Under a Greek Spell Read online

  I need to text Steph. It will be a miracle, though, if she’s up before midday after all those cocktails. It was quite amusing when Costas suggested she try his version of Sex on the Beach. I thought she was going to choke on the cherries from her Amour Smooch. I just get the message sent when the tannoy announces my flight. The first message is in Greek and then the English follows: ‘All passengers for flight GA351, please go to Gate 2 for immediate boarding.’

  That will be me, then. I gather up my things and join the queue. It’s only short, and we all manage to fit into the shuttle bus that takes us the few feet to the plane. We’re welcomed on board the small plane and directed to our seats. My seat is by a window. I get my laptop out and make a start with my recommendations for the two small hotels that I’m putting forward for our brochure. I’m sure Daniel will agree with me that they both fit our requirements perfectly.

  The pilot announces that the doors are locked and cross-checked. I love that. I hope they cross-check other things, such as the fuel in the tank, that the engines are all in working order and that an experienced pilot is on board with a co-pilot. Pilots are one of those professional types that you’d prefer to be experienced, along with police officers, paramedics, dentists, doctors, surgeons and, of course, most importantly of all, hairdressers. I let Stephanie loose with my hair when we were teenagers; unsurprisingly, that year the school photo wasn’t sent to relatives.

  There are no TV monitors because the plane is so small. Instead, we’re treated to a flight attendant performing a safety demonstration with an oxygen mask and a life jacket, and holding out a laminated emergency card for all to see. I’m reassured by now that I can handle any in-flight issues (not), but I’d have to remember to kick off my shoes immediately. I wouldn’t want to be puncturing that escape chute with my heels. Imagine the headline in the news the next day: ‘Woman’s Stiletto Impedes Emergency Evacuation’.

  We taxi down the runway, wait a few minutes and then take off. I retrieve Steph’s magazine out of my handbag to flick through. I’m sure she won’t notice it’s missing when she finally wakes up. There are a couple of features that I’ve got my eye on. Now, what were they? Oh yes, twenty things a woman should achieve before she’s forty.

  I’ve already got a couple of boxes ticked. ‘Number 3: own a little black dress that looks good at every party and makes you feel amazing.’ I’ve got a few of those. ‘Number 6: have shoes for every conceivable occasion.’ I’ve definitely ticked this box – they have their own room.

  ‘Number 2: have hot sex with someone you work with.’ That would be James, although it’s looking like the door on that chapter of my life is closed.

  ‘Number 4: forgive your exes.’ In my head, James is now an ex. So, unfortunately, I can’t tick this box because James is not forgiven. He’s a complete and utter waste of time and space, a womaniser and a selfish pig.

  ‘Number 11: let passion be the driver of your profession.’ I’m not sure about this one. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. But would I say I feel passionately about it? After this week, I’m not sure. Perhaps a career change could do me good. I feel like turning up at the Syros Boutique Blue and saying I’ve come for the interview.

  I’m not sure about Number 1: die your hair every conceivable colour. Are they meaning different colours at the same time so you’d look like a human version of My Little Pony?

  ‘Number 18: travel the world and settle in your favourite place.’ Well, I’ve certainly travelled the world, and I love many places. But somewhere to settle down? I don’t know. Well, I have been strangely drawn to Mykonos. I feel so at home here. Maybe I could look at buying a holiday villa on the island.

  ‘Number 9: who you can turn to in a crisis?’ Um, probably my parents or Steph…

  I’m still pondering Number 9 when the plane seems to lose height and my ears start popping. I hope everything is okay with the plane. I wasn’t expecting it to land this soon. My heart races slightly as an announcement is made in Greek. I glance round; no one seems to be looking panic-stricken, nor are they reaching for their life jackets. Then an announcement is made in English: ‘Ladies and gentleman, we will shortly be landing in Athens. The captain has put on the seatbelt sign so please return to your seats and put them in an upright position.’

  I could be wrong, but I thought she just said Athens and I’m meant to be going to Syros! Don’t panic, Helen! There’ll be a simple explanation. The flight attendant comes along to do her final checks and, meanwhile, what must be Athens looms below us. Before I’ve had a chance to even think about how long this detour’s going to take, the plane has landed. It taxis down the runway and comes to a halt in the middle of the tarmac. A handful of people begin to gather their belongings, but everyone else stays put.

  I press my call bell to ask one of the flight attendants what I’m meant to be doing. She explains very nicely that we’re picking up some more passengers here in Athens and then we’re continuing on to Syros.

  I can’t believe I didn’t realise it wasn’t a direct flight – that’s so unlike me. I just checked in and went with the flow. I didn’t pay any attention to my paperwork or to the flight boards. Oh well, these things happen. I chuckle to myself – that’s on the list. ‘Number 16: be able to say “Oh well” rather than “What if?”’

  The new passengers are soon boarded. A woman who’s probably in her late twenties sits next to me. She politely acknowledges me as she fastens her belt. She pulls some paperwork out of her bag; she obviously isn’t going to pay any attention to the instructions on how to put on a life jacket or locate the exits. My attention is drawn to a letter she’s reading. It’s on our company-headed paper. The last thing I need is to chat to an interviewee – it might cloud my judgement in the interview – so I reach for Steph’s magazine for another flick through.

  Ooh, this article looks interesting: ‘What Is Love?’ Apparently it was the most searched question on the web last year, according to Google’s annual Zeitgeist report. The article says, ‘We ask an author, an artist, a psychologist, a vicar and a child what love means to them.’ I have a quick scan over what they all have to say. The burning question at the end of all this is, of course, what does love mean to you, Helen Collins?

  Well, let’s see. I’m pretty sure it’s not what I’ve experienced with James, or anyone else for that matter. I need to think about what I really want out of a relationship. I think I want shared interests and a solid commitment. And what interests do I have? Ever since losing my best friend to cancer, it’s all been about work and the travel industry. I’ve been running away, too scared to get close to anyone for fear that I’ll lose them. It’s me who has the commitment issue, which is why I’ve been dating people like James in no-strings-attached relationships. At some stage, I also need to think seriously about whether I want to start a family. Steph’s predicament has certainly made me think about the subject quite a lot lately.

  My thoughts are pushed to one side as the captain announces that we’re due to land. The woman next to me puts away her paperwork and takes out the safety card from her seat pocket. I feel like saying, ‘It’s a bit late to be worrying about that now you’ve missed the safety demonstration. Don’t be expecting me to help you with your life jacket or your oxygen mask!’

  Fortunately, the plane lands without incident and quickly taxis to the terminal. The flight attendant is making an announcement in Greek, but no one is taking any notice. They’re engrossed in their mobile phones, which are all making various alert noises. Then comes the English translation: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated until the captain switches off the safety-belt sign.’ She’s only just finished speaking when the light goes out. Everyone immediately stands up, clutching their bags, checking their messages and listening to voicemails. We quickly disembark. From the lack of shorts and flip-flops, I assume the other passengers either live here or, like me, are on business.

  There isn
’t a big queue for passport control, but the bags seem to take ages to arrive on the carousel. Finally, a handful of them appear. Of course, most of the passengers had only hand luggage, so they’ve all disappeared already. By the time I get through the barrier, everyone else has gone so it’s easy to pick out the Syros Boutique Blue board. It takes me a couple of minutes to persuade the guy that I’m the last-minute substitute. He seems happy only when there’s clearly no one else coming through the barrier from our flight. He leads me to a minibus and puts my suitcase in the hold. There’s an empty seat at the back of the bus, which, it turns out, is next to my fellow passenger from the plane.

  ‘Hello again. I’m Alexandra,’ she says, in what sounds like a Greek accent.

  ‘Hi Alexandra, I’m Helen. I noticed on the plane that you had a letter from Loving Luxury Travel. Are you going for an interview?’

  ‘Yes, I am, but I think I am wasting my time. I only realise this morning who the new manager is. We work together before and things did not go well between us. Are you here for interview as well?’

  ‘Actually, I’m here to do the interviews,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh, this is good news. At least, if I interview well, I may be considered for similar posts.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m afraid the manager is doing the interviewing with me,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh dear, I might as well catch the next plane home.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. Like you said, the interview will be noted on your file.’

  ‘Yes, it will no doubt be the worst interview on record.’

  The hotel looms into view. ‘Oh, look, I think we’re here. Good luck with your interview. I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I wish I share your optimism, but I will pray for a miracle over lunch.’

  Chapter 18

  Stephanie

  There’s a phone ringing annoyingly somewhere nearby. I wish it would just go away. Oh my God, my head’s hurting. I realise after a few seconds that it’s the hotel phone by my bed.

  A weak husky ‘Hello’ is all I can muster.

  ‘Kalimera. Shirley, is that you?’ a voice asks in a hushed tone.

  It takes me a couple of seconds to register my new alias, and that it’s Costas on the phone. I clear my throat in an attempt to sound a bit more human. ‘Yes, sorry, Costas, it’s me. Is everything okay? Why are you ringing me on the room phone so early?’

  ‘Shirley, it is not early. I already try your mobile and you not answer,’ Costas replies, sounding quite amused.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Maybe it’s on silent. What time is it, anyway?’

  ‘It is nine thirty and we need to leave at ten.’

  ‘Oh my God, nine thirty! And the restaurant only serves breakfast until ten!’ Then the next part of the conversation hits me. ‘Why are we leaving at ten?’

  ‘The boat trip to Delos. We agreed last night.’

  ‘Boat trip to Delos…’ Oh my life, what on earth have I agreed to now?

  ‘Yes, remember? Delos is the island with the archaeological site. Listen, Shirley, I have to go. I will meet you at the bus stop just after ten. You can have a coffee and something to eat at my parents’ hotel.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Costas.’ I put the receiver down and jump out of bed. Getting ready in less than half an hour is going to be a challenge, especially with a hangover. But here goes… I run into the bathroom and switch the shower on. I quickly brush my teeth and drink some water, and then stand under the shower. I half return to being human and finally remember what Costas said last night about this trip. We’re going to an archaeological site without much shade – he mentioned sun cream, a hat and comfortable shoes.

  Okay, shower time’s over – too quickly – and I need to put in my contact lenses. After a couple of attempts, everything is blurred and I look like I’ve been crying, but hopefully that will subside.

  Next challenge – sun cream. I reach for the face one first and squeeze it into the palm of my hand. I start smoothing it on my face. The gel glides on nicely at first and then it starts to get sticky. It wasn’t like this yesterday. My fingers have got so sticky that I have to rinse them under the tap. Then I realise what I’ve done. I’ve just smothered my face in body wash. For goodness sake, this is all I need! I quickly splash water on my face, which works the wash into a nice lather. Oh, what a sight!

  Get a grip, Stephanie! I locate the face sun cream, which, in my defence, has a blue top just like the body-wash bottle, and rub it into my extra-clean face. I then quickly rub the body sun cream on to my arms and legs.

  I scurry into the bedroom. I feel just about brave enough to open the curtains so I can see what I’m doing. It’s another beautiful sunny day, with a clear blue sky. The bright sunshine is actually hurting my eyes. I wonder if it ever gets tedious, opening the curtains to yet another glorious day? Anyway, it makes my decision about what to wear easy – it’s got to be cropped jeans and a T-shirt.

  My shoulder bag is still unpacked from yesterday, with all my day-out essentials and, most importantly, my camera. I check the time; I’ve literally got seconds to pop on some mascara, which, amazingly, I manage to do without stabbing the wand into my eye. I race down the stairs and out of the hotel. As I reach the bus stop, my phone pings with a message.

  Just waiting to board.

  Hope you’re OK after all those

  cocktails. I really do think

  Costas fancies you, and that

  those cocktails were a message –

  Island Affair, Amour Smooch,

  Sex on the Beach… Yes

  pleeeeaaaassse

  P.S. He is gorgeous ;)

  Enjoy your day. XX

  I didn’t think it would be long before Helen picked up on things; she should have got a job with CID. I have a flashback to last night and remember her egging Costas on with those cocktails. I bet she was trying to get me drunk on purpose.

  Costas appears a couple of minutes later and I hop in the car. ‘Kalimera, Shirley. Did I wake you up before?’

  ‘Kalimera, Costas. Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Oh, just the way you could barely speak, and because it was nine thirty and there was still no sign of you in the restaurant.’

  ‘Yes, well, I blame you and Helen and all those cocktails.’

  ‘I think your sister suspects there is something going on between us,’ he says, grinning.

  ‘Judging by the text she’s just sent me, I think she’s definitely on the case. Anyway, she’s away for a couple of days so we can please ourselves.’

  ‘I am liking the sound of that. We have two nights to ourselves,’ he says. ‘Maybe we could start by having a meal in town tonight?’

  ‘It sounds like I’m going on a date,’ I reply, feeling quite giddy and excited at the prospect.

  ‘And are you ready for a date?’

  ‘Yes, Costas, I’m definitely ready for a date.’

  ‘Good, then I will reserve a table for later.’

  We arrive at the Hotel Niko. Costas makes a beeline for Xena and says something to her. She shakes her head, laughs and taps him lightly on the hand.

  Then she shoos him away and approaches me. ‘Kalimera. My son says you might like a coffee – and maybe some croissants or toast?’

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely if there’s enough time.’

  She glances at her watch. ‘There is plenty of time. You relax and I will bring them over.’

  She’s back in no time with coffee that Stavros has made with his signature heart-shaped chocolate sprinkles. ‘I believe you go to Delos for the day? So you enjoy.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. I’m looking forward to it.’ She’s such a nice woman, and I’m getting good vibes from both his parents.

  I pop to the loo while the coffee cools down. A mirror, with lovely bright mosaic glass flowers round it catches my e
ye. Now, why can’t I find anything like that at home? I find my phone, eventually, in my bag and take a photo. Maybe I could recreate something similar. My phone’s full of future projects that I’m going to get round to doing one of these days. I’ve always been quite creative, and this holiday is reigniting my passions in more ways than one.

  As I make my way back to the table, Costas is approaching. He’s changed his clothes and is carrying a tray loaded with croissants, toast, Greek coffee and water, looking like he’s going to a photo shoot. ‘This is how to drink coffee,’ he declares.

  ‘Really? I’ll take your word for it. It doesn’t seem worth the bother to me – one gulp and it’s gone.’

  ‘I just say, Greek coffee is best.’ With that, he gulps it down in one mouthful. He washes it down with water while I have a bite of some toast. ‘Okay. You ready?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll just finish this toast and coffee, and perhaps we can take the croissants with us.’ I wrap a couple in the napkins and put them in the top of my bag.

  ‘If you like, but my grandmama has packed enough food to feed the five thousand. Here she is now. She probably wants to make sure her grandson is in safe hands,’ he says, chuckling to himself.

  ‘Grandmama, this is Shirley. Shirley, this is Eliana, my amazing grandmama.’

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you,’ she says, offering her hand to shake.

  ‘Likewise, and thank you so much for the picnic yesterday – and today.’

  ‘Oh, it is no problem. I like to spoil my grandson. You know, you look very similar to Helen who came to the hotel yesterday,’ she says, scrutinising me.