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She laughed. He did like to make her laugh.
‘Are we going to meet her this evening?’
‘We’ll just drop in for a drink.’ Costa nodded. ‘She will be busy sorting things out for her party.’
‘I got a book on basic Greek from the library...’
‘Why? She speaks excellent English.’
‘Yes, but she’ll appreciate the effort.’
Costa frowned.
‘If I was your real girlfriend I’d make the effort.’
‘Ouáou!’Costa said, which was really just the equivalent of Mary’sWow!‘Would you really?’
‘Of course.’
‘That’s terrifying!’ Costa grinned as he said it, never quite sure if Mary was joking or not. ‘But you honestly don’t have to worry about speaking Greek. Most of our guests speak English and she converses well.’
‘Leo said she’s always busy,’ Mary said, excited to get there. ‘Why do you call her Yolanda?’
‘She’s the manager of the retreat. It would look odd if I had to say to a client that I need to check with my mother...’
She laughed again.
Costa did not.
The slow chug of the ferry and the lurch as it started to turn reminded him too much of times best forgotten. He walked over to the rail, recalling half carrying, half dragging his mother up the ferry ramp the time she’d collapsed.
‘I can’t see, Costa.’
‘I can,’he’d said, pleased that she couldn’t see the look of sheer terror he’d been sure was on his face as he’d fought to keep his ten-year-old voice steady.
‘I can’t work if I can’t see.’
‘I can work.’His voice had cracked then, but it had already started to at times and it had been easy to blame it on his age.‘I look older...’
He felt someone standing next to him.
‘Such a view...’ Mary sighed.
‘Mary...’
He wanted to tell her as patiently as he could—explain that he did not require her to be his shadow, but now the slow, familiar turn of the ferry was in process and Costa knew that every last tourist would be coming to the rail soon.
‘There she is.’
Mary followed his gaze, and it became clear that thesheto which he referred was the island. Her first glimpse of Anapliró, rising from the ocean, was beyond words. It jutted out from the water in a daunting peak, and despite its lush green cover even Mary, with her untrained eye, could picture the lava that had created this rare treasure.
It was steep, and the houses carved into the hillside were dotted sparsely, except for one cluster of buildings.
‘That’s the village,’ Costa said, then his hand guided her to look to the left. ‘There is the retreat.’
‘Where?’ Mary stared, but then she saw it. It was so beautifully blended with the landscape that he’d had to point it out. Secluded for the most part by trees, it spread along the foreshore and into the hill beyond. ‘It looks as if it’s been there for ever.’
‘Some of it almost has been,’ Costa said.
