Page 58 of The Greek Villa

TWENTY-SIX

Dimitri arrives at exactly nine o’clock the next morning, dressed in mustard shorts and a black T-shirt, his hair up in a man bun.

‘Punctual. I like that,’ I say, closing the door of the apartment behind me.

‘I always try to be. Unless there is a good excuse, I find lateness a bit rude.’

‘Me too.’

Thank goodness there is no awkwardness after the brief kiss last night. Maybe it meant nothing to him.

‘Then I guess that is something else we have in common.’ He smiles as we walk to his car, a silver saloon that is attractive, but not flashy, a bit like Dimitri himself. ‘You look very nice,’ he adds.

‘Thank you.’

I feel nice today, and my white dress shows off my developing tan from my time here. I pop on my straw fedora and we head off.

‘I feel a little guilty going off for the morning, but then the main building work is almost done.’

‘You deserve a break,’ I reassure him.

‘You have worked hard too. I almost feel we should pay you a wage.’ He turns and winks at me.

‘I needed to keep an eye on you lot. Crack the whip.’

‘Now there’s an image,’ he teases.

It occurs to me that maybe I have been around the villa a little more than I needed to be, once the work took hold, but maybe something – or should I say someone – has had me wanting to be in their presence. I hope Dimitri doesn’t think that. He wouldn’t, would he?

‘Obviously, with it being my house I needed to oversee things,’ I tell him, suddenly feeling a need to explain my constant presence. ‘It has to be just right, especially any permanent fixtures.’

‘Of course, I would be the same,’ he agrees.

We turn off the coast road, and are soon climbing higher in the hills. Half an hour later, we pull into a village and park up. We are going to a restaurant Dimitri knows, which is good, because I wouldn’t have spotted it almost obscured by trees.

There’s an old water well in a tiny square in the centre of the village, flanked by a small church and a children’s playground. As we walk, I notice a lot of the houses look to be in poor condition, with paint-peeling doors and rotten wood window frames; some of them are completely abandoned, and I comment on this.

‘It happens a lot in the smaller villages. A lot of young people leave for the towns and cities,’ explains Dimitri. ‘There is nothing here for them, other than maybe farming or taking on cafés or restaurants handed down by their parents.’

As we enter the restaurant, we are welcomed warmly by the owner, and we are shown to a wooden table on a balcony outside with a spectacular view across the valley below.

‘Wow, you were right about that view.’ I glance at the lush, green plants, a common sight in Corfu due to its climate,alongside colourful shrubs with flashes of red and yellow in the verdant forest.

We dine on a delicious breakfast of eggs sprinkled with paprika and fried potatoes topped with feta and sprinkled with oregano, all served with slices of chunky bread. I enjoy a fresh orange juice whilst Dimitri sips his strong coffee.

‘This food is seriously good, a lot nicer than some of the touristy places I have been to.’

‘I have been here many times over the years. The owner knows my father. He takes a real pride in his food, whether it is breakfast or food for a large family gathering.’

Glancing around the sleepy village, and noting the number of abandoned houses, I ask Dimitri how the taverna has managed to survive.

‘It’s on a tour stop. Jeep safaris and coach trips stop here for lunch. It’s how a lot of the traditional village tavernas survive,’ he explains.

‘That makes sense, I guess.’

‘It does, the islands rely heavily on tourism. During the winter months the village restaurants make very little money, serving only the locals, although many families do come together and enjoy a Sunday lunch.’

We finish our delicious breakfast, and the owner offers us a raki, which is a little early in the day for me, but Dimitri accepts a small one to be sociable. They knock it back together with ayamas.

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