Claudia's Big Break (10 page)

Tara in a foul mood was one puppy not to play with. Sweeping past me, she slammed the bathroom door.

After an hour reading magazines on the couch, watching Levi run over dinosaurs with imaginary motorbikes, and listening to the clickety-clack of Sophie's knitting needles, I ventured upstairs to Tara's room and knocked on her door.

‘What?'

‘You okay?' I asked.

Silence.

‘Glass of wine?'

‘No!'

I hesitated. Should I go in and try to soothe the savage beast, or stay outside where it was safe? What the hell! A scooter had almost run me down and I'd survived. How much worse could this be? Opening the door, I found Tara lying on the bed, draped over her notebook, tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘It's pointless,' she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I've got several first chapters but never seem to get any further.'

‘Maybe your writing style is more suited to short stories.'

Tara shook her head. ‘But that's not what I want to do. I really thought that being here, away from the magazine, I'd finally find some inspiration.'

‘Give it time, it'll happen.'

‘You said that days ago.'

‘Well, maybe you need
more
time.'

‘I've got notebooks full of ideas and observations, but I just wish I could commit to seeing an idea through rather than giving up when it starts getting hard.'

‘Maybe if you reread some of your —'

‘You don't understand,' she interrupted. ‘I can't concentrate. I need to clear my head but what with Sophie's noisy needles and Levi's shrieking —'

‘He's not shrieking any more. He's playing.'

‘Hallelujah.' Tara raised her hands. ‘And the clicking?'

‘Still clicking.'

Tara sat up and closed her notebook. ‘How do you think she is anyway?'

‘Not happy, but I'm sure once she's spoken to Alex —'

‘Why doesn't he just ring?'

‘Maybe he really is tied up with work.'

‘Calculated neglect, I'd call it. I used to do it all the time to Anthony and most of the other partners I've had. Guaranteed to drive you insane.'

‘I'm sure he's not knowingly ignoring Sophie,' I said, wondering if Marcus would do the same to me when I returned.

‘True. Alex isn't that much of a bastard.' Tara regarded her notebook and plethora of coloured pens on the bed and took a deep breath.

‘Come on, leave the writing for tonight and come and enjoy the sunset.' I ruffled her hair and she stood up.

‘You're right. But don't ever play with my hair again.'

We joined Sophie on the patio where drinks and mouthwatering appetisers — vine leaves filled with rice and raisins, marinated eggplant and artichokes, and briny olives — awaited us. I loved it, loved listening to the cicadas and the church bells in the distance, watching the lemons on trees sway gently in the breeze. I felt totally relaxed. I could easily stay here for the foreseeable future. Here, where I didn't have a care in the world.

‘Tara,' said Sophie when we'd settled. ‘I've read about this sort of thing, it's very common.'

‘What sort of thing?'

‘Writer's block. You're forcing yourself. Just relax and take it easy. Why don't you write a self-help book? People love those. I'd buy it.'

‘It has to be a quirky self-help book, though,' I said, scooping up a cracker of baba ganoush. ‘Something like,
My Cat Saved my
Life and Forty-Nine Other Sanity-Saving Tips
. It'd be a bestseller in no time.'

Tara shook her head. ‘Very funny, guys. You love playing that game, don't you?'

‘Are we annoying you yet?' I asked.

‘Not overly. Anyway, I don't think it is writer's block. I think it's me not following through. Maybe I'm scared of failure.'

‘How?'

‘I've been talking about it for years but never seem to make much progress.'

‘That's not true,' said Sophie. ‘What about those fantastic murder stories?'

‘She says they don't count,' I chimed in. Tara had been prolific at school and university. She'd written crime fiction, all short stories, but even so they'd been gripping, edge-of-your-seat reading. But her personal writing took a back seat later on when she started writing professionally. She said it was impossible to find the energy at night when she'd been writing all day.

‘Maybe you could look at changing jobs so you're not exhausted when you get home?' I suggested.

‘True. When I think about working for Melinda I'm-a-self-styled-visual-publisher Mason for the rest of my years . . .'

‘Yeah, getting out from beneath her should be inspiration enough,' said Sophie.

‘I'll say,' I said. ‘If I were you, I'd have killed myself by now.'

‘You're a fine one to talk,' Tara said ‘What about that place Marcus sent you to?'

‘That reminds me, I should call him.'

I moved inside and dialled his number.

‘Marcus?'

‘Claudia, you like ringing me in the middle of the night, don't you? How's the holiday going?'

‘Fine, but I haven't heard from Con yet.'

‘He's a busy man running an enormous corporation. I've left him a message. He knows you're in Santorini. He'll call when he gets there. Just make sure you don't give the information to anyone else, okay?'

‘All right. Marcus —'

‘Yeah?'

‘Nothing. I'll see you soon.' I clicked the ‘end' button on my phone, muttered ‘calculated neglect' under my breath and resumed my seat on the terrace.

I hated that I liked him so much. I couldn't help myself. He was charming, kind and generous. What wasn't to like? Oh yeah, that's right. He was married.

I played with my wineglass while remembering the first time I slept with him. I hadn't seen it coming. Okay, I sort of had. We'd flirted before then, but Marcus flirted with all the women in the office. I'd like to say that the evening's scenario didn't include a tired cliché about working back late and Marcus and I realising we were the only two people in the building. But I'd be lying. He had a tender due and I was frantically trying to get all the necessary documentation together. At seven-thirty, when he ordered Thai food and offered me a drink, we were about three-quarters of the way through. Until then, I hadn't known he kept bottles of vodka, rum and whiskey tucked away in his cabinet drawer.

I was drinking my second vodka and tonic when he brushed some hair away from my face. Sirens started ringing, alarm bells were going off in every part of my body, but I still let him kiss me. And kiss me again. It was wrong from the beginning. I felt guilty but excited and nervous as well. It was great for my ego, right up until the last month or so.

Now I was wondering whether he had replaced me. Whether he had taken up with Maddie, the new sales rep. I'd asked him about her and he'd laughed, throwing me his
you're being paranoid
look. But why wouldn't I be? Maddie was barely thirty. Thirty and perky.

‘So, Claud, how's your knee?' Sophie asked.

‘Sore.'

‘We should have reported that guy,' Tara said.

‘How?' said Sophie, peering over her knitting. ‘The black scooter he was riding had no licence plate and he was dressed helmet to shoes in black.'

‘It was an accident,' I said, not wanting to relive it again. ‘He probably didn't see me.'

‘I saw the way he was riding, Clauds, he was gunning for you,' said Tara. ‘He purposely accelerated into you to steal your bag.'

‘It was a scooter. What harm could it have done?'

‘Doesn't it bother you at all?' Sophie said. ‘What if Levi had been standing next to you? That guy could have run him over.'

It briefly crossed my mind to tell the others about the dubious characters I'd seen at Con's ‘office' in Athens. But I knew Sophie and Tara would go ballistic if they heard even the barest details. Besides, if I started talking about Con, it would inevitably lead me to telling the girls about my affair with Marcus, and they would never approve. I needed to keep that little piece of information all to myself.

9

‘B
ugger.'

Wrenching myself from a peaceful sleep, I realised I'd forgotten to switch off my phone and now it was ringing at the ungodly hour of — I raised my arm to check my watch, and squinted — nine o'clock! In the morning. Who rang at this hour? On holidays?

Fumbling, I groped for my mobile lying on the bedside table. ‘Hello.'

‘Clow-di-ah?'

‘Yes, who's this?' I sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling hair away from my face.

‘
Geia sas. Me lene
Con.'

Thank God! I knew I was being paranoid yesterday, and the day before that. Everything was fine. I'd get Con to sign the papers, continue on with my holiday and all would be as it should.

‘You have something for me.
Nai?
' Con said in Greek.

‘Err,
nai
.'
Nai
meaning
yes
in Greek. It was confusing.

‘
Fira avrio. Enteka I ora to pro-i avrio, nai
.' Con was all business and talking so rapidly I had difficulty understanding. When I sat the oral Greek exam at uni the examiners spoke V . . . E . . . R . . . Y slowly.

My palms were sweating and my mind was racing. Could Con have been one of the men I'd seen in Athens? Looking back, that whole afternoon was a blur. I'd been so overcome with heat and tiredness, perhaps I hadn't been thinking straight.

‘
Ti?
You want to come here?' I asked, wiping my clammy free hand on the sheets. Stupid, Claudia! Mentally, I whacked myself on the forehead.

‘
Ochi
. The café opposite the bus terminal.'

Thank goodness. ‘
Simera?
' Today? I hoped so. I really wanted this matter dealt with as soon as humanly possible.

‘No,' Con said, irritation rising in his voice. He continued to give me instructions in Greek, which I did my best to interpret.

‘Eleven o'clock tomorrow at the café opposite the bus terminal?' I repeated.

‘
Nai.
'

‘How will I recognise you?'

‘Marcus sent me your picture. I will, how you say, recognise you.' Con disconnected before I could say anything more. My brain was spinning. All I wanted to do was get those papers signed and hand over the flash drive.

I clomped downstairs to the bathroom, determined to put the niggling concerns I had about Con to one side. By the time I'd finished showering, I was feeling more philosophical about his call and had even devised a charming scenario of how my meeting with him would play out. We'd meet at the café for ten minutes, tops, knock back a grainy Greek coffee with a side order of baklava, then I'd hand over Marcus's documents, Con'd sign them and it would be over.
Finito!

What did Con look like anyway? Perhaps he was a swarthy-looking Greek who'd roll up to the café on his Vespa, dark curls twinkling in the sun, bod firm and tanned from years spent fishing out on the ocean and dragging nets ashore. Those guys looked incredibly laidback when I'd seen them propped up in bars, smoking cigarettes and downing ouzo. Hitch: from the brief conversation I'd had with him, Con didn't strike me as a laidback fellow.

Maybe he was more the suave and slick man about town. Wearing a sharp designer suit with the obligatory heavy gold chains dripping from his neck and arms (and maybe a couple of thick gold rings on his fingers), he'd saunter up to the table, engage me in flirtatious chat, while all the time leering at my breasts and legs. Plausible.

Scenario three, he'd look like any of the hundreds of nondescript blokes I'd observed since my arrival in Greece. Though I doubted Con would be wearing an
I'm with stupid
T-shirt, and loud red board shorts.

I walked out onto the terrace, where Marcella greeted me with freshly baked
koulourakia
— sweet biscuits — and yogurt.

‘Eat,' she said, imploring me to sit with her. This morning she had her hair pulled back in a colourful headscarf and was wearing a peach-coloured dress with faded navy apron. ‘Your holiday, it is good?'

‘Very. Thank you,' I said, taking a scoop of yogurt.

‘But you here alone? No husbands?'

I shook my head. ‘Sophie is married but Tara and I —' I shrugged.

She nodded. ‘Men. Too much trouble.'

I studied her for a moment, taking in her strong arms and worker's hands. She didn't wear a wedding ring, not that that meant anything. Plenty of married women didn't wear jewellery. However, she did seem to be running this business all by herself.

‘Are you married?' I ventured.

‘
Ochi!
No!' Then she softened. ‘A long time ago, yes.'

I felt embarrassed. I hadn't meant to pry.

‘I am happy woman. But you girls work too hard.'

I looked up, inviting her to continue.

‘Tourists come from all over the world to Santorini. All year work so you come here for two weeks, get sunburnt. Go back home. Work again. What kind of life is this?'

I wondered if she was angry that we were being disrespectful to her country. ‘We are having a wonderful time here,' I said. ‘It is very beautiful.'

She shook her head. ‘You could live like this, too,' she said, throwing her hands into the air. ‘My life is simple but good. Here,' she continued, picking her picnic basket up off the ground. ‘Take these.'

She handed me a basket of limes, strawberries and oranges. ‘Enjoy life.'

I watched after her, marvelling at her vitality. In the air I could smell the sharp sweet scent of lemon blossoms and all I could think was that in my next life I wanted to be just like Marcella.

‘You're taking this peasant look seriously, aren't you?' Tara said to Sophie, who was clad in a tiered white cheesecloth skirt and an embroidered lace-up blouse with bouffant capped sleeves.