Page 18 of Forgotten Greek Proposal
‘Ah, so that must make you a Pisces.’
‘I believe so… Do you believe in that stuff?’ For all the dark, bohemian flow of the clothes she wore, this surprised him.
‘Not in the slightest, but I went through a phase when I was fourteen of obsessing over it and wanting to know everyone’s star sign, and the nosey part of me still likes to know. So, Pisces is a water sign… You like swimming?’
‘No.’
‘Closed answer.’
‘It was a closed question.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll rephrase it—why don’t you like swimming, and, seeing as you don’t like it, why on earth do you have a swimming pool?’
‘I don’t like swimming because I nearly drowned as a child. I have a swimming pool because my friends and family like to make use of the island and they all like to swim.’
‘Oh, blimey, that sounds terrible,’ she said, clearly shocked. ‘How old were you? What happened?’
‘That is another two questions.’
‘No, they’re follow-ons because you didn’t answer fully.’
He shook his head in mock disappointment. ‘You didn’t say that was in the rules.’
She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I forgot. I’m telling you it now.’
He laughed at her chutzpah. ‘I dive-bombed into the pool when I was four. I couldn’t swim and didn’t realise the danger of what I was doing. One of the gardeners pulled me out—I was lucky that he was pruning the poolside flowers and heard the splash I made. I suffered no long-term trauma other than a dislike of my face being submerged. I did learn to swim, just to prove to myself that I could do it, but I’ve never taken any enjoyment in it. Is that a satisfactory answer for you?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Hmm…’ And then she gave a decisive nod. ‘Yes, that’ll do. Moving on, what—?’
‘You’ve had your three questions,’ he interrupted.
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Yes, you have. Birthday, whether I like swimming and why I have a swimming pool.’
She pouted in mock outrage. ‘No fair—the two swimming ones were linked.’
‘Linked but separate, which means it’s now my turn.’
Her scowl was completely negated by the glee in her eyes.
‘When was the first time you got drunk?’ he asked as she dug into a thick slice of sticky walnut cake he couldn’t even remember being put in front of her. There was a slice in front of him too. He had only the vaguest recollection of their main course being cleared away.
‘When I was fifteen. I would like to point out that it was also the last time I got drunk.’
‘Elaborate,’ he commanded.
She spooned another huge mouthful of cake into her mouth. After swallowing it, she gave a dreamy sigh. ‘Would you object to me snogging your chef? Because this is seriously good cake.’
‘And you always “snog” people who make good cakes?’
‘Never had the urge before, but this is seriously, seriously good. I bet they serve this on Mount Olympus…that is where the Greek gods live, isn’t it?’
‘Correct.’
‘I’d lock your chef up in case Jupiter tries to nab him from you.’
‘I think you mean Zeus—Jupiter was a Roman god.’
