PROLOGUE
The old woman stopped short and reached for the nearest wall to steady herself. She was carrying a big bag of shopping in a brown canvas bag, which she dropped to the ground. She was only small and the bag looked far too heavy for her.
Her hand fluttered to her brow, which was covered in beads of sweat. Seeing her sway, a young waiter, who’d been standing in the doorway of his café watching the world go by, hurried to assist.
‘Let me help you, Mrs Papadakis,’ he said anxiously, picking up the shopping bag and wrapping an arm round the woman’s thin shoulders. ‘Are you feeling all right? Shall I call a doctor?’
The old woman clicked her tongue impatiently and did her best to straighten up. ‘Certainly not. I’m just a little dizzy. It must be the heat.’
Still, she allowed herself to be ushered to a wooden chair on the outside deck, overlooking the dazzling Libyan Sea. Her hands were trembling slightly as she attempted to adjust the black-and-white scarf on her head, which was tied beneath her chin in a neat knot.
While the waiter hurried to fetch a glass of water, she took a few deep breaths and gazed out at the shimmering turquoise water. She was getting on, she thought gloomily. She was in her late eighties now and time was finally catching up with her –but there was still so much to do!
When the waiter, Costas, came back with her drink, she took it gratefully. He was a good boy, she thought; she’d known him since he was born. After a few sips of water, she began to feel better.
‘I’m afraid your bread is crushed and your melon’s battered,’ Costas said, looking down at the canvas bag which he’d placed at her feet. ‘I’m sure April – Mrs Vasilikis – will replace them for you. Shall I go and ask her?’
April ran the mini-mart a few doors down, which stocked everything fromtzatzikiand spit roasted chicken to tampons and tea towels. It was overpriced, but everyone in the village popped in from time to time; the nearest supermarket was miles away.
‘No need,’ Katerina replied – for this was her name. She eyed the watermelon, which had a split running through it like a bright red wound. ‘I can still eat it.’
Glancing round, she was relieved her funny turn had largely gone unnoticed. It was late October now and though it was still hot, most of the tourists had gone.
Soon, the hotels and holiday apartments would be closing for winter and the owners would begin their annual renovations: new bathroom tiles here, a lick of paint there. Either that, or they’d be jetting off on much-needed holidays of their own.
She finished her drink and set the glass back on the wooden table. A small motorboat came roaring round the headland, leaving a trail of bright white spume in its wake. It slowed down when it neared the jetty to her right and the skipper prepared to drop anchor.
‘I should get going,’ Katerina said, pushing back her chair and starting to rise. ‘I’m all right now.’
‘I don’t think you should carry that bag up the mountain on your own,’ Costas replied doubtfully. ‘I finish here in an hour. If you wait, I can come with you.’
Katerina lived in a cottage high up in the white mountains, which towered over the little village of Porto Liakáda like a watchful guardian, at times stern and forbidding, at others playful and warm.
The village had no cars and could only be reached by boat or on foot, so there was no question of a lift home.
‘Thank you, but I’m quite capable of walking myself,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve done it often enough before.’
She was about to pick up the bag when she spotted a tanned, athletic-looking blonde woman in pink shorts and a white vest top hurrying towards her: Henrietta, the Englishwoman who’d moved here with her husband some ten years ago.
Together they ran fitness classes in the area, and wellness retreats – whatever they were. There’d been no such thing in Katerina’s day and she wasn’t sure she approved. Weren’t they just for rich, spoilt folk with nothing better to do?
Henrietta waved to attract Katerina’s attention and the old woman sat back down. She only vaguely knew Henrietta; in fact, they’d barely exchanged more than a few polite words in the street. Whatever could she want?
‘Mrs Papadakis is not very—’ Costas started to say as Henrietta approached, but Katerina shushed him.
‘Quiet,’ she said sharply. ‘The whole world doesn’t need to know. Leave me be and get on with your work.’
Stung, Costas slunk away and was soon serving two customers, whom Katerina didn’t recognise.
‘Do you mind if I join you for a moment?’ Henrietta said, pulling out a chair. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.’
She spoke in English, knowing the old woman was fluent in the tongue. Henrietta’s Greek was patchy, to say the least, like most of the expats round here who only learned the bare minimum. Katerina had decided long ago that the Brits were hopeless at languages.
She nodded. ‘Of course. Be my guest.’
In truth, she didn’t have much choice, as Henrietta had already settled down opposite her. Leaning forwards, the Englishwoman rested her elbows on the table.
‘There’s something I want to ask you,’ she said, with an earnest expression on her tanned, freckled face.
