Chapter 27 #2
Ugh, his arrogance was unappealing. She couldn’t be bothered to prompt him to carry on introducing himself. ‘Do you have a cat of your own?’
‘No.’
‘Aren’t you allowed one where you live?’
His cheeks flushed. ‘I don’t live in a building where someone else dictates my life. I simply save my cat love for here,’ he said testily. ‘And I’m a very busy man. The government may call on my services at any point. I might have to leave Tolmiros at any time.’
Strange. Carrie only wanted to help out because of her love for Boo. So where did his fondness for cats come from? ‘So, um… did you have cats as a child then?’
‘Yes. Dogs too. Budgies and a couple of stick insects. But I also had a ton of Lego. I don’t have a single brick in my home now. I like my life orderly, and animals mess things up.’
Yet he appeared to be perfectly happy in a dusty cat rescue centre in his fancy shirt and glasses with Gucci printed on the side.
A frown crossed his face. He went over to a grey short-haired cat that had walked across the room and sat on the concrete.
He held out his hand and the cat went over and headbutted his fingers softly.
This guy might be a complete arse, but clearly he genuinely cared about cats.
Gently he lifted up the grey cat’s little face.
‘Why is your eye watery, my girl? An infection?’ he asked softly. ‘We will get the vet to look at it.’ He stroked the cat and was in the process of telling her how handsome she was when the door opened and Nana came in, flustered, rucksack on her back.
‘There’s been a flood at the café. The dishwasher is broken and it’s all hands on deck to keep on top of the dirty glasses. I’m going to have to go.’
‘Oh no! Anything I can do?’
‘Efcharisto, it’s okay, Dafni needs you here. Here’s the locker key. Dad’s experimenting with a new pastry recipe – why not come in later on and try one? You can give me the key back then. He’s finally surrendered to the wishes of one of his grandchildren and is trying out Nutella baklava.’
‘Sounds so tasty!’ Carrie said. ‘Fly like those falcons you mentioned earlier, Nana. And message me if you change your mind about me helping.’
Nana managed a smile.
‘Good luck, Ariana,’ said the man politely.
So, he wasn’t someone she let call her Nana.
Carrie went over to the door that allowed humans into the outdoor area.
Several cats were lying in the sun filtering through the fence.
Others watched the bird feeders in the small garden that had clearly been landscaped for the cats’ entertainment, with a water fountain and bird table.
Another person came in, a member of staff as it turned out, an older woman. She chatted with him and he nodded.
‘Come, English, let’s clean out the pens,’ he said to Carrie.
‘English’? Well, she certainly wouldn’t ask him his name now. Suddenly he didn’t look nearly so attractive as he clicked his fingers at her.
But no matter. She was here for the sake of Dafni and the cats. So she emptied litter trays, scrubbed out pens and folded laundered blankets. A couple of hours in, Dafni arrived with two lemonades. She walked up and down the corridor, in between the two rows of enclosures.
‘Wonderful. Thank you both. Did you bring lunch, Carrie?’
‘No, Nana said to have a late breakfast before coming, and when I finish here, I’m off to Boosalis.’
She sat in the communal cat area, drinking lemonade and smiling at the older member of staff who’d come in earlier and didn’t speak English.
If Carrie stayed a long time in Paros, she’d have to get learning the local language pretty fast. The man came back in, his top covered in smudges of litter and water stains, like Carrie’s.
He went straight over to one of the cats and picked it up, kissed it on the head and reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a biscuit treat and fed it to the cat.
‘Do they all get those?’ she asked.
‘I bring my own.’ He winked and put a finger to his lips. ‘Give them to my favourites. No need for Dafni to know. She may be unorganised when it comes to the paperwork, but she’s such a stickler for their diets, with high protein this and no snacking that.’ He shook his head.
‘Your English is good,’ she said, paying him a compliment instead of the rebuke she felt was coming.
Who was he to criticise Dafni who, according to Nana, had set this place up by herself, initially putting in a large sum of her savings?
She’d even made sure the cats had state-of-the-art air-con, with the office putting up with a plug-in fan.
Busy, busy; no wonder she sometimes struggled with all the admin.
‘Yes, it is. I studied in London for six months as part of my degree. Worked my arse off, me old mucker,’ he said, putting on a Cockney accent.
He placed the cat back down on the ground.
‘Right. I’m off. In case Dafni hasn’t told you yet…
and no doubt she has forgotten…’ He tutted.
‘We constantly need new fundraising ideas. I’m in charge of raising money.
’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me your phone. I’ll put in my details.
If you have any ideas, text them straight to me. ’
Taken aback by his abrupt manner, she did as he suggested and then he swaggered out.
The other member of staff glanced at Carrie and rolled her eyes. Communicating some things didn’t require words. A grateful Dafni gave Carrie a high-five before she trudged back down the hillside, looking forward to a pastry at Boosalis.
It had felt good to be useful. The novelty of lounging around all day was wearing off. And almost as great as helping the cats, Carrie had hardly thought about Dimitrios since arriving at the rescue centre.
Not realising that was about to change, she went into Contacts on her phone to look up the details of the man at the cattery.
Carrie stopped dead in her tracks. His name was Drago Kochev, the old school friend of Dimitrios’s who’d told the press where he lived.