The Island Getaway

Chapter Fifty-One

Nelly

Over dinner that first Saturday night, Nelly and Alexander had caught up on the intervening decades, and it was as if they’d never been apart. How could it be that two people were able to pick up the threads of a conversation put on hold over thirty years ago and resume it so seamlessly? But there were no awkward pauses or talking over one another whatsoever; they’d slotted back into their old rhythms of speech with ease.

She quickly learned that, soon after her departure, he had gone on to marry Sofia, and they’d had two sons and a daughter together. Their marriage, however, had never been strong. ‘We were very different people,’ he told Nelly diplomatically, ‘who wanted different things. She wanted a big house, nice clothes, gadgets in the kitchen, a fancy car. . .’ He spread his hands and shook his head. ‘These things were not important to me.’

‘No,’ said Nelly, remembering him tanned and barefoot at the wheel of his boat. How lightly he had moved through life with his few possessions back then.

‘We had a small house in Vathy but it was not enough for her. She wanted us to move to Patras, so that Icould work for her father’s company and we would have more money. But my heart has always been with the sea. Iam an islander, you know? Not a city person.’ He shrugged, a movement that spoke of many arguments, a gradual grinding down of the soul. ‘What can Isay, we went to live in Patras because Iwanted her to be happy, but then Iwas un happy. Me in an office. . .’ He ran a finger absent-mindedly around the collar of his shirt, as if remembering the constraints of the tie that had been knotted there, the suit he had worn. ‘It was not a good fit, Nelly.’

‘Ican imagine,’ she’d replied. ‘Not much of a sea breeze in an office.’

‘Exactly! And every day the same desk, the same telephone, the same papers to read and sign. No adventures, no horizon. Iwas like a dog chained up in a yard, Ihated it.’

The evening was warm, the sun setting, syrupy and golden, into the sea, while melancholic guitar music played from a speaker above their heads. They were sitting out on the veranda of a fish restaurant Alexander claimed to be the best on the island, and it might well have been for all Nelly knew, but the food was wasted on her that night. Being with him was so absorbing, she barely tasted a single bite. What a pleasure it was to be able to gaze into that handsome face of his, to enjoy his deep, sudden laugh once more. What a thrill to be close enough that their feet occasionally met beneath the table, that their hands bumped against the other’s reaching into the bread basket. Being able to smell the clean soapy scent of his skin, conscious of his knees mere centimetres from hers. . . it was doing strange things to her body. Her breath felt a little shallow, her blood hot as it pumped through her veins; she found herself becoming aware of the space between her legs, remembering what it had felt like when. . .

Stop it, Nelly, she had to tell herself. That was a long, long time ago, back when she was impressionable and wildly romantic. She had put that self away since then, turned the key. Was she imagining it, though, or was the lock now loosening, threatening to release with every passing minute? Or was that the wine going straight to her head? ‘Ican’t bear to think of you feeling like a chained dog,’ she blurted out. ‘That’s awful.’

He smiled at her but it was not a happy smile, more one of defeat. ‘It was not a good time,’ he said gruffly. ‘Iloved my children and tried to protect them, but Sofia and Iargued every day. We never should have married in the first place.’ He splashes more wine into her glass, then his. ‘In fact. . . we needn’t have married at all.’

It took Nelly a moment to understand what he was implying. ‘She was pregnant though, wasn’t she? That was why you had to marry her?’

He stared into his glass, swirled the contents around. ‘That was what she said,’ he replied, and she could sense an anger in him beneath the surface. ‘And we married very quickly. It was my duty, Ithought. But no baby ever came. She said there had been a. . . a. . . Idon’t know the word in English.’

‘A miscarriage? She lost the baby?’

‘Yes, yes, that was what she said. Was it true? Idon’t know. Did she lie and trap me? Idon’t know.’ There followed a bleak moment between them when Nelly remembered her agony at their enforced parting, how she’d wept for days on end. Had it really all been for nothing?

‘Things could have been so different,’ she said, emotions knotting inside her.

He looked her in the eye and her heart thumped. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Iwould have married you instead, if you’d wanted that too.’

‘Oh, Alexander,’ she’d said, her voice somewhere between a laugh and a cry. Did he mean that? Because she’d have married him like a shot back then.

‘In a different life, hey? In a different universe, we kept on sailing and we were together. Yes?’ He crinkled his eyes at her; he was joking, she told herself, but she thought she could detect some regret there for him, as well. ‘But in this universe. . . it was not to be.’

She had to clutch the sides of the chair beneath the table to try to control her emotions. ‘No,’ she said quietly, reminding herself that in this universe she did at least have her two boys, and he had his three children, even if they hadn’t had one another. His hands were clasped in front of him. She couldn’t see if he was still wearing a wedding ring. ‘But you and Sofia– you worked things out?’ she ventured. ‘You’re still together?’

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘We separated. . . my God, a long time ago. Fifteen years ago? When our youngest son moved out and it was just the two of us. There was no longer a reason to be together. She stayed in Patras, Ireturned to Ithaca.’

‘You left the office job?’

‘Of course!’ He laughed, his whole face lighting up. ‘The shoes, the. . . what do you say, briefcase? Yes, the briefcase, the ties. . . Igive to my sons. Take them. Have them. Igo to Ithaca, Ibuy a boat. Iam happy again, with my tours, my customers. It is a small life, but it is my life. And a good life.’

‘I’m glad you got away,’ she said. ‘Really glad.’

‘Yes, and me too,’ he said. ‘But that’s enough talking about me. How are you? Tell me your story now. Have you been happy, my Nelly? Was the world kind to you?’

She told him about Frank, about the boys, keeping her voice bright and businesslike, and his eyebrows shot up as she mentioned Frank’s celebrity status.

‘Iwill ask my sister if she has heard of him,’ he said with interest. ‘What did you say his name was again?’

‘Ahh– well. . .’ Nelly faltered, wanting to skirt around the darker moments, the recent news stories that had exploded their marriage. ‘I’m not sure his cookbooks were translated into Greek,’ she went on after a moment, hating the thought of Alexander finding gossip about her husband– and her– online. ‘Like the Greeks need anybody to teach them how to cook!’

He smiled. ‘Still, a long marriage, good sons, success– that sounds perfect,’ he responded. ‘But your husband. . . Where is he tonight?’

‘He. . . He has gone home,’ she said after a moment. So much for keeping things light and cheery. Then again, why pretend? This time next week she’d be back in England, trying to navigate a new life there as a single woman; she needed to start adjusting to the situation, constructing a revised narrative. ‘To be honest, Idon’t think we are going to be married any more,’ she said bluntly. ‘It’s over.’

His gaze was compassionate. ‘Ahh, Iam sorry to hear that,’ he said gently. ‘And Iam sorry if my question made you feel uncomfortable. Perhaps—’

Before he could get any further, the waiter came to take away their empty plates and asked if they would like to see the dessert menu.

‘Yes, please,’ Nelly replied, if only because she didn’t want the evening to end just yet. ‘What were you about to say when he interrupted?’ she asked once they were alone once more. ‘You said “Perhaps”. . .’

He smiled at her, his features softening in the dusky light. His eyes gleamed, dark and liquid, and she felt a quickening inside her, a deep magnetic attraction towards him. ‘Iwas going to say, perhaps we should not speak of the people we married any more, yes?’

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Really– I’m okay. Better for seeing you, anyway. Tell me about your new boat,’ she went on, if only because it was so pleasant to hear him talk. ‘Is it like the Miaoulis ? Where have you been lately?’

They talked and talked, the conversation moving to happier times, the jigsaw pieces of their lives that they were most proud of (their children, his grandchildren), then they reminisced about some of the trips they’d taken together, although their one night of passion was carefully avoided. They ordered slices of honey cheesecake and more wine, both of which were delicious. It was only when one of the waiting staff began sweeping up around the tables that she realised the restaurant had become empty, the other diners having long since departed. The sky was inky black, with a cool breeze blowing off the sea now, the moonlight catching the tops of the waves so that they glinted a dark silver as they rushed into shore.

‘What a perfect evening,’ she said, as they set off in the taxi that would drop her first at her hotel, then take him back to his boat, moored at Poros. ‘Thank you, Alexander. It has been wonderful to see you again.’

And that might have been that, the end of the story, the closing of the loop. Except that there was suddenly a new charged silence between them in the back of the cab, as she felt– and perhaps he did too– that the alternative universe, where the two of them had sailed off together for a happy ever after, was pressing meaningfully against their current reality. Did this have to be the end already? All she knew was that it was too soon, she wasn’t ready to completely shut the door. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘if you’re ever over in England. . .’

‘How long are you here for?’ he asked at the same moment, the words rushing out of him. They turned towards one another, the dark streets gliding by outside, Elton John singing a ballad from the speaker. ‘Maybe Icould see you tomorrow as well?’ he suggested, his face intermittently bathed in yellow from the streetlights they passed. ‘If you are not busy? Now that Ihave met you again, I. . .’ He trailed off, but his hand found hers on the seat between them, his fingers curling around hers.

Her heart seemed to stutter in her chest. No, she was not busy, she managed to say, her hand still in his. Yes, she would love to see him. He proposed dinner at the taverna nearest her hotel, and she agreed instantly. Well, why not? She was only here for a few days longer, she might as well make the most of her time. The taxi pulled up at the hotel and he let go of her hand and got out of the car so as to open her door. They hesitated, then embraced, and she walked through reception and back to her room feeling light as air.

That second night, the same thing. Another wonderful dinner, another long, enjoyable conversation, so engrossing in fact that, once again, the taverna staff were closing up around them before they knew it, and still they had so much to say. He’d walked her back up the hill to the hotel, accompanied by the soft hooting of owls somewhere in the darkness, and then, saying goodnight to her at the hotel reception, he took her hand and kissed it. Her skin had tingled all over, a great longing rising within her. ‘Idon’t suppose,’ she heard herself saying, ‘you are free tomorrow as well? Now that we’ve found each other again, I. . .’ She’d laughed self-consciously. ‘Ican’t bear to say goodbye yet.’

He had pulled her in for an embrace and she closed her eyes, her head against his shoulder, breathing in his lovely, familiar scent. Oh, she still liked him so much. Yes, she was massively on the rebound, yes, this was the wrong time to start indulging in romantic feelings about another man and yes, she knew this was all a huge distraction, a smokescreen she was hiding behind, so as to avoid having to look at the mess of her real life, but. . . But. . .

‘Ihave passengers booked for a trip tomorrow,’ he said regretfully, releasing her from the embrace. ‘But Icould take you out on my boat on Tuesday? If you like? We can pretend we are young again, just for one day.’

It was the perfect answer. The best idea of all. ‘Iwould love that,’ she told him, smiling up at his dear face, still so handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair, the lines around his eyes. ‘Let’s do it.’

And so, this morning, it feels like old times as he holds out his hand to help her on board the Anassa , his yacht. ‘Does Anassa mean anything?’ Nelly asks curiously.

‘It means “breath”,’ he tells her. ‘And it is also an old word for “queen”.’ He grins, putting his hand to his heart. ‘The perfect name for her, because sailing is my life, my breath– and this boat, she is a real queen, Ithink.’

The Anassa is way more modern than the Miaoulis , with its white painted deck and sleek white body, but there are a few home comforts too, that add character: the pictures of Alexander’s children and grandchildren stuck to the fridge door in the small galley kitchen, the soft blue cushions on the benches, the battered leather binocular case slung from a peg in the cockpit. ‘It’s lovely,’ she says, once he’s given her the tour and they’re up on deck. ‘It’s perfect, Alexander.’

He smiles at her, pride in his eyes. ‘So. Where would you like to go to, Nelly?’ he asks. ‘Tell me, and Iwill take you there.’

‘Will you take me back to Ithaca?’ she says shyly. ‘I’d love to see it properly. You must know all the best places.’

His smile only broadens. ‘Ido,’ he says. ‘And Iwould love to show you them. To Ithaca, then!’

She can’t find the words that could possibly describe how good it feels as he loosens the mooring rope, as he returns to the wheel and starts the engine– only that as they sail towards Ithaca, with a warm breeze tousling her hair, there is nowhere on earth she would rather be right now. The only danger, she thinks, is that it will be the most enormous wrench to have to leave him again, now that she has found him. Because when Alexander had asked her earlier where she would like to go, the very last place on her mind was ‘back home’.