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She thanked him, hooked the handles of her canvas carry-on bag over her shoulder, and slid from the back seat onto the pavement, before being forced to chase down the road after him, flaying her arms in the air because he’d forgotten to take her luggage out of the boot.
‘Erm, can I ask you which way I need to go?’
The taxi driver stared at her as though she’d asked him to perform a jig naked, but to her relief, he pointed through the archway and into the narrow street beyond, waving his hand to the left to indicate she should head in that direction, then climbed back into his car to re-join the Santorini version of the Greek Grand Prix… at safety car speeds.
Sighing, she entered the throng of tourists who were also making their way along the cobbled footpath, her suitcase bouncing erratically behind her. Shops lined both sides of the street, their windows and facades displaying their eclectic wares: brightly coloured beachwear, trendy sunglasses on carousels, high-end leather goods, local wines and spirits, and a whole kaleidoscope of indigenous souvenirs. There was even a jewellery shop that she made a careful note to pay a visit to when she had a free afternoon.
Just as she was starting to suspect the taxi driver had been having a joke at her expense, she spotted the art gallery where Amber worked and above which she rented a tiny studio that would be Suzie’s home for the next month. To her surprise, the gallery was closed, but that didn’t prevent her from appreciating the hand-painted ceramics in the window: vases, bowls, jugs, plates, basins, lamps. She couldn’t wait to get settled in and explore what else the gallery had to offer.
She found the blue-painted gate that Amber had told her to look out for, then climbed a short flight of roughly hewn steps and stooped down to collect the key from a coded metal box. With a sigh of relief, Suzie unlocked the door and found herself standing in a bright airy room containing a generous sofa-bed upholstered in soft cream fabric, a coffee table devoid of any unnecessary clutter, and a small dining table with a pair of wooden chairs. Further investigation revealed a miniscule kitchen, housed in what could only be described as a niche in the wall, and a bathroom that wasn’t much bigger, but there was everything she would need for a comfortable stay.
Smiling, she abandoned her luggage in the middle of the room and walked across the glossy white floor tiles to the French doors, flinging them open to dissipate the stuffiness, then gasped when she saw the view from the surprisingly expansive terrace. Directly in front of her – almost within touching distance – was a whitewashed building, its shutters sealed tight against the weakening sun, its balcony home to a very inviting hot tub which, thankfully, was currently unoccupied. To her left was another villa, this one boasting its own plunge pool, sparkling like an aquamarine gemstone against the eye-scorchingly white masonry.
From her elevated position she could see a maze of cobbled streets, each one bustling with visitors, all of whom seemed to be heading in the same direction. She checked her watch and realised that sunset was approaching, and she understood their eagerness to claim the perfect spot to watch the spectacular show that nature provided on a daily basis. She was disappointed to miss it, but she knew there would be plenty of other opportunities over the coming weeks.
She returned to the studio, unsurprised at the minimalism of the décor. She adored her sister, and they agreed on a lot of things, but their tastes in soft furnishings were housed at opposite ends of the interior design spectrum. What was wrong with a knitted emerald throw, or a cerise sarong, or a hand-tied saffron rug? Maybe a few paintings or photographs on the wall? The place looked like a hotel room; clean and welcoming, but bland and devoid of personality.
However, this was Amber’s home, not hers. She would respect her sister’s choices and make a concerted effort not to scatter her belongings across every inch of the available space.
She wondered how longthatwould last.
Suzie set the kettle to boil and, finding no coffee in the cupboards, made herself a mug of peppermint tea – Amber’s favourite – and took it over to the sofa. Sipping her refreshing beverage, she thought back to the conversation she’d had with her sister the previous night as Amber sat in the airport in Dubai waiting for her connecting flight to Bangkok to be called.
She’d never heard her sister so happy, chatting away about her trip, enthusing about all the places she hoped to visit, the activities she wanted to experience, the food and drink she wanted to sample, and how much she was looking forward to seeing their mum in Bali. But it was when she spoke about doing all those things with Tom that her voice became really animated, and only a person with a heart of stone would be oblivious to the fact that Amber was in love, and Suzie couldn’t be more delighted for her.
She intended to do her sister proud by being the best gallery assistant Katerina had ever had. She would turn up for her morning shift on time, employ the customer service skills she’d learned whilst working at a high-end establishment in London to sell all the amazing works of art in the gallery, and more importantly – something has sister had mentioned more than once during their thirty minute conversation – ensure the gallery remained a clutter-free zone.
Oh, and water Amber’s beloved plants!
As most of her afternoons and evenings were free, she planned to use the time and space to relax, to stop constantly looking over her shoulder for something that wasn’t there, and, hopefully, start to heal. She hoped to persuade Katerina to teach her new skills such as glassblowing, painting, photography or how to throw a pot, even, and she experienced a frisson of excitement as she thought of what fun projects awaited her, if only she was brave enough to step out of the shadows and into the Santorini sunlight.
The likelihood of encountering anyone from her former life was low, and she intended to take the opportunity to work on eradicating the nugget of fear that still smouldered deep in her abdomen from the second she woke up in the morning to the moment she fell asleep at night. When her father had passed away, her mum had been devastated, but amidst her grief, she had found the courage to change her life, not just making a few tweaks here and there but by resigning from her job as a primary school teacher in Norwich and accepting a position in a country she had never visited before.
If her mum could do that, then Suzie could embrace what Santorini had to offer. Amber had been happy here for five years. Maybe she could enjoy a little slice of that elusive pie, too.
She finished the last dribble of her peppermint tea and was about to make a start on her unpacking when her eye snagged on a blue door in the corner of the room that she hadn’t noticed before. Tentatively, she turned the brass handle to discover a varnished staircase with open wooden treads that she suspected led downstairs into the gallery.
Smiling, she padded down the stairs, her bare feet noiseless on the steps, and found herself in a bright airy space with marble floor tiles and smooth white walls, which provided the perfect backdrop for the stunningly beautiful objects that were on sale. Of course, the place was pristine; there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere and a fresh lemon-infused fragrance circulated through the cool air.
Suzie grinned; she had expected nothing less.
The generously proportioned room was split into three distinct zones, in the middle of which stood a glamorous glass desk upon which rested a sleek silver laptop, a card reader, and nothing else. No baskets filled with correspondence waiting to be filed, no pots filled with pens, paperclips, and post-it notes, no abandoned coffee cups like the ones that had cluttered up Suzie’s desk at her beach hut studio at Blossomwood Bay.
She strolled into the first zone; a large space encircled with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with the colourful ceramics she’d seen on display in the window when she arrived. There were bowls, vases, plates, oil & vinegar sets, and decorated tiles and plaques. Every item was a work of art in its own right, worthy of a place in the most elegant of homes, and she spent a few minutes inspecting each one, familiarising herself with the stock for when she started her first shift.
After all, shewasthere to work.
Satisfied with her “stock-take”, she moved on to investigate the gallery’s second zone. It was home to various sculptures and intricate glassware objects, which she knew were Katerina’s handiwork. Amber’s colleague was clearly very talented, and Suzie couldn’t wait to meet her, to chat about all-things artisan, to hear about the techniques she used to create her artwork, and to consider whether she could apply any of them to her own jewellery design business.
The final zone was where the paintings were displayed – exquisite watercolours of the panoramic Santorini landscape, many of them featuring the famous vista of the white sugar-cube-esque buildings set against the deep blue of the Aegean Sea and the endless cerulean sky above. Glorious sunsets had been captured in pastels, oils, and photographs, all of which had been sympathetically mounted and framed to enhance their beauty and, hopefully, catch the eye of potential buyers.
Suzie sighed; she couldn’t think of a better place to spend her time while in Oia. It wouldn’t be like work at all, and there would be no need to vet everyone before she allowed them through the door, like she did back in Devon where she insisted that clients who wanted to discuss or commission a piece of bespoke jewellery made an appointment.
She spun on her heels and was about to head back up the stairs to Amber’s studio when she caught sight of a small alcove just beyond the picture gallery. Expecting to find a storage area, she was surprised to discover that its white walls were also adorned with paintings, but these paintings were so at odds with the rest of the artwork displayed in the main gallery that she couldn’t prevent a gasp of surprise from escaping her lips.
She stood and stared at them, trying to work out what the artist was trying to depict or to say, but she came up blank. In contrast to the vibrant colours used in all the other items for sale in the gallery, these paintings had been created using a much more sombre colour palette – black, brown, charcoal, pewter – and featured unusual shapes, decorated with random splashes and smudges of dark grey paint. They were flat, dull, lifeless, and more than a little disconcerting, and the longer she looked at them, the more her mood dipped.
No wonder Amber had consigned them to the back of the shop.
