‘Kalispera. I see you have been enjoying the beach?’ she says brightly.
‘Yes, it’s lovely. Oh, and I met Dimitri earlier. I didn’t realise he lived on the same street as the house I am buying… Have bought.’ I still need to get used to the idea that I own it.
‘Ah, so you met him. Although he does not live in that house. He is looking after my sister’s dog this week as she is away on holiday. Has he agreed to do the work?’
‘Fingers crossed. I’m meeting him outside the house later.’
‘He will do a good job and he has plenty of builder friends,’ she reassures me. ‘Anyway, enjoy the rest of your day,’ she says, placing her hand warmly on my arm as she departs.
‘Oh, and I have some honeyed orange cake left,’ she shouts over her shoulder. ‘I know how much you like it. Shall I save you some?’
‘You are a bad influence,’ I tell her jokingly.
The thought of Dimitri not actually living across the road gives me a twinge of disappointment and I give myself a talking-to. I have only met this man once. And know absolutely nothing about him.
THIRTEEN
I take a shower, then take the short walk to the villa with Evie. Dimitri is nowhere to be seen, but just as we arrive he pulls up in his van. This time he is covered in dust, his denim shorts and black T-shirt covered in a light film of what looks like plaster. He is with an older, leathery-skinned man with twinkling eyes and a smiling face who he introduces as Yiannis.
‘His English is a bit what you might say… restricted.’ Dimitri frowns, searching for the right word as Yiannis runs his hand over the walls of the house.
‘Limited?’
‘Yes, limited. Maybe my own is not as perfect as I think.’ He smiles, but I am struggling to concentrate on his words. His dark hair that was tied back this morning is let loose now, the light curls almost touching his shoulders. But it’s his smile that captivates me as it could literally light up a room.
‘Thank you both for coming. I guess you would like to take a look inside then. I’m still worried about that though,’ I say, pointing to the zigzagging crack down the building. ‘There’s nothing more off-putting than a big crack,’ I say and Evie sniggers like a schoolgirl.
‘I can imagine,’ he says, keeping completely straight-faced. ‘Although I am sure it is superficial. The building will be rendered anyway, yes?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I say as I imagine my smooth, dazzling white villa and hoping it doesn’t take up most of the budget.
Upstairs is where the problems are though. The damp patch stretching outwards is water coming through the roof I am told, and Dimitri tells me they will need to investigate further. They point and prod, speaking to each other in Greek, before heading to the van for a pair of ladders. Yiannis scales the ladder like a man half his age, followed by Dimitri. After waiting for what seems like forever, Dimitri gives me the news that the roof will need to be completely replaced.
Heading into the second bedroom, he bounces on a slightly soft spot and Yiannis shakes his head. ‘New floor,’ he announces as I feared he might.
The small bathroom looks solid enough, it just needs ripping out completely and replacing.
‘You don’t like this colour,’ Dimitri teases, looking at the bright-blue bath suite.
‘Strangely enough, no. Or, surprisingly, the brown tiles.’
They take their time assessing the premises, including the rear yard with the stone steps leading to the upper floor.
‘I would like a pretty balcony there, maybe something with a nice filigree pattern. I’m thinking French doors opening out onto the balcony,’ I say, my imagination running away with me, along with the budget for the build probably.
‘We can do whatever you like. I have a couple of other jobs to finish, but I promise that in two weeks’ time we will start, and it will have our full attention,’ Dimitri reassures me.
We decide that the roof is the first and foremost job and I agree to return for two weeks in the near future as I feel I need tobe there to oversee the first part of the project and draw up some plans.
Phoebe appears once more after Dimitri has left and invites me and Evie in for a drink. We were about to head off and change for dinner, but it seems rude not to accept. She is going to be my new neighbour after all.
We step inside her cheerful home, with white walls, a dark sofa draped with a colourful tapestry throw that she proudly tells me she made herself. The floor is terracotta stone, and a wood burner stands in the corner for the cooler months, which is something I want for my home.
‘Maybe not tea,’ she says, changing her mind as we sit down. ‘As it is a little hot some fresh orange juice, maybe,’ she offers, and we gratefully accept. She gestures us into the small but pristine kitchen and lifts a contraption from under a counter, the like of which I have never seen before. She loads it up with several oranges and pumps the handle of the manual orange juice maker and soon hands us each a glass of freshly squeezed juice.
‘Now I definitely want one of those,’ I say.
‘Ooh me too. I love fresh juice in the morning,’ agrees Evie.
