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‘It was. Anyway, enough about me. Do you have someone special in your life?’
‘No. I split up with my ex, Adam, over a year ago and there hasn’t been anyone since.’ She could feel her anxiety demons start to rouse from their slumber and moved swiftly on. ‘I relocated to Devon, then in June there was the fire I told you about, and as if that wasn’t enough of a catastrophe, two weeks ago my home got trampled on by a bunch of rampaging horses – it’s a long story – and so my sister suggested I come over to Santorini to cover for her at the gallery while she goes travelling with her boyfriend. My mum lives in Bali – she’s a schoolteacher there – and they’re planning to spend some time with her before heading back here. At least… I hope they’re heading back here.’
‘Have you been over to Bali for a visit?’
‘No. I’d love to go one day, but as I have no business and no job at the moment, I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. It’s been three months since the fire and we’re still waiting for the insurance to be sorted out.’
‘Why is it taking so long?’
Suzie sighed. ‘The owner of the boardwalk is proving hard to contact.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s on one of his solo hikes. He does them every year to “replenish his creativity coffers”, but I think it’s mainly to have some time away from his adoring fans, and the paparazzi.’
‘Is he an actor?’
‘No, he’s a musician. Dexter Hawkins.’
Christos’ jaw dropped, his eyes wide with surprise.
‘Dexter Hawkins lives in Devon?’
‘Yes, he owns an Edwardian manor house overlooking Blossomwood Bay.’
‘Wow, he didn’t mention that when…. When I read the interview he did withAthens Today. I’m sorry to hear you’re having difficulty locating him. Have you thought about contacting his manager, Andrew?’
She stared at him. ‘You know his manager?’
‘I think he was mentioned in the interview.’
‘Oh, okay, and yes, my friend Beckie – whose aunt owns the boathouse that was the only structure not to be affected by the fire – has been in touch with him. He’s also had problems contacting Dexter, so he’s flown over to California to try to find him, although from what I’ve seen on his Instagram feed, he’s been spending most of his time at Hollywood parties rather than roughing it on the Pacific Crest Trail like his client. But hopefully it shouldn’t be long before we get some news. Apparently, there was a sighting of Dexter at a campfire sing-along a couple of weeks ago.’
‘I’m sorry you’re having to deal with that, Suzie. It must be so stressful.’
Their stroll around the vineyard had brought them back to where they’d left their picnic. Christos paused, leaning against the wooden fence that encircled the vineyard’s olive grove, his hand in hers, his eyes filled with sympathy, but something else, too. Something dark, intense, questioning. She held his gaze, aware that his lips were mere inches from hers, her body thrumming with anticipation as he drew her closer, his breath soft on her cheek as he….
‘Argh!’
To her astonishment, Christos leapt away from her like Tigger on speed and took refuge behind their picnic table. When she looked over her shoulder to see what had caused his sudden flight, she couldn’t help but laugh. One of the donkeys in the adjacent field must have found a gap in the fence and had decided to join them – at the most inopportune moment! She took hold of its harness, wrinkling her nose at the rather ripe “donkey smell”, and led him back to his field before returning to find Christos had packed away their empty plates and glasses and was ready to leave.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes, absolutely…’ Christos shoved his hands in his pockets and met her eyes, then his shoulders sagged, and he sighed. ‘Okay, no, sorry, I’m not okay. I’m… well, I’m scared of donkeys… Actually, I’m scared of most animals.’
‘You’re scared of animals?’
After running his fingers through his curls several times, Christos dropped onto one of the rattan chairs and invited Suzie to take the other. She did as he suggested and waited in sympathetic silence for him to gather his emotions and explain.
‘When I was five years old, I was bitten by a stray dog.’ Christos stuck out his leg and pointed to the oval-shaped scar on his calf that she’d noticed when they were on Dimitris’ boat the previous week. ‘Ever since then I’ve been terrified, not just of dogs, but of horses, donkeys…’
‘Goats?’
Christos nodded, his cheeks taking on a pink hue. ‘And cats, too. I’m sorry, Suzie, but when I knocked you off the stepladder outside the gallery, I’d just seen a gang of feral cats – there must have been at least nine or ten of them – and I was sure they were about to give chase, so I ran, and I didn’t expect you to be standing on a ladder in the middle of the street, and…’
‘It’s fine, really. I understand.’
‘I know I should face my fears, and I’m working on it, but well… suffice to say it’s still a work-in-progress, which involves slowly exposing myself to that which I fear most, and there’s a distinct lack of people who keep dogs and cats as soft-hearted family pets in Santorini.’
