It was still quite hot and Cleo was thirsty. Unzipping her backpack, she took out a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap and gulped.
Fran, who was taller and thinner than her sister, checked her watch.
‘They should be here by now,’ she said anxiously. ‘I hope they haven’t forgotten us.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ snapped Lesley. ‘They’ll be operating on Greek time. You’d better get used to it.’
If Fran was annoyed by her sister’s sharp tone, she didn’t show it. Instead, she lowered her head and strands of mouse-brown hair dangled over her face.
The ferry was empty now and the local men seemed to have vanished as quickly as they’d come. Cleo glanced left, towards the shops and restaurants, and nudged Tash at her side.
‘Look! I wonder if that’s Henrietta’s husband. She said it would probably be him picking us up.’
Hurrying towards them in a white shirt and pale blue jeans was a shortish, stocky, middle-aged man with fair hair. One of the waiters standing at the entrance to a restaurant stopped him for a moment to slap him on the back and shake his hand. The man soon took his leave, however, and picked up his pace again.
Once he’d almost reached the group of women, he broke into a trot.
‘Ladies!’ he said breathlessly, finally coming to a halt in front of them. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. I was expecting an important delivery. They were late.’ He raised his eyebrows and Cleo noticed Lesley give Fran a sharp nudge, followed by a self-satisfied nod.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I’m here now.’ He gave a wide grin. ‘I’m Mark, Henrietta’s husband. She’s waiting for you at the villa. Welcome to Porto Liakáda! Welcome to Crete!’
His pleasant, easy-going manner cheered Cleo, but Lesley’s sour face told a different story. Cleo found herself grinning inanely to compensate.
‘How was your journey?’ Mark asked, and she jumped in quickly before Lesley could get a chance.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Really easy. The ferry trip from Chora Sfakion was spectacular.’
Mark nodded. ‘I don’t know if you noticed many hikers, but there’s a coastal footpath all the way from Sfakia to Porto Liakáda. It takes about an hour and a half. It’s well worth doing if you have time. I think Henrietta’s got lots of plans for you, though. You’re going to be busy.’
He straightened up. ‘Shall we get going? It’s about a mile uphill to the villa. I’ve got some local chaps to help with your bags. I hope my wife warned you about the hike?’
Henrietta had, indeed, told her guests to expect a challenging walk and it seemed they’d all come prepared, in trainers and with varying sizes of rucksack on their backs.
Mark led the way down the main street, past the tempting-looking shops and restaurants. Cleo’s eye was drawn to a display of brightly embroidered, cotton tunic dresses and she made a mental note to return for a browse.
When they reached the end of the road, Mark waved at two youngish, dark-haired men in shorts and T-shirts, standing smoking at the bottom of a flight of stone steps. Beside them were two sturdy-looking black handcarts on small thick wheels.
‘Ya!’ Mark said cheerily, as he and the women approached.
The men stubbed their cigarettes out on the ground, grinned and nodded back.
It took a few moments for them to load the women’s bags onto the trolleys, then they hoisted them up and proceeded to lug them up the steep, narrow stairway.
Remembering the thick paperback she’d brought, as well as the array of toiletries, Cleo felt slightly guilty. Although she’d packed light – for her – truth be told, she probably could have done without the hair mask, skin toner and body scrub, for starters. However, the male helpers seemed to whisk the trolleys uphill as if they were filled with feathers.
On reaching the top, they plonked the trolleys on the ground and started to drag them along the bumpy donkey track which led up the mountain, while the others followed behind.
At first, Cleo, Tash and Mark were in the lead, but before long, Lesley overtook them, powering purposefully ahead on her short, muscly legs while Fran hurried to keep up on her spindly ones.
‘They’re keen!’ Mark remarked.
He was clearly fit and more than familiar with the hike, but even he was panting slightly and Cleo had to stop several times to drink more water.
Tash, meanwhile, kept up a steady stream of breathless chatter.
She lived in Reading, Berkshire, and she was an actress, she explained, but not a particularly successful one. She’d done a few good jobs, in fact she’d had some pretty big roles back in the day, but the work had dried up.
‘What sort of things have you been in?’ Cleo asked, genuinely interested. She enjoyed going to the theatre and liked nothing more than a gripping TV drama.
