PROLOGUE
Way up in the White Mountains of southern Crete, dotted with peaks, ravines and deep gorges, a funny-looking, higgledy-piggledy stone cottage seemed to spring from the rugged landscape as if it had grown there.
The rough, rocky terrain on which it perched soon gave way to a sudden, plunging hillside. At the very bottom lay miles of craggy coastline and beyond that, the sparkling Libyan Sea.
As it was night-time and pitch-black, there was no one admiring the view right now, though. The shutters of the cottage were shut tight and inside an elderly woman sat at a coarse wooden table in the centre of her kitchen, thinking about someone she’d never met.
In front of her was an open laptop and in her right hand she held a small, brown woollen pouch. This she gently squeezed, feeling with her fingertips for the objects inside: a miniature vial of olive oil, some dried laurel leaves and a silver pendant with a double-headed Minoan axe – her lucky talisman.
Katerina Papadakis, for that was the elderly housekeeper’s name, nodded slightly, as if in satisfaction, and continued staring into the distance, a small smile playing on her lips. The only light came from an overhead ceiling lamp, which emitted a dim glow.
From the sparse surroundings, you’d think Katerina was as poor as a church mouse, but you’d be wrong. In truth, she was a wealthy woman, thanks to her former employer, who’d bequeathed her a grand villa a little way down the mountain.
Instead of living there herself, however, Katerina preferred to rent the villa out, but only to certain, special people; she wouldn’t take just anyone. Secretly, she was convinced Villa Ariadne chose its occupants, not the other way round, but she tended to keep this to herself.
Her own kitchen, unlike the villa’s lavish one, consisted of just a sink, a rickety-looking gas cooker and stone worktops. There was no sign of a washing machine, dishwasher or even a fridge. It was as if the Industrial Revolution had yet to arrive in this remote corner of the island.
Wooden shelves of various sizes were laden with pans, mugs, glasses, jars and tins, all neatly labelled in a faded Greek script. The flagstones on the floor had become uneven and flaky with age.
Yet the cottage wasn’t ugly or depressing. Far from it. Little vases of wild flowers and pots of herbs were neatly arranged on windowsills and surfaces. Meanwhile, one wall was dominated by an eye-catching painting of three beautiful, smiling Minoan women.
The women, in richly coloured clothes and jewels, had intricately coiled black hair. They were set against a vivid blue background and the whole work was surrounded by a smart, white wooden frame. It was such a happy picture, you couldn’t help but smile, too.
After a time, Katerina rose with a sigh from her chair and poured herself a glass of water from a jug by the sink. Then she padded in well-worn slippers down the dark corridor to the little bedroom at the very back and felt for the lamp switch.
Once the room was lit, you could see there was just enough space for a small double bed, which had been neatly made with white sheets and pillowcases, and embroidered, red scatter cushions.
A multicoloured woollen throw was sitting folded at the other end, ready for chilly nights.
Both floor and ceiling were covered in panels of dark wood, while the stone walls had been left bare. In pride of place above the bed hung a painting of two bright blue peacocks against a backdrop of green, gold and pink. Similar to the picture in the kitchen, it was also a riot of colour, like a celebration of life itself.
Katerina glanced at it and her eyes lit up. It had been given to her by a local artist, named Marina, who’d painted it many years ago when she was little more than a child.
Her work had changed and developed since then and become more abstract. The newer stuff was worth more on the open market, but Katerina wouldn’t swap this painting for all the tea in China; it had become as much a part of her as the cottage’s roof, beams and foundations.
After placing her slippers beside the bed, she climbed under the sheets, pulled them up to her shoulders and lay back with her eyes closed.
It had been a long day, it was very late and she was tired, but her mind was still busy.
She was already planning the arrival of the Englishwoman she’d never met, plus her husband and friends; she couldn’t help it. The stranger hadn’t confirmed her booking yet or paid the deposit, but Katerina had made sure not to charge too much and was certain she soon would. She could feel it in her bones.
Thankfully, since the summer season had ended in October, she’d had plenty of time to spruce up the villa ready for the arrival of the new guests. She’d had both the swimming pool and plunge pool drained and swabbed, the rugs, blinds and curtains cleaned and she’d bought brand-new bed linen and crockery.
The bedrooms had been redecorated and the bathrooms, too. The exterior woodwork also needed repainting, but this would have to wait till the weather improved.
Come May, she could guarantee the place would be shipshape and gleaming from top to bottom. Her visitors deserved the best, and she took great pride in making sure that’s what they got, right down to the little welcoming touches, such as putting fresh flowers in the bedrooms and leaving out a selection ofkalitsounia, her traditional homemade pastries.
Once the guests were happily ensconced, Katerina’s work would be largely done. Her job was to set the scene, so to speak, and engage the actors. The rest was up to them.
What would Edie – Mrs Lovell – be like? Katerina suspected she’d be well-mannered, attractive and intelligent – but with a secret sadness, a longing.
As for her friends, there was a story there, too. The elderly woman could sense it from afar.
She took a deep breath and said a little prayer, as she always did, thanking God for a good day and asking Him to guide and comfort the lonely, sick and suffering.
The world was full of folk, she thought sadly, with a hole in their soul so deep, they believed it could never be filled. If only Villa Ariadne had space for them all!
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