Page 39 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘Shall we go?’
I’m not the most hyper-sensitive person but even I could tell the atmosphere between us had suddenly cooled yet again.
‘Yes, okay,’ I said, confused by his change of mood.
One minute we had been laughing together, enjoying ourselves, and without warning he had retreated back into his old, reserved ways. I could almost feel the chill between us, even though it was a hot day.
I left a few coins on the table for the owners, who were now dealing with a long queue for refreshments, and people were already hovering nearby, waiting to snap up our table.
I collected my things and hurried after him, still baffled by what I had done this time.
12
I caught up with Beryl and Effie a few minutes later. They were sitting under the trees on a bench, chatting away, although Beryl did have her sketch pad out and was doing something with a stick of charcoal. Well, at least one of us was trying to do something artistic.
‘So the lovely Will singled you out again,’ Effie said with a broad grin. ‘This is getting serious. Have you found out more about him?’
‘No,’ I said, flopping down beside her in a battered but surprisingly comfortable wooden armchair, ‘it’s almost impossible to get anything out of him. He was married a long time ago, but it ended. He hasn’t got any children. He’s retired. I mean, that’s the sort of basic information I could get in half an hour from Costas or Gregor.’
‘So what did he do before he retired?’ Beryl asked.
‘He said he worked in business. What sort of business I have no idea. Although he has done some house renovations. And when I try with some more probing questions, he shuts down and goes quiet.’
‘Perhaps he was a spy, or an assassin?’ Effie suggested.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Beryl said. ‘He’s too memorable and handsome. Spies have to be forgettable, able to blend into a crowd. All this James Bond strutting around in a Hugo Boss suit stuff is nonsense. I used to work for the government and I never once had an Aston Martin or a speedboat. But I did used to like martinis, although you can’t have a proper vespa martini like Bond used to order, because they don’t make Kina Lilett any more.’
Anita reappeared at that moment carrying a paper bag from the gift shop, and she sat down.
‘I knew it!’ Anita said, overhearing the last of the conversation. ‘I knew you were a spy. Everyone in the village thinks so.’
Beryl shrugged. ‘Absolute nonsense, I just used to travel with various government departments. But I did have a gun. A dear little Glock. I kept it in the box with the Christmas decorations for a long time, and every year after I retired, I used to take it out and clean it. It became a seasonal ritual. On Christmas Eve I’d listen to the service of nine lessons and carols from King’s College and get the Ballistol out. Even now when I get a whiff of it, I think of Christmas. But then I had to get a proper locked cabinet and – I don’t know – it didn’t seem the same.’
‘Good Lord,’ I said, ‘the things one finds out. Did you have diplomatic immunity?’
Beryl chuckled. ‘Oh no. Actually, I’m not sure; things were different in my day. Well, I never needed it. That’s the thing. Don’t get caught. Now then, let’s talk about something else. If Meg has nothing more to tell us, what are we doing tomorrow?’
‘We have the morning free and then in the afternoon, the wine tasting excursion,’ Anita said.
‘Jolly good,’ Beryl said. ‘In which case, I had better give my liver a rest and go to bed early tonight. All this eating out and sunshine, it makes it far too easy to knock back a few drinks, don’t you think?’
We agreed it was. And we decided to stay off alcohol for the rest of the day in readiness for the wine tasting the following afternoon.
Beryl carried on with her charcoal sketch and I thought about getting my paints out, but in the end I didn’t. I had a gorgeous view over the ancient town to one side and the sea on the other, so instead I took a few pictures on my phone and did some thinking. Not difficult thinking, just idly wondering about my surroundings and what colour I might paint the bathroom when I got home.
Sitting there in the sun was immensely relaxing and pleasant, and I felt properly warm right through which, after the months of horrible winter and disappointing spring weather back home, was a treat in itself. So often it had been necessary to turn on the heated seat in my car or pull on extra layers, a cardigan or jacket. Here none of those things applied. It made life easier somehow, or perhaps it was just because I was on holiday.
I liked being on holiday, I realised. And I hadn’t before now.
So often in the past, holidays had been stressful things, worrying about the travel arrangements, the hotel we had booked in to, the reliability of the weather during an English summer. Would Malcolm like the food or the room we were allocated? Would there be some reason for him to complain, try to get an upgrade, or blame me when he realised he had packed the wrong clothes in his suitcase? Here, everything seemed easy. And that was because I was on my own, which was a delightful and unexpected freedom.
Yes, I had new friends to talk to, but if I wanted to go out for dinner with Will, or even strike out on my own, perhaps get a local bus to the bigger town on the island, or a ferry to somewhere, then I could. I didn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. I didn’t need to take responsibility for anyone but myself. How absolutely marvellous.
* * *
Back at Hotel Costas, we clambered down from the minibus and the four of us decided to visit a very tempting bakery at the far end of the main street. So far we hadn’t got there, but on the way back from the ancient town, Dennis had told us in great detail how good it was, how the sandwiches and cakes were all excellent and the prices very reasonable, so rather than going to another restaurant, we decided to give it a go.
‘And at least they won’t sell wine there,’ Effie said, ‘so we won’t be tempted.’
