Chapter 12
KERASIA
What was he doing here? Kostas had stopped the motorbike in a space on the beach under the trees.
He had asked Faye to show him the locale and now he had taken her to the very spot he swore he wouldn’t come to.
Yes, this village was less than five kilometres from Avlaki and his plans, far enough away and, yet, close enough to make a statement.
Except his eyes were already straying to those trees at the end of the beach, knowing exactly what lay behind…
‘Could you… Sorry, I…’
He turned back to the bike. He had made Faye get off, parked, got off himself and looked to the trees. Faye was still there, hands around the helmet like she was struggling.
‘Signómi,’ he said, stepping up to her. He felt for the strap under her chin and pinched it to open.
Then he pulled the helmet off her head. He smiled.
She had a strand of her hair in her mouth and before he had even thought it through, he had swept it out and away.
His finger brushed her lip and an unfamiliar sensation hit him. What the hell was that?
‘Thank you,’ Faye answered politely. ‘So, is this where you want to eat?’ She took a few steps towards the beach while he put the helmet on the bike.
‘You do not like it here? It is not your paradise of Avlaki.’
It wasn’t unlike Avlaki in many ways. The beach was white pebbles, the water crystal clear, but here it was like the place had been dropped amid the greenery, undiscoverable until you reached it from the steep incline of the road or arrived by boat.
‘Oh, no. I do like it here. Very much,’ Faye answered.
‘But?’
‘There’s no “but”,’ she said. Then: ‘Not really.’
‘So, tell me the “not really”.’ Why had he asked that?
Because he needed her to trust him. If Faye trusted him then he believed she was the type of person to be able to make others trust him.
He just needed the right people to be on board with his plans and his money could do the rest of the talking.
He watched her stance, her shoulders tight, her breathing a little unrelaxed. There was a story here.
‘It’s nothing,’ she answered quickly. ‘Something from years ago. An argument over money. Sunburn. Lots of accusations about not very much at all in the grand scheme of things.’
‘Family,’ he stated with confidence.
‘Yes.’
‘Always making you feel guilty for your choices, am I right?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to say that exactly but—’
‘Did you want to order gyros? And someone suggested that really the grill room is the only place you should eat it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But that is true.’
‘OK, so who got sunburn?’
‘My daughter.’
‘You have a daughter. How old? She is here with you in Corfu?’
‘She’s nineteen and, no, she lives in England. And even at that age she’s as bad at putting suncream on now as she was back then.’ She turned around and faced him. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘You say that like it is a bad thing.’
‘I haven’t worked out quite what your visit is for yet so I’m going to reserve judgement.’
He held his nerve. Was she suspicious of him? Perhaps he needed to up the charm a little. If he was honest, charming people didn’t come naturally to him. But he had learned over the years it was something that could get you a long way if deployed accurately.
‘Will you trust me to order good food at the taverna?’ he asked, nudging her arm with his.
‘Absolutely not. It’s not just family who can try to influence your decisions and I make all my own choices now.’
There was more than determination in her tone; it sounded like there was fire in her belly. And that intrigued him. Why?
‘OK,’ he stated, beginning to walk towards the taverna at the start of the beach. ‘So, I am in your hands. You order for us both.’
* * *
Faye hadn’t hesitated. She knew what she wanted to order here. Fresh mussels and swordfish, pasta and salad. And Kostas hadn’t flinched, hadn’t added to the order, hadn’t taken away, hadn’t asked if they definitely had mustard like Matthew would have…
And the guy ate with passion. She watched him, snapping open the shells of the mussels, forking spaghetti into his mouth and not caring about sucking up the strands, talking as he ate, topping up her water glass without asking or waiting for permission.
They were still eating now, but slower, grazing over what was left.
‘So, you think now I have explained to you the rules of basketball you would watch a game?’ he asked her, tearing a piece of bread and dipping it in olive oil.
‘There are many rules. I’m not sure I understand them all.’
‘It is easier to pick up when you watch so… would you?’
‘On TV or in an arena?’ Faye asked.
‘Oh, OK, Faye, you want to watch it live now? I must have explained it very well.’
‘I might just about be able to figure out when to clap,’ she admitted. ‘So, do you still play? Is that your full-time job?’
She swallowed. She knew he didn’t play. Had heard everything Katerina had said about his injury and the attack, but she wanted to see how Kostas reacted to the question.
‘I still play,’ he answered. ‘With the kids in my neighbourhood. They are the only ones I can still beat. So, no, it is no longer my job but, you know, having had the job for a while there are many opportunities still for me.’
‘Like?’
‘Like I get to still go to arenas and I get paid to make commentary on the matches.’ He ate some more bread. ‘I do some modelling. Do not laugh.’
She wasn’t laughing. She could totally see how his face, his stature, his nature would sell things. Lots of things. Cars. Jewellery. Bedding.
‘But the opportunities I like best,’ he continued, ‘are those that let me meet new people, you know.’
She laughed. ‘I thought you made your feelings about people clear last night.’
‘And I do not take my comments back,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I really mean getting the chance to enter different areas of life through connections.’
‘With talk like that it sounds like you’re hoping to go into politics.’
‘Ha! The people that really know politics are the guys sitting in the cafeneon every night, you know this.’
‘That’s true,’ she answered, nodding.
‘So, Faye, tell me, what are you hoping to get into?’
She looked up from her plate and met his straight expression.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘I mean, you like your job working at the hotel dealing with people like me?’
‘I love my job,’ Faye said straightaway.
‘And I don’t “deal” with people. I hope that I take care of them.
’ The sentence had come out strong, heartfelt.
Perhaps a little too emotional. She needed to say something else.
‘Well, you know, I try. But sometimes there are customers who really push my buttons.’
Not that. Why had she said that?
‘The twenty-four-hour demands for fruit,’ he said.
‘The alleged near drowning of Gregory,’ Faye said with a sigh. She took a sip of white wine she definitely shouldn’t be drinking when she was working.
‘But don’t you have bigger ambitions?’ Kostas asked.
‘Like what? World domination? Being besties with Kris Jenner? Olympic gold medal for customer service?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kostas said. ‘You tell me.’
She nodded, cradling her glass. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you want to know?’
‘Ah, you are guarded over your future plans,’ Kostas said, smiling. ‘That is not a bad way to be. It means no one can judge you or make comment on your progress, your success or failure.’
‘I asked why you wanted to know. I’m not guarded about my future plans, but you’ve just told me why you are.’
He leaned back in his seat that backed onto the sea view and spread his arms wide. ‘I am an open book, Faye. You ask me whatever you want to know and I will tell you something.’
Her brain was firing on all cylinders now. Should she ask about his business here? The ‘incident’ that led to the end of his career? If he really was a millionaire like Katerina had said?
‘You said you don’t have any family but Dimitria said she knew your mother so—’
‘That isn’t a question,’ he answered quickly. ‘And everyone has a mother. That is how we get here, no? Ask me something else.’
‘You said I could ask you whatever I wanted to know.’
‘My mother died. I have no siblings. I focussed on my career. Here we are.’
‘Now who’s being guarded?’
The instant Faye said the words she wanted to pull them back into her mouth. She watched his demeanour switch up. That open spread of body and arms tightened, hardened, and his expression altered like a huge dark cloud eclipsing the sun. He was a VIP customer. She was overstepping here.
Kostas got to his feet, taut, angry. ‘So, we are the same. We have discovered something about each other. My family is non-existent and you want to spend the rest of your life working in a mediocre hotel wishing you had killed your husband instead of divorcing him. I will get the bill.’
And, as he headed towards a server, there was nothing else to say.