Page 50 of Villa of Secrets

I found it impossible to shear with my broken wrist, so I helped Evangelisa. Irini struggled on her own.

Irini’s sheep succeeded in spinning itself upright, and engaged Irini in a wrestling match that ended up with Irini rolling on the ground with the creature. In the scrabble, the sheep scraped his hoof down her hip and got its hind leg stuck down the side of her knickers. The ewe did a three-legged race towards the woods, hauling flailing Irini with it.

Evangelisa and I grabbed Irini’s arms. Unfortunately, the lunatic sheep continued to gallop, dragging Irini’s pants off, and also one shoe, which we found later.

The three of us gave up, exhausted and disappointed. We had failed at what appeared to be a reasonably simple task.

I gave Irini my spare underwear. We fell into bed, too tired to wash or eat. Our muscles burned, our bruises hurt, and Irini had a nasty friction burn on the back of one thigh. We decided to try and get someone else to shear, like Giovanni. It would cost a couple of ewes, and I know he would make us eat humble pie.

*

The hut is silent now, apart from the occasional dream-drenched mutterings from Irini and Evangelisa who are both sleeping restlessly in the bed. I am so tired my head is buzzing, and I have to make a real effort to keep my eyes open, but I want to get the day’s events into the diary while they are still fresh in my mind. Tomorrow, I hope to find a way to stop the ships and rescue our families.

I want to say how proud I feel. My sister and my best friend do everything I ask of them, without question, regardless of how difficult the task. I am filled with gratitude. I can’t think of anything else to write, so I will hide the diary once again, and bring it up to date as soon as Evangelisa is asleep tomorrow evening.

Tuesday, 25 July, 1944

This morning, Giovanni arrived waving Irini’s underwear and dragging the ewe on a rope. ‘Funniest thing I ever saw!’ he called out waving the knickers over his head. ‘A demented sheep with women’s pants around one leg.’

‘They’re not mine!’ I said, aghast, holding my hands up.

He looked at Irini and Evangelisa. They both shook their heads vigorously.

‘Fine, then I’ll keep them.’ He stuffed the briefs into his pocket and marched to the sheep pen with a real swagger to his step.

His hysterical laughter when he saw the state of our flock made me hate him. I’d never heard Evangelisa use bad language before, but she cursed Giovanni for his mockery, swearing like a sailor, which only made him laugh more.

We were stiff, sore, and famished. The only good thing about his arrival was the food he brought: a rabbit.

Evangelisa cried, ‘I can’t eat a poor little bunny.’

Irini rolled her eyes and Giovanni grinned. ‘You will when you’re starving,’ he said.

We followed him into the hut and watched him skin and gut the creature. The dead rabbit was far easier to handle than a live sheep. I noted that we had olive oil, honey, onions, and other ingredients in the hut, but I needed fresh oranges and cinnamon to make a proper stew.

‘There’s a cinnamon tree,’ Giovanni said. ‘Follow me, Dora.’ He walked towards the forest. ‘We’ll gather oranges on the way back.’

When his back was turned, Irini rolled her eyes and puckered her mouth, clearly understanding the shepherd’s intentions. I lifted and dropped my shoulders as if I had no idea what she meant, then we grinned at each other. I love Irini so much. ‘Be careful,’ she mouthed silently. I nodded and followed Giovanni.

In the woods, he said, ‘What will you pay to learn the whereabouts of a cinnamon tree, and for the rabbit, of course?’

‘You expect me to pay?’

He nodded. ‘Cinnamon trees are rare as angels, and nothing’s free, unless you find it yourself.’

‘What do you want? Please don’t ask for any more lambs.’

He stopped walking and turned to me. ‘I want a proper kiss on the mouth.’ He said it boldly and without emotion, the way some customers spoke to my father in the shop; I want turnups, and wide lapels with a buttonhole.

I stared at the ground, unsure of myself, trying not to think about my father at that moment. Perhaps if I closed my eyes and imagined Giovanni was Irini, I’d be all right. The situation was ridiculous. How often had I watched him at choir practice and dreamed of kissing him? Now I had the chance . . . and just because he was dirty and dressed in rags, I hesitated. Was I mad? Grow up, Dora!

I put my hands over his ears, pulled his head forward, and kissed him hard, holding my breath. Then I let him go and stepped back.

He blinked slowly. ‘Wow, you’re a good kisser!’

‘And you’re average,’ I said, staring at the sky and tapping my foot in a bored manner, secretly thrilled I’d been so bold. ‘Now, where’s the cinnamon?’

We traipsed to a clearing. In the centre stood a magnificent tree with spreading branches and leathery leaves like bright-green teardrops. The atmosphere around the tree seemed magical, almost surreal. The sun bounced off the shiny foliage and threw dappled light over encircling pines, creating an illusion that they were dancing, or at least shifting, around the cinnamon tree.