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Christos laughed. ‘See the circular wreaths? These are the vines. Look.’ Christos jumped from his chair and crouched next to one of the vines, gently lifting the leaves to reveal clusters of grapes, sheltered from the harsh rays of the sun beneath a canopy of foliage and ripe for the picking. ‘They’re not trained around horizontal wires like in other wine-producing regions. Santorini is often buffeted by very strong winds, so the vines are twisted into these circles to create a sort of leafy basket in which the grapes are protected as they ripen.’
‘That’s amazing.’
‘Okay, that’s enough lectures on viticulture for the day. Are you hungry?’
‘Starving!’
‘Then let’s eat!’
Christos flipped back the lid of the picnic basket, exclaiming with delight as he decanted the contents and introduced each dish to Suzie with a discernible hint of pride in his voice.
‘Okay, so we have a Greek salad with locally produced feta cheese, and these dolmades have been made with ingredients grown in the vineyard’s own garden at the rear of the winery. This is bruschetta topped with anchovies, capers, and a squeeze of lime juice. These are tomato fritters that have to be eaten with Petros’ special-recipe sauce, and these are salted shrimp with fava bean paste topped with a radish and chive garnish. Over here we have a dish of roasted beetroot with grated cucumber and dill finished with a drizzle of olive oil made from Michalis’ home-grown olives, and here we have freshly bakedhoriatiko psomi. Dig in.’
Suzie didn’t have to be asked twice.
Another thing that had improved since arriving on Santorini was her appetite and she was determined to try everything on offer, even the dish that Christos told her was marinated octopus, which she wasn’t sure she would like, but was the perfect accompaniment to what was clearly the star of the show: the wine.
When she and Adam had been together, he had liked to think that he was some kind of wine connoisseur, showing off his oenological knowledge whenever they went out to dinner at a fancy West End restaurant to celebrate a special occasion, or when he landed a new account for the accountancy practice where he was hoping to be made a junior partner. She, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in whether the wine was flamboyant or nuanced, chewy or smooth, subtle or herbaceous, only whether she liked it or not, and the wine Christos had chosen to accompany theiral frescopicnic had zoomed to the top of her list.
After devouring her share of the picnic, she sat back in her chair, replete. The only sound she could hear was from the insects brave enough to risk the heat to complete their daily tasks, oblivious to the fact that they had company in their little slice of paradise. Contentment descended. All her worries and anxieties melted away and she felt at one with her surroundings, part of the natural world where all that mattered was the daily pursuit of nourishment and shelter.
She was pleased Christos had brought her to the vineyard instead of racing around the island in an attempt to tick off the top ten Santorini must-sees. In the space of an hour, she had learned about the more important things the island had to offer the curious visitor: the delicious food, the spectacular wine – and how it was made – and the talent of its residents in creating it and promoting it.
‘Thank you for bringing me here, Christos. It’s exactly what I needed after the craziness of this morning.’
‘What do you mean?’
She gave him a quick summary of the events at the bookshop.
‘And Miranda thinks it was someone playing a practical joke?’
‘Yes, she’s certain of it.’
‘And she’s sure she left the door open?’
‘Yes, that’s why she didn’t want to call the police, like Giorgos suggested.’
‘I can understand that. Shall we take a walk?’
‘I’d love to.’
Suzie sauntered down the dusty pathway that dissected the vineyard and the donkey’s field, her senses heightened by the close proximity of Christos and the occasional wisp of his cologne that floated on the air between them. She felt a strange affinity with him, as though they’d met before in a previous life, and that they had been friends – perhaps even… more than friends? The thought produced a pleasurable tingle in her lower abdomen, followed swiftly by a whoosh of embarrassment that caused her to blurt out the first question that popped into her head.
‘Do your family live here on Santorini?’
‘No, they live in Athens.’
Suzie regretted her enquiry when she saw the twist of annoyance on Christos’ lips. She remembered then what he’d said when they were watching the sunset together, about how important it was to follow your dreams and the spark of irritation she’d seen in his eyes when he’d said it. She hadn’t wanted to pry then, and she didn’t want to do so now. Everyone had secrets they wanted to hold close to their chest – she knew that more than anyone – and if she’d inadvertently stumbled onto a subject Christos didn’t want to talk about, she completely understood.
‘I’m sorry, Christos, I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s okay. I love my family, but we disagree on a lot of things that are important to me. My parents worked at Athens University for a while, both highly respected in their individual fields by their peers, until they left to run their own publishing business. My sister and I were brought up to believe that academia was the only way to secure a bright future, and while Lyra happily followed in their footsteps, and subsequently joined the company, I wanted to take a different path. I wanted to explore mycreativepassions, and whilst they didn’t stop me, they didn’t support me in my chosen career either.’
‘So how did you end up in Santorini?’
‘I needed to get away,’ said Christos, his eyes trained on the horizon, clearly upset as he re-lived the catalyst to his departure. ‘I’d broken up with my ex and had a blazing row with my sister. Lyra and I used to come here when we were young to visit our grandparents and when Dimitris offered me his boat and a place to stay, I grabbed it. I’ve been here for six months and it feels like home now, a place I can escape the scrutiny of Athens and be myself, instead of having to constantly pretend I’m someone I’m not. I thought the people I loved would understand that, but obviously not.’
‘I’m sorry, Christos, that must have been hard.’
