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Mary turned and looked beyond the gates, to where there was a vast pool and several people setting up for the party tomorrow. But it was Yolanda who drew the eye, for she was possibly the most glamorous woman Mary had ever seen.
Waving them in from her electric wheelchair while sipping a drink, she wore a cerise smile along with a turquoise caftan, and her hair was the most stunning chocolate-brown with gold highlights. She was absolutely as beautiful as her son.
‘Kalimera.’Mary smiled.
‘It’skalispera,’ Costa corrected—not that his mother noticed.
‘What happened to your eye?’ she exclaimed when she saw Costa’s cuts and bruises.
‘A door.’
‘Oh, please,’ she said as she hugged him. But just as Costa had predicted, she didn’t delve. ‘It’s so good you’re here; it’s been far too long. A year, at least...’
‘Don’t give her your sympathy vote.’ Costa was clearly more than used to playing a part and he smiled as he glanced over to Mary. ‘She omits to mention we had lunch in Athens two weeks ago.’
Yolanda laughed, and her gaze turned to where Mary stood.
She wasn’t even feeling awkward now—just sad to receive his fake smile the same way she had received his fake kiss on the ferry.
‘So, this is Mary...’ Yolanda looked her up and down. ‘I’m sorry, I missed your full name...’
‘Stop fishing,’ Costa warned her lightly as they made their way over to a gorgeous covered veranda away from the pool. He pulled out a chair for Mary, who took a seat as she answered Yolanda’s question.
‘Mary Jones.’
‘Welcome, Mary.’
She went to pour Mary a small glass of the liquor she was drinking—the same thing Costa had been drinking at the marina, she thought. Though still oddly tempted to try it, Mary politely declined. ‘No, thank you...’
‘To welcome you,’ Yolanda insisted, adding water to her own.
It was Costa who sorted it out. ‘Mary doesn’t drink.’
‘At all?’ Yolanda checked. ‘It’s just ouzo...’
‘There’s nojustouzo. I’d have to carry her back to the villa,’ Costa quipped, and added water to his own little glass.
‘Have the two of you eaten?’ Yolanda asked.
‘No, but we’re not staying...’
‘Costa,’ Yolanda moaned, ‘surely we can have dinner together...?’
‘And we often do...’
‘Not here, though.’
‘And not tonight.’ He changed the subject. ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’
‘I think so.’
Yolanda nodded and, though she spoke directly to her son, Mary could feel that her gaze kept drifting towards her. She was clearly wary of the outsider.
‘I wish I’d listened to you and just hosted a dinner in Athens,’ his mother said.
‘I warned you.’
‘You did.’
