Welcome to My World (42 page)

‘Oh my
darling
! My poor, poor girl! What a horrible thing to happen to you!’

Harri had expected this kind of welcome after her phone call, so she said nothing until Viv relinquished her hold. ‘It is. But it’s done now and I’m not going to give him another thought. So –’ she presented the cat carrier to Viv, ‘here’s Ron. Are you sure you don’t mind looking after him?’

‘Not at all.’ Viv pushed a cat treat through the wire bars, instantly winning over Ron Howard. ‘He’ll have a lovely time here, don’t worry.’ She looked at Harri. ‘And how are you feeling?’

Harri took a deep breath. ‘Good, actually. I’m doing the right thing.’

Viv smiled, her eyes full of compassion for her late friend’s daughter. ‘Yes, my darling. You are.’

By the time Harri climbed into bed that night, she was utterly exhausted by the day’s events. The promise of what lay ahead thrilled and terrified her in equal measure, but the devastation at Rob’s affair was still raw. She caught sight of the faded postcard in Grandma Langton’s gilt frame on her bedside table and fresh tears filled her throbbing eyes. Gazing at the dome of Santa Maria della Salute, she whispered, ‘I haven’t forgotten you.’

The dream of Venice was still alive in her soul – but her hope to see it hand in hand with a man she loved remained firmly in place. Kefalonia was a test: if she could do this, then anything was possible. Baby steps, as her mother used to say. Now at least, she knew that Rob wouldn’t be the one to take her, but despite all the heartache and betrayal, she was surprised to find an eternal flame of belief burning away inside. The right man was somewhere out there in the world and, when she found him, Venice would be hers. But for now, her first adventure beckoned . . .

From the cubicle, Harri can hear Viv’s voice – still berating Merv – trailing away into the distance, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Just a little while longer, she tells herself, and then I’ll go. She checks her purse to see if she has any Sterling and finds a five-pound note. It looks strange after two weeks of nothing but Euros. She smiles as a business card catches her eye in the card section. Pulling it out, she reads the gold embossed name at its centre:
Blanche Gilmour-Olsen
.

Athens Airport was a frenetic hub of noise, colour and movement, relentless in its assault on the senses. Loud, animated conversations in a multitude of languages were firing left and right across the terminal floor as passengers pushed squeaky-wheeled baggage trolleys laden with luggage across its shiny expanse, like crazy Dodgems in a funfair ride.

The flight had been amazing. Harri loved it, mentally photographing every moment from take-off to landing. Slightly disoriented after her arrival, Harri passed slowly through the terminal following signs for onward flights, checking her travel information as she went. Finally, she found the airport lounge and, thankfully, dropped into a seat.

‘You look like I feel, missy,’ a deep, gravelly American woman’s voice said from behind a copy of American
Vogue
. ‘Only you make bewildered look so much better.’ The magazine lowered to reveal a large, glamorous-looking redhead in a white linen trouser suit. She extended her perfectly manicured hand, gold bracelets jangling as she did so. ‘Hey. I’m Blanche. Blanche Gilmour-Olsen.’

‘Harriet Langton. Um – Harri’s fine.’ They shook hands. ‘I see we have the same choice in hair colour,’ Blanche beamed, patting her luxuriant bouffant style. ‘Yours natural?’

‘Yes, it is. Yours?’

Blanche threw her head back and unleashed a cracked, guttural laugh on their unsuspecting fellow passengers, eliciting a mixed reaction. ‘Hell, no, honey! But thanks for indulging my ego there.’

‘So are you waiting for the transfer flight to Kefalonia?’

‘I am indeed. Where are you staying?’

‘Fiskardo – in an apartment complex just on the outskirts of the town.’

‘You’re kidding me? Me too! What’s the name?’

Harri pulled the information from her rucksack. ‘Emplissi Beach.’

Blanche clapped her hands and let out a whoop. ‘It looks like we’ll be travelling together, Harri.’

Liking her loud American travelling companion immediately, Harri was glad of the company.

After the forty-five-minute transfer to Kefalonia Airport flew them over the breathtaking turquoise-blue sea as the sun began to dip towards the horizon (with Blanche hardly pausing for breath during the entire journey), they emerged from the busy terminal building into the warm evening sun. Taxi drivers were parked up outside, grinning white smiles in the hope of winning fares. They walked along the ranks of cars until they saw a tall, lean young man holding a sign that read ‘Emplissi Beach Apts’. He smiled as they approached.

‘
Yásas
, ladies. You are for the Emplissi Beach, yes? Harriet Langton and Blanche . . . er . . .’ He stared at the name written on the back of his sign.

‘Gilmour-Olsen,’ Blanche interjected. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get your tongue round it real soon.’ She fluttered her eyelashes vampishly at him. Though he could be her son, Blanche clearly had no intention of letting pass the opportunity to flirt outrageously with their good-looking escort.

‘My name is Milos Voukouris. Let me take your bags, please. The minibus is not far away.’

The journey up to the north of the island was stunning – and the low, golden evening light added a lustre to everything as the minibus sped along the coast road towards Fiskardo. She remembered Alex describing this journey to her last year, but experiencing it for herself was so much better. Pushing the thought of him away, she gazed out at the Kefalonian landscape.

‘My father owns the apartments,’ Milos explained. ‘We have a small taverna too, so you must come for dinner. This is your first time here?’

‘It’s my first time
anywhere
,’ Harri laughed. ‘I’ve never holidayed abroad before.’

Blanche looked at her aghast, as if her revelation was tantamount to heresy. ‘How on
earth
have you never travelled?’

‘Long story. How about you?’

‘Why, darling, I’ve travelled
all
over, believe me. But this is my first time on your beautiful island, Milos.’

His huge white-toothed grin flashed again. ‘Well, maybe we will have to show you around a little. Although I warn you: you will be leaving a piece of your heart here.’

The Emplissi Beach Apartments lay up a track that rose from the main road and headed into the hills. The minibus bumped along, an experience made more hair-raising in the fading light of the evening. Rounding a corner, the apartments suddenly came into view – every window in the traditional, dusky-pink three-storey building alive with soft light.

Milos helped them out, opening the back doors to retrieve their cases. They followed the grey crazy-paved path edged with small garden lights as it rounded the ground floor of the building and up to the pool area. As they did so, a stunning view came into sight below them. Tiny lights from far-off villages over the bay twinkled round the fringes of the inky black ocean, and stars brighter than Harri had ever seen shone in the sky. The warm night air was filled with the scent of wild thyme and hibiscus, while the rhythmic chirping of cicadas lulled the senses into an undulating slow dance, like the waves of the ocean far below the hillside where they stood.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Harri breathed as Blanche slipped an arm through hers and hugged it.

‘Awesome. Simply awesome.’

‘Come, ladies – this way, please.’

Milos opened a large, wooden door and they walked inside. ‘This was a farmhouse originally,’ he informed them, taking the role of unofficial tour guide as they began to climb a whitewashed stone staircase to the floor above. ‘It is over two hundred years old and has been in my family for four generations. My father and brother converted it into apartments three years ago.’ He stopped by another door and pushed it open, revealing a large room with a kitchen at one end, a balcony at the other and separate bathroom and bedroom. ‘Miss Langton,

this is your apartment,’ he smiled. ‘Miss Blanche, yours is across the hall. If you would like to rest a while, I will return at eight o’clock – my father has invited you to our taverna for dinner.’

Alone in her room, Harri walked out onto the cream-tiled balcony and inhaled deeply. No book could ever show you the smell, sound and taste of a place – but in one lungful of air, she felt like she had inhaled Kefalonia into her soul. For the briefest moment, she wished she could tell Alex about this – it was a reflex action she still hadn’t quite managed to shake the habit of. Stepping back into the room, she put the thought behind her and started to make herself at home.

To Kardiva
was a small, single-storey taverna with a vine-canopied terrace overlooking a secluded beach, just off the Fiskardo road. Milos’ father, Thaddeus, strode out to meet them when they walked up from the minibus.

‘
Kalí spéra
, my honoured guests!’ he boomed, kissing Harri and Blanche on both cheeks. ‘Tonight you will join my family. Come, come . . .’

Although Harri had tasted Greek food before, it was nothing like the dishes served up by Thaddeus and his tiny wife, Eleni. Crisp fried
saganaki
cheese, with lemon and hunks of homemade bread; simple, grilled sardines, fresh from the sea; tender Greek lamb
souvlaki
and the ubiquitous Greek salad filled the long table. Milos sat next to Harri, while Thaddeus seated himself next to Blanche, who, of course, was delighted to have the broad-shouldered Greek beside her. Eleni never seemed to sit down for more than five minutes, shuffling back and forth between table and kitchen, barking orders at her sons Galen and Zeno, who were preparing the food.

Neighbours passed by and were dragged into the taverna to meet Harri and Blanche, whilst several cats and dogs wandered happily around their feet. It was chaotic and relaxed at the same time – and this, Harri was to learn, was Greek life in a nutshell.

After a few days adjusting to their surroundings, exploring the achingly pretty town of Fiskardo, with its beautiful architecture, green-shuttered pink houses, yachts in the harbour and restaurants lining the quayside, Harri and Blanche began to take in more of the island, hiring taxis or occasionally hitching a lift with Milos or one of his brothers if they happened to be passing. As they did so, Kefalonia unveiled its treasures before their eyes: beautiful secluded coves you could only reach from the sea; lively towns like Sami and Argostoli; ancient ruins like the castle of Agios Georgios; and everywhere the uniquely Greek sights, sounds and smells – whole families crammed onto scooters cruising the streets in the evening, the scents of pine, bougainvillaea, and mouthwateringly fresh lemons, and the ever-present sound of goat bells (even though Harri never actually
saw
a goat during the whole two weeks she spent on the island).

To her great surprise, Harri learned that Kefalonia had a Venetian past: evidence of their architecture was everywhere, like the Venetian fortress at Assos. The original inspiration for Kefalonia’s Carnival season came from the opulent masquerades Venice became so famous for. Knowing that this island – chosen, it has to be said, on a whim – was so inextricably linked with the city she dreamed about gave Harri a massive sense of peace, as if her world had just opened up to welcome her to its heart.

Early each morning, Harri would take the steep, winding path that led from the back of the apartments towards a tiny cove. She had found it quite by mistake, rising early on her first morning and venturing out into the lush gardens surrounding the pool. She never discovered its name, but as it seemed like she was the only person who visited it, she decided to call it La Serenissima beach, in honour of the island connection with the place she most longed to visit. Here, as dawn painted the sky with pastel pinks and blues, she would walk slowly along the water’s edge, feeling the sand sinking beneath her toes and the warm waves lapping over her feet. For the first time in years, she felt peaceful – as if she was breathing fresh air for the very first time. She thought about the events of the past few months – of Rob, Alex and Chelsea – and it was as if the small cove afforded her a new objectivity to it all. While she had no idea what lay ahead, Harri knew that her decision finally to get on a plane was the vital first step to whatever came next. In those early morning strolls along the silent shore, the cool shadow of the cliff rising behind her, Harri began to make sense of her emotions, coaxing each one out from its hiding place deep in her heart. On the tiny beach she had infinite time and space to consider everything, and each morning she felt stronger, more resolute in her desire to become more like the Harri in her mind.

Most of all, Harri was glad of Blanche’s company. The big, boisterous multiple-divorcee, originally from Kentucky but now living in a mansion in New Jersey, was fearless, happily throwing herself headlong into each new experience or challenge that came her way. After days spent exploring the island, they would retire to the coolness of her balcony, gazing out towards the island of Ithaca with the sunset sky arcing magnificently over the Steno – the expanse of sea that separated it from Kefalonia – and talk for hours, usually with a bottle of local Robola wine.

One thing that Harri quickly learned about Blanche was that it was no use trying to be elusive about your life with her. She had a way of getting to the truth eventually, so it was simpler to tell her everything she wanted to know in the first place. Maybe it was because Harri was so far away from Stone Yardley, or maybe the positive outlook of the Kefalonians was rubbing off on her – but she somehow found it easier to talk about herself here.

‘Wait, so let me get this straight: you kissed your best friend and then you didn’t speak to him again?’ Blanche asked, one evening at
To Kardiva
.

Harri nodded and helped herself to some Greek salad. Thaddeus and Eleni had outdone themselves tonight, she mused, looking across the blue and white checked table groaning under the weight of so much food.
Stifado
, thick beef
souvlaki
, plates of fresh tomato and cucumber slices,
tzatziki
, spicy, grilled fish – it was a Greek feast fit for a queen.