Chapter 9
‘Egg?’ Kostas asked, offering Faye the plate where he had four of them sat together next to feta cheese, olives, tomatoes and hunks of bread.
There were also strawberries. It wasn’t often he ate breakfast but this morning, waking up to the sunshine, blue sky, the smell of countryside not city, it had made him want to embrace these new beginnings on this island.
That was, after all, exactly what he was here for.
‘No, thank you,’ she replied.
‘I have ordered coffee. Katerina is bringing it out to us. I didn’t know if you liked sugar and milk so I asked for everything.’
‘You don’t know that I like coffee either.’
He laughed. ‘You live in Greece. Everyone likes coffee here.’
She smiled. ‘That’s a fair point. However, apparently a vast number of people also like basketball and I’m not one of them. So, apologies, I had no idea who you were when you arrived.’
Having peeled the shell off one of the eggs, he bit into it. ‘And what do you know now?’
‘That there is a statue of you in Corfu Town.’
He laughed. ‘You mean you have not paid homage to it when you have visited? Not draped a scarf of my team around my bronzed neck? Not taken a photograph? Not taken a photograph of your dog pissing up against it because you support a rival team?’
‘Ugh, God, has someone really done that?’ Faye asked.
He nodded. ‘I don’t care. Because if I cared it would mean I care about the statue and I don’t.’
‘It’s an honour though, isn’t it?’
‘To have someone make an image of you for people to see? Don’t people do that all the time on social media? What difference is it?’
He swallowed. The mouthful of egg and his nerve. He was saying too much. He needed to be more indifferent in these situations. The only talking he should be doing was asking questions, sussing out who he could get on his side here for the project and who would need paying off to make things happen.
‘I apologise,’ he said fast. ‘It is… a privacy thing. You understand?’
She nodded. ‘Oh yes, I understand, obviously. People beg to make statues of me all the time. I can’t tell you how many cities have made the request and I keep saying I just don’t have time to pose for the artist.’
Why was he now doing another full visual reconnaissance of her body like he had last night? He cleared his throat. He was not eating any more egg.
‘So, you want me to show you the local area?’ Faye asked him. ‘Even though you are from the island?’
‘I am not from here,’ he said firmly. ‘I was born here. That is all. I went to school here, for a short time, I visited some summers but not for many years. I need a refresh. To see what has changed.’
Faye laughed now. ‘What’s changed? Possibly only the traffic lights. There’s no new shopping mall in Acharavi or anything.’
‘No?’ This was good. He had plans for a small mall of designer shops in his complex – but for his guests, not for the locals.
‘Although I did get excited when the supermarket started stocking air-fryers.’
Kostas thumped his chest. ‘Wait, you will give me a cardiac arrest with this revolutionary talk. Stop.’
‘So, you’re not here for a holiday?’
He smiled. ‘I did not say that.’
‘But you want to see what’s changed since you were last here. That doesn’t sound like someone ready to grab an inflatable unicorn and head to the beach.’
‘Do you use an inflatable unicorn, Faye?’
Why had that sounded like a euphemism? As his mouth dried up faster than a spilt drink on Greek paving in summer sunshine, she smiled.
‘Only at the weekends.’
He laughed, more to cover the fact he seemed to be ludicrously horny right now than anything else. ‘And the other days?’
‘Can you swim?’
‘Are you serious? When you are born here they throw you into the sea and if you survive you are allowed to be Greek Orthodox.’
Faye shook her head. ‘They do not do that.’
‘You mean it was just my family?’ he asked, sitting back in his chair. ‘Wow.’
‘OK,’ Faye said, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. ‘Enjoy your breakfast. I have work to do.’
‘Wait.’ He reached out on instinct and somehow found her hand. A mere millisecond passed but somehow that was enough for every nerve ending he possessed to suddenly catch on fire. What the fuck was happening? He withdrew. ‘Signómi.’ Sorry. What was he apologising for?
‘Dhen birazi.’ It doesn’t matter. What didn’t matter? Her frankly tiny delicate hand in his, igniting his palm and sending heat everywhere else?
‘I mean,’ Kostas began again, trying to regroup, ‘I should be clear. The purpose of my trip means that I would like to combine seeing the local sites and relaxing and obviously there is a small business element too and—’
‘No family?’ she asked.
He was thrown by the question but only for a second. ‘No.’ There was no reason to elaborate but she wasn’t saying anything else, seconds elongating until:
‘I will make some time this afternoon. Say three o’clock?’
He nodded. ‘That works. So, where are we going?’
‘Obviously to buy an air fryer.’ She waved a hand. ‘Ta léme. See you.’