Chapter 2
Once inside the gates, Cleo stopped and gazed for a moment at Villa Ariadne, taking in the sky-blue shutters, the elegant stone steps and the giant, curved archway surrounding a heavy wooden front door, also painted blue.
Enormous terracotta pots in the courtyard had been filled with architectural palms and colourful flowers and there was a sweet, citrussy scent in the air, coming, no doubt, from the lemon trees dotted all around.
The building was clearly very old and had been lovingly renovated by someone with taste and style.
Cleo whistled. ‘What a gorgeous place! Who owns it?’
‘We’re not quite sure,’ Mark replied. ‘There’s a bit of a mystery about it. An elderly woman called Katerina looks after it. She was the housekeeper here for many years, for the previous owners.
‘He was mayor of Sfakia, quite an important chap. Long since dead now and so’s his wife.
They didn’t have children to pass the villa on to.
It’s rumoured it was bought by a wealthy couple from Athens, but we’ve never seen them.
Katerina’s responsible for the upkeep and takes care of the business side and all the rentals.
She’s very particular about who stays here.
She won’t have any old Tom, Dick or Harry; everyone’s carefully vetted. ’
‘Gosh!’ said Cleo. ‘I’m glad I managed to make the grade.’
Mark laughed. ‘You didn’t, actually. She left the vetting to us. This is the first retreat she’s allowed here. Henrietta had quite a hard time persuading her.
‘We used to take over a big building, an old hotel, in the next-door village, but Villa Ariadne’s much nicer. The facilities really are tip-top.’
Just then the front door opened and a tall, blonde, athletic-looking woman of about forty came out to greet them: Henrietta.
‘Hello!’ she said, with a big smile. ‘I hope your journey wasn’t too arduous?’
Lesley opened her mouth to speak but Cleo jumped in first.
‘Not at all. I loved the ferry ride. And it was such a help having the men to carry our bags.’
Henrietta nodded, and said a few words in Greek to the two men with the trolleys. Then she handed them each a brown envelope, presumably filled with cash.
‘Come in!’ she said to her guests, stepping aside to let them pass. The men started to move off, but Cleo called them back to say thank you and Tash and Fran followed suit. There was nothing from Lesley, however. Cleo frowned. Another black mark against her.
‘You may as well bring your luggage,’ Henrietta commented, noticing Tash hanging back, hovering uncertainly by her rucksack. ‘I’ll show you to your rooms.’
They were soon entering a wide, open entrance hall, with a high ceiling, smooth, whitewashed walls and cool, cream-coloured marble floor tiles.
A polished dark wood table was in the very centre, on which sat a chunky, greenish-grey ceramic vase with a round bottom and narrow neck.
Curved archways led off the hall into several smaller rooms, which housed intriguing-looking objects and pieces of furniture.
Cleo’s eye was caught by a fancy chessboard on an antique wooden table. She was dying to pick up the pieces and examine them more closely, but she’d have to wait.
‘The dining room and kitchen are that way,’ Henrietta explained, pointing to another, bigger arch. Light streamed in from every window but the air was cool and reviving. ‘I’ll show you round properly later. Let’s get you settled into your rooms first.’
The four women followed their host up the wooden staircase. It was quite steep but Henrietta seemed to spring, rather than plod, despite the fact she’d kindly taken Fran’s bag and was carrying it for her.
Toned and muscular, Henrietta was dressed in tight black cycling shorts, a pink vest top and trainers. Her blonde hair was tied into two, amusing fat plaits.
Mark had offered to bring Tash’s or Cleo’s bags, but they’d refused, so he’d peeled off once they’d entered the villa.
‘See you for supper,’ he’d said cheerfully. ‘We normally eat at seven thirty but we’ve made it later tonight – eight o’clock.’
‘It’s seven thirty now,’ Lesley had grumbled. ‘There’s hardly time to shower and change.’
Not long ago she’d been complaining about being ravenous, thought Cleo. There was no pleasing some people.
Several doors led off the wide landing, and one opened when the group reached the top. Out stepped a tallish woman dressed in black, with a sleek dark bob and gold jewellery.
‘Oh!’ she said, when she saw the strangers. ‘I didn’t realise you’d arrived.’
Henrietta stepped forward and performed the introductions.
The stranger, who was called Maya, merely nodded at each of the new guests, eyeing them up and down in turn. She had a long, thin face and her complexion was so pale and smooth, she must make a habit of keeping out of the sun. Either that, or her job kept her indoors and chained to her desk.
‘When did you get here?’ Cleo asked, pretending not to be put off by Maya’s frosty manner.
‘This morning,’ came the reply. Still no smile. Then Maya turned to Henrietta. ‘I’m going to find a quiet spot in the garden to read my book.’
‘Good idea. See you at supper,’ said Henrietta.
There was a separate room and bathroom for each of the new guests. Cleo was taken to her room first and as soon as she entered, she plonked her bag on the king-size bed and gazed around.
She’d struck lucky. Her room was large, airy and west-facing, with big French windows and a balcony overlooking the main garden. The swimming pool at the end was mostly obscured by trees but beyond it, in the distance, she caught a glimpse of the glinting sea.
The room was simply but tastefully decorated with whitewashed walls and cream bedlinen. At the foot of the bed, neatly folded up, was a richly patterned blanket in shades of deep red, orange and indigo.
Several bold, abstract paintings hung on the walls, and the wooden floors were scattered with rustic woven rugs.
‘Ooh! It’s lovely!’ Cleo said, turning to Henrietta, her eyes shining. The others were still waiting outside.
‘All the rooms are great but I think this is the best,’ Henrietta replied in a low voice. Cupping a hand round her mouth, she gave a wink and whispered, ‘But don’t tell anyone.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’ Cleo had no intention of breathing a word. If Lesley got wind of it, she’d no doubt kick up a huge stink and insist on having the room herself.
Henrietta suggested meeting up again in fifteen to twenty minutes. ‘We can have pre-dinner drinks on the terrace and you’ll get a chance to meet the other guests. It’s not difficult to find. Just walk through the dining room into the kitchen. The French doors lead directly onto it.’
Once she’d left to show Tash, Lesley and Fran to where they’d be sleeping, Cleo started to unpack her luggage.
She hadn’t brought many clothes – mainly shorts, vests and T-shirts, plus some yoga pants and a couple of dresses for the evening.
She could always wash things if necessary; they’d dry here in a nanosecond.
She placed her phone on the bed beside her bag. It was hours since she’d looked at her messages, and once her clothes were away, she sat down for a moment to check.
Scanning down the list, the first name she noticed was Erica’s. Straight away Cleo’s pulse quickened and her mouth went dry. Was she prepared for this? She could always ignore it and look another time.
Most of her daughter’s texts made her feel horrible, like a bad person and a terrible mother. But Cleo had messaged a few days ago to say she was going away. Maybe this time Erica was just wishing her mum a safe flight.
Some hope.
Erica wrote:
I find your behaviour totally bizarre
Cleo’s heart seemed to compress, as if someone was holding it in their fist and squeezing tight.
You claim you’re hard up and you fought Dad tooth and nail for every penny you could get. Now you’re off on a luxury break, which is no doubt costing a fortune. I don’t understand you, I really don’t. It’s a joke.
Don’t bother to send me any photos. I don’t want to hear about your trip. I hope you have a wonderful time without your son or daughter. Bye.
All the excitement of being in a new place vanished and Cleo’s energy drained away, like water from a leaking pipe. Erica certainly knew how to hit her mother where it really hurt.
Previously, Cleo might have picked up the phone and attempted to explain herself. She’d tried so hard to clarify her actions during and after the separation and divorce. She’d also spent many hours listening to Erica’s own hurt and grievances, hoping it would help to get them off her chest.
But Erica was hot-headed and uncompromising. They always ended up having a row, which made Cleo miserable for days and probably Erica, too. Now, Cleo just felt defeated, as if there was no point in even trying any more because nothing worked.
Erica seemed to misinterpret all Cleo’s actions, seeing them in the worst possible light, and as she refused to meet with her mother in person, the situation was unlikely ever to improve.
Rereading Erica’s final sentence made Cleo shudder.
I hope you have a wonderful time without your son or daughter.
Cleo knew she’d made mistakes, but she did really love her children. Not seeing Erica nearly broke her heart.
She put the phone face down on her bed, balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut. If she wasn’t careful, the text could ruin the holiday.
Taking a few deep breaths, she told herself she wouldn’t reply tonight; she’d try to put the matter to one side. But she knew it would be hovering just behind her all evening, like a shadow clinging to her heels. There was no escape.
Female voices outside told her some of the retreat guests were already going downstairs for drinks.
Noticing the time on her watch, Cleo jumped up and took a quick look in the mirror above a chest of drawers against the wall. She was a fright, with tangled hair, a sweaty face, pink nose and chapped lips. She couldn’t go for dinner like this.