Page 22 of The House Swap

‘Yes, he left a few minutes ago.’

‘He’s a real charmer.’ Keira rolled her eyes. ‘I tried to make conversation with him, but all I got back was grunts.’

Poppy grinned. ‘Not everyone is a social butterfly like you.’

‘That is very true. No harm in being friendly, though.’

‘I guess not,’ Poppy agreed, still unable to shake the memory of Martin’s eyes meeting hers through the glass.

He was obviously just a little intense, that was all.

Pushing him from her mind, she followed Keira back inside the villa.

10

Taverna Manoli’s was exactly what Poppy had hoped for.

There was a large bar area with half a dozen stools, a couple of which were occupied, then on the other side of the room were several small tables, all dressed in red-and-white check cloth. Warm, intimate lighting added to the cosy atmosphere, banishing the darkness outside, while the low murmur of conversation and clink of cutlery was a backdrop to the Greek music playing. After the shuttered shops and empty streets, the small restaurant felt almost lively, despite there being only a handful of diners.

‘This is nice,’ Keira commented as the waiter showed them to a table and brought over menus.

It was, and Poppy was glad she had found out about the restaurant earlier. With much of the resort closed down for the winter, they could easily have missed this place if she hadn’t been told it was open.

They ordered a carafe of local white wine and then spent several minutes studying the menu, before settling on a meze of shared starters that they could both pick at. Tzatziki and taramasalata dips, vine leaves stuffed with rice and herbs, marinated anchovies, calamari, a platter of Greek olives, a traditional Greek salad with huge slices of tomatoes and feta cheese, and a platter of pitta bread.

‘I think we might have over-ordered,’ Poppy said, when the food arrived and they moved things around so the waiter could try to fit all of the dishes on the small table.

‘Who cares? It all looks and smells so good.’

It did, and as they drank wine and nibbled on the food, Poppy realised she was the most relaxed she had been in ages.

As it always did between the two of them, the conversation flowed easily between subjects, never breaking for pause, as they chatted about everything, and Keira – who had a seat facing the door – gave an amusing running commentary on every new diner who entered the taverna.

‘Fellow Brits incoming,’ she said now, as Poppy turned her head. ‘Looks like we’re not the only holidaymakers.’

Poppy heard them before she saw them.

‘Evening, Nikos! You been rushed off your feet?’ The accent was unmistakably Essex – sharp and cheerful, and carrying across the taverna whether anyone wanted it to or not.

Poppy watched as the waiter – Nikos – rushed over to greet the couple, ushering them inside.

They looked to be in their late fifties. The woman wore cropped white jeans and had a soft pastel knitted cardigan draped over her shoulders, the sleeves knotted loosely at her chest. Chunky gold jewellery on her wrists and fingers caught the light as she moved her hands animatedly and talked with her voice raised, so everyone in the room could hear.

The man beside her was quieter, though carried himself with a relaxed confidence. His thinning hair was neatly combed, and his pale polo shirt was tucked into tailored navy shorts.

‘Please don’t bring them over this way,’ Keira muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Poppy to hear. It was followed by a groan as Nikos led them to the very next table.

‘Are you ladies new?’ the woman asked, as he pulled out the chair for her. ‘I haven’t seen you around here before.’

Poppy realised the woman was addressing her and Keira.

‘Um, yes, we arrived yesterday,’ she explained.

‘Oh, they’re two of ours, Ian. Lovely. I did wonder if you were English. Your ginger hair gives you away. And you’re very pale, of course.’

Poppy prickled a little but managed to keep a smile on her face. Not that there was anything wrong with being a redhead, but she was auburn. Far too dark to be considered ginger. She was afflicted with pale skin, though, so was grateful it wasn’t too hot in Crete. She didn’t want to burn.

‘I’m Sue. And this is Ian,’ the woman continued. ‘Sue and Ian Pritchard. We live just up the road.’