Page 46 of Hot Greek Summer

The others nodded. They were all wistfully reluctant to let go of the rooms that Ajax had so perceptively allocated to them on first arrival. Stella had lost count of the number of hours she’d spent sunbathing on that spectacular balcony in the Seaview Suite, and Frankie was addicted to her deep, relaxing bathtub. Winnie had come to think of the Bohemian Suite as her sanctuary, the only place she could truly let her game face slip and feel like crap about her failed marriage, her lost creativity and her confused feelings towards Jesse. She knew what was happening, of course. She’d needed someone to make her feel better and he was the first man to look her way since Rory; she was like a baby duckling imprinting on first contact. It didn’t mean anything, in fact it meant only inconvenience and awkwardness long term, because they were going to be neighbours for a long time and he’d seen her naked, kissed her stupid and now seemed to have the hump with her for no discernible reason. Platonic would have been far more sensible under the circumstances, and Winnie needed complications like a hole in the head.

‘Croissant?’ Frankie said, wafting the still hot pastries with a magazine.

Stella was about to reply when someone banged repeatedly down on the bell in reception. Rolling her eyes, she scraped her chair back and stood up. ‘I’ll go.’

It’d be Angelo. It always was. He’d made a point of leaning on the bell for a myriad tiny things since Stella had given him his orders. Coffee? He belled. Jug of iced water? He belled. Where to leave his used towel even though Hero cleaned his room daily? He belled. What the weather forecast for the day was, even though it was twenty-four-seven wall-to-wall sunshine? He belled. And always Stella responded with that big smile on her face and one fist clenched ready to smack his jawline. Today was no exception.

‘How can I help you this morning?’ she said, noticing that he looked a little different today. Over the couple of weeks he’d spent at the villa he’d relaxed his dress code into deck shorts and polo shirts; he was never going to be a beach bum, and this was probably as close to laid back as he knew how to be. Not this morning though: Don Draper was back in the building. Sharp shirt and tie, discreet cufflinks, and his black hair totally on point.

‘Coffee please, Stella,’ he said. ‘And breakfast, perhaps?’

She tried not to do a double-take. He’d avoided eating at the villa up to now, and Frankie had all but given up on the notion of feeding him up.

‘There’s warm croissants just from the oven,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring you something with your coffee.’

He nodded, already heading outside. As he bent to pick up the morning paper, he looked her way again.

‘And Stella? Coffee for two this morning, please.’

‘Coffee for two this morning, please,’ she muttered, back in the kitchen. ‘He’s out there dressed like he’s going to a funeral and making demands again. He wants food this morning, Frank.’

Delighted, Frankie sprang into action, making him a tray up while Stella prepared his coffee.

‘Who’s the second person?’ Winnie asked, scraping the last of the jam from the pot.

‘Beats me.’ Stella added a second coffee cup to the tray and headed for the door. ‘Someone he wants to impress, by the looks of him.’

He was at his usual table, and as Stella approached him he snapped the paper closed, laid it down and weighted it with the jug of flowers because there was an unusually strong breeze around.

‘Are you expecting company this morning?’ she asked, light and conversational to hide the fact that really she was just being nosey.

‘Yes,’ he said, businesslike. ‘You.’

Stella’s hands stilled on the cafetière. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’m requesting your company for breakfast, Stella.’

There had been very few moments in Stella’s life when anyone had surprised her more.

‘Are you joking?’ she said, forgetting her manners.

He shook his head. ‘Unless you’re too busy?’

Wordlessly, she shook her head, and then slowly took a seat opposite him.

‘So how are you finding life in Greece?’ He looked at her enquiringly. ‘It must be quite the change from England.’

She nodded, transferring the food from the breakfast tray to the table. Warm fluffy croissants, ham and cheese, Frankie’s jam and huge, fragrant velvet peaches from their garden. ‘It is. The weather’s certainly warmer.’

Angelo plunged the coffee. ‘A predictable answer. British people, always they comment on the weather.’

Stella frowned. Had he invited her to breakfast just to wind her up? ‘If you’d lived your whole life beneath grey skies, you’d notice the difference too.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, laying a slice of Gouda on a croissant and then a slice of farmer’s ham.

Stella stirred milk into her coffee, still curious about his motives. It couldn’t be because he wanted her company.

‘Are you working today?’ she asked, touching her fingers to her throat to indicate his tie.

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