‘No, thank you, sweetie.’
A quick glance down established her shorts and pink shirt were still spotless. Relieved, she focused again on Anthea and Meaty.
‘Your mum absolutely adores you,’ Anthea was saying with conviction. ‘Just tell her you’re really, really sorry and you’ll never do it again. And keep your word,’ she added sternly, giving a cheery thumbs up to April, who was watching the proceedings out of one eye while serving a customer with the other. ‘Mustard is for grown-ups, not wee bairns.’
Though very small, it turned out Porto Liakáda was a lively place, humming with sights, sounds, smells, colours and activity. Dark-haired waiters and waitresses in smart shirts and trousers or skirts stood outside their restaurants, smiling as they passed and pointing to the displays of fresh fish on offer.
‘We cook for you, beautiful ladies?’ one waiter said, gesturing towards an enormous, goggle-eyed fish nestling in a bed of ice on a large metal tray. In his thirties, probably, the waiter had slicked-back hair, a big bushy moustache and a gold chain round his neck.
‘We put on barbecue for you, with lemon, garlic, local herbs. Magnificent!’ He opened his arms wide and grinned.
‘It’s a bit early in the morning for me,’ Edie replied, patting her stomach to show she was still full from breakfast.
‘No, no!’ the waiter cried. ‘You come back at lunchtime or tonight. We make proper Crete feast for you! You will love it!’
Edie laughed. ‘I’m sure we will. Thank you. I need to speak to my friends first, though. I’ll let you know. Maybe tomorrow or the next day.’
The waiter pulled a mock-sad face then his grin reappeared, even wider than before.
‘Of course. You come back when you are ready. Rest assured, we will look after you.’
‘Tsk. That’s Vasileios. He’s such a flirt,’ Anthea muttered, rolling her eyes again. ‘He tries it on with all the girls. He even had a pop at me, can you believe? I’m old enough to be his mother!’
‘Do you know everyone in the village?’ Edie asked, thinking she was beginning to like her new friend a lot.
‘Pretty much. It’s not difficult. When I lived in London for a while, I hardly knew anyone. But here, everyone talks to you and before you know it, you’re telling them your life story.’
After that, Edie tried her best not to catch any other waiters’ eyes, fearing she’d never get further than a few paces. But she didn’t feel harassed; it was just that everyone was so friendly and full of banter.
There were quite a few stalls selling tempting summery dresses, brightly coloured cover-ups for the beach, towels, hats, sunglasses and jewellery.
The styles were right up Maisie’s street – casual and a bit boho. Edie wouldn’t have a problem finding a gift to take home for her daughter. She might well be tempted to buy something for herself, too, on another day.
Her attention switched to an interesting-looking leather shop on the right, with a pair of Greek-style gladiator sandals in the window. There were also bags, belts, purses, glasses cases and wallets.
When she suggested going in, however, Anthea excused herself.
‘I don’t need any more shoes or bags. I’ve got too many as it is. You take a look, though. There are some nice things. I’m sure I’ll see you later, or another day. It’s been lovely chatting.’
The door of the leather shop was open and when Edie poked her nose in, she was assailed by a heady scent of oil, wax, chemicals and perfume. The interior was very dark, and a quick scan revealed she was the only customer. She was in two minds about whether to enter, but then a voice called, ‘Please! Come!’
Tentatively, she took a few steps inside and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she became aware of a very old man sitting behind a wooden counter, surrounded by untidy piles of shoe boxes in different shapes and sizes.
He had wisps of white hair, which had been neatly trimmed, a snow-white moustache, dark, deep-set eyes and tanned, wrinkled skin. He was wearing a pale blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, with a rather dashing red and white scarf round his neck, knotted in front like a cravat.
Although he was seated, Edie could tell he was very thin, with stick-like arms, a scrawny neck and paper-thin skin. His smile, though, was wide, generous and charming.
‘Good morning, madam,’ he said in a heavy accent. ‘You are English, I presume?’
Edie laughed. ‘Yes. Is it that obvious?’
The old man continued to smile. ‘Forgive me, but I can always tell an English lady from, say, an American or European.’
‘Really? How?’
‘Ah,’ said the man, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘English ladies are more… how shall I say?Refined. That’s the word. You are not loud and aggressive like Americans and you have better manners than Europeans. Where in England are you from?’
The old devil! He seemed harmless, but Edie could imagine him being a right one in his younger days.
