Page 49 of The Little Greek Guesthouse

‘George, what are you doing here?’ she asked, feeling strangely awkward. Pulling off her helmet, she reached for her now-tepid water. ‘I know what I’m doing, you know.’

‘I can see that.’ He nodded, adding, ‘Sorry to spoil your alone time, but that was impressive.’

Annoyingly, she blushed. ‘Not really, I’m out of practice. It was nothing, just a bit of bouldering.’

‘Not easy here though,’ he said, squinting up at the rocky surface. ‘The rock’s kind of crumbly. If you want to do a serious climb I can show you better places.’

Nina swallowed the warm water, grimacing. ‘You climb?’

He shrugged. ‘A bit, yeah,’ he said, casually. ‘I like company when I climb, though not my yia-yia. She keeps trying to join me but so far I’ve managed to persuade her not to.’

Nina snorted a laugh, spitting water over herself, as she pictured Maria stubbornly insisting she could climb.

‘Thought I’d at least let her recover from her last sporting injury before getting her into a new one.’ He grinned.

Nina stretched out her aching arms and lifted the hair that was sticking to the back of her hot neck. The climb had been exhilarating, as always, and she was glad she’d taken up this almost forgotten hobby on a whim. But her body, unused to the particular demands of climbing, was beginning to protest.

‘Hey, why don’t we go to the café?’ George asked. ‘I’ll shout you a drink. Something actually cold.’

Not so long ago, Nina wouldn’t have considered accepting such an invitation from George, but she’d found herself so grateful for his calm and reassuring presence the night before that she didn’t hesitate now. And she was keen to find out more about his climbing. Besides, she was hot, thirsty and tired. A properly cold drink in the shade of the café courtyard was appealing, she must admit.

‘Okay,’ she said, shrugging and grabbing her bag.

‘Great!’ His smile was sunlit, and she couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Maybe an ice cream too?’

‘Definitely an ice cream.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

He led the way to the café and Nina soon found herself seated in a corner by a pot of flowers, under the shade of the canopy, as he went in to order and returned carrying two bottles of portokalada. She took the drink, smiling her thanks, and was grateful to be sipping the chilled, fresh orange liquid. Much more refreshing than her bottle of water that had been warmed by the sun, she had to admit.

‘How’s Theo?’ George asked, fiddling with his straw.

‘Better, now. He’s – he’s doing okay. Thanks again for your help trying to find him –’

George waved a hand. ‘Oh, I didn’t do anything. Just what anyone would.’

Nina thought of Vassilis, of his lack of empathy when she’d tried to talk to him about losing the bracelet and her guilt over the way she’d treated Theo. Of finding the lost bangle in his room.

‘Not everyone,’ she said.

He gazed at her, a slight frown creasing his brow. ‘You okay?’

Nina nodded. Her hand automatically going to her wrist to spin the bracelet, but it was bare; she’d left it at home for safekeeping. It was only as she did this that she noticed the blood on her hand and registered the stinging of the scraped skin there – a rock-climbing injury. It was a while since she’d had one of those.

George leaned forward in his seat. ‘Ooh, you’ve cut yourself! That looks sore, hold on.’

He was on his feet before she could stop him, rushing into the café. Nina waited, picking at the flaking varnish on her broken nails. She thought of her mum painting her nails before a night out with Theo and felt a flicker of shame at her own scruffiness. But this time, Nina dismissed it, also remembering the version of Clare that Maria and her baba had spoken of: the wild girl with the purple hair, brave and adventurous and carefree. The mum who had raced Nina to the top of Stanage Edge, and spent her evenings embracing new interests, and burned her one attempt at a cake. This version of her mum wouldn’t care about her nail varnish or whether her hair was in place, she would only want Nina to be happy and cheerful and courageous. She would want her to follow her heart, wherever that led: to Kefalonia, to climbing cliff faces, to a man who was independent and caring and respectful.

George returned, carrying a wet napkin, a dry one and a plaster. He knelt at her side, his expression serious and his full lips parted slightly as he concentrated, gently washing and drying her cut, and then placing the plaster over it. When he’d finished, he stayed where he was for a moment, still holding her palm, looking into her eyes. Nina found she had no inclination to remove her hand from his gentle, calloused grip.

‘Thank you,’ she said as he eventually rose and sat opposite her. ‘You didn’t need to, it was just a scratch.’

‘Ah, can’t be too careful, don’t want it getting infected. Listen to Nurse George.’ He grinned, then pointed and gave her a mock-serious look. ‘You were a good patient though so here comes your reward.’ He nodded towards Eirini, who was walking towards them wearing an apron and carrying two bowls of ice cream.

Nina laughed. ‘You moonlighting as a waitress?’

Eirini rolled her eyes and grinned. ‘Helping out. I don’t get a choice, I don’t get paid, but I will be asking for some babysitting in compensation.’