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10
The catamaran loped over the surface of the Aegean beneath a glorious sun. The music was loud for Angela’s taste, with a beat she couldn’t get into. But then she was older, and it was tradition to hate the music of the younger generation. It had been happening since the Beatles, or maybe far longer. It seemed as if everyone on the boat, even the crew, was thirty or younger. The captain, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, reminded her of Xandros, the height, the smile, the dark hair, the olive skin.
She sat under an awning shading half the boat, while the three women in Carter Ellis’s group had climbed up top to sunbathe. The men, four including Carter, clustered around the back of the boat, talking, laughing, drinking, eating. Angela had been out there for a while, but despite her sunblock, her skin had started to sizzle. Sienna had joined her in the shade.
The food and drink were excellent. They’d indulged in spanakopita and tomatokeftedes, Greek meatballs, fried goat cheese, tzatziki with toasted pitas, and on and on. Margaritas weren’t a Greek drink, but they were delicious.
The day was warm, but the wind off the Aegean and the shade of the overhang kept her comfortable. She’d worn shorts over her swimsuit. Her usual capris would have been unbearable out here on the water.
“Tell us about yourself, Mr. Ellis,” she said as he joined them under the awning, whether out of politeness or to get away from the blast of music, she couldn’t be sure. “Married, engaged, kids?”
Beside her, Sienna squirmed. But Angela was older, and she could ask the important questions. They’d settled in comfortable canvas chairs, drinks in hand, the platter of appetizers on the table between them. Angela nibbled while he answered.
“Call me Carter. No wife, no fiancée, and no kids. I’m twenty-nine. I’m a lawyer out of San Jose, California.”
Angela wasn’t sure who gasped first, her or Sienna. “You’ve got to be kidding. This is far too big a coincidence. Sienna is in San Francisco, and I’m in Los Altos Hills.”
Carter laughed, glancing at Sienna. “Serendipity. We were meant to meet.”
“And I suppose your girlfriend up top was meant to throw her drink on me,” Sienna drawled. Angela couldn’t read the look in her eyes, whether it was pleasure or annoyance.
Carter laughed again. “Absolutely. Or we wouldn’t have met.” Then he added with a smile, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”
The girl in question teetered on high heels as she maneuvered down the ladder from above, grabbing another drink before climbing back up. There was so little material in her bathing suit that it could barely be called a bikini. If she was thirty years younger, Angela might have had the courage. But at fifty-three, she was strictly one-piece. Sienna wore an attractive tankini which, as she moved, showed a strip of midriff. The high-cut hips showed off her long legs. Angela couldn’t tell if Carter Ellis looked at them behind his sunglasses, but she’d be surprised if he hadn’t.
“I’m a tax attorney,” Carter went on. “Sounds boring, I know, akin to being an accountant.” Then he leaned forward as if he had secrets to share. “But it can be fascinating matching wits with the IRS.”
“I didn’t know IRS agents had wits,” Sienna said smoothly.
Carter guffawed. “Good point. But like any profession, there are the dimwits and the ones who have more wits than are good for them. Or, I should say, good for me.”
They all laughed. “Do you have your own firm?” Angela asked, not to gauge his net worth or consider him for son-in-law material, but to keep the conversation going.
“It’s my dad’s firm. A family affair. My two brothers and sister work there as well.”
Sienna raised one eyebrow behind her sunglasses. “Now that’s a family business.”
Once again Angela couldn’t read her, whether that was sarcasm or admiration, or even a comparison to Donald’s family business, Walker and Walker.
Not wanting the conversation to falter, Angela asked, “Someone mentioned you’re here for three weeks. How long have you been on the island?”
Carter gazed out at the water a moment. “Two weeks. We’re flying out a week from Monday.”
“You’ve been enjoying yourselves?”
He nodded. “Swimming, taking out mopeds for day trips. You’d think we’d have done more in two weeks, but now we’re trying to pack stuff into the last week.” Then he asked, “What do you do, Angela?”
The question surprised her. She would have thought he’d ask Sienna. “Just a housewife,” Angela answered, then corrected herself. “At least until my children grew up.” She smiled at Sienna, who kept a poker face. “Now I’m a divorcee, and I spend my time volunteering for different organizations. I work at the SPCA feeding and grooming the animals.”
Sienna seemed to startle. “You clean litter boxes and wash out kennels?”
Angela laughed, though she would have done whatever they needed. “Just feeding and playing with the kittens. Some of them need bottle-feeding. Some puppies do as well. And I walk the dogs. It’s a real cushy job.”
“Sounds like it,” Carter said. “But you can’t do that full time. What else do you do?”
She pondered how to bring Sienna into the conversation. It would be too blatant to blurt out that her daughter was a financial advisor.
“I drive for a great organization that provides rides for seniors. I had to get rid of my SUV and buy a car with a lower chassis to accommodate them. But seniors are wonderful and chatty and some of them are very lonely. I take a ninety-two-year-old woman to the community pool three times a week where she does water exercises.”
