half an hour and they’ll no doubt clear everything up. There isn’t much damage done really. Relax!’
I thought of the adoring looks Mita and her friend had given to Chris earlier. ‘They’d like to do more than mother you.’
Chris grinned. ‘Who wouldn’t?’ he said. ‘I’m surrounded by unmarried Greek ladies who’d all like to be the lady of my manor.’ Putting a friendly arm around me, he led me back up to the villa. Despite my mortification at the chaos I’d caused, I fought a peculiar urge to sink into his friendly embrace. It was wonderful to be with someone who knew how bad things were for me right now, but crying on Chris’s shoulder might not be the right thing for me to do. He was David’s best friend – not mine.
‘I’m quite the catch you know – check my swanky new gravy shoes,’ he continued, squeezing my shoulders some more. ‘Come on, let’s open this bottle and eat together. I’ve already got a dinner big enough for two stewing in the slow cooker anyway.’
As the sun began to set that evening, we enjoyed a fantastic meal (which I ate hungrily while he shared some wonderful stories of life on the island with me) without drinking any of my sparkling wine – which had rounded the afternoon off perfectly by exploding like a cannon all over the table. Sparkling wine, it transpired, tended to be eager to get out after a bumpy moped ride and some vigorous goat-shooing work. I wondered at Chris’s calm nature; taking mishap after mishap in his stride. Greece had certainly relaxed him. I wanted so much to ask him why we’d stopped talking to each other, but it was such an awkward thing to bring up at a time like this. In any event, it was lovely to have an evening unspoiled by thoughts of a bitter past life.
‘Laughter,’ he said, pouring us our umpteenth glass of wine, ‘is not only the best medicine but the best way to keep a healthy perspective in life. Everyone should have the ability to laugh at themselves.’
‘Everyone seems to have the ability to laugh at me,’ I said. ‘Do you know, my father used to call me Calamity Jane.’
‘Ah well,’ he joked. ‘He had a point there.’
We clinked glasses in a toast to my incessant clumsiness and watched the sun sink down to the cricking of an island-wide cricket’s chorus. I was so chilled out I even sank back in the chair instead of perching on the edge, sucking my stomach in. Then, just as I found myself really beginning to relax in Chris’s company, the spell was broken.
‘Look, Bernice, I really don’t want to pry,’ he said. ‘But are you going to tell me anything about what happened with you and David? Because, I have to admit – and I apologise, but he is my friend after all – I tried to call him this afternoon.’
‘You did?’
He looked at me seriously. ‘Not to tell him you’re here. I don’t want to interfere of course, so I wasn’t going to say anything. You are, and will always be my friend too, providing you didn’t do anything . . . and, well, I don’t believe you would . . .’
‘No, I didn’t. It wasn’t that.’ I cut in.
‘That’s fine; you don’t need to tell me everything. I just wanted to check he was alright.’
I had to ask.
‘And was he?’
‘I should imagine that he isn’t right now, but he didn’t answer. Is there at least a part of this you can tell me to help me understand?’
As I struggled for the right words, the goat bell sounded out, saving me. Chris put down his wine glass and leaned over the balcony to see who was there.
‘Oh, it looks like Ginger. I’d . . . er . . . forgotten she was coming,’ he said.
‘You have visitors? At this hour?’ The clock on the wall showed it was coming up for ten o’clock. ‘Maybe I’ll just get off and . . .’
‘No, no. It’s Mrs Persson. You remember, from the painting class? Edvard and Ginger? I better go see what she wants. Wait there.’
Recalling the Nordic-looking couple from the class, I said, ‘Her
I thought of the adoring looks Mita and her friend had given to Chris earlier. ‘They’d like to do more than mother you.’
Chris grinned. ‘Who wouldn’t?’ he said. ‘I’m surrounded by unmarried Greek ladies who’d all like to be the lady of my manor.’ Putting a friendly arm around me, he led me back up to the villa. Despite my mortification at the chaos I’d caused, I fought a peculiar urge to sink into his friendly embrace. It was wonderful to be with someone who knew how bad things were for me right now, but crying on Chris’s shoulder might not be the right thing for me to do. He was David’s best friend – not mine.
‘I’m quite the catch you know – check my swanky new gravy shoes,’ he continued, squeezing my shoulders some more. ‘Come on, let’s open this bottle and eat together. I’ve already got a dinner big enough for two stewing in the slow cooker anyway.’
As the sun began to set that evening, we enjoyed a fantastic meal (which I ate hungrily while he shared some wonderful stories of life on the island with me) without drinking any of my sparkling wine – which had rounded the afternoon off perfectly by exploding like a cannon all over the table. Sparkling wine, it transpired, tended to be eager to get out after a bumpy moped ride and some vigorous goat-shooing work. I wondered at Chris’s calm nature; taking mishap after mishap in his stride. Greece had certainly relaxed him. I wanted so much to ask him why we’d stopped talking to each other, but it was such an awkward thing to bring up at a time like this. In any event, it was lovely to have an evening unspoiled by thoughts of a bitter past life.
‘Laughter,’ he said, pouring us our umpteenth glass of wine, ‘is not only the best medicine but the best way to keep a healthy perspective in life. Everyone should have the ability to laugh at themselves.’
‘Everyone seems to have the ability to laugh at me,’ I said. ‘Do you know, my father used to call me Calamity Jane.’
‘Ah well,’ he joked. ‘He had a point there.’
We clinked glasses in a toast to my incessant clumsiness and watched the sun sink down to the cricking of an island-wide cricket’s chorus. I was so chilled out I even sank back in the chair instead of perching on the edge, sucking my stomach in. Then, just as I found myself really beginning to relax in Chris’s company, the spell was broken.
‘Look, Bernice, I really don’t want to pry,’ he said. ‘But are you going to tell me anything about what happened with you and David? Because, I have to admit – and I apologise, but he is my friend after all – I tried to call him this afternoon.’
‘You did?’
He looked at me seriously. ‘Not to tell him you’re here. I don’t want to interfere of course, so I wasn’t going to say anything. You are, and will always be my friend too, providing you didn’t do anything . . . and, well, I don’t believe you would . . .’
‘No, I didn’t. It wasn’t that.’ I cut in.
‘That’s fine; you don’t need to tell me everything. I just wanted to check he was alright.’
I had to ask.
‘And was he?’
‘I should imagine that he isn’t right now, but he didn’t answer. Is there at least a part of this you can tell me to help me understand?’
As I struggled for the right words, the goat bell sounded out, saving me. Chris put down his wine glass and leaned over the balcony to see who was there.
‘Oh, it looks like Ginger. I’d . . . er . . . forgotten she was coming,’ he said.
‘You have visitors? At this hour?’ The clock on the wall showed it was coming up for ten o’clock. ‘Maybe I’ll just get off and . . .’
‘No, no. It’s Mrs Persson. You remember, from the painting class? Edvard and Ginger? I better go see what she wants. Wait there.’
Recalling the Nordic-looking couple from the class, I said, ‘Her
Similar Books
