Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance) (30 page)

‘
I
don’t believe
I’ve just had dinner served to me in my own restaurant,’ Harry exclaimed, leaning back into his chair when he had finished all three courses and had coffee and chocolate mints.

‘It was absolutely lovely,’ Janie said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I liked the ice cream best,’ Tristan said.

‘That was the only bit Elpida and I didn’t make!’ Imogen remarked, picking up the final plates.

‘I liked the moo… What was it again?’ Olivia asked.

‘
Moussaka
,’ Janie said.

‘I liked the pastry parcels,’ Imogen whispered to her niece. ‘But I don’t think I was meant to eat any.’

‘I heard that!’ Elpida chipped in, bustling about with the coffee pot, refreshing cups.

‘A round of applause for our wonderful cooks and our equally fantastic waiters!’ Harry said, looking to Risto and Panos and starting to clap. ‘You’re all dismissed. We can do the clearing up.’

‘Pfft! You think I will make a kitchen a mess and not clean up!’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘I tell you, how you find this place when you come is not how I leave it.’

Imogen moved to carry the dishes back to the kitchen when Panos caught her, pulling her close. ‘I want to take you somewhere,’ he whispered.

‘Where?’ she answered with a smile. ‘Another treehouse?’

‘It is a surprise.’

‘Now I’m intrigued.’

Harry cleared his throat. ‘Please, take my sister out, Panos.’

‘Harry, I’m not leaving Elpida to clear up.’

‘She won’t be,’ Janie interrupted. ‘Harry and I…’ Her eyes went to her husband, a smile on her lips as if she wasn’t used to saying the phrase. ‘We’ll sort everything after we’ve put the children to bed.’

Groans came from Olivia and Tristan.

‘One more bowl of ice cream?’ Harry bargained.

Cheers ensued and Harry winked at Imogen. ‘Go!’

‘
C
lose your eyes
,’ Panos whispered in her ear.

Imogen shivered as he placed his hands on the bare skin of her shoulders. She was still a little hot from the cooking but here, outside the restaurant, the temperature finally starting to drop, goosebumps prickled her arms. She did as he had instructed then felt him guide her slowly forwards along the road.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, small stones slipping into her sandals as she shuffled, a little off balance.

‘Not far,’ he answered.

‘Good, because I would make a terrible blind person and my navigation when I
can
see isn’t that good either.’

‘Stop.’

‘We’re here? Already?’

‘Open your eyes,’ he told her.

She opened her eyes and blinked, looking but not seeing. She wrinkled her nose then turned around slightly, gazing up at Panos. ‘I don’t see anything.’

He opened his arms, palms to the sky, as if that held the answer.

Imogen turned back, looking at the whitewashed wall of Tomas’ Taverna, a few customers sitting on the rectangular terrace, sharing carafes of
retsina
. What was there to see? Then, suddenly, it all clicked into place. She put her hands to her mouth. ‘The sign has gone,’ she stated, turning to look at him again. ‘The Dimitriou Enterprises sign.’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘But… what does that mean? That you’re not buying Tomas’ anymore? That you’re not going to redevelop?’ The last sentence came out no louder than a whisper.

‘I am still buying Tomas’,’ he stated. ‘And, with luck, the rest of the strip.’

She listened intently as he went on to tell her his plan to buy the buildings, charge a minimal rent and then, if the business owners agreed, to implement the mutual benefit strategy with coupons and joint advertising.

When he had finished she shook her head, her eyes wet with unshed tears. ‘This is all so…’ She didn’t quite know what to say. ‘Unexpected and… I just…’

‘You were right, Imogen, about so many things,’ he told her.

‘Was I?’

‘Yes,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘But most of all about it never being too late for a second chance.’ He inhaled deeply, his eyes matching hers. ‘And that is what I am wanting,’ he stated. ‘To begin again here. To live my own life.’

She squeezed his fingers, wanting to connect a little tighter, the warmth of his palm radiating its heat into hers.

‘But there is more,’ he said.

He pulled her slightly, making her face the patch of ground between the two restaurants, his hand still entwined with hers.

‘I have bought this land,’ he said.

‘You have?’ Imogen said.

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

She thought about the girl with her wayward ball and the plan she had to buy it and make it a play area before he could snap it up and turn it into an extension of his planned complex. Now she was at a real loss as to why he wanted it.

‘Do you know who it belonged to?’ Panos asked.

‘No, I…’ Should she admit she’d had designs on it to halt his progress? She shook her head. ‘No.’

He smiled then. ‘My grandmother.’

‘What?’ She looked up at him in shock. She had specifically asked Elpida to find out who the land belonged to.

‘Yes, she says this piece of land is where she and my grandfather had their first date together, sharing olives and… other things we should not think about too much.’

Imogen smiled. And the woman had kept it, even though she had sold the restaurant. She had wanted to hold on to her memories of her husband. It was so romantic and beautiful… but why had Elpida now given it up?

‘I bought it for you,’ Panos told her.

‘For me?’ she said, her tone unsure.

He nodded, enjoying her reaction. ‘Elpida told me you thought Halloumi might benefit from a play area for the children.’

She gasped, putting her hands to her mouth for the second time since they’d stopped walking, mouth agape, eyes large and bright.

‘I thought swings and a slide… Maybe we can choose the rest together,’ he suggested.

‘Oh, Pano,’ she exclaimed, rushing at him.

He caught her as her arms wrapped around him, drawing his body in line with hers. Tendrils of her hair touched his face, the scents of the night – jasmine, lavender and bougainvillea – coating his senses. He realised then, he wanted to hold this woman forever.

And then she drew away, her eyes still sparking but this time with something other than the joy he’d just witnessed.

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ she said, her voice weak. ‘I haven’t told Harry yet or Janie and I chickened out of telling my mum earlier.’ She met his eyes. ‘I’ve got an interview. The Wyatt Group sent me an email.’

He smiled hurriedly, trying to decide how to react. He had always known she was leaving. This news made no difference to their situation but all the difference in the world to Imogen. This was her dream. ‘That is amazing,’ he said, grabbing both her hands. ‘It is what you wanted.’

‘I know. But… I’d have to leave the day after Halloumi’s opening night and it just feels… too soon.’

He bit the inside of his lip. It was too soon for him too. He thought they had more time, even if it was just another week. To know they only had a couple of days…

Squeezing her hands, he smiled. ‘It is the opportunity you were looking for, no? You think they would say no. They have said yes.’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you must go, Imogen,’ he said confidently. ‘You must go and get your place and follow your dream.’ He tried to maintain the smile but inside him something very different was happening, a small landslip of emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. ‘This means you do not have to be just a waitress any more. Like you said.’

He watched her expression change a little.

‘I know I said that… but… it isn’t so bad.’ Her eyes went to the beach. ‘We have a lot of regulars. Old Joe and Brian the Biker and Mrs Green… she might even know what her grandchild is by now.’

‘You are not sure about the hotels?’ he asked.

‘No… I mean, yes.’ She smiled. ‘I am sure… it’s just a shock to get a reply. I don’t have any experience and I’m only half way through my qualification and… it’s come at a funny time.’

He nodded. ‘You are concerned about your brother.’

‘Not like I was when we first arrived. Then I thought he was completely out of his mind. I mean, thinking he could open a restaurant when most of his food knowledge was obtained from watching Dean Edwards on
Lorraine
.’

‘But now he has done this.’

‘
Almost
done it,’ she answered. ‘There’s a little thing like a launch night tomorrow. And there’s Janie and the children.’ She sighed. ‘Getting the Charlton family reunited isn’t a done deal yet.’

He put his arms around her then, drawing her into his body. ‘Did they not dance to the song of lovers?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And maybe in Greek custom that’s enough, but us Brits need a little more than the Lakas family hooch and dancing in the moonlight.’

He drew away, looking at her quizzically. ‘Really? This is true?’

She laughed. ‘Yes.’

‘I do not believe it,’ he answered. ‘Come. Come with me.’ He pulled her hands, directing her towards the grassland he had purchased from his grandmother.

‘What are you doing?’ she laughed.

‘Take off your shoes,’ he ordered.

‘What?’

‘Do this,’ he said. He let go of her hand to remove his shoes, ripping off his socks and standing barefoot just as he had earlier with Elpida.

‘Don’t tell me this is a Greek custom too,’ Imogen said.

‘It is a Dimitriou custom,’ he answered. ‘As of today.’ He watched her slip off her sandals and put down her slender feet onto the lawn. He reconnected their hands and took a long inward breath. ‘Now look at me.’

She met his eyes with those pure aquamarine irises he could look into for a lifetime and held his gaze.

‘Do you feel it?’ he whispered. What he was feeling was not the grounding of himself in Greece but the fiery, intense connection with her.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I’ve been feeling it almost ever since we met.’

He moved his head a little closer into the space between them, the night humid air still dense. ‘Dance with me. Here, in the moonlight.’ He connected their bodies just as he had on the main street of Acharavi the night of the folklore festival, one hand on her hip, the other holding hers.

He felt her tremble underneath his touch as he slowly began to sway her over the grass in a latent tango.

‘There isn’t any music,’ Imogen said, her eyes still caught up with his.

‘No?’ he asked her. ‘Listen.’

He watched her close her eyes then, her body hot against his as they moved as one. From high up in the hills came the sound of crickets and cicadas, mixing with the delicate lute and
bouzouki
from Tomas’ Taverna, interspersed with the soft sound of the sea slipping up on the sand.

It was one perfect summer night he would hold on to when he had to let her go.

A
hot
, wet tongue met her lips and, half-asleep, Imogen shifted a little, widening her mouth into a smile.

‘Is it morning?’ she whispered.

She kept her eyes closed, knowing she was laying naked on the floor of the restaurant, covered only by one of Mrs Pelekas’ tablecloths that didn’t have a home yet. After she and Panos had danced on the grass they had bought kumquat liqueur from Tomas and taken it down onto the beach. By the time they had arrived back at Halloumi everyone else had been in bed and neither of them had wanted the night to end. Panos had suggested a hotel, but the thought of the opulence and chocolates on pillows she’d always hankered after hadn’t seemed right. She had locked the door and had his shirt off before she’d even said no to the idea.

There was the tongue again, warm and moist, making its way over her lips. She smiled again, her hand reaching out for him.

‘Imogen.’

It was Panos’ voice but it was a little too far away. She flicked open her eyes and came face to face with fur and whiskers, a pink tongue ready to kiss again.

‘Argh! Ugh! Socks!’ she screamed, sitting up and wiping at her face with her hands. The cat had the good grace to skit across the floor and settle under one of the tables.

She looked up at Panos, holding two steaming cups of coffee, wearing nothing but his underwear. Her eyes couldn’t help roving all over the washboard stomach and firm chest, trailing up to that David Gandy jaw and cheekbones and the thick dark hair, tousled from where she had run her fingers through it.

‘The cat has good taste,’ he remarked, handing a cup to her.

She took it. ‘The cat is going to get us shut down before we are even open.’

He shook his head, smiling as he sat down next to her, folding long, lean, athletic limbs. ‘Cats are as essential to Greece as…’

‘Olives?’ Imogen suggested. ‘
Ouzo
? Metaxa? Feeding people up?’

‘I was going to say tourism, but I like your suggestions.’

She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Panos made good coffee. She would miss it as she would miss a lot of things about Corfu: the gorgeous views, the sunshine weather and, most of all, Halloumi. Her gaze went to the interior of the restaurant, the restaurant they were about to open for business that night. How could a place she had likened to Sleeping Beauty’s time-eroded castle just a short time ago mean so much to her now? So much that the thought of leaving it, even with the job opportunity she had always wanted in her sights, was filling her with apprehension?

She looked at the tables, Mrs Pelekas’ hand-crafted cloths on each of them, waiting for shining silverware and glasses. The bright white-washed walls, acrylic paintings of scenes of Corfu hanging in appropriate spaces, old earthenware jugs and plates from the original Dimitriou restaurant washed and polished for display and the two sofas in the ‘chill-out’ area Harry had ordered almost from the outset. It was beautiful.

‘What are you thinking?’

She turned her attention back to Panos. ‘Nothing,’ she answered immediately. She paused. ‘Actually, everything.’

He reached out, slipping his long, tanned fingers in between hers. ‘The restaurant looks…’ He stopped as if he were searching for the right words to say. ‘It looks right,’ he finished.

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ she agreed with a nod. ‘Harry’s done a great job.’

‘And you too, Imogen. I seem to remember how good you are with paint.’ He smiled. ‘And going head-to-head with a developer who had very different plans for the beachfront.’

‘Hmm,’ she mused. ‘He was a tricky customer but, in the end, he succumbed to my English charms.’

‘Is that so?’ Panos asked, shifting forward, his bare parts back in her sightline.

‘Isn’t it so? Mr Dimitriou?’

His lips met hers and she allowed herself to fall, elbow snagging the leg of a chair as her back met the tiles. She touched the rough bristle of his cheek, fingers wanting to memorise the feel and ingrain it into their tips like Braille. She felt him cup her hips with his hands and she drew his body closer to hers just like she had several times last night.

Suddenly there was a knocking on the glass of the front door. Imogen dragged her mouth from Panos’, eyes wide. ‘Oh my God! There’s someone at the door! Pano… I’m naked!’

He smiled wolfishly. ‘I know.’

‘It’s not funny! We only have drapes, not blinds… you can see through drapes!’

‘Hello! Is anybody alive in there?’ The voice came through the door as if a mouth had been put to the letterbox.

‘Oh, Pano, it’s Cooky. I forgot she was coming early with the bread!’ Imogen pulled Mrs Pelekas’ cloth up over her again and used her free hand to start locating her items of clothing.

‘I will let her in,’ Panos said, getting to his feet and seemingly unconcerned about his half-nude appearance.

‘Wait! Not yet! Let me get something on!’ Imogen flapped around for her dress but all she could find was Panos’ shirt and her sandals.

P
anos parted
the gauze drapes at the window of the door and saw Cooky outside, her wild hair scraped back by a flamingo-patterned cotton hairband. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. ‘Good morning,’ he greeted.

Cooky’s arms went up in the air. ‘Praise be! The Lord has listened after all these years!’ Her eyes roamed from Panos’ bare feet up to the breadth of his shoulders. ‘If they have this well-matured steak on the menu I will be eating here every night!’

He shook his head. ‘I am not sure how I feel about the word “mature”, Cooky. Are you certain of the translation?’

Before he could stop her, Cooky had poked a head around the door. ‘Is that Imogen?’

Panos took a look back and saw Imogen fighting to pull his shirt over her head but failing miserably. Some hair, two floppy sleeves of cotton and a yelp signalled some kind of acknowledgement to their visitor.

‘The song of lovers is still working its magic I see,’ Cooky announced with a crusty laugh.

‘Have you come with something?’ Panos asked. ‘Or is this just an early morning visit to provide gossip for the
kafeneio
?’

‘I have bread,’ she announced. ‘In the back of my car.’ Cooky made no move to collect it, still watching Imogen.

‘Then I will get this,’ he stated. ‘And you will help me.’ He directed Cooky backwards as he stepped out onto the sunlit terrace and closed the door behind him.

‘Dressed like this?’ Cooky asked, her gaze roving all over him again.

‘I am wearing more clothes than most of the statues in Achillion Palace and nobody complains about them.’ He led the way off the terrace and stopped at Cooky’s battered red Renault 5. He opened up the back and picked out a tray of perfectly browned baps.

‘Until this day I never think I could ever feel envy for a bread roll,’ Cooky said, smacking her lips.

‘Ai!’ The familiar scream had Panos’ eyes diverting left and there was Elpida, clambering down from the back of Risto’s scooter, candy-striped dress ridden up past her knees. ‘I know Harry and Imogen book a
bouzouki
player for tonight’s entertainment. I do not realise they also book stripper!’

Panos shook his head. ‘What are you all doing here so early?’

‘Early?’ Cooky exclaimed. ‘If you think this is early how do you think bread ever gets made?’

‘We are here to help with the preparations,’ Risto said. ‘The restaurant is fully booked for tonight but Harry wants it to be full every night, so I have more flyers to hand out this morning.’

‘Planning, Panos. Harry is good at planning,’ Elpida stated.

‘Nobody is awake yet,’ Panos countered. ‘Not even the children.’

‘I think someone was awake,’ Cooky said. ‘Although they did not seem keen to get out of bed… or should that be… off the floor.’

‘Where is Imogen?’ Elpida asked, taking a step up onto the terrace.

‘Halfway out of a shirt that is too big for her,’ Cooky said.

‘Risto!’ Elpida called, marching on. ‘Come! You will make the coffee.’