Page 24 of Hot Greek Summer

‘Don’t apologise, Jesse. I enjoyed it.’

OK, so that surprised him. Not surprised because it had been fairly bloody obvious that she was into it, but that she had the balls to say she’d enjoyed it rather than let him feel shoddy was unexpected.

‘I need a beer.’

‘I need to get back to the villa.’

It seemed that they both needed to get off that bench. He stood up and she did the same, following him carefully down the uneven path through the pine trees to his car.

‘Thanks for showing me the view,’ she said, after he’d been driving for a couple of minutes. He glanced sideways towards her, but she didn’t look at him.

‘I can show you around the rest of the island, if you like. I know it like the back of my hand.’ Shit. Why did he say that? He was so obviously suggesting that they have wild animal sex because he knew women’s bodies like the back of his hand. He might as well have said, ‘I’m a gigolo and you’re a desperate fair maiden, let me deflower you in my olive grove while the donkeys watch.’

Winnie tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

‘I think I should probably take my time to discover it on my own,’ she said eventually.

‘For the best.’

They didn’t speak again until he pulled the Golf back through the gap in the stone wall onto his property.

‘Go on home,’ he said, slamming his door. ‘I’ll bring your shopping over in the cart. The car won’t fit down the far end of the lane.’

‘I can take the cart myself, if you want?’

He huffed. ‘Winnie, what kind of man would that make me to let you haul all of that stuff yourself?’

She frowned. ‘A normal one, in my world.’

Jeez, what sort of men had she surrounded herself with? He reached into the car and tossed her a fresh bottle of water.

‘Go home.’

She nodded just once, and then turned and half walked, half ran across the olive grove and disappeared over the wall. He stood still for a few deep breaths, and then banged his fist down on the roof before heading into the house.

Down the lane, Winnie kept going until she was well out of sight of Jesse’s place and then dropped down onto a boulder beneath the shade of an olive tree, holding her head in her hands. Tears came easy, soaking through her fingers, her shoulders shaking. She was such a long way from home, a lifetime away from all that was familiar, and she’d just been kissed stupid by someone who wasn’t Rory. She felt right and all wrong, unfaithful and mad with herself for feeling that way because she hadn’t done anything out of line, but whichever way you shook it down she’d complicated things in a way she wasn’t ready for. They’d all come here looking for escape, and she’d somehow walked out of one romantic mess and straight into the arms of the nearest stranger. What a stupid, stupid thing to do.

CHAPTER SIX

Their first week on the island passed them by in a haze of sun-warmed shoulders and tentative plans. The three women fell into a pattern of spending their days acquainting themselves with Villa Valentina’s charms and secrets, its nooks and crannies, the rickety staircase up to the dusty attic filled with intriguing old boxes and trunks. They were long, sun-drenched days, and invariably ended with a sundowner on the terrace watching the sun sizzle down into the sea.

‘I’m going to investigate the cellar,’ Stella said, as they sat around the kitchen table drinking strong coffee on their seventh morning. The back door stood propped open to let the light morning breeze in, and they’d just breakfasted on toast slathered with heavenly greengage jam Frankie had made the day before and bowls of thick creamy Greek yoghurt given to them as a welcome gift by one of the neighbouring farms. The locals had been calling thick and fast, everyone keen to get a look at the mysterious trio of English women who’d unexpectedly come to their island. They’d ended up with a fridge stuffed with all kinds of produce and a table overflowing with wine and sweet pastries, and with their hearts warmed and well and truly welcomed.

‘There’s a torch underneath the sink,’ Frankie said, dragging a huge, battered old brown cookbook towards her across the table. It had come with the villa, and she’d read it from back to front already, deciphering the Greek family recipes from the pictures and Google translate and then adapting them in her notebook to make them her own. She was an intuitive cook with a natural flair for flavour and a taste for the simple and delicious; she was in her element on Skelidos surrounded by nature’s bounty.

‘I’m going to try to make this for dinner tonight,’ she said, tapping an image of fat, ruby stuffed tomatoes.

Stella leaned over to look. ‘It’s a good job we’ve got you, Frank,’ she said. ‘If it was left to me to do the cooking, we’d live on halloumi on toast.’

‘Or crisp sandwiches,’ Winnie said, thinking back to Stella’s favourite TV snack as a teenager.

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,’ Stella said. ‘Nothing better than cheese and onion crisps and mayonnaise.’

‘I hope I never fall ill and have to leave you in charge of the kitchen,’ Frankie said. ‘Our guests would be in for a shock.’

‘I’d just get them all drunk on gin so they couldn’t remember anything,’ Stella said with a grin, scraping her chair back on the flagstones and gathering the dishes into the sink. She opened the cupboard underneath, bent down and came up brandishing a long black torch. ‘Wish me luck. If I’m not back up in an hour, send out the search party.’

‘Do you want me to come down there with you?’ Winnie asked, relieved when Stella shook her head.

---