In the end, it was her mother and a close friend, Annie, who’d forced her to her senses.
‘You can’t go on like this,’ her mum had said, fiercely. ‘You’ve got to pull yourself together for the children’s sakes, if not your own.’
Annie had dragged her out on walks and booked cinema tickets for them both without asking. And Erica, who was living at home then and hadn’t yet fallen out with Cleo, had tried to help, too.
Cleo remembered how at weekends, Erica would cook one of her mum’s favourite meals and coax her to eat. And they’d watch films together on TV or book a local court and play a bit of tennis.
Of course, Erica had also been shattered by her father’s affair, but unlike Cleo, she never broke down completely. If Cleo had been able to see into the future and predict her daughter’s subsequent rejection, she didn’t think she’d ever have recovered at all.
As it was, little by little as the months went by, she’d started to feel stronger and more positive, but only up to a point. With luck, this holiday and a complete change of scenery would help her draw a line under the past and start a whole new chapter.
Brushing past a spiky plant, she scratched her arm and was jolted out of her daydream. She noticed Mark was a few paces ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, too.
Realising she and Tash had been ignoring him, Cleo called out his name and he stopped and waited for the two women to catch up.
‘You do all the cooking on the retreat, is that right?’ Cleo asked, and he nodded. ‘Have you worked in restaurants in the past?’
Mark explained he’d done his chef’s training at one of London’s most prestigious eateries. After that, he’d worked for a TV and film catering company, sometimes travelling to remote parts of the UK on location.
‘How exciting!’ said Cleo. ‘Tash is an actress, you know. Maybe you’ve worked on the same production?’
Mark raised his eyebrows and looked as if he might be about to ask Tash what she’d been in, but she quickly closed the subject down.
‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘How did you come to be in Crete? Did you and Henrietta meet here?’
‘No, in London. Now there’s a story,’ he said with a grin. ‘She was a personal trainer. I booked a few sessions with her and, well, we just clicked. So, in other words, I was seduced by my instructor. Not very professional of her.’ He laughed and the others joined in.
‘We moved to Crete ten years ago. We’d already run a couple of retreats here and we just loved the place and the people. We’ve never looked back.’
‘I’ve seen some of your menus online,’ Cleo commented. ‘Your food looks absolutely delicious.’
Mark’s chest expanded slightly with pride and pleasure. ‘Thanks. I source all the ingredients locally and only use in-season herbs and vegetables. Obviously, there’s no shortage of fresh fish straight from the sea. You’ve probably seen we don’t serve red meat, only organic chicken. Nothing processed at all.’
‘No wonder you look so fit and healthy.’ Cleo had already clocked his tanned, clear skin and bright eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots. ‘I hope some of it rubs off on me.’
‘It will, I promise. You’d be amazed at the transformations we see after just one week. Our guests don’t just look trimmer and fitter, some of them have this glow. We call it The Sparkle Face.’
‘I like that,’ said Tash.
Cleo was about to ask about the other guests on the retreat, most of whom would have already arrived. Henrietta had emailed everyone an itinerary with all the modes of travel. One woman was coming all the way from Connecticut, USA, and there were two from Norway. The rest were from the UK.
At that moment, however, they rounded a corner and Villa Ariadne came into view. The gravelly path they’d been on had turned into a rough sandy track lined with gnarled old olive trees. The villa was right at the end, behind a set of tall, shiny, black iron gates.
An imposing building made of grey-beige stone, it seemed to rise majestically from the land. In the centre was a rectangular tower so tall it appeared to be reaching up to touch the sky.
‘That’s it,’ Mark said, stopping for a moment to tie the shoelace of his white trainer. ‘Your home for the next seven days.’
Once again, Cleo felt that unfamiliar tickle of excitement she’d experienced on the ferry. They’d arrived!
2
Once inside the gates, Cleo stopped and gazed for a moment at Villa Ariadne, taking in the sky-blue shutters, the elegant stone steps and the giant, curved archway surrounding a heavy wooden front door, also painted blue.
Enormous terracotta pots in the courtyard had been filled with architectural palms and colourful flowers and there was a sweet, citrussy scent in the air, coming, no doubt, from the lemon trees dotted all around.
The building was clearly very old and had been lovingly renovated by someone with taste and style.
Cleo whistled. ‘What a gorgeous place! Who owns it?’
