‘Whose food allowance are these drinks coming from?’ he asked her. ‘Perhaps the rations for the two children over there who will only want fries and ketchup?’
‘Ignore him. Just the two ouzos please,’ Petra said to the waiter. ‘What’s your name?’
Elias said something in Greek to the man and the waiter laughed before leaving their table and going to the aid of other diners.
‘What did you say to him?’ Petra wanted to know.
‘I said he should only bother to tell you his name if he owns a cat.’
‘Rude!’ Petra snapped.
‘I hope the second ouzo wasn’t for me,’ Becky said. ‘I haven’t finished the first one yet.’
‘Of course it was for you! Yammas!’ Petra held her empty glass in the air. ‘Here’s to Jesse Metcalfe. He’s my favourite Hallmark actor by the way. Who’s yours?’
Becky didn’t get to reply.
‘Skata!’ Elias erupted, slamming down the lid of his laptop.
*
He had had an email from Chad come in while they were in the air and had just read it. Chad had been talking with his wife. Communicating with the enemy! This was strictly forbidden under the terms of his contract with Elias. Negotiations were only supposed to be undertaken by Elias and Elias alone. Now it seemed Chad was wanting to soften their approach. But softening at the outset showed weakness. He really did need to get to Corfu and speak to the wife himself before Chad did any more damage to himself and his finances. His client would thank him in the long run. But he still wasn’t in Corfu yet. And it was looking doubtful he was going to be there today, although it was only lunchtime now. Perhaps, once they were filled with free food, the weather would brighten and they would be able to get back to the airport, get on board and this time end up where they should be.
‘Is skata a rude word?’ Petra wanted to know.
‘Yes,’ Elias answered.
‘Well, which one? Because I know how to swear in many, many languages.’
‘But not Greek?’
‘I can say “fuck you” in Greek so I know it isn’t that.’
‘Petra, sshh,’ Becky urged. ‘I’m getting a headache.’
Elias looked to Becky who had one elbow on the table, propping up her head, her fingers massaging her scalp. He swallowed, trying hard not to feel anything, but the memory of him trying to calm her when the turbulence had hit was right there. He shouldn’t have touched her, but in the beginning, he had only thought about making her feel better. However, in the end, the sensation of her soft, creamy epidermis underneath his fingertips had set off a chain of events led by his libido. A week or so in Corfu surrounded by the affectionate but mostly unattractive old women of the village might be exactly what he required.
‘That bubbling headache is all the stress you’re creating, worrying about not being where you thought you should be,’ Petra said. ‘Calm thoughts. Think Ryan Paevey. He’s my second favourite BTW.’
‘Well, it is a worry,’ Becky reminded her. ‘I haven’t travelled quite as much as you before. I’m not used to getting on a mode of transport and ending up somewhere completely different… twice.’
‘And Elias is stressed because of work, obvs. So, what was it you did again?’ Petra asked.
He hadn’t told Petra what he did. He had lied to Becky though. Repeating the lie would compound things. And telling the truth would let Becky know he had lied to her. But she had lied to him about her occupation… and that was when he should have confessed too.
‘I didn’t say what I did,’ he replied.
‘Cage-fighter,’ Petra guessed as two more ouzos and Fanta lemon were delivered to the table.
‘Only at the weekends,’ Elias answered, deadpan.
‘Male model?’
‘Petra, for goodness sake. Do you think of anything else?’ Becky queried.
‘I haven’t mentioned male models at all since we met each other,’ Petra replied as if she was super-affronted.
And he remembered Becky had guessed ‘international playboy’ when they had played this guessing game. Elias watched Becky roll her eyes. This really was becoming a tense situation for her. He was guessing, from what he knew of her, that she liked organisation and order. She didn’t seem to deal well with spur-of-the-moment or off-the-cuff. This situation with the flights was difficult for her. More difficult than it was for either Petra or himself.
‘I am an estate agent,’ Elias found himself saying.
‘Well,’ Petra said, ‘I wouldn’t have guessed that. You haven’t tried to sell me anything yet.’
‘You told me you were spending all your money on travelling the world.’
‘So? Surely a good estate agent would try to convince me otherwise.’
‘You would like a nice two-bedroom apartment in Corfu Town perhaps?’
‘No,’ Petra replied with a grin. ‘I’m spending all my money on travelling the world.’
He watched Becky get up from the table quickly and walk towards the sea.
Twenty
Karavomilos, Kefalonia, Greece
‘Are you hearing this, Haze? Becky still ain’t in Corfu!’
Becky was standing at the very edge of the outside space of the taverna so as not to disturb the other diners. After a lunch in Argostoli they had been given the news that they were going to be staying the night on Kefalonia. Once they had checked in to the hotel and dropped off their luggage, it had been time to decide what to do next. Apparently, as was the case in Athens, you didn’t stay in the immediate vicinity and wait the wait out, you embraced the new surprise location and picked somewhere else on the island to visit. After guidebook consultation, then Petra getting very vocal about a cave that was ‘the most heavenly on Earth’ – which Becky wasn’t sure made any sense at all – the three of them had agreed on Sami and Karavomilos. The choice wasn’t disappointing at all.
Hiring a taxi, they had dropped into the harbour at Sami where the evening waves lapped the grey stone walls and a cosmopolitan vibe rose from the cafés and tavernas surrounding the water’s edge, then they had moved on to the white stone beach at Karavomilos. Here Petra had excelled at skimming the stones into the aquamarine sea until one had chinked off a larger rock, rebounded and hit her on the cheek. Much screaming had ensued, leading to a fisherman on the shoreline coming to ask if they needed help. Elias had explained in Greek what had happened and the old man had laughed so much his held-together-with-string-for-a-belt trousers had almost fallen down. Petra hadn’t found it funny at all and now she had a slight bruise on her cheek that was ‘going to be a bitch to cover up’ with the sparse non-liquid make-up she’d brought with her.
And now they were here, at Karavomilos Taverna, about to order a dinner they were paying for themselves, so they didn’t have to dine – albeit for free – with the other passengers at the hotel in Argostoli. Having shared some coffee with the family of six and the elderly couple earlier, it was apparent that being here with four small children was not an easy task – nowhere to settle, no promised Kellogg’s products like the all-inclusive they were heading to – and that no matter how many times they were operated on, varicose veins never really went away properly and there was always always a chance you could bleed out if you ‘gave one a little knock’.