The Holiday (5 page)

‘That’s good. That means we step out in the right direction, you and me.’

‘Theo, if you could lay off the Ionian charm for a couple of seconds, perhaps you’d be kind enough to get Izzy a drink.’

Dutifully leading her over to the table of drinks, Theo said, ‘That Max, he has such a sharp tongue on him. Like so many English men, he is jealous of his Greek counterpart. We Greek men, we cannot understand how the English ever reproduce, especially the ones with the stiff-upper-lip public-school background. You know, Izzy, a night of passion for Max is sharing a beer with his highly esteemed Fergie.’

‘What? The Duchess of York?’ said Izzy, trying hard not to laugh.

‘No,’ grinned Theo, ‘your great man of the people, Sir Alex Ferguson.’

‘Theo, if you don’t give it a rest, you’ll feel the sharp end of one of these kebab sticks! Now, get the girl a drink.’

 

It wasn’t until Max was serving the fruits of his labours and insisting that Theo and Izzy sit down that Laura reappeared. ‘Who was that on the phone?’ he asked.

‘Francesca.’

Max stopped what he was doing. ‘Nothing wrong, is there? She’s not changed her mind about coming?’

Laura smiled. ‘Poor old Daddy missing his beloved daughter, is he? Don’t worry, she’s still coming. She just wanted a chat.’

‘Ah, mother-and-daughter stuff, was it?’

‘Yes. Big bust-up with the boyfriend.’

Max tipped the last of the swordfish kebabs on to the large plate of seafood in the middle of the table and said, ‘Good. He was an idiot. Didn’t have an original thought in his head. He thought he was so cool and radical when all the time he was a jumped-up little jerk.’

‘Aha, there speaks the father who thinks there is not a young man alive good enough for his daughter,’ said Theo. ‘Poor old Max, you would much rather be the one to choose a husband for her.’

Izzy knew quite a bit about the now ex-boyfriend. She had met him just once, but it had been enough to understand why Max was so glad to know that he had seen the last of him. He had been one of those slowwitted eco-warrior types with nose and eyebrow rings and dreadlocks crawling down his back. He had been a vegetarian as well, and Izzy recalled a beanburger that Laura had made specially for him, which he had prodded at rudely and said he couldn’t eat because he could smell garlic in it. He was a far cry from what she knew was Max’s idea of a perfect boyfriend for Francesca: he had to be motivated and smart, and if he could possibly manage it, straight out of the Tim Henman mould of clean-cut good looks and behaviour.

‘Hah, baloney, to you, Theo!’ Max retaliated. ‘Just wait until you have children of your own before you start casting aspersions on my partiality.’ Then, turning to Laura, ‘She’s okay, though, isn’t she?’

‘Relax, she’s fine, currently denouncing all men as bastards. By the way, she asked if she could bring a friend with her when she comes over.’

‘Anyone we know?’

‘Sally Bartholomew.’

‘What,
the
Sally? Man-eating Sally? A girl who can lasso a man to the ground with her own stockings. You said no, didn’t you?’

Ignoring his question, Laura reached for the wine-cooler. ‘Now then, who needs a refill? Darling, you’re not going to wear those oven gloves all evening, are you?’

Max took them off and tossed them on to the table, then sat next to his wife. ‘Go on, then, tell me the worst. How long is she staying?’

While Laura filled Max in on the details, Izzy offered Theo the plate of barbecued seafood.

‘No, please,’ he said, taking the dish from her, ‘you are the guest here, I will serve you.’

‘But you’re a guest too.’

‘No. I am just plain old Theo from next door.’

Izzy smiled. ‘That sounds suspiciously like a man fishing for a compliment.’

He narrowed his dark eyes and looked puzzled. ‘I am sorry. Fishing? What is the allusion here? I do not understand. Your English must be too refined for me.’

‘Don’t listen to a word, Izzy,’ said Max, leaning across the table, helping himself to a jumbo-sized prawn and ripping it apart. ‘Theo’s English is as good as yours and mine, if not better. He was educated in England at one of those fancy public schools he was just condemning, and my guess is he learned very young to put people at a disadvantage with his linguistic ability. Usually pretty young girls. So be warned.’

Theo passed the plate he was holding to Laura. ‘Is your husband going to be as bad-tempered for the rest of the evening just because a nymphet is coming to stay?’

‘Lord, will you listen to him?’ roared Max. But there was no anger to his voice. Giving Izzy a smile, he said, ‘You see what you’ve let yourself in for this summer?’

‘Ah, poor Izzy,’ said Theo, turning to her and holding out a perfectly peeled prawn for her to take. ‘I don’t think you will stay sane here for long. Promise me, if you get tired of these crazy people you will come to me for a place of sanctuary. Villa Anna is so tranquil. I think it would suit you better. Eh? What do you say?’

Izzy took the proffered prawn. ‘Thank you, but who’s to say that I’m not as crazy as Max and Laura?’

 

By the time they had finished their meal and were sitting in the wicker chairs with a tray of liqueur bottles to choose from, the sun was setting, casting a coppery glow over the wide open sky, and across the darkening water, where the swelling outline of Albania could still be seen, lights were twinkling like stars. It was a beautiful sight and for a few minutes they all sat quietly enjoying it.

Laura was thinking how restrained Theo was being. Compared to how she had seen him in the past, with women far less attractive than Izzy, he was playing it very cool. She hadn’t seen him once attempt to touch her, nor had he commented on her appearance. For an Englishman this would have been par for the course, but for a Greek with a sex-god reputation to live up to it was unheard-of. Was Theo smarter than she had given him credit for? Perhaps so. Instead of smothering Izzy in ready-made flattery he had chatted to her so far about life in England, the school where she taught, and how she had been unfortunate enough to meet her and Max. He had laughed at her description of bumping into Max’s Porsche. ‘It serves him right for having such an ostentatious car,’ he had said.

‘That’s rich coming from you,’ retorted Max. ‘What about the pimp-mobile you have here on the island? BMWs are as rare as hen’s teeth in these parts, never mind the Z3.’

‘You see how easy it is to rile poor old Max?’ Theo had said to Izzy. ‘Always he is coming from the defensive point of view.’

The sun had now slipped below the horizon, and Max asked Theo about his friend, who was arriving the following day. ‘You never mentioned before that you knew Mark St James.’

‘I am sure there are lots of people you know that you have not told me about.’

‘But this is different. Mark St James is an author. Quite a well-known one at that. One of my favourites.’

Theo drained his glass of Metaxá and shrugged. ‘You are entitled to your hero-worship, but to me he is just a friend. No more, no less.’

‘Is he the one whose books have been on the telly back home?’ asked Izzy. ‘The writer they describe as
Cracker
meets
Silence of the Lambs?’

‘Yes that’s him,’ said Max. ‘Those adaptations of his books make a welcome change from all those bonnet dramas. Have you read any of his stuff?’

‘No. I’m not sure they’re quite my cup of tea.’

‘You should give them a try,’ urged Max. ‘The psychology is brilliant. You really feel that he knows the mind of a criminal. It’s rather disturbing, but you almost sympathise with the killer by the end of one of his books.’

‘It is his forte,’ said Theo, leaning forward to settle his empty glass on the low table. ‘He studied criminal psychology at university. He knows his subject inside out.’

‘How did you meet him?’ asked Izzy.

‘Ah, the perceptive Izzy. I see that the unlikely match of two such men intrigues you. But it is true, opposites really do attract. We met at college, and hit it off straight away. Mark thought I was a poncy fascist, and I thought he was an arrogant, foul-mouthed, narrow-minded bore.’

Izzy smiled. ‘So what changed your opinion of each other?’

For a second Theo looked serious and stared into the darkening sky. ‘He saved my life,’ he said quietly. Then, ‘But that’s a story I will leave for Mark to tell you. Now, it is time for me to do some work. I have many phone calls to make.
Kaliníhta,
one and all.’ He got to his feet, followed swiftly by the rest of them. He rested his hands on Laura’s shoulders and kissed her cheeks. ‘As ever, my darling, you were the perfect hostess.’ He shook hands with Max, then turned to Izzy. ‘Now that we are practically old friends, am I permitted to kiss you goodnight?’

He gave her a look and a smile that might easily have talked a girl into falling in love with him.

Theo considered himself a lucky man. Just as Churchill and Napoleon had functioned on little sleep, so did he. He had worked until two in the morning, had risen at six fully refreshed, and by half past seven had been for a swim, showered, dressed and walked up the dusty potholed lane to see Nicos and his wife, who ran the local supermarket. He had returned a short while later with his breakfast: a melon and a
kataífi,
a finely shredded pastry bulging with almonds and soaked in honey. He was eating this now while sitting on the flower-filled terrace overlooking the sea. The scent of the roses enhanced the delicious sweetness of the cake.

His sweet tooth, according to his grandmother, was his only weakness, but then she had always seen him through such blinkered eyes, could never accept that he might be fallible. All over Greece there were women just like her, responsible for giving Greek children, and especially boys, the reputation of being the most indulged children in the world. Certainly Anna Vlamakis had seen to it that her only grandchild was the most pampered and feted.

‘You are spoiling that boy beyond redemption,’ his parents would complain. But Anna ignored their pleas for restraint and took delight in presenting him to her friends and neighbours as a handsome prodigy who could do no wrong. From an early age he had developed a talent for talking to adults without feeling in awe of them, or being self-conscious in their presence. It made him a precocious star turn whenever Anna showed him off. As she frequently did.

After each visit he made to his grandmother in Corfu, his exasperated parents would say that he had returned to Athens with a head bigger than his shoulders and neck could support. It was as well that she had not lived any closer in those early days of his childhood, or she would have been the ruin of him. Though, of course, there might be some, including his old friend Mark, who would say that she had done exactly that.

His father had worked for the diplomatic service, and when he was posted to the Greek embassy in London, both his parents must have breathed a sigh of relief. At last, distance would ensure that Anna Vlamakis’ influence was kept to a minimum. But their relief was short-lived : his father’s duties increased rapidly, which meant that his mother was also busy, helping him host dinners and parties for visiting dignitaries. The inevitable happened : they agreed that he should spend the long holidays from school with his grandmother in Corfu.

Theo had loved Anna’s old town-house in Kérkyra with its faded Venetian façade, pretty courtyard, and ever-changing view of the harbour and old fort. He especially enjoyed going out with her. After her customary afternoon siesta, she would take him through the dark maze of narrow streets - some so narrow he could stretch out his arms and touch both walls - to her favourite
zaharoplastía,
a sweet-shop that sold mouth-watering cakes, and biscuits decorated with sesame seeds, coconut, apricots or chocolate. While Anna chatted with the owner, Theo would be left to make their choice, and when the cardboard boxes had been filled and tied with a ribbon they would go on to visit her friends for tea. Like Anna, these ladies had also outlived their husbands and were wealthy enough to have few worries in the world. Over pastries and liqueurs, they would share with him
risqué
stories of their many lovers, during and after their marriages, smiling at each other and watching his face to see if he was shocked by their scandalous revelations. But nothing they said ever shocked him: he was too fascinated by the world of love and sensual desire they spoke of with such wistful longing.

On other days Anna would take him to the Esplanade where they would watch a cricket match while sitting in the cool shade of one of the elegant Listón bars. Often they were joined by Thomas Zika, a local businessman and lifelong admirer of his grandmother. He spoke in hushed tones, and wore a suit and tie even on the hottest of days. He was an amazing linguist and encouraged Theo to be the same, talking to him in English one minute, Italian the next.

But the days Theo enjoyed most were those he spent in the elegant high-ceilinged drawing rooms of Anna’s widowed friends. It was from those ladies that he had learned the importance of passion. His grandmother said that no one had ever lived until they had experienced what she called a Grand Passion. When he was of an age to understand things better, he had asked Anna why she had never accepted one of Thomas Zika’s many proposals. ‘Ah, Theo,’ she had said, sipping her dry martini, which she had taught him to mix, ‘it is true that Thomas loves me, and it is also true that I am very fond of him. But I do not love him. I would rather keep matters as they are. He is a close friend, perhaps the closest I have ever had, and I would not want to risk losing that by marrying him.’

‘So you think it is always better to travel through life not taking any risks?’

‘No. That is not what I am saying. My marriage to your grandfather was the risk I took and it was my moment of Grand Passion. I have no desire to replace or even add to the memory of what I have already experienced and keep treasured in my heart.’