Desperately Seeking Summer Page 7

  ‘I’m not sure how long I will be staying on Corfu either,’ Abby responded.

  ‘You have to stay for the festival,’ Leon encouraged. ‘I will not let you leave before, and I am the only taxi in San Stefanos.’

  Abby smiled. ‘I should get back to the table.’

  ‘I will come to clear your plates in one moment,’ Theo said as Abby left.

  ‘Wow. She is pretty and funny and …’ Leon began, his eyes following Abby all the way back to the table where a woman in short shorts began to grapple her into a seat.

  ‘She was quite clear she was not looking for a date,’ Theo told him.

  Leon laughed. ‘You are jealous, my friend. Because she looks at me and not at you.’ He shook his head as he swigged at his bottle of beer. ‘Maybe you are losing your touch.’

  Theo smiled as he deposited the cocktail shaker into the dishwasher, but the words meant in jest burned. Because they were true. He was losing his touch, had lost it already, and not just when it came to bar chat. He seemed to have lost his grip on everything and it wasn’t getting any easier.

  Fourteen

  Abby had spent the past hour listening to Igor talk about his nation like it was its own separate planet, its people stronger, more intelligent, good at all things. And she had alternately watched Melody, soaking all this bravado up like she was an ardent Catholic at an audience with the Pope, and Andrei, who seemed to like balancing all things on his forehead – cutlery, flowers, a passing cat.

  The journey was beginning to catch up with her and all she wanted was her bed at her mum’s house. The lovely patchwork bedspread in blues and teal with the inch of sea view to look out upon. And quiet. Peace and quiet to enable her to slip into a delicious semi-consciousness that would either allow her to regroup or be filled with the same re-run of Darrell and Amber’s passionate peck by the pastries. As harrowing as the dream was, it did seem to strengthen her resolve.

  ‘Air, hair lair.’

  Brought right back into the present that was rowdy Russians ruining the gentle shushing of the water and the Greek music emanating from the bar next door, Abby looked to the newcomer. Straightaway she knew who this woman was. With her hair the colour of corn, her make-up immaculate, and wearing a lilac sleeveless dress straight out of Phase Eight, it had to be the much talked about Diana. And then, all at once, she realised that the words she’d uttered weren’t ‘air, hair lair’ but in fact ‘oh, hello’ in her rather upmarket British accent.

  ‘Di-an-a!’ Igor bellowed, leaping to his feet and roughly grabbing a chair.

  ‘Sit down, you silly boy,’ Diana ordered. ‘Have you not learned any of those manners or correct English diction I have been trying to teach you?’

  At once, Igor dropped back to his chair, appearing suitably admonished.

  ‘Hello, Diana.’ Jackie got to her feet. ‘Would you like my chair?’

  ‘Oh, Jackie darling, you are a love,’ Diana said, slipping into the vacated seat no sooner than Jackie’s kaftan-covered behind had left it. Abby immediately bristled and looked to Melody, instinctively waiting for her sister to say something testy. Melody, however, was stroking Igor’s hand, her fingers gently circling over his gold-bracelet-embellished wrist.

  ‘And who have we here?’ Diana directed the question to no one in particular, but her eyes were on Abby like she was channelling Prue Leith and Abby was a nervous GBBO contestant.

  ‘Diana, this is my daughter, Abby. She’s visiting from England where she runs a luxury hotel.’

  Abby felt her blood turn colder than the ice cubes in her daiquiri. She hugged the glass like it was a buoyancy aid and she was a non-swimmer. Runs a luxury hotel. As much as she adored The Travellers’ Rest it was only a three-star, and there had been some rather picky reviews on TripAdvisor recently. And she hadn’t really been the one to call the shots – as she’d found out to her detriment.

  ‘A luxury hotel.’ Diana sniffed like Abby was halloumi well past its eat-by date; her disdain was obvious and subtle all at the same time. ‘Which chain? Warner? De Vere?’

  ‘It’s a boutique establishment, actually,’ Abby responded. ‘High standards. Wall-to-wall de riguer.’ She so hoped ‘de riguer’ meant fabulous.

  ‘Fantastique,’ Diana replied, nailing pure soft sarcasm. ‘Well, I am Diana Le Carré. Accent over the “e” like the other author.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘No relation. And it’s a dreadful bore having to explain that all the time.’

  Abby went to reply but was interrupted.

  ‘I always say, when people ask, “I’m the Le Carré who will give you more high than spy”.’ She laughed then. Like a cage full of monkeys.

  Abby had truly had enough, and she reached out, tapping Melody’s arm. It took three attempts for her sister to acknowledge her.

  ‘How’s your little business going, Jackie? Have you managed to sell any properties this month?’ Diana asked.

  Melody frowned at Abby and practically bit out. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m tired after the trip. I really want to go now.’

  ‘Well, you can’t,’ Melody retorted, turning immediately back to Igor.

  What?! She couldn’t go? It was her holiday! Not a hostage situation. She poked Melody’s arm hard causing a yelp and a furious expression when her sister turned again.

  ‘I’m going back to the house,’ Abby stated, picking her handbag off the floor and preparing to get up.

  ‘No,’ Melody said, taking a firm grip of her. ‘Please, Abby. Not quite yet.’ She made head-jerking motions towards their mum and Diana.

  ‘Six properties this month!’ Diana exclaimed, hands flying to her mouth, a diamond as big as Donald Trump’s ego on one of her fingers. ‘Really, Jackie? Because news like that would surely have filtered down to my Pow Wow and Pikilia group.’ Diana sucked a breath in. ‘Six sales in a month in a village this size is practically an evacuation.’

  Abby watched Melody round on the author. ‘We don’t only deal with properties in San Stefanos, Diana. We have a much wider reach than that.’

  ‘I believe Ionian Dreams have clients as far as Kavos.’

  ‘And,’ Melody continued. ‘If you know the property market as well as my mum and I do, you will know that properties in the south are a third of the price of properties in the north. We cherry-pick at Desperately Seeking, Diana. We’re not interested in wasting our time on cheap, seen-better-days, in-need-of-extreme-renovation trash.’ Melody sent Diana a sugary smile then looked to Jackie. ‘Are we, Mum?’

  ‘We’ve just taken on a beautiful villa in the mountains,’ Jackie stated quickly.

  ‘Is that so?’ Diana asked. ‘Because as I was saying to Valentin over dinner earlier, I wasn’t sure there was anything suitable for his budget on the market here at the moment. You know.’ She took a breath. ‘Over two million euros.’

  ‘And where is Valentin?’ Jackie inquired. ‘Recovering from after-dinner tinnitus?’

  ‘Actually, darling, he had to take an important business call.’ Diana swirled her finger around the rim of a wineglass. ‘And then he’s meeting me here for a nightcap.’

  Abby got to her feet then and grabbed her sister’s hand.

  ‘Ow!’ Melody exclaimed.

  ‘Excuse us, everyone,’ Abby stated. ‘Just for a moment.’ She turned to Melody. ‘We need to talk. Right now.’

  Abby made her tone just like the one she had used on the slacking temporary sous chef who hadn’t known his a la carte from his table d’hote.

  Her sister nodded, almost meekly and let Abby steer her away from the table of mismatches towards the pontoon. She just needed to get Melody on her own, away from this self-obsessed bully of a writer and the rather obnoxious Slavs. Far enough away to get to the bottom of the business and to learn where the red hot pants fitted into things.

  It was a stunning night. The dark sky laden with stars, the water a subtle, waving ink, boats dipping softly up then down. A warm breeze tickled Abby’s shoulders but all she felt was tension
, the knowledge that something here was amiss. That her family’s odd companions were telling a tale and she didn’t understand the plot.

  ‘Right,’ Abby said, stopping in the middle of the wooden platform. Its ill-fitting planks were gappy and a little tired, making the scent of salt and surf fizz up her nose. Then she rocked on her sandals slightly, half-forgetting that jetties moved. Quickly she re-established her footing. ‘What’s going on, Melody? And don’t try to fob me off with talk about fantastic villas and superyacht owners, because this is Corfu, it isn’t the set of Riveria.’ She really did need to stop referencing TV shows as if they were her only hobby.

  It was right at that moment that Abby noticed her sister hadn’t stopped walking, but had continued to the very edge of the platform and was facing the sea, looking a lot less assured than the confident table-organiser of earlier.

  ‘Melody,’ Abby said, her tone softer. ‘What’s going on?’

  Her sister didn’t reply and as Abby stepped a little closer to her she could hear what sounded like the beginnings of a cold, only no one got a cold that quickly …

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ Melody breathed before a heart-wrenching sob left her petite frame. ‘So in trouble. And I’ve tried … I’ve tried so hard, Abs, but I’m running out of ideas faster than we’re running out of money.’

  Running out of money. This did not sound good. Particularly now she had met her mother’s business rival and he seemed keen to chase them out of the village completely with his free hot stones and shiatsu.

  ‘The business isn’t thriving, is it?’ Abby stated.

  ‘The business is dying. Has virtually … died,’ Melody spilled out. ‘We haven’t sold six properties in a month. We haven’t sold one property this month. We only sold one and a half last month.’

  ‘One and a half?’ Abby queried.

  ‘It was a three-bed with an apotheke.’ Melody sighed. ‘In the end they almost paid more for the shed than they did for the house.’

  ‘And the villa with the views to die for? And the dog? And the Geordies-cum-Scots?’

  ‘You really believed that?’ Melody asked sadly.

  ‘Well …’ It was, in fact, more that she had wanted to believe it.

  Melody looked down at her attire then back to Abby as tears snaked across her cheeks. ‘I dance,’ she said. ‘In a bar in Acharavi. Twice a week. As a warm-up routine for the pole dancers.’

  Abby closed her eyes, the full fall out becoming clearer as each sentence was spoken. ‘Why didn’t either of you say anything to me? When you called or text? It was all blue skies and “I’m just off on a crest of a wave”.’

  ‘I wanted to tell you,’ Melody breathed. ‘I really did. But Mum was so certain we were going to get out of the situation. Once she had sold her designer shoes and got paid for the villa cooking we had a little capital, so we reinvested it in the branding to shake things up again but … well, business is no better.’

  Abby didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure what she was more shocked about: the fact that her family had kept all these difficulties from her, or that her mum had been paid to cook for people. When they were children, it had always been Super Noodles, frozen mixed veg for the five-a-day fix and Al’s kebabs on the weekend.

  ‘She didn’t want you to worry and she knew you would. And it’s not like you’re right round the wanging corner, is it? You can’t just drop work and drop Darrell and come over here.’

  It hurt that her mum had held back from divulging this issue because she didn’t want Abby’s world to be rocked. It proved just how much time, energy and life force she had devoted to Darrell and her job. Time she could have, should have, redirected towards her family.

  ‘And the Russians?’ Abby asked. ‘Where do they fit into all this?’

  Right on cue a rowdy shout pierced the night and the sound of breaking crockery followed.

  Melody shrugged. ‘Igor’s nice … nicer when he’s on his own. And … he’s rich. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to get a few meals paid for, maybe a present or two. Mum was going to try and get Valentin to buy a couple of her more pricey properties … but I’m not sure she’s trying that hard.’ She let out a shaky breath. ‘And we really need to be trying hard.’

  Abby shivered, the warm breeze making way for a shot of cold as the reality that things were so tough her mum and her sister were almost pimping themselves out to make ends meet hit home.

  ‘OK,’ Abby said confidently.

  ‘It’s not OK,’ Melody replied, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘We’re down to our last thousand euros. You didn’t have three courses tonight, did you? Or fillet steak?’

  ‘No,’ Abby shook her head. ‘And I’m paying.’ She took hold of her sister’s hand and squeezed it, suddenly realising how young Melody looked, how vulnerable. ‘And it’s going to be OK.’

  ‘I don’t see how. I can’t take on any more extra jobs. I’m already working for the boat hire company delivering fliers as well as Desperately Seeking and the dancing and I’ve been making time for Igor this week in case he decides to leave early.’ Melody sighed. ‘If I could just get him to take me to Corfu Town for the day I know I could get him to buy me a designer handbag or maybe a diamond bracelet, just enough for a couple of supermarket visits would do.’

  ‘I don’t want you to keep doing that,’ Abby interrupted. ‘I’m going to help now I’m here.’

  ‘You’re going to hook up with Andrei?’ Melody asked. ‘I know he isn’t quite as hot as Igor but—’

  ‘I’m not going to hook up with anyone.’

  Melody shook her head, smiling. ‘Still hopelessly devoted to Darrell.’

  Abby swallowed and quickly forced a nod and a smile she didn’t feel. ‘I’m going to help with the business.’

  ‘But you can’t tell Mum I’ve told you things are bad. She’ll kill me. And you haven’t been to visit for ages. You’re supposed to be having a holiday, not working.’

  ‘Well I’m not going to sit on the beach soaking up the sun while you two go bankrupt, am I?’ Abby said. ‘And we’ll tell Mum I know together if you like. Then she can kill us both.’

  ‘Oh, Abs, I’m really glad you’re here,’ Melody said, squeezing her hand tight and looking like she might descend into more tears.

  ‘Come on,’ Abby said. ‘Let’s go home now. It’s late. We’ll get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we can start revitalising the business.’ She took a deep breath, her eyes going from her sister to the road, the edge of the facade of Desperately Seeking visible behind a palm. ‘Starting with a tin of white paint.’

  Fifteen

  San Stefanos Village

  Seven am. Theo was awake and, for the first time in weeks, he was completely sober. Spyridoula, as predicted, had patronised The Blue Vine until almost 2am with her bridge-playing friends, ensuring he had to stay working until the end and help Hera clear up. It had been surprisingly hard work. Lifting barrels, taking orders – making sure to get everything just right – mixing cocktails and trying to stop himself from ejecting the table of Eastern Europeans. He had told Hera they were drinking their own vodka but she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss. He, on the other hand, was going to ensure they did not make themselves so comfortable the next time they appeared at the bar. And there would be a next shift for him, he’d decided – just to keep the peace, until he found himself something more suitable or the need to move on returned. There was no denying he could do with a new focus, but he was going to make sure it was one of his choosing. He was also going to make sure his father was given no excuse to sell the family holiday villa.

  Standing on the terrace, he gazed out over the view. Tiny clusters of houses nestled in abundant greenery that shelved gently towards the harbour. The sea ahead like a static sheet of blue glass – calm, restful, yet also enigmatic, its shape capable of change at any given moment. It was, he considered, just like life.

  He took a long, slow breath inwards. There was something about San Stefanos tha
t always seemed to settle him. Perhaps it was the perfect mix of countryside and seascape, the laid-back village life, or maybe it was just the distance from his old life. Miles away from the rush and tear of a multi-million-euro business, life felt quieter, days here almost restorative. But, the moment he even thought about going back, his body’s reaction still wasn’t a healthy one.

  ‘Ow!’

  The squeal drew Theo’s attention to the road below. There was Abby, a few hundred metres ahead. It appeared she had just dropped a large wooden easel on her foot and now two plastic pink flamingos were falling to the road.

  ‘Ugh!’ Abby squealed again, reaching down to rub her bare toes. ‘Bloody flamingos.’

  Theo laughed, then very quickly realised, the sleepy village being so quiet at this time of the morning, every sound was audible. Abby looked up and he didn’t wait for their eyes to connect, he ducked down, taking shelter behind the pillared wall. Still looking, he held his breath. What was he doing? Why was he hiding? And why was he compelled to watch in the first place?

  ‘Kalimera, Abby, daughter-of-Jackie.’

  Theo focused through the gaps between the pillars at the sound of his aunt’s voice, a resting yellow butterfly taking flight as his breath caught its wings. And then Spyridoula came into sight, walking towards Abby from the harbour. His aunt would spot him at once. He scooted for the sanctuary of the villa.

  ‘Kalimera … it was Spyridoula, wasn’t it?’ Abby answered with a grimace. Her foot was still throbbing.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ the woman answered, stopping and stooping to pick up one of the pink plastic birds. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Oh,’ Abby began. ‘Well, I’m just helping my mum and sister with the business, and you said the whole village wants the pink gone so …’

  ‘I also say you have a few days. It is very early in the morning,’ Spyridoula remarked. ‘There was no hurry for this. The sun is barely awake.’