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‘So you don’t think Katerina will mind if I continue to work at the gallery?’
‘I think she’d mind if you didn’t.’
‘Thanks, Amber.’
‘But I do think you need to think about getting some kind of help.’
‘I agree.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. I’m going to do my own investigation. As you said, Carmen and I had nothing to do with what happened, but someone connected to the shop did, and I intend to find out who.’
‘That isn’t what I meant.’
‘The first thing I’m going to do is sit down with a pen and paper and write down every painful second of that day from start to finish, then I’m going to trawl through every detail, bit by bit, to see if there’s something I could have missed. I was hardly thinking straight when I made my statement to the police. I was frightened, and stressed, and completely overwhelmed, and there was probably a lot of things, things I thought of as inconsequential at the time, that I forgot to mention that could be important.’
‘And are you going to do that by yourself?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘You can’t think of anyone to bounce ideas around with?’
‘You mean Katerina?’
‘No, I mean Christos.’
‘Oh, no, I—’
‘If there’s anyone who understands what you’re going through right now, with the publication of the article, it’s Christos. From what you told me, he knows exactly what the press are like, and he knows how they can twist and turn and bend the facts for their own purposes. It’s probably happened to him lots of time, and it’s happened to him recently, too, on that travel vlog. Talk to him. Tell him the truth. Everything.’
‘But what if he hates me afterwards, like Adam?’
‘He’s not Adam, Suzie. You can trust him.’
‘I’m not sure.’
As Suzie considered what her sister had said, she glanced down to the end of the street where she saw a dark figure approach the blue gate at the side of the gallery that led up to her studio and pause, his head tipped back as he strained to see the windows, which were currently hidden behind sealed shutters.
‘I’ll call you later, Ambie. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Sis.’
She slid her phone into her pocket, inhaled a steadying breath and strode purposely towards Christos, her heart thumping against her ribcage, but her head held high as she gripped tightly onto her resolve. As she drew near, she realised that Christos was nervous, reluctant to push open the gate and climb the steps to knock on her door. However, when she glanced at his feet, she realised what had caused his hesitation; the feisty gang of neighbourhood cats had chosen to take up residence on her doorstep.
She was about to rush forward to help him, but stopped when she saw him square his shoulders, twist his neck from left to right, before reaching out to take hold of the latch and slowly open the gate, gingerly step over the cats, then bound up the stone steps like an Olympic gymnast in search of a gold medal.
Suzie smiled for the first time since Holly’s call telling her about the article. She crossed the street, shooed the cats away, and climbed the steps behind him, more determined than ever to be brave and share her story with him. When she saw the smile of relief on his handsome face when she invited him into the studio, she knew she’d made the right decision, because she also knew that, without meaning to, she had fallen in love with him.
If she wanted a future with Christos, then it was time to become her true, authentic self.
Chapter Twenty Four
‘Suzie? What’s going on? Why did you leave the taverna without saying goodbye?’
She could see the genuine concern for her wellbeing deep in Christos’ eyes and her resolve strengthened, but she also relaxed, knowing she could trust him and remembering that she had thought the same thing the very first time she had met him. After making a cafetiere of coffee, she suggested they sat on the balcony. The air was still warm, and, as the sun sank towards the horizon, sending streamers of mauve and violet across the darkening sky, she began to tell her story.
‘When I lived in London, I worked at a high-end jewellery store in Mayfair. I loved it; the company was generous, the products were stunning and a pleasure to sell, and the manager, François, was great to work for, full of amazing anecdotes about the glitzy holidays he had at his family’s villa in the south of France where celebrities would pop by for a glass of Champagne whenever they were in town. Every August he would pack his Louis Vuitton suitcase and fly over to Cannes, where he’d spend two weeks soaking up the sunshine with his friends, revelling in the lifestyle he loved: fast cars, sleek yachts, trips to the Casino in Monte Carlo, and reacquainting himself withproperFrench cuisine.
