Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance) (11 page)

A
steaming cafetiere
was thumped down on the kitchen table in front of Panos. He was sitting, dressed for business despite the morning heat, a sheet of projections open on his laptop. If only he had actually been reading them. Despite every business distraction he had thrown at himself since he’d woken, his mind was still on Imogen. And not the fact she had rejected his offer for the restaurant, but her long blonde hair shifting in the humid night and how her body had felt pressed against his under a silvery moon. Shifting the computer slightly, he earned another snort from his grandmother.

‘Why would you do this?’

The accusation flew through the air with no foreword or extra information. His hackles raised instinctively.

‘I invite friends for dinner, Pano. I want to have a nice night, to welcome Harry and Imogen to Corfu and you… you…’ Elpida pointed her index finger as she shot out the words like machinegun fire. She halted only for a quick breath. ‘What do you think you are doing offering to buy the restaurant back from them? I thought I made myself very clear on the telephone to you. I do not want to own the restaurant.’

So Imogen had told his grandmother what he had said to her last night. Had she visited in person? Early? Before he was awake? He had to remind himself, he was here for business and business alone. He had had an email from his lawyer this morning about the Tomas’ Taverna deal.

‘And I made it clear you should have sold this to me.’

‘Don’t make me smoke, Pano, I am trying to cut down.’ Elpida toyed with her wedding ring. ‘They are good people, trying to make a living, start a new life…’

‘And what about me, huh? Your grandson. Don’t I deserve to make a living? Begin a new life?’

He had sounded almost sentimental there and sentimentality didn’t win deals.

‘Is that what you want, Pano?’ Elpida asked. ‘A new life? Here? In Acharavi?’ There was hope in her eyes.

Would it be better to play along? Nausea flooded his gut. He wasn’t going to lie to his grandmother. That was something his father would have tried to do.

And straightaway there was one of the images he’d tried to forget. His father, dark hair tousled, swarthy skin creased and reddened, clothes crumpled, smelling of alcohol and filth, stood in this very kitchen spitting venom at Elpida. He’d screamed and shouted until his voice was hoarse and then he’d cried. Through a crack in the doorway Panos had watched his father get on his hands and knees and beg Elpida to give him money.

‘Did she come here?’ The question was out of his lips before he knew it.

‘What?’ Elpida asked. ‘Who?’

‘Imogen.’

‘Pfft!’ Elpida exclaimed, turning around and reaching for her cigarette packet on the worktop. She flipped open the top and gazed at the contents. ‘It would not surprise me if she never comes here again!’

Panos frowned. If Imogen hadn’t been here then how did Elpida know about the offer? He nodded then.
Risto
.
Risto also knew about his plan for the whole Acharavi seafront.

‘What else did Risto tell you?’ Panos asked, getting to his feet and picking his tailored jacket up from the back of the chair.

Elpida narrowed her eyes, pulling a lone cigarette from the pack. ‘What else is there to tell me?’

He nodded then, slipping his arms into the jacket, a smile on his face. ‘You interrogated him.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Elpida snapped.

‘What did you do,
yiayia
? Tie him to a chair and threaten him with the homemade fig wine from 2001?’

She held the cigarette to her nose and inhaled. ‘I wanted to know why the guests I had invited into my home wanted to run away faster than Pheidippides.’

‘And you assumed this was because of something I’d done?’ He began to collate his papers. ‘Perhaps, as we were sat outside, the mosquitoes were becoming a problem for Imogen. Maybe they were eating the other half of her they hadn’t already feasted on.’

‘Risto told me everything. He tell me you hope to get information about their finances, their strengths and weaknesses, in order to make them sell the restaurant to you. Risto was to be a spy like in James Bond, reporting everything to you and telling them stories about the restaurant’s past hardship and making them want to go home.’

Panos tried not to let anything show on his face. This did not matter. He wasn’t giving up on the offer just yet. He was meeting with two other bar owners on the strip today and once he had convinced them both to sell he might not need the property on the corner anyway.

‘Where is Risto?’ Panos asked, snapping his laptop closed.

‘Risto has gone to apologise and offer his services to Harry and Imogen under
my
employ.’ Elpida reached for her lighter.

‘
Yiayia
, please,’ Panos stated. ‘You say you want nothing to do with the restaurant yet you are going to pay Risto to help these people?’ He threw his hands up in exasperation.

‘I never said I do not want anything to do with the restaurant.’ She flicked the lighter at the end of the cigarette and sucked hard. Blowing out a thick cloud of blue–grey smoke she responded, ‘I said I did not want to
own
it.’

He shook his head hard.

‘And I am disappointed in you, Pano,’ she added.

He tucked his laptop under his arm and picked the car keys off the table. ‘Well then… like father, like son,’ he stated, his face set.

He waited just long enough to see sadness coat his grandmother’s expression and then, flooded with guilt, he turned and left.

T
he sun was already hot
. Imogen sat on the sand, listening to the early morning sound of the sea. Here, looking into the water, surf like hundreds of pearl droplets scurrying up the beach towards her, it was peaceful. She watched a large cruise ship appear in the right-hand side of the ocean. Like a floating hotel it was slipping through the waves taking its passengers away from the Greek island to a brand new destination. And here she was, in a brand new location herself, with Harry embracing each morning with gusto.

Sitting here, her fingers stirring up the grains of soft sand, the sea whispering on the shore, she could feel it too.
Possibility.
The restaurant was a blank canvas. The bare walls, dust and crumbling plaster weren’t devastation, they were just signs that a reinvention was needed. If Harry was willing to try then so was she. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain. Two weeks in the sun, dusting off her cooking skills and supporting her brother. The best of fresh, Greek food and a restaurant full of happy diners just like Panos had described.
Her mobile erupted from inside her bag. She slipped her hand inside and drew it out.
Janie
.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Please tell me you’re packing your bags and Harry’s given up the idea,’ Janie said.

Imogen shut her eyes. ‘Hi, Janie.’

‘Well?’

‘No, not quite yet.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means it’s still a work in progress.’ That wasn’t a lie.

‘I’ve looked at it, you know, the black hole of Calcutta.’

Imogen swallowed. ‘It’s a bit different to the photos now.’

‘It’s still on Rightmove,’ Janie continued. ‘If it’s still on Rightmove there must be a chance it can go back on the market, right?’

Imogen understood. This was the same shock she’d gone through. And Janie wasn’t here. Janie was back in the UK. Far away and panicking.

‘Tell me, are those windows still broken? Or haven’t you been able to get to them because of that hedge of weeds?’ Janie let out a breath. ‘I feel sick at the thought of you being there, going through all this with Harry… If it wasn’t for the children I…’

‘It’s OK,’ Imogen said, her eyes on two birds pecking at the sand about a metre away from her.

‘It’s bloody not though, is it? And what is he doing there while you’re trying to persuade him to give it up and come home?’

‘Janie…’ She braced herself. ‘It actually isn’t as bad as we thought.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Harry and I, we’ve been working on the restaurant since we got here. And it’s clean now, with some lovely traditional features…’

‘Are you still there?’ Janie checked. ‘I thought you said something about traditional features rather than bag packing.’

‘Listen, I know we all thought Harry had jumped into something bad but Janie, I’m not sure he has.’ She looked back out to sea, the water so inviting, almost calling to her to come back in. ‘Harry’s so happy here and… I checked this morning. He’s taking his medication.’

‘Oh, thank God for that. I had visions of him there, steam coming out of his ears, writing shopping lists and ordering menus and… what about the new furniture he bought online? Have you managed to cancel it?’

Cancelling an order the restaurant now badly needed wasn’t on her priority list any more. After her talk with Harry last night, surrounded by the scent of sardines and squid, her priority was re-learning how to cook gourmet Greek food.

‘Did you hear what I said, Janie?’ Imogen asked. ‘Harry’s really happy and he’s working ever so hard.’

‘But it’s a fad, isn’t it? Like the sandwich van and the club for fans of
Castle
he told Tristan he was setting up.’

‘No, it isn’t like that. I promise.’ Imogen rested her eyes on the cerulean water. ‘He’s committed to this project. More committed than I’ve seen him before.’

There was silence from the other end of the phone until… ‘Really?’

‘Yes, Janie, really.’

‘Well, I hope you’re right because he’s been going for it with the kids. It’s been excited emoji after excited emoji – the cake one and the chicken leg one – and hundreds and hundreds of cat faces with hearts for eyes!’ Janie finally drew breath. ‘He’s building them up with talk of them coming over in the summer holidays and… I don’t know what to say.’

‘He
is
excited,’ Imogen admitted. ‘All the time.’

‘Well, that isn’t natural. No one is excited
all
the bloody time unless there’s something wrong with them.’

‘Janie, he’s really, truly the most happy I’ve seen him since the accident.’

She knew Janie was concerned about the children. She didn’t want them being promised things that might not happen. And she understood that. But what Harry really needed was a little faith.

‘I want him to be happy, of course I do. But I’d rather it was here, not in Greece doing something he isn’t equipped for.’ Janie paused. ‘You agree, Imogen, don’t you?’

The birds pecking in the sand in front of her were starting to fight with each other over a sandworm. She let out a breath.

‘Janie, I’m going to call you back,’ Imogen said, getting to her feet.

‘What? Why? What’s going on?’

‘I’m going to call Mum. Speak soon!’ She didn’t give Janie a chance to say anything else. About to get up, her phone bleeped at the arrival of an email. She settled back down on the sand. Pressing into her inbox she saw the message. It was from the Wyatt Hotel Group. Her mouth dried up and her heart began racing as she pressed on the bold type. An automated reply. They were thanking her for her application but due to the number of applicants it would take some time to review them all individually. She swallowed. That was good, wasn’t it? It wasn’t an out-and-out rejection. They were looking at her. She was still in with a chance.

She put the phone in her bag and, brushing the sand from her clothes, she got up, heading back up the beach towards the restaurant.

I
mogen had picked
up a flagon of bottled water from Spiros the shopkeeper and heard a couple of ladies chatting in Greek, the only recognisable words being ‘Tomas’ Taverna’. When she had asked Spiros about this he had said Tomas was retiring and the restaurant was going to be closing. Less competition for Harry’s restaurant – she couldn’t bring herself to call it Halloumi yet – had to be a good thing. She almost felt excited along with nervous. She would throw herself into this project with Harry and hopefully it would take her mind off the the Wyatt Group email.

She’d practically bounced back up the terrace, the Corfu heat on her body, heading for the kitchen and the Greek recipes she’d perused online. She would make a list of the core ingredients they needed for the store cupboard and refresh herself with the dishes Harry had liked the sound of when they’d discussed it. As she beat up eggs, chopped aubergine, tomatoes and cheese, adding in a pinch of salt and pepper, and throwing in small pieces of a basil plant she’d found in a pot at the back of the restaurant she started to feel the anxiety lift from her shoulders. This could really, actually work.

For the
saganaki
she just needed to coat Greek cheese in flour and fry it in olive oil. It wasn’t Jean-Christophe Novelli standard yet but it was a start. Her first flavours of Greece in Greece.

Her eyes went to the window that looked out over the side aspect of the property. There was sea and sand from every viewpoint in this place. Mixing up the omelette ingredients and breathing in, she caught sight of Tomas’ Taverna and beyond, hanging baskets of flowers and terracotta urns spilling with colour.

‘
Kalimera
, Imogen.’

IImogen turned from her beating to greet the woman as she came in.

‘
Kalimera
, Elpida.’

‘You are making!’ the Greek woman exclaimed.

‘Just some omelettes and a
saganaki
for lunch.’

‘It smells wonderful.’ Elpida came closer, lowering her nose over the bowl and inhaling hard.

Imogen smiled at her enthusiasm and turned on the cast-iron pan on the hob.

‘Imogen, I must apologise,’ Elpida said, bending down and lifting up two large sacks to the countertop. ‘For Pano and Risto and the offer for the restaurant at a dinner party I invite you to. Pfft!’

Her mind went instantly to Panos, not to the part where he had insisted it was only a matter of time before he got his hands on the restaurant, but to the bit where her body had been melded to his in the humid night outside Elpida’s home. She swallowed and gave the eggy mixture an extra harsh flick with the fork.

‘Panos is very keen to buy the restaurant back,’ Imogen said. ‘When we came home last night he had pushed his business card through the door.’

Elpida began to pat the front of her dress, her forehead creasing. ‘Where are my cigarettes? That boy will kill me! I am smoking more now he is home than when he is not.’

‘But Harry likes Risto,’ Imogen said. ‘He’s spoken to him this morning, sorted things out. We want him to keep helping us, but
we’re
going to pay him, Elpida, so there’s no confusion. Harry’s made it very clear that the restaurant isn’t for sale, so no amount of reporting back to Panos on our position is going to do any good.’

Elpida nodded, still patting her way around her body. ‘He is a good boy at heart. A hard worker.’

Imogen tipped the contents of the bowl into the pan, the mixture immediately sizzling and bubbling until she turned down the heat. Next she drizzled another pan in olive oil and began to coat slabs of cheese in flour for the
saganaki
.

Elpida picked up a finger of aubergine and held it like a cigarette. ‘You and your Harry, you are exactly what I dream for this place.’ Her eyes went around the kitchen as if she were reliving every memory. ‘The very last thing I want is for Pano to rip down the walls and put up all his metal and loud music and flashing lights.’ Elpida flexed her palms as if she were simulating strobes.

‘His what?’ Imogen questioned.

‘His monstrostitties… is that the right word? The nightclubs and racing cars. Young people who do not know any better, all drinking like sailors, all wearing little clothes,’ Elpida stated.

‘I don’t understand,’ Imogen said. A bitter, uncomfortable feeling was starting to bubble in her gut. The sputtering from the pans grew louder.

‘Pano,’ Elpida said. ‘He run Dimitriou Enterprises. He go to towns all over Greece and put in these awful places.’ She threw her arms up. ‘He is very successful, he make lots and lots of money but at what cost, huh? Where is his loyalty to the people of Greece and their traditions? Why does money have to come before everything else with him?’

Imogen felt a veil lift from her eyes, revealing crystal-clear clarity.
That’s
why Panos wanted the restaurant. Not to replicate Greek summer nights of old and the memories of his grandparents,
bouzouki
music in the air and fresh fish on the griddle. He wanted to tear it down. To destroy it. To rip up Harry’s dream and replace it with a nightclub and whatever else Elpida was talking about. She pursed her lips, not hearing the words as Elpida continued to speak of Panos’ business.

‘Where is he now?’ she asked.

‘Who? Pano?’ Elpida replied, sucking on the piece of aubergine.

‘Yes, Pano,’ she said. She lowered the heat in the pan and slipped a hand into the pocket of her shorts, her fingers touching the pointed edges of the business card.

‘I do not know,’ the woman answered. ‘He is always in meetings so I think he—’

‘He isn’t at the house?’ Her eyes searched the kitchen, looking for something.

‘No. Are you alright? You look a little flushed,’ Elpida said. ‘Is it the bites? Do you need more of my special remedy?’

‘No,’ Imogen said bluntly. ‘I… just need to pop out for something.’