need to breathe again.’ The last part was more to myself than Chris.
He scratched his chin. ‘Well Bernice, I don’t know, I . . . er . . .’
Knowing he wasn’t keen to have me hurt a little. So, he was unhappy with me. I really needed a friend right now, but Chris’s friendship clearly belonged to David.
‘I won’t be in the way, I promise. It’s this or another hotel. Probably on another island as there are so few here,’ I reasoned. ‘Please?’
‘Well, okay, why not?’ he said, still not looking convinced. ‘I guess I can have Mita clean and clear it out for you this afternoon. If you’re sure this is what you want?’
The question, I knew, was about more than just about taking the apartment. Turning back to Boozy Binnie in the mirror, I sighed. ‘Yes Chris, I’m sure. This is just the away-from-it-all haven of peace I need right now.’
He rested a hand on my shoulder and sighed. He didn’t want me here, I knew it. Maybe he thought if I stayed at the hotel David could find me and we could patch things up.
‘Right then, I’ll consider it let.’ he said at last. Then, a wry, mischievous grin, the Chris I remembered. Cha-ching! ‘Two weeks rent up front okay?’
Chapter Six
Had a whole day of expert painting tutelage and got full marks for artist impression . . . after accidentally sitting on the palette and ruining three good chairs.
P osting today’s status told my Facebook world – including Smother − all was well and going to plan on the Dando honeymoon. Taking one last look round the hotel suite, I patted the honeymoon bed – thinking it must be the easiest five days it had ever had – tipped my sunglasses from the top of my head onto my nose, and headed out, with a nod to Suck-Face couple’s door, dragging my case behind me.
‘See ya later . . . not!’
No sooner had I passed it, than the door opened and a guy came flying out, landing on his backside – followed by what looked like a pair of red knickers – which smacked him clean in the puss. He lay stunned, giving me time to race into the waiting lift without having to face him – to join an old couple who’d just got in. As the door began to roll shut, a woman’s voice bellowed out, ‘ Accidentally kept your trollop’s knickers in your case? Huh!’
Finally ensconced in the lift, I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘First floor?’ the gentleman asked.
‘Could be,’ I said. ‘Or maybe she’s thrown him down before.’
The hotel concierge helped me strap my suitcase to the back of the moped, but not before expressing concern that the whole thing might tip up, and offering to get me a taxi instead. But nope, the newly independent me was going to do it by myself. Happily, my little scooter proved it could cope with the extra weight of my case and was soon carrying us uphill towards Chris’s villa, a carrier bag containing a bottle of sparkling wine swinging from the handlebars.
Woman and cargo made it almost three quarters of the way before finally remembering to drive on the right side of the road. How lucky for me that they were quiet and that my phrasebook-assisted grasp of the Greek language didn’t include profanities.
‘You drive on the right hand side of the road, I get it. How hard can it be?’
Pulling up for the second time that day at Chris’s gate and seeing the door to Villa Miranda closed, I rummaged in my pockets to find the combination number for the lock and the apartment key he had given me earlier. He’d be out for his daily kayak session no doubt, whatever one of those was. Although it was early evening, the sun still burned hot on my back, making the effort of pulling my luggage and carrier bag from the moped up the path of jaggy, loose gravel – which kept jamming the wheels of the case – all the more difficult. Hot, bothered and tired, no sooner was my key in the lock of the door than I’d thrown aside my bag, parked my case, pulled back the bed covers and flung myself onto the
He scratched his chin. ‘Well Bernice, I don’t know, I . . . er . . .’
Knowing he wasn’t keen to have me hurt a little. So, he was unhappy with me. I really needed a friend right now, but Chris’s friendship clearly belonged to David.
‘I won’t be in the way, I promise. It’s this or another hotel. Probably on another island as there are so few here,’ I reasoned. ‘Please?’
‘Well, okay, why not?’ he said, still not looking convinced. ‘I guess I can have Mita clean and clear it out for you this afternoon. If you’re sure this is what you want?’
The question, I knew, was about more than just about taking the apartment. Turning back to Boozy Binnie in the mirror, I sighed. ‘Yes Chris, I’m sure. This is just the away-from-it-all haven of peace I need right now.’
He rested a hand on my shoulder and sighed. He didn’t want me here, I knew it. Maybe he thought if I stayed at the hotel David could find me and we could patch things up.
‘Right then, I’ll consider it let.’ he said at last. Then, a wry, mischievous grin, the Chris I remembered. Cha-ching! ‘Two weeks rent up front okay?’
Chapter Six
Had a whole day of expert painting tutelage and got full marks for artist impression . . . after accidentally sitting on the palette and ruining three good chairs.
P osting today’s status told my Facebook world – including Smother − all was well and going to plan on the Dando honeymoon. Taking one last look round the hotel suite, I patted the honeymoon bed – thinking it must be the easiest five days it had ever had – tipped my sunglasses from the top of my head onto my nose, and headed out, with a nod to Suck-Face couple’s door, dragging my case behind me.
‘See ya later . . . not!’
No sooner had I passed it, than the door opened and a guy came flying out, landing on his backside – followed by what looked like a pair of red knickers – which smacked him clean in the puss. He lay stunned, giving me time to race into the waiting lift without having to face him – to join an old couple who’d just got in. As the door began to roll shut, a woman’s voice bellowed out, ‘ Accidentally kept your trollop’s knickers in your case? Huh!’
Finally ensconced in the lift, I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘First floor?’ the gentleman asked.
‘Could be,’ I said. ‘Or maybe she’s thrown him down before.’
The hotel concierge helped me strap my suitcase to the back of the moped, but not before expressing concern that the whole thing might tip up, and offering to get me a taxi instead. But nope, the newly independent me was going to do it by myself. Happily, my little scooter proved it could cope with the extra weight of my case and was soon carrying us uphill towards Chris’s villa, a carrier bag containing a bottle of sparkling wine swinging from the handlebars.
Woman and cargo made it almost three quarters of the way before finally remembering to drive on the right side of the road. How lucky for me that they were quiet and that my phrasebook-assisted grasp of the Greek language didn’t include profanities.
‘You drive on the right hand side of the road, I get it. How hard can it be?’
Pulling up for the second time that day at Chris’s gate and seeing the door to Villa Miranda closed, I rummaged in my pockets to find the combination number for the lock and the apartment key he had given me earlier. He’d be out for his daily kayak session no doubt, whatever one of those was. Although it was early evening, the sun still burned hot on my back, making the effort of pulling my luggage and carrier bag from the moped up the path of jaggy, loose gravel – which kept jamming the wheels of the case – all the more difficult. Hot, bothered and tired, no sooner was my key in the lock of the door than I’d thrown aside my bag, parked my case, pulled back the bed covers and flung myself onto the
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