had to fix an issue with the glasswasher.
And ‘fix’ was a very loose term – turning it off and back on again had solved the immediate crisis – but Faye knew she was going to have to call the plumber out.
One thing she did have a diploma in was knowing when you call in an expert.
‘Look! See how he almost drowns even with the water cushions!’
Faye took off her reading glasses and put them down on the countertop. ‘Katerina, what have I said about saying things about the guests? It’s unprofessional and they are our bread and butter.’
‘They are our what?’
‘Psomi. Voutiro. Never mind. It means they pay the bills, your wages, my wages and their happiness is paramount. Important. Simandikos.’
Katerina tutted. ‘You worry too much, Faye. The boy is too busy trying not to drown to hear anything but the water glugging in his ears.’
Now Faye did look towards the pool, dipped her vision beneath the row of blue parasols fluttering gently at their edges.
The boy did seem to be putting in a lot of effort for someone who was also wearing armbands and the last thing she needed – after last night’s grasshopper ‘ambush’ outside room twenty-two which she’d had to document in triplicate – was a potential drowning.
‘You see him now?’ Katerina asked, polishing a glass with a cloth and putting it back on the shelf. ‘You understand that my comments are only because of my deep concern for our valued customers.’
She smiled at Katerina’s sarcasm. Despite her incessant talking and humour verging on out-and-out discourtesy, Faye liked Katerina a great deal and the young woman was her most reliable employee. ‘I understand.’
‘So, now you will tell me who is coming to stay in the penthouse suite tomorrow? Because the whole of Kassiopi is talking about it.’
‘What?’ Faye said, picking up her glasses and putting them on top of her head.
‘There are many rumours that it is someone very, very famous, but my favourite one, the one I want to believe, is that it is Christoforos Papakaliatis.’
Faye’s heart lurched. She knew who that was.
The lead actor from Maestro in Blue. She’d devoured every episode of that series.
It was everything she adored about Greece, together with all the harsh realities that were often overlooked in portrayals of the country.
She also knew Dimitria had watched it – they’d watched some episodes together.
Was the actor really coming here? It wasn’t out of the question.
The show had been filmed mainly in neighbouring island, Paxos, but parts of it had been shot on Corfu.
‘It’s him!’ Katerina gasped, hands going to either side of her face. ‘I see from your expression! You must never play poker with anyone at the cafeneon.’
‘What? No.’ Faye mentally regrouped. ‘I mean, I don’t know who is staying here.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ Katerina asked, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You are the manager and how am I supposed to interrogate you for information if you have no information to give?’
‘Well, I suppose I could be lying.’
Katerina laughed out loud. ‘Did you not hear me about your poker face?’
And Faye couldn’t help but still feel a bit disgruntled about being kept out of the loop by Dimitria if this was the kind of guest they were expecting.
Perhaps she should ask the owner more directly now there was gossip circulating.
As much as Dimitria loved to gossip herself, she definitely didn’t like being gossiped about.
‘So, we need to interrogate Dimitria,’ Katerina stated. ‘Teamwork.’
‘I am not interrogating anyone when we will have the answer soon enough when he arrives tomorrow,’ Faye stated, eyes returning to her numbers conundrum.
‘So, it is a “he”,’ Katerina said, eyes wide. ‘And he comes tomorrow.’
Faye smiled at Katerina going down the same detective path she had. ‘And that is all I know.’
‘Well, all I know is, if it is Christoforos Papakaliatis, I am going to be first in line for room service.’
‘Katerina, you have never worked room service.’
‘Then it is definitely time I start,’ Katerina said, picking up the cloth again and beginning to polish another glass. ‘Let me bring him the stuffed squid and see what he does with the creamy white sauce.’
‘Katerina!’
‘What?’
Faye shook her head at her staff member, smiling. She wasn’t sure she would know what to do with anyone’s creamy white sauce it had been so tragically long. Or, actually, in the case of her brief encounter with Makis, the rep for the ice cream company, tragically short…
‘Or, perhaps,’ Katerina continued, ‘we both just stand here and wait for the red-skinned English boy to either drown or run out of air from all the screaming.’
‘Or,’ Faye said, ‘we actually both get on with our jobs? The ones we are paid to do.’
‘Ugh, so boring,’ Katerina groaned. ‘And, just know, I will run away the first opportunity I get. Maybe with Christoforos or maybe I will be saved by a nice rich man with a yacht. If he comes a little closer to the shore and doesn’t ground it.’
So much for thinking Katerina was reliable. Faye looked up from the paperwork. ‘Katerina, you are a beautiful woman, a strong and intelligent, funny woman, and you have your whole life in front of you. You don’t need to be “saved” by a man. Any man.’
‘I know I do not need to be saved by a man,’ Katerina answered. ‘Perhaps I want to be. Or, you know… held hostage for a few days and spoon-fed taramasalata.’
Faye shook her head. ‘Want my advice as a strong, independent woman?’
‘You are going to tell me anyway so OK.’
‘Hold yourself hostage,’ Faye said. ‘Shut your bedroom door, put away your phone, sit on that beautiful balcony you have, gaze out at the view of the olive grove and spoon-feed yourself taramasalata.’
She sighed as her mind drifted back to that very first evening she had arrived back on the island as a fully-fledged divorcee.
During the relationship collapse her trips to the island had gone from a couple of weeks here and there to longer periods, months at a time, where she began to feel more resident and less tourist. There were no holidaymaker transfer buses from the airport any more; there was a taxi or a hire car until she had eventually purchased the Panda.
And the apartment Dimitria had found for her to rent from that first night was as basic as they came – one room with a single bed, small table and kitchenette, the tiniest of shower rooms – but it had a balcony overlooking a patch of land containing lemon trees and half-a-dozen stray cats dozing in the shade.
And, as fragrant as the scent of those lemons were to wake up to, the main thing Faye had smelt was undeniable freedom.
‘OK,’ Katerina said after a few seconds had ticked by. ‘I hear you.’
‘Good.’
‘But you should also remember that sometimes it is fun to share things, even if you are a strong, independent woman. You know, taramasalata, sokoláta, bodily fluids…’
‘OK, I’m taking these spreadsheets back to the office,’ Faye said, gathering up her paperwork. ‘Let me know about the glasswasher, and no more rude staring at that boy in the pool.’ She headed out from behind the bar.
‘I am literally doing the lifeguard’s job for him! I should get his wages at the end of this week!’
Faye waved a hand in the air and walked back through the grounds towards the main building.