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Suzie gulped down on an upswing of nausea. Even though she had a good idea what Holly was going to say, she couldn’t help hoping she was wrong.
‘You really need to take a look at the link I’ve sent you. I’m sososorry, Suzie. If there’s anything Oscar and I can do to help, you only have to ask. We’re here for you. Come home. Stay with us at theFox & Fiddle. Don’t forget, we love you.’
‘Thanks, Holly. I’ll call you back.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
With shaking hands, Suzie clicked on the link in Holly’s text, and through a blur of tears she read the newspaper article, which featured one of Eddie’s snapshots of her sitting in the sun on the balcony of Amber’s “luxury” studio, looking relaxed and carefree, with the headline “Suzie Sandringham enjoys her spoils in Santorini!”. The article didn’t contain anything she hadn’t read before – it was a simple rehash of old news – apart from the non-too-subtle inference that she was in Santorini because she could afford to splash out a lavish trip to one of the most expensive islands in the Mediterranean.
She was mortified, heat flooding her cheeks, until she read the final paragraph and her knees buckled beneath her and she crumpled to the ground.
“Readers might like to know that Suzie Sandringham is now in charge of an art gallery in Oia, surrounded by the precious paintings and ceramics that members of the local community have spent weeks if not months creating. They clearly have no idea who they've entrusted their cherished artwork to. Perhaps someone should tell them.”
She had no idea how she managed it, but she struggled to her feet and ran as fast as she could back to her apartment, stuffed as many of her possessions as she could into her rucksack, and hurried to find a taxi in Oia’s main square.
Praying that she hadn’t chosen anyone related to the driver who had brought her here, she asked him to take her to the airport. As they drove, she sent up a silent missive to the director in charge of her fate to take pity on her, for once, and make sure there was a seat on a flight – any flight – back to the UK that night.
Chapter Twenty Three
When Suzie arrived at the airport, she was horrified to see that unless she wanted to fly to Edinburgh, there were no flights until the next morning. Not having thought of a Plan B, she spent a few minutes wandering around the check-in area, the neon glare of the overhead lights making her feel exposed and vulnerable, as though everyone queueing at the desks was staring at her, judging her. So, with her head lowered, she scuttled back outside, relieved when she spotted a rather dilapidatedkafenio. She chose a seat in the shadows at the rear of the wooden cabin-like structure and sipped a coffee – which tasted like lukewarm dishwater – in relative safety.
She felt like a fugitive.
The thought caused a sudden wave of nausea to rise up inside her, so strong she almost cried out loud. She inhaled several long, slow, deep breaths, and eventually she managed to regain control of her emotions, but her stomach continued to churn with anxiety, causing her to feel queasy and lightheaded.
What had she been thinking?
There was no way she could escape her past; the scandal would follow her everywhere she went, that much was obvious. There would always be someone, somewhere, who recognised her, no matter where she went or how low a profile she kept. The words in the article ricocheted around her head like lemmings, the inferences clear, and the accusations the same as they had always been in every newspaper column she’d read – that she, Carmen, and François were in some way personally involved in what had happened.
Shame gripped her.
What would her new friends think of her?
Would Katerina have to close the gallery?
Would Amber lose her job?
She had hoped – perhaps naively – that she might be able to make a fresh start in Oia, but of course that was wishful thinking. She knew she would never be able to move on with her life until the investigation into the events of that day reached a satisfactory conclusion, and so far, there were still too many unanswered questions for that the happen.
She also had to accept that the fact she had left London at the earliest possible opportunity also made her look guilty, even though she’d had no choice after Adam had changed the locks on their apartment and emptied their joint bank account, leaving her penniless. And she wasn’t on Santorini to enjoy the high life. She was here because she’d lost her home and all her belongings in a freak equine-instigated accident!
It really wasn’t fair how journalists twisted the facts to fit the story they wanted to tell, but this wasn’t the first time it had happened, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. No matter where she went, there would always be people willing to sell a photograph to the tabloids to make a few pounds for themselves, oblivious to the havoc their actions would cause in someone else’s life. She should have known this would happen and planned more carefully, staying in her studio instead of thinking she could enjoy sunset cruises or a night of Greek dancing with friends.
But was that how she wanted to live for the rest of her life?
Was she prepared to miss out on all the amazing experiences that were out there because she was fearful of what strangers might think of her? If she wanted to fulfil her dream of running jewellery-making workshops she needed to develop a thicker skin, otherwise things would be just like they were in Blossomwood Bay, where she went to great lengths to check out the identity of her clients before agreeing to take their commissions.
How could she do that with jewellery classes in Santorini?
Those who loved her – her mum, Amber, Holly, Beckie, Opal, even Carmen, who now lived in Brisbane – constantly told her that none of it was her fault, so why didn’t she believe them? Why didn’t she have more faith in herself, more respect? Instead of maintaining a dignified silence, why hadn’t she spoken out? Why hadn’t she given interviews, lots of interviews, to the press about what had happened, and used the opportunity to tell her side of the story so that the articles they published were more balanced, moretruthful?
She should have stood up for herself. Acted, notreacted.
And that’s what she needed to do now in order to slay the monster who’d had a strangle-hold on her emotions for far too long.She needed to take control. She needed to start asking questions, instead of trying to block out the whole agonising nightmare in the hope it might all just go away, because now she knew that it wouldn’t.
In order to have any chance of moving forward, she had to force herself to think about every second of that fateful day – from the moment she woke up until the moment she collapsed sobbing into Carmen’s spare bed – and dissect every detail, over and over and over again until she got the answers she needed, the answers shedeserved. Otherwise, she was doomed to live her life alone, sculking in the shadows of a scruffykafeniodrinking insipid coffee instead of sitting in the sunshine enjoying a rich, darkmetriosatTaverna Giorgoswith people who meant so much to her.
