The Villa of Secrets

Prologue

The old woman stopped short and reached for the nearest wall to steady herself. She was carrying a big bag of shopping in a brown canvas bag, which she dropped to the ground. She was only small and the bag looked far too heavy for her.

Her hand fluttered to her brow, which was covered in beads of sweat. Seeing her sway, a young waiter, who’d been standing in the doorway of his café watching the world go by, hurried to assist.

‘Let me help you, Mrs Papadakis,’ he said anxiously, picking up the shopping bag and wrapping an arm round the woman’s thin shoulders. ‘Are you feeling all right? Shall I call a doctor?’

The old woman clicked her tongue impatiently and did her best to straighten up. ‘Certainly not. I’m just a little dizzy. It must be the heat.’

Still, she allowed herself to be ushered to a wooden chair on the outside deck, overlooking the dazzling Libyan Sea. Her hands were trembling slightly as she attempted to adjust the black-and-white scarf on her head, which was tied beneath her chin in a neat knot.

While the waiter hurried to fetch a glass of water, she took a few deep breaths and gazed out at the shimmering turquoise water. She was getting on, she thought gloomily. She was in her late eighties now and time was finally catching up with her – but there was still so much to do!

When the waiter, Costas, came back with her drink, she took it gratefully. He was a good boy, she thought; she’d known him since he was born. After a few sips of water, she began to feel better.

‘I’m afraid your bread is crushed and your melon’s battered,’ Costas said, looking down at the canvas bag which he’d placed at her feet. ‘I’m sure April – Mrs Vasilikis – will replace them for you. Shall I go and ask her?’

April ran the mini-mart a few doors down, which stocked everything from tzatziki and spit roasted chicken to tampons and tea towels. It was overpriced, but everyone in the village popped in from time to time; the nearest supermarket was miles away.

‘No need,’ Katerina replied – for this was her name. She eyed the watermelon, which had a split running through it like a bright red wound. ‘I can still eat it.’

Glancing round, she was relieved her funny turn had largely gone unnoticed. It was late October now and though it was still hot, most of the tourists had gone.

Soon, the hotels and holiday apartments would be closing for winter and the owners would begin their annual renovations: new bathroom tiles here, a lick of paint there. Either that, or they’d be jetting off on much-needed holidays of their own.

She finished her drink and set the glass back on the wooden table. A small motorboat came roaring round the headland, leaving a trail of bright white spume in its wake. It slowed down when it neared the jetty to her right and the skipper prepared to drop anchor.

‘I should get going,’ Katerina said, pushing back her chair and starting to rise. ‘I’m all right now.’

‘I don’t think you should carry that bag up the mountain on your own,’ Costas replied doubtfully. ‘I finish here in an hour. If you wait, I can come with you.’

Katerina lived in a cottage high up in the white mountains, which towered over the little village of Porto Liakáda like a watchful guardian, at times stern and forbidding, at others playful and warm.

The village had no cars and could only be reached by boat or on foot, so there was no question of a lift home.

‘Thank you, but I’m quite capable of walking myself,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve done it often enough before.’

She was about to pick up the bag when she spotted a tanned, athletic-looking blonde woman in pink shorts and a white vest top hurrying towards her: Henrietta, the Englishwoman who’d moved here with her husband some ten years ago.

Together they ran fitness classes in the area, and wellness retreats – whatever they were. There’d been no such thing in Katerina’s day and she wasn’t sure she approved. Weren’t they just for rich, spoilt folk with nothing better to do?

Henrietta waved to attract Katerina’s attention and the old woman sat back down. She only vaguely knew Henrietta; in fact, they’d barely exchanged more than a few polite words in the street. Whatever could she want?

‘Mrs Papadakis is not very—’ Costas started to say as Henrietta approached, but Katerina shushed him.

‘Quiet,’ she said sharply. ‘The whole world doesn’t need to know. Leave me be and get on with your work.’

Stung, Costas slunk away and was soon serving two customers, whom Katerina didn’t recognise.

‘Do you mind if I join you for a moment?’ Henrietta said, pulling out a chair. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.’

She spoke in English, knowing the old woman was fluent in the tongue. Henrietta’s Greek was patchy, to say the least, like most of the expats round here who only learned the bare minimum. Katerina had decided long ago that the Brits were hopeless at languages.

She nodded. ‘Of course. Be my guest.’

In truth, she didn’t have much choice, as Henrietta had already settled down opposite her. Leaning forwards, the Englishwoman rested her elbows on the table.

‘There’s something I want to ask you,’ she said, with an earnest expression on her tanned, freckled face.

Intrigued, Katerina quite forgot about her dizzy fit and listened attentively while the younger woman began to outline a rather surprising proposition.

It seemed the venue in the nearby village where Henrietta traditionally held her wellness retreats was no longer fit for purpose.

‘It’s beginning to look awfully shabby,’ she explained, ‘and the owners aren’t interested in spending any money on it.’

She was searching for a new venue, somewhere big enough to accommodate up to ten people. She needed enough space to hold Pilates, yoga and meditation classes and offer treatments like massage and reflexology, plus a decent-sized kitchen for the chef, her husband, Mark.

She’d heard Villa Ariadne was spacious and beautifully maintained and wondered if Katerina would consider renting it out to her for certain weeks in May, June and July next year?

‘My clients are all respectable people, mostly professionals. I can assure you we’d take great care of the place and leave it exactly as we found it.’

Katerina frowned. The villa was empty now, and throughout the winter she had various improvement works of her own planned – including repainting the outside and replacing the swimming pool cover, which had been damaged in a mini-earthquake the previous month.

Crete was prone to frequent quakes, sitting as it did on an active boundary between two, giant tectonic plates. These would often collide, creating small tremors which sometimes went unnoticed. Thankfully large quakes were rare, though by no means unknown.

Villa Ariadne was very dear to Katerina’s heart. Up to now she’d only rented it to certain, select individuals, who’d been quick to grasp its uniqueness, and were open to all it had to offer.

Would groups of random women reap the benefits of their stay, or would the house be wasted on them? And strange as it sounded, would the villa itself object to being used in this way?

‘Certainly, there is enough space,’ she said slowly, ‘but I’m afraid I cannot agree to your proposal. I’m sorry, but the villa is simply not the right place for this sort of activity.’

‘I’m really struggling to find somewhere,’ Henrietta wheedled. ‘The other venue’s just not good enough. Most of my clients are going through a hard time. They often want to make quite big changes to their lives.

‘We believe in a holistic approach, focusing on the physical, mental and spiritual. In order for it to work, our clients must have comfort, privacy and, most of all, peace. We love helping people and we really do try to make sure they leave in a better place than when they arrived.’

Her evident passion for her work made an impression on Katerina and she wondered if she’d been too hasty to dismiss the wellness retreats. Perhaps there was something in them after all.

Pausing for a moment, she clasped her hands together in her lap, noticing they were still slightly trembly.

This wasn’t the first bad spell she’d experienced. In fact, she’d had several, though she’d told no one, not even her beloved Marina. Who knew how long she had left?

‘Come to the villa at around eleven o’clock tomorrow morning,’ she said decisively. ‘We can go over your proposal in more detail. I will ask Marina to be there too. I’m not promising anything, mind…’

‘Amazing!’ Henrietta said with a wide grin. ‘Thank you so much. See you tomorrow at eleven.’

Dawn was only just breaking when Katerina rose from her bed the following morning. She stood shivering and naked in her small bathroom while she washed herself all over in cold water, as usual, using a coarse flannel and her own, home-made olive oil soap.

After that, she dressed quickly and combed and pinned back her wiry grey hair in front of a small mirror. Then she had a cup of herbal tea, a slice of bread with a scraping of local honey, and she was ready.

The air was crisp as she hurried down the mountain towards Villa Ariadne, scrambling over the crumbling rocks and stones like a nimble goat.

She loved this time of the morning and wasn’t going so fast that she couldn’t take in the lingering snow on distant peaks and the lush green vegetation that blanketed the slopes, along with wildflowers like poppies, yellow buttercups and delicate orchids.

Stopping for a moment, she picked a small bunch of blooms, which she wrapped carefully in a white handkerchief before putting them in a tan canvas bag on her shoulder.

I’ll open the shutters downstairs and some of the windows, she thought, as she bustled along. The villa is bound to be a bit stuffy. It’s been cleaned from top to bottom since the last guests but still, it doesn’t like being left empty for too long. It’ll need a bit of love.