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Suzie looked across at the man with the mop of sandy hair.
‘The writer?’
‘Yes. Do you think he’s famous? Maybe he’s writing his next bestselling novel! I wonder if it’s a romance. Or a detective story? Or his memoir? Oh, oh, what if it’s a movie script, set in a gorgeous Greek taverna, and we are the—’
‘I hate to burst your bubble, Heidi, but unfortunately he’s none of those things.’
Unbeknown to them, Giorgos had arrived at their table with a couple of coffees for Suzie to take back to the gallery and had been listening to Heidi’s excited speculation on the identity of the mystery novelist, screenwriter, or playwright. His mahogany eyes were twinkling with amusement, but also affection for his excitable colleague.
‘Apparently, he’s a bartender at a hotel in Perissa.’
Instead of disappointment, Heidi’s eyes lit up with delight.
‘No way? That’s even better! I’m going to ask him if he has any advice for myLiterary Cocktailslaunch tonight.’ She sprang from her chair, then paused to meet Suzie’s eyes. ‘Youarecoming to Miranda’s book club, aren’t you, Suzie?’
Suzie smiled. ‘Of course, although I’m a bit worried that I won’t have read any of the books.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. You won’t be the only one. Between you and me, it’s just an excuse to get together for an evening of girly gossip. See you at eight. Don’t be late.’
Chapter Eleven
By the time seven o’clock came around, Suzie was exhausted. The gallery had been even busier than the previous day, so busy that Katerina hadn’t had the opportunity to make her usual forays to the taverna for her regular infusions of caffeine, or to stare longingly at Stefanos. Suzie wasn’t complaining though because it also meant that she hadn’t been subjected to a second interrogation on how her “date” had gone with Christos, and whether or not she was going to see him again.
To her surprise, she was disappointed their evening had ended with a friendlyyassou, and Christos hadn’t suggested they meet again, or even asked her for her phone number, but then, as their sunset cruise wasn’t a date and just a very generous apology for causing the accident outside the gallery, why should he do either of those things?
When Katerina finally turned the sign on the door to “Closed”, Suzie’s feet ached so much she flopped down onto the desk chair and expelled a long, ragged sigh, only to jump straight back up again when she saw the state of the place. She had to admit that, despite her good intentions, she wasn’t in the same league as her sister when it came to organisation, or aesthetics, but even she had to accept that the gallery looked a mess, and she still hadn’t managed to find the time to water the plants.
‘We’d better hurry or we’ll be late for the book club,’ said Katerina, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her as she rescued her handbag from the embrace of a ream of corrugated cardboard before heading for the door. ‘I promised we’d help Miranda to sort out the chairs. By the way, did you text Heidi the title of the book you’ve chosen to talk about?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘To be honest, I haven’t read many novels,’ said Katerina, as they made their way down the winding alleyway that led to the centre of Oia. ‘I prefer non-fiction; books on archaeology, architecture, history, photography, as well as more academic publications on the cutting-edge techniques currently being used in the art world. What about you?’
Suzie didn’t want to confess to Katerina that whilst she had always loved reading, she had experienced a severe bout of “reader’s block” since the incident in London, which had left her ability to concentrate on anything vaguely cerebral so depleted that trying to read anything was like wading through treacle. Unfortunately, that meant she hadn’t read any of the most recent bestsellers, so she had fallen back on one of her all-time favourite novels, which she knew she would have no trouble talking about at the book club. She was looking forward to tasting the cocktail Heidi made to match her choice.
‘I’ve chosenDeath on the Nileby Agatha Christie.’
She smiled, remembering how she and her father had shared a love of the “Queen of Crime Fiction”, and their many, many conversations and heated discussions about which of her books was the best. They had disagreed on their choice – her father preferredEvil Under the Sun– but many happy hours were spent dissecting the twists and turns of each story and pinpointing the exact moment when they had worked out who the murderer, or murderers, were and how they did it.
‘Here we are.’
Katerina pointed to a flight of steps that led down to a small shady courtyard housing an eclectic collection of tables, chairs, and potted plants, where the bookshop’s customers could shelter from the sun and read the first few pages of the book they’d bought. Suzie paused at the top of the steps, her heartbeat rising. She had been so busy dealing with a constant flow of customers at the gallery that day, followed by the rush to lock up and head to the bookshop to help Miranda set out the chairs, that her anxiety demons hadn’t had time to play havoc with her confidence, but they were in full flight mode now.
What if someone recognised her?
‘Erm, how many people are coming to the book club?’
But Katerina had already descended the steps and disappeared through the door, and unless she was going to run away, back to her empty studio, she had no choice but to swallow down hard on the cauldron of panic that had started to swirl through her abdomen and follow in her footsteps. However, as soon as she walked through the door of the bookshop, to her surprise and relief, an unexpected feeling of comfortable familiarity surrounded her and she relaxed, smiling even, as she took in the scene in front of her.
There were books everywhere; a kaleidoscope of hardbacks and paperbacks, both fresh-from-the-press and previously loved, displayed in their respective genres on floor-to-ceiling bookshelves or on re-purposed desks and carved wooden trunks. The place smelled of furniture polish and that special undefinable aroma that books exuded, along with an unusual top-note of liquorice, which Suzie suspected was another of Heidi’s special perfume concoctions.
Despite Katerina’s statement that they were needed to assist Miranda with the chairs, it seemed that they were the last to arrive, and a collection of white cane chairs with chintzy cushions had already been arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. In a small nook to the right of the door was a small oval table, draped in a white cloth and groaning under the weight of at least twenty bottles of spirits and liqueurs, around which a dozen or so literature lovers were gathered, half of whom were sipping their designated cocktail, while the other half waited in eager anticipation for Heidi to prepare theirs.
In homage to the theme of the evening, Heidi was wearing a short, belted dress fashioned from fabric printed with row upon row of books, and a pair of white trainers with tiny silver charms in the shape of typewriters attached to the laces. That evening’s eyeshadow was a wide streak of glittery gold across the lid, with a sparkling copper shade beneath her eyebrow, edged with a dash of turquoise. Suzie wished she had made more of an effort with her appearance than a simple finger-comb and a dash of nude lip balm.
‘Okay, Diana, this one is for you.’
Heidi handed a vivid green cocktail, which looked a bit like liquidised grass, to a woman dressed in an ankle-length kaftan, her auburn hair plaited and pinned in two coils on top of her head. She was clutching a book that, from the state of the jacket, Suzie could see had been well-loved, and she couldn’t help smiling when she saw the title.Anne of Green Gableshad been one of her childhood favourites, too.
