Page 70 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘It sounds as though you had a fun evening,’ I said, trying hard to capture the outline of the geraniums with my pencil.
‘Not as much fun as yours. I think you’re mean not spilling the beans. I told you we Old Ducks cast a web of magic over these occasions. We can’t lose.’
I sighed. ‘And on a scale of none to very unlikely, what are your predictions?’
Anita laughed. ‘Oh, pretty good. We are all very interested to know what’s going on.’
‘Look, tomorrow we will be going back to the airport and flying home. I don’t know what you think can be achieved in one week.’
Anita looked up. ‘You’d be surprised. Has he asked for your phone number or your address?’
‘No,’ I said, slightly uncomfortable that indeed, he hadn’t. And I wasn’t going to make that sort of move. To offer them unprompted.
‘There’s time yet,’ she said, nodding wisely.
‘Don’t be silly.’
I finished the rough outline of my painting and then tipped a bit of my drinking water into my trusty Play-Doh pot and started adding colour. A dusty grey-green for the leaves, brilliant scarlet tipped with flashes of darker crimson for the flower heads. Then a pale sandy wash of colour for the trough.
I tried to look with a critical eye and realised it wasn’t really that polished at all, but I liked it. It was something I had created, and it wasn’t as bad as some of the things I had produced since joining the group, so I was pleased with it.
I would take it home and I might even frame it and hang it up somewhere, and every time I looked at it, I would remember sitting here, under a Greek sun, with feelings of optimism and positivity. Two things which had been sadly lacking in my life for far too long.
20
We got back to the hotel just after five o’clock, and tired and slightly sunburned but happy, we piled off the minibus and into the cool of the reception area. I looked back as I reached the staircase to see Will outside on his phone, pacing back and forth as most men seem to do when they are on a call. He was looking rather serious and doing more listening than talking by the looks of things.
I went to my room, looking forward to seeing him later and wondering what was left in my limited wardrobe choices to wear for this last evening meal. Actually, I wasn’t particularly hungry because true to his promise, Will had come to inspect my painting and then bought me a delicious pistachio ice cream as a reward. And it wasn’t one of the usual and rather unsatisfactory ice creams I expected where the scoop was small and the cone had the taste and texture of stale paper. This one was three huge blobs of pale green deliciousness in a waffle cone with the edge dipped in chocolate. Perhaps I didn’t need anything else to eat after all.
I had a quick shower and changed into my rose-printed sundress, which was made of some sort of miraculous material which didn’t seem to crease even though it had fallen off the hanger unnoticed and had been lying crumpled up on the floor of the wardrobe, so a win as far as I was concerned. And then I pulled on a white cotton cardigan I had forgotten about and some sandals and I was ready to go. Before I left the room, I refilled the saucer of water I had been leaving out for the kittens on the balcony, and while I was out there, a taxi pulled up. It was Hector, and seconds later I saw Will put his suitcase in the back and then he got in. I watched, puzzled, as the taxi pulled away. What on earth was going on?
* * *
If anyone would know it would be Jillian, and I found her downstairs in the courtyard, poring over some sheets of paper looking cross.
‘Where’s Will gone? I just saw him getting into a taxi.’
She looked up at me briefly, obviously annoyed at being distracted from her paperwork.
‘To the airport. He said he needed to get an earlier flight.’
‘Why?’
She pulled a face, grabbed a sheet of paper from the bundle and ripped it up.
‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps he’d had enough. He was very brusque with me. And I was right in the middle of sorting out the group for next week. There are going to be fourteen of them. How I will keep them in order is anyone’s guess. It’s been hard enough with just eight of you, darting off in all directions.’
‘So, he didn’t say anything?’ I said hopefully.
Jillian shuffled her papers into some sort of order and scrabbled around on the table looking for a paperclip.
‘He just said thanks for everything; he was going to the airport. Perhaps you should have asked him? Honestly, I do what I can to foster a good group vibe, but sometimes it doesn’t work. It’s disappointing for me too, you know.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ I said.
Jillian was working herself up by then, obviously annoyed.
‘Some groups just gel right from the start. I had a lovely group of twelve a few weeks ago. Everyone interacting and friendly. And sometimes it’s not like that. Take this week for example. Only a small group and yet there’s been no cohesion, do you see? People are here to paint, not just wander off enjoying themselves. I never seem to know where June and Susan are. Dennis is always badgering me asking for tips or to borrow my penknife to sharpen his pencils because he had his confiscated at the airport. And – well…’
