Becky couldn’t deny that she was hungry too. In fact, being in Greece seemed to be making her hungrier than she had been in her life. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the aroma of all the delicious local meats.
‘You are OK?’ Elias asked her.
He was always asking her that. Perhaps what she thought was a resting face really looked like someone on the verge of mental breakdown. She’d have to check in the mirror later. That thought made her put a hand to her hair. She hadn’t looked in a mirror even in the toilets earlier! She probably resembled a damp nymph, covered in sticking up seaweed. Definitely not worthy of anyone with nice lips…
‘Try not to think about what might have happened,’ Elias told her.
‘But so many things could have happened. She could have drowned. You could have drowned. Kosmos could have—’
‘Drowned?’
‘I was going to say Kosmos could have had a heart attack. He did look quite pale at one point.’
‘But, as I said, none of that happened,’ Elias reminded. ‘We are all here. All that occurred was we… and our clothes… got wet. That is it.’
Becky nodded. He was right, of course. But he didn’t know how much of a worrywart she was on a day-to-day basis. And she was basically waiting for the message from Ms O’Neill to tell her she was sacked from the housesitting opportunity as she hadn’t turned up yet. She wouldn’t blame her.
‘So much adventure in just a few days,’ Elias teased.
‘I’m perfectly happy for the rest of my time in Greece to simply involve sun, sea and…’
‘Stabbing at animal drawings,’ he replied.
‘Quite.’ She smiled at him, feeling a little of the tension drop from her shoulders. His positive attitude was a bit infectious, she had to admit. Plus, Petra had ruined what should have been a tranquil boat ride, Becky shouldn’t let her spoil the rest of their one night in Kefalonia. As if sensing her need to tumble back into chill time, bouzouki music began to play.
‘Your friend lives in Corfu all the time?’ Elias asked her.
‘My friend?’
‘The one you are helping with looking after their house?’ He took the menus from the waiter and passed one to her. ‘I assumed she or he lives there and is taking a holiday?’
‘Oh, yes… yes, they do… they are.’ Becky took the menu and used it to cover her now burning-up face. Her stomach groaned as if in appreciation of all the traditional Greek fayre listed.
‘Where have they gone? Somewhere else in Greece or…’
‘Blackpool.’ It was out before she could stop it. Of all the places she could have created for her fictional friend to have a fictional holiday and she chose the home of the Golden Mile and the Tower Ballroom where her mum and her aunt played fruit machines.
Elias hadn’t replied. He was looking at her with those beautiful eyes, so intense…
‘It’s in Lancashire. The north of England. It has lovely… donkeys.’ Where was more of that fig liqueur?
Elias nodded. ‘It sounds… interesting.’
‘Oh, it is,’ Becky agreed with a heap too many nods. ‘It really is but… I’ve been there and I haven’t been to Corfu so… more interesting for my friend than for me.’
‘Shall we order some food?’ Elias suggested. ‘Perhaps some seafood?’
‘Well, I usually go for meat dishes but…’
‘New experiences, Captain Rebecca,’ Elias said.
‘Yes,’ Becky replied. And if she ordered a whole octopus, she could stuff it in her mouth to stop any more random lies escaping. ‘New experiences.’
Twenty-Three
Elias watched Becky as she ate one of the giant prawns they had been served as part of their fish platter. Lobster, octopus, crab – she had tried it all – but the prawns seemed to affect her the most.
Eyes closed, a moan escaping her lips, he had to put his fingers to his wineglass to distract himself. The music, the lull of the sea and most definitely the wine, were all perfect partners in showing him exactly what relaxation was. And Becky’s enjoyment of the Greek food was reminding him what he missed the most about his native country when he was in the UK. Thinking about Corfu he could almost smell his mother’s special stifado…
‘I can’t even tell you how good this tastes,’ Becky mouthed, finally opening her eyes but still eating. ‘I source the best prawns I can get my hands on at home and I taste-tested a lot. But they don’t taste like this.’
‘Fresh from the sea today,’ Elias told her. ‘That is all it is. From the water to the plate in less than twenty-four hours.’
‘But they must cook them a special way,’ Becky insisted, finally swallowing, then washing it down with a drink of her wine.
‘Simply,’ Elias answered. ‘Grilled, no seasoning, maybe a little lemon juice.’
‘Really?’ Becky said, looking a little shocked now. ‘Do you really think that’s it? Because if that’s true it might just change my whole life.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Well,’ Becky said, leaning a little over the table towards him, ‘that’s what I do. For a job.’
‘You cook prawns?’ he asked. ‘I thought you said you made sandwiches.’
She laughed and shook her head, hair bouncing. ‘I make sandwiches memorable. And that means all-natural ingredients, but always something added. Combinations you wouldn’t expect to go together.’ She took a breath. ‘That’s what I’m good at. I combine foods to allow the sandwich or wrap to give a whole sensory experience – taste, texture, aroma, a vitamin someone might be lacking they don’t know about… if I get to know them really well, like Milo.’ She took another breath, her words coming out faster. ‘And if you’re telling me that the best tastes are one thing, cooked simply, with nothing added, completely on its own then…’
‘Then?’ Elias asked, intrigued to hear the answer.
‘Then perhaps what I’ve been doing counts for nothing.’ She stopped suddenly, completely still in her seat, like she had just told herself the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real.
‘Nothing counts for nothing,’ Elias said quickly. He wanted to change that expression on her face. ‘What you do must work or it… wouldn’t work.’
‘But maybe it would work. Maybe I overcomplicate things.’ She drank more of her wine. ‘Maybe I offer everyone too much choice. Perhaps they would be just as happy with plain prawns.’
‘These are Greek prawns,’ Elias reminded. ‘The freshest there is.’ He poured some more wine into her glass. ‘Prawns in the UK…’
‘Nowhere near as good,’ Becky replied. ‘I’m already thinking about how I can get the prawn man to source them from here. But I think Megan would have a fit about the shipping.’
‘And they would not be as fresh,’ Elias said.
Becky smiled. ‘Is that how you sell your houses? This one has an unrivalled view of the spooky cave-lake, whereas this one’s view is slightly interrupted by fisherman seeking the best of the day’s catch?’