Page 42 of Villa of Secrets

‘No, don’t be disheartened,’ Marina continued. ‘You have the most important thing, the first line of products. It’s just a case of taking one hurdle at a time. There’s no timescale for going global is there? It is simply the ultimate goal.’ They all stared at her and she faltered. ‘Naomi, I may have a degree in Business Studies, but I can’t advise you on everything. I’m only a shop girl selling shoes to earn a monthly wage. But I’m sure of this, we need money, a backer. There are people out there looking for new lines, and there’s funding on the Internet.’ She picked up a little pot of lip gloss. ‘Did you know that Greek women spend more on cosmetics than any other country in Europe?’

They all shook their heads.

‘Anyway, in my opinion the name is brilliant. It covers all angles.’

‘How do you mean?’ Naomi asked.

‘Well, Pandora’s Box, the whole mythology thing, gives you the perfect titles for various categories. The Graces, there’s a tag for your mature skin range. Perfume, Aphrodite. Aftershave, Zeus. Helios, sun creams and lotions. Evil has to be the young makeup line – black eyes and dark lipstick. You don’t have to stick to the actual legend, just hint at it.’

‘But I can’t produce things like mascara,’ Naomi said.

‘No, but the Chinese can. We have a lot to talk about, and even more to research, but first, I’d like to suggest a target: five years to get Pandora’s Box into a major supermarket.’ She looked at each in turn. ‘What do you think?’ Stunned silence filled the room.

A thrill raced through Naomi.

The old lady was the first to speak. She nodded at Pappas Yiannis. ‘This granddaughter of yours isn’t just a pretty face. She’s got a brain too.’

Naomi tried to consider all that Marina had suggested. ‘But what on earth could I blog about? I’ve lived here all my life. I’m not in the least bit interesting.’

‘Sorry, but you’re wrong, Naomi,’ Marina said. She glanced around the table again, and seeing all eyes on her she seemed to grow a little. ‘Actually, you’re amazing. I’d be fascinated to hear how you started, where your recipes came from, what improvement certain ingredients bring about. What’s behind the name “Pandora”? I want to know everything, and others will too. Using basic and pure ingredients is a bonus; people don’t like chemicals on their skin. You’ve got heaps going for you.’

Naomi felt a spark of hope. ‘Thirty-five per cent, and you have yourself a deal, Marina!’ she said.

They shook hands across the table.

Everyone clapped and nodded, and Marina beamed at her new partner.

‘Contract!’ Bubba said, primping her hair. ‘As the founder of this business, before anything goes any further, I insist all agreements are put down in writing by Heleny, signed and witnessed.’

Heleny turned to the back of her minutes notebook and started scribbling.

Marina said, ‘Let’s get the ball rolling right now. Open a Facebook page for Pandora’s Box.’

‘I’m not on Facebook.’

Georgia got up and collected Naomi’s laptop from the kitchen counter. ‘You’ll have one in five shakes, Naomi. Budge up so I can sit beside you.’

‘I seem to be redundant,’ the priest said. ‘Shall I pour everyone a drink before I go?’

‘Just a moment, Grandpa. We need two witnesses for the contract, and there’s only you and Georgia that aren’t involved.’

The meeting went on until evening. When the brainstormers had returned to their homes, Naomi and Bubba were peculiarly quiet, each with her thoughts. Once Naomi had put her grandmother to bed, she experienced a wave of exhaustion and decided on an early night herself.

She woke at dawn and, as had become a habit, made her coffee and sat outside with the diary, eager to see the sunrise and learn more about Bubba’s life.

Chapter 20

Monday, 24 July 1944

It has been another difficult day but, thanks to the shepherd boy, I may be able to help my family. I woke from a deep sleep at daybreak. The hut was in darkness and, for a moment, I was confused with no memory of where I was or who I was with. Filled with panic that the knowledge I needed might somehow be kept from me, or that I had lost my mind, I bolted upright. Sweat dampened my face and my heart pounded against my ribs.

The pain in my wrist brought the horrible events of Sunday back to me.

I slid out from between the warm bodies of Irini and Evangelisa and saw the diary still lay on the table next to the oil lamp, after my midnight scribblings. Not wanting Evangelisa to read what had happened to our family, I slid the journal under the mattress before I crept outside the hut.

The atmosphere was moist and fresh, heavy with the perfume of pine, as if the island had been disinfected overnight. Dew covered the ground and hung like glass beads from the tips of leaves and wild flowers. I sat on the log, watching the forest wake. The air filled with birdsong. Insects with iridescent wings buzzed sleepily from one blossom to another hunting for nectar.

The sky became a watercolour of peach and pale grey. The sun and the Turkish mountains peeked over a ghostly veil of morning mist. The breeze shifted, the air suddenly drenched in the perfume from the crimson rose bush that rambled over our front door. The blooms hung, full and heavy, against dull, weathered planks. A recent fall of petals, fat and bright as fresh blood, covered the ground. They would soon shrivel, fade, and blow away. Forgotten.