The Holiday

With an insatiable appetite for other people’s business, Erica James will readily strike up conversation with strangers in the hope of unearthing a useful gem for her writing. She finds it the best way to write authentic characters for her novels, although her two grown-up sons claim they will never recover from a childhood spent in a perpetual state of embarrassment at their mother's compulsion.

Erica is the author of many bestselling novels, including
Gardens of Delight
, which won the Romantic Novel of the Year Award, and her recent
Sunday Times
top ten bestseller,
Promises, Promises
. She now divides her time between Cheshire and Lake Como in Italy, where she strikes up conversation with unsuspecting Italians.

‘Erica James’ sensitive story ... is as sparklingly fresh as dew on the village’s surrounding meadows ... thoroughly enjoyable and fully deserving of a place in the crowded market of women’s fiction’

 

‘This book draws you into the lives of these characters, and often makes you want to scream at them to try and make them see reason. Funny, sad and frustrating, but an excellent, compulsive read’

 

‘There is humour and warmth in this engaging story of love’s triumphs and disappointments, with two well-realised and intriguing subplots’

 

‘Joanna Trollope fans, dismayed by the high gloom factor and complete absence of Agas in her latest books, will turn with relief to James’ ... delightful novel about English village life ... a blend of emotion and wry social observation’

 

‘Scandal, fury, accusations and revenge are all included in Erica James’ compelling novel ... this story of village life in Cheshire is told with wit and humour’

 

‘An entertaining read with some wickedly well-painted cameo characters. It’s a perfect read if you’re in the mood for romance’

 

‘An engaging and friendly novel ... very readable’

 

‘A bubbling, delightful comedy which is laced with a bittersweet tang ... a good story, always well observed, and full of wit’

A Breath of Fresh Air

Time for a Change

Airs and Graces

A Sense of Belonging

Act of Faith

The Holiday

Precious Time

Hidden Talents

Paradise House

Love and Devotion

Gardens of Delight

Tell it to the Skies

It’s the Little Things

The Queen of New Beginnings

Promises, Promises

Table of Contents

To Edward and Samuel
with all my love

 

And special love and thanks
to Maureen

‘Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.’
F. Scott Fitzgerald

In the beginning God made man, and when he’d got it completely right, he made Theodore Vlamakis.

This thought, though perhaps lacking in originality, came to Laura Sinclair as she gazed out at the dazzling horizon where a cerulean sky met a sea of aquamarine, and where, closer to the shore, their nearest neighbour and good friend, Theo was swimming. She watched him emerge from the clear blue water and make his way up the pebbly beach. Even by Greek standards he was deeply tanned, and with his strong muscular physique, which he kept in check by swimming at least twice a day and for an hour at a time, he made a striking impression. When he’d finished drying himself off, smoothed back his short wet hair and slipped on a pair of sunglasses, Laura found herself speculating on just how far his tan went up those long legs.

All the way, probably. Theo was not a man who did anything by half.

She sighed nostalgically, recalling a time when her own legs had been lean and firm, when cellulite and thready veins were things her mother worried about.

Banishing such depressing forty-something thoughts, she continued watching Theo as he also took a moment to enjoy the view. He really was in all respects completely and utterly gorgeous. It didn’t even matter that he was a vain forty-two-year-old serial romancer; it merely added to his charm.

Beneath the exterior of rich, dark smoothness he was also a man of considerable kindness. When she and Max had flown over at the weekend, he had arrived within minutes with a picnic basket of freshly baked bread, wafer-thin slices of salami, sun-ripened tomatoes just picked from his own garden and a bottle of chilled champagne. ‘To celebrate the start of your summer here in Ayios Nikólaos,’ he had said, his thumbs working deftly at the cork as he insisted they leave their unpacking till later.

She watched him turn from the water, sling a towel around his neck, and move along the beach towards the path that meandered up the hillside to his villa. As he did so, he tilted his head and glanced in her direction. She waved down to him and he returned the greeting. She invited him to join her for a drink by raising her arm and making a cup with her hand. He nodded and held up a thumb. She went inside and prepared a Campari and soda for herself, and ouzo with ice for him.

They had met Theo quite by chance, last spring when he’d been on the same flight as them bound for Corfu. Sitting in the window seat next to Max, he had been delighted to learn that they were spending the next three weeks on his beloved island, hoping to buy a holiday home. He claimed to have the very property for them. ‘It is newly built and completely perfect. You will fall in love with it, I know you will,’ he had enthused. ‘I designed it myself, so take it from me, you will not find anything better, other than my own house and you cannot have that, it is mine. It is a part of me.’ They soon came to know that this was typical Theo-speak: he was never slow in declaring his feelings or his enthusiasm, or revealing his pride, which in another man would probably have come across as conceit.

He had been right though: both she and Max had fallen in love with Villa Petros the moment they saw it. Tucked into the verdant hillside of cypress trees, and with its easy access to the secluded beach below, it was just as Theo had promised. The deal was struck without any second thoughts, and with Theo’s help they had spent most of last year decorating and furnishing the house to make it their own. Now they would be able to enjoy it properly. It would be their first real holiday in Ayios Nikólaos and Laura was looking forward to spending the entire summer there. It was just a shame that Max wouldn’t be able to do the same. He would have to make at least one trip home to keep an eye on work, although having organised a little den of
Boy’s Own
high-tech wizardry in the villa, there was no worry of him not knowing what was going on at the office.

The running of his own firm - a management consultancy he had set up in the mid-eighties - was a source of pride and satisfaction for Max. In its infancy, it had looked as if the risk he had taken in leaving his then well-paid and secure job would backfire on him, but the business took off and became a major success. So successful that if he wanted to he could sell the company tomorrow, retire, and they would still be able to live as comfortably as they did now. But Max was only forty-nine and Laura couldn’t imagine him retiring. Not ever. He was an energetic doer, incapable of sitting still for more than two minutes - unless, of course, he happened to be watching the tennis on telly, and in particular the current coverage of Wimbledon. Tennis was his passion, and since they had arrived, he had been glued to the huge flat-screen television he had bought for his high-tech den. ‘Go on, get your racket to the ball!’ - was a frequently heard cry that broke the peace and quiet of Villa Petros.

By the time she was back out on the terrace with a tray of drinks, Theo had appeared. He was even better-looking close up, with his instantly engaging smile. In the time it had taken him to climb the hillside, his hair had dried in the baking heat to reveal the streaks of grey running through it, which did nothing to detract from his attractiveness. Not for the first time Laura thought how unfair it was that grey hair didn’t do the same for women.

He threw his towel over the arm of a chair in a gesture of easy familiarity and came towards her.
‘Kaliméra,
my darling Laura,’ he said, giving her a languid kiss on each cheek and a cool touch on the shoulder. ‘But look at you, you are turning pink. Why is it that you English women never take proper care of your bodies?’

‘Perhaps it’s because we live in hope of a devastatingly handsome man doing it for us.’

He laughed, then spied a bottle of sun cream on the table where their drinks lay and guided her to a lounger in the shade. ‘In that case, I must not disappoint you. Now, lie down. I will do your back first.’ He poured factor fifteen into the palm of his hand and worked it into her skin with slow, sensual movements, starting with her shoulders, his fingers drifting downwards with small circular movements.

‘Thank you for dinner last night, by the way,’ Laura said, trying to pretend that she wasn’t finding the experience quite as pleasurable as she was. ‘Max and I really enjoyed it. You’re becoming quite a cook.’

‘It is the bachelor life. One has to learn to do these things.’

‘Well, when the time comes you’ll make someone a wonderful husband.’

‘Like your Max?’

‘Yes, just like my Max. And if I weren’t such a happily married woman,’ she added, as his fingers slipped beneath the straps of her swimsuit, ‘I might feel compromised by what you’re doing.’ She turned over.

‘Ah, Laura, how it hurts me to know that you are immune to my charm.’

‘Nonsense! It’s good for you to have at least one woman in this world who is a friend and not a jealous lover.’