Roxy is just the right amount of oddball for my tastes. ‘Sadly, the ratio is about seventy–thirty. And out of that thirty, twenty of them are husbands and fathers. So that leaves ten per cent who arepossiblyunattached. A few of those are elderly Greek men, a retired pig farmer who likes messing up the colours of the books, a guitarist who pops in every morning to ask if I’ve seen Helena, and an elderly gent who wears a waistcoat and ties up his donkey out front while he orders me about in Greek.’
‘What does he say?’
‘No idea. I don’t speak Greek.’
She laughs and shakes her head. ‘So what do you do for him?’
‘We use charades to communicate. So far, I’ve fetched coffee for him, water for the donkey, yesterday I gave him a second-hand book about how to raise happy sheep in New Zealand.’
‘Why?’
‘I couldn’t find one with donkeys.’
‘You’re a riot.’
‘OK.’
‘And the guitarist, has he found Helena?’
‘I think Helena might be dead.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Yeah. Either that or she left him.’
‘Well.’ Roxy pulls a stool from behind the counter as if she’s been here a thousand times. ‘Those percentages don’t bode well for me, but I’m an eternal optimist and willing to waitthe oneout. What better place to kill time than somewhere as wonderous as this?’
‘We’re going to need a big pot of coffee then. You watch the shop, and I’ll make the drinks.’ I go to Gran’s villa and pull out olives, Santorini’s best tomatoes (if you’re asking Athena), pickled vegetables, hummus and pitta bread, assembling a meze plate, smiling all the while. This summery paradise has really put a spring in my step.
Like always, Gran has made magic happen in this little forgotten village perched high on a cliff. Bookworms can usually sniff out a book lover’s paradise within a twenty-kilometre range, and slowly but surely they’re finding Bibliotherapy. If we can hold out long enough to recoup her costs and the rent – if we can just keep our heads above water long enough not to drown, this might just be the sort of haven that Gran’s dreamed about for so long. Not just for her enjoyment, but for all the word nerds who also need a place to belong. A place they can bury themselves in books alone or share the joy with other bibliophiles.
If Roxy is anything to go by, we are going to have quite the eclectic mix and I just hope time allows us a grace period to achieve such a thing.
Chapter 10
It’s fake-date time and there’s nothing left to do except ruminate on all the ways I can make a fool of myself. Starting with: my choice of attire. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t ask Roxy’s advice, but in retrospect then she would have quizzed me about the guy and it’s best if I keep this quiet for now in case I mess it all up. And the way the outfit choices are going, it’s highly likely.
So far I’ve tried a floral number – too chirpy. A black sheath – too funereal. Denim cut-offs – just no. I’m about to cancel the whole damn thing, when I find a simple white linen dress with a woven plaited belt. Perfect.
Hair and make-up done, I slip into some strappy leather sandals, and survey myself in the mirror. The Santorini sun has given my cheeks some colour, and I look a little brighter than usual. Could it be this place agrees with me? There’s something about island life that makes even a homebody like me want to go outside and explore, soak up the sun and watch the waves roll in, utterly mesmerised at how a place can be so breathtaking.
I head to Gran’s villa to find some jewellery. At her dressing table, I spy a range of pretty perfume bottles. I choose one and spritz it on my pulse points. It’s a wild evocative scent of spiced rum, cedar and citrus. She really is a woman of the world, Gran. Even her perfumes are exotic, like she is. I go through her jewellery box and find wooden bangles that suit. I dig around to see if there are any matching earrings, before realising that might be reaching into ‘trying too hard’ territory. Just as I’m about to close the lid, I spot a balled-up piece of paper.
I shouldn’t read it. It’s probably nothing. A receipt. A shopping list. The plumber’s phone number.
My curiosity gets the better of me and I quickly unfold it.Your husband isn’t to be trusted.
What does that mean? Is he having an affair with another woman? The woman he was seen with in Corfu? Let’s face it, the age gap is a concern, and the fact that Gran does not like a cheater. Any number of accidents may befall such a person.
My heart is racing at my duplicity. Gran wouldn’t care I was borrowing her things, but she wouldn’t like me snooping. I’m hoping it’s not more complicated, like her luck has run out with the many detectives investigating one of her dearly departed husbands, including the most recent, Konstantine, who with every growing day I’m concerned is no longer earthside.
There’s no time to ponder it all – Georgios will be here soon.
The bracelets jingle-jangle as I close her bedroom door and scurry off to the bookshop to meet my fake date. My stomach tries to revolt, until I remind myself this is all pretend, therefore I don’t have a thing to worry about.
‘Evie,’ he says, leaning against the cool of the stone wall. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘I … will accept that.’ Oh God. I’m not good with compliments. And strange situations like the one I find myself in now. Why did I think meeting here was a good idea?
