Chapter 6 #2
The guitarist stood up and started to sing. Tall and slim, he had shaggy black hair, a black, closely trimmed beard and was probably in his early to mid-forties. Cleo found his deep, sonorous voice soothing and she leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment, basking in the melody.
Her eyelids soon flew open again, however, when all at once the pace picked up and there was a roar of laughter from the crowd.
‘The lyrics are quite rude,’ Marina said loudly, because she was having to compete with the noise.
‘The song is called a mantinada, like one of your old English ballads. It’s about a girl and a boy from a small village in Crete who fall in love.
But their parents don’t approve, so they have to sneak out of their homes at night to meet.
‘The words are taken from a famous poem, but the vocalist is improvising in places, adding his own lyrics. They’re a bit suggestive. That’s why everyone is laughing.’
Cleo glanced at Katerina, half expecting her to appear disapproving, but she was clapping her hands and tapping her feet in time to the music and smiling.
Returning to the man singing, Cleo noticed his big brown eyes and amused, lopsided smile. He was clearly enjoying himself and the audience’s enthusiasm.
He had a lean, sensitive face and something in his voice made her guess he’d be good at performing soulful songs as well as ribald ones.
‘His name is Achilles,’ Marina commented, noticing where Cleo’s gaze had fallen.
‘He’s lived in the village all his life.
He married a German woman, but she got into drugs.
She was a mess; many people tried to help her but no one could.
Eventually she went off with someone else, leaving Achilles to bring up their two small boys.
‘It must have been so hard for him, but he never complained. He’s done a great job. His sons are teenagers now, both really good boys.’
‘Do they ever see their mother?’ Cleo asked, watching Achilles now with fresh eyes and newfound respect.
‘No,’ came the reply. ‘I don’t even know if she’s still alive.’
The waiter appeared with a tray of soft drinks Cleo and her friends had ordered earlier.
‘Would you and Katerina like something?’ Cleo asked, but Marina shook her head.
‘We’ll be leaving in a minute. Katerina has a long climb up the mountain, remember. I’ll walk her to the top of the steps, but she won’t let me go all the way with her. At least she has a torch. It’s pitch-black at this time of night.’
Cleo shivered, remembering she and her friends would have to make the same journey shortly, though Villa Ariadne was less far than Katerina’s cottage. It was a good job they had torches on their phones, as no one had thought to bring one.
Achilles stopped singing and sat down again, while the audience clapped appreciatively. He had a few sips of water from the glass at his feet and picked up his guitar once more.
After a few moments, the man with the lyra began to play a solo tune. Lively and rhythmic, it seemed to be well known to the restaurant’s Cretan customers who clapped along with him. The mandolin and askomandoura soon joined in, followed by Achilles on his guitar.
All of a sudden, there was the sound of scraping as several customers pushed back their chairs and lifted them high over their heads before stacking them by the terrace fence.
Not long after, tables were being moved, too, until there was a space in the middle big enough for a small crowd.
While all this was going on, the waiters were dodging nimbly back and forth and round those still seated, delivering drinks and food.
They were laughing and smiling as well, completely at ease, it seemed, with what was going on.
Perhaps the same thing happened every weekend, Cleo thought.
None of them appeared remotely surprised, anyway.
Next, about ten customers – a mixture of men and women – formed a circle, holding on to each other at their shoulders, and started to perform a slow, almost walking dance, with straight backs.
Smooth and proud-looking, they stepped to the right then left, swinging the opposite foot slowly and gently, until the music gradually built in speed and the dance became more energetic.
Now that most of the tables had gone, Cleo was able to see across to the other side of the restaurant and spotted Anthea, the Glaswegian massage lady, snuggled up close to an attractive man with short brown hair. He looked too pale to be Greek, though you could never be sure.
The couple rose and were on the point of joining the dancers when Anthea clocked Cleo and the others.
‘Come on!’ she mouthed, beckoning Cleo over and pointing exaggeratedly to the dance floor. Several of the dancers turned and unlinked themselves from their neighbours to make room for the newcomers.
Cleo felt her cheeks reddening with embarrassment and shook her head and shrugged, trying to show she couldn’t do the moves. She hated being the centre of attention and avoided performing at any costs.
Before she knew it, however, Maya and Tash were on their feet.
‘Come on! It’ll be a laugh!’ Tash shouted gaily.
It was all right for Tash, Cleo thought; she was an actress and she’d probably had dancing lessons as well. She didn’t know Cleo was super self-conscious and had two left feet.
Unfortunately, Tash was persistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
‘You’ve got to come with us,’ she insisted. ‘We need you.’
Not wishing to be a spoilsport, Cleo reluctantly rose and made her way into the throng. She was soon grabbed by a smiling man with a pot belly and found herself wedged between him and a middle-aged, dark-haired woman.
There was no time to study the steps; Cleo just had to watch the woman’s feet and copy as best she could.
The circle was moving quite fast now and she soon felt utterly confused and out of breath. Anthea and her man, who were nearby, clearly knew exactly what they were doing and Tash quickly picked up the dance, as Cleo had suspected she would.
On the other hand, Maya, who was opposite, kept treading on her neighbours’ feet and having to apologise. At one point she caught Cleo’s eye, laughed and Cleo laughed back.
It was a tremendous relief when the dance finally came to a noisy end and she was able to scuttle back to her table. To her surprise, there was no sign of Marina or Katerina; they must have left when she wasn’t looking.
She found herself wondering what the old woman had meant when she’d said Cleo, Tash and Maya were going to face a ‘big challenge’.
Her words had bothered Cleo and she tried to dismiss them as nonsense, but they kept coming back, like the smell of smoke clinging to your clothes after the fire has gone out.
It was almost eight o’clock now, well past dinner time, and she realised she was ravenous. Lunch had been hours ago and the Sfakian pie she’d shared with her friends had barely touched the sides of her hunger.
There was a little orange juice left in her glass, which she finished before Tash and Maya arrived.
‘Shall we go back to the villa?’ Cleo asked, and her friends nodded.
‘I think the musicians are taking a break now anyway,’ Maya said. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. ‘I’m rather sorry. I was hopeless at dancing but everyone was so nice and no one seemed to mind. It was surprisingly good fun.’
Cleo frowned. She was glad Maya had been able to relax and enjoy it, but she herself had felt mortified.
‘Never again for me,’ she said with a shudder. ‘I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.’
Now the performers had stopped, ordinary pop music started blaring out of the speakers dotted round the terraced area.
Some of the crowd who were still standing began to bop, a sure sign the party was by no means over. Perhaps it would go on into the small hours.
Determined not to get dragged into another embarrassing dance, Cleo picked up her bag and hurried, head down, towards the exit. She didn’t see Achilles, with two full glasses of red wine in hand, walking over to one of the other musicians chatting to someone at a table.
‘OHMYGOD!’ Cleo shrieked, when she knocked into Achilles and watched, seemingly in slow motion, as the wine went flying.
Most of it went down Achilles’s front, while the rest splattered over her white trainers and onto the floor.
Her shout had attracted the attention of the other customers and all eyes were now on her. Cleo felt her cheeks burning and her neck flushed deep red.
‘I’m t-terribly sorry,’ she said with a stammer, before turning to search for some paper napkins, or anything to mop up the dreadful mess she’d made.
Achilles raised both arms, still holding the empty glasses.
‘Please, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It was an accident. Luckily, I’m wearing black. It won’t show.’
Someone passed Cleo a wodge of tissues, which she took gratefully, and she proceeded to dab at the front of Achilles’s shirt, trying to soak up the liquid.
Too embarrassed to look at his face, she kept her eyes firmly on the job.
‘I’d buy you a new shirt,’ she said rapidly, ‘but the shops are shut. I’ll get one tomorrow if you tell me where you bought it. Honestly, I feel so ashamed. It was so clumsy of me.’
At that moment she became aware of Maya at her feet, squatting down to mop up the wine puddle on the floor with a cloth she’d acquired from somewhere. Meanwhile, Tash was hovering nearby, looking awkward.
‘Are you English by any chance?’ Achilles asked.
Surprised, Cleo glanced up and noticed the musician’s amused brown eyes and rather attractive, lopsided smile.
‘Yes,’ she said, feeling even more hot and flustered. ‘Why?’
‘I thought so,’ came the reply. ‘You English are always apologising, even when it’s not your fault. It’s a cultural reflex.’
Cleo swallowed. ‘But it was my fault. I didn’t look where I was going.’
The lopsided smile widened.
‘True. However, what you failed to notice is that I wasn’t looking either. I was focused on my friend, who was chatting to someone I hadn’t seen before. I was curious to know who she was and didn’t see you coming.’
This made Cleo feel a little better, though she suspected he was just being gallant. Even so, she felt her body untense and she stopped frantically wiping his front.
‘I’m afraid your shoes are spoiled,’ he said now, looking down at her trainers, which were stained with red wine. She followed his gaze. ‘Perhaps it will wash off.’
‘It’ll probably come off in the washing machine,’ she agreed. ‘But they’re old anyway. It doesn’t really matter. I’m much more worried about your shirt.’
Glancing up again, she accidentally caught his eye and he held her stare for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Taken aback, her heart pitter-pattered and shivers ran up and down her spine.
‘Where in England do you come from?’ he asked softly, lingering on her features: her lips, her nose, and back to her eyes.
For some reason her mouth was suddenly so dry, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak.
‘London,’ she whispered.
Could he hear the crackle in her throat? She hoped not. She was behaving like a silly schoolgirl.
She took a deep breath and tried to gather herself together, but her hands were shaking and her legs felt like jelly.
‘I love London,’ Achilles said, before reaching out and taking the pile of damp tissues from her. ‘Here, let me get rid of these. Can I buy you a drink before you go? To show there are no hard feelings?’
His tone was jokey, but electric sparks zipped backwards and forwards between them, making her skin prickle. It was so long since anyone had fancied her or she them, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining it.
Swept up in the excitement of the moment, she would have said yes; she’d forgotten all about her friends. But a tap on her shoulder made her spin round. It was Maya.
‘Are you ready?’ Maya asked, looking at Cleo then Achilles with a slightly puzzled expression. ‘Tash and I are pretty hungry. We could do with some supper.’
Cleo nodded. ‘Me too, sorry.’
Achilles let out a laugh, which made her stomach flip.
‘There you go again – apologising.’ He scratched his head with three fingers, still hanging on to the empty glasses in both hands. ‘We’ll have to have that drink another time.’
Cleo had a sinking feeling. What if she never saw him again? He might not be back here tomorrow evening and she didn’t know where he lived.
Her mind started racing. She could ask for his number, but feared she wasn’t capable of sounding sufficiently nonchalant.
She dreaded coming across as too eager and besides, what if she’d misinterpreted the situation?
Perhaps when he’d offered the drink he was just being kind.
He was probably relieved to get out of it.
Gathering herself together, she managed to give a polite little smile without meeting his eye.
‘I hope your shirt washes clean,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the fantastic music.’
And with that, she turned on her heel. She thought she could feel him staring after her, but told herself not to be soppy.
‘God, that was embarrassing,’ she said, when she and Maya met up again with Tash and started walking towards the steps. ‘Talk about making a fool of myself.’
‘I don’t think he was too upset,’ Maya commented drily. ‘In fact, I think he rather liked you.’
Red spots blossomed on Cleo’s cheeks and burst into flame. Luckily, it was so dark no one noticed.
‘Rubbish,’ she said. ‘He took pity on me.’ She swallowed. ‘I must say, he did have a very nice singing voice, though.’