Game of Scones (2 page)

Lordy, now I sounded like Carrie Bradshaw typing questions into her computer, in Sex and the City… But tons of thoughts had swirled in my head these last few weeks, without getting answers. Perhaps I’d overdosed on romantic novels, which talked of fairy tale meant-to-be’s. Plus, I should be grateful for our fancy executive lifestyle, despite dreaming as a youngster I would one day own an old-fashioned afternoon teashop.

I know – mad idea, wasn’t it? My lips tugged upwards. High-flying Mum and Dad were having none of it. They’d pushed me to do a maths degree, little knowing I attended baking classes on the quiet. Just as a hobby, of course, not that Henrik understood why I’d waste my mathematical brain on creating something that fed your body and not your mind.

My chest glowed as I thought back to many summers spent in Taxos, a little fishing village on the northern coast of the Greek island, Kos. Having been sent to boarding school from the age of seven, it was the only time I saw my jet-setting parents consecutively, for every day of one month. ‘What are you thinking about? asked Henrik, as I felt a dreamy look come over my face.

‘Taxos. Georgios and Sophia.’ Mum and Dad’s good friends who used to be like a second set of parents to me.

‘Ah, yes. Pleasant people.’

‘You got on well with them in January, didn’t you?’

Henrik shrugged. ‘I guess. Not that I could spent much time at their taverna. Jeez, dead as the tourist market in the Ukraine, that restaurant was,’ he said. ‘If the people of Taxos have poor summer takings, it must be a real struggle to make ends meet during the low season.’

Urgh, that was a harsh comparison, but remember what I said about the Dutch speaking their mind? A trait that could be highly uncomfortable or rather refreshing… In fact, it was one thing I’d always found attractive about him – his total transparency.

‘Although Georgios did take me to the wetlands, to watch wading flamingos… Never far from his binoculars, is he?’

I grinned. ‘Sounds like some things haven’t changed. Dad used to tease him about looking for dollybirds.’ I don’t think we ever did explain that joke.

‘You might get a shock when you see Taxos again.’ Henrik shook his head. ‘The recession has taken its toll.’

That’s what worried me. I bit my lip. Six months ago he’d gone over as a favour to Mum and Dad when they received word that their villa had flooded. Henrik had a business meeting on the Greek mainland anyway, and said his employer – ThinkBig Development – could pay for the detour. He was always flying off to meet foreign builders or architects, since ThinkBig had branched out into Europe.

‘I never asked – did you at least try Georgios’ homemade retsina?’ I gave a grin.

‘Yep – didn’t think you’d want the details as I was as ill as a dog the next day.’ He pulled a face. ‘Have you ever stuck your head down a Greek toilet? I can confirm that the flushing system copes with vomit as poorly as it does loo paper.’

I giggled. Yet I’d always envied everything about my Kos friends’ simple lives, rearing their own meat, growing vegetables and fermenting their own wine.

‘How long is it exactly since you’ve been there?’ said Henrik and stretched back against the sofa, hands behind his head.

I thought for a moment. ‘Wow. Nine years – the last time I was fourteen and had just chosen my GCSE options. Then life got busy with exams, sixth form, university, getting a new job, renting this gorgeous flat with you…’ My chest tightened as I recalled comments Henrik had made about empty Taxos properties and rundown businesses… Of Georgios and Sophia’s home needing a good lick of paint… Although I cheered up as an image of their cheeky son Nikolaos – Niko – popped into my mind.

‘It’ll be a change for you, to be on a beach during your days off, instead of on the piste, during one of our usual ski breaks.’

I nodded. Even our holidays were busy these days, navigating snowy slopes or trekking up challenging mountains. Relaxing images floated into my mind of the many summers Niko and I had spent together, climbing olive trees, chasing goats or diving for pretty shells. The clear waters and marine life inspired a love of tropical fish, and ever since my thirteenth birthday I’d owned the biggest heated tank I could afford. My current one was home to three angelfish, two mini shark fish and some colourful snails. I sighed, almost smelling the briny air of Taxos beach.

‘On my last visit, Niko would have been fourteen like me and was sponge-diving and fishing with his Uncle Christos and helping out in the taverna… What’s he doing now?’

Henrik shrugged. ‘Much the same, from what I could tell.’

No surprise there. Niko never had aspirations to leave home and travel the world. Even as a young boy, he’d say “Like fertile soil, Taxos will provide everything I need for a lifetime of happiness”.

I kind of admired the confidence he had in his little hometown. And despite me studying and ultimately heading for university, we’d still had lots in common, that last summer – a love of nature and food plus the ability to tease each other mercilessly. Niko would call pink-hating teenage me Tomboy and being the tallest, I named him Shorty. We used to spend hours watching turtles and both joined the World Wildlife Fund.

‘It was good of Mum and Dad to invite me on their annual visit this August,’ I said and loosened my ponytail. And for three consecutive weeks! I’d never left my desk for that long, but since my chat with Greta, since my feelings for Henrik had shifted, I needed a good amount of time away from the daily grind, to think about our relationship. Fortunately work had insisted it wasn’t a problem, even though I’d just moved departments, due to all the unpaid overtime I’d happily put in, over the last two years. ‘I’ve always loved Taxos for being so untouched by the glitzy eighteen-to-thirty crowd. You experience a real slice of authentic Greek life.’

Henrik’s jaw tightened and he fiddled with his designer watch. ‘I’d say it was short-sighted of any Greek village to hark back to the old days, in these economically-challenged times. Taxos didn’t look to me as if it was doing well on feelings of nostalgia and the earnings from selling fish and olives.’

My head told me he was right, but the just the thought of puking, drunken tourists invading that community made
me
feel like throwing up. I shook myself. ‘Anyway, it’s a shame you’ve got that big contract to work on and can’t go.’ I cleared my throat. Truth was, I felt as relieved as an ice cream finding shade that I only had seven days to go until I left. With that marriage proposal on the horizon, I needed to come to a decision about him, without the distraction of his seductive slate eyes. They only reminded me of how I’d felt about him when we’d first started dating.

My own eyes misted up as I thought of struggling Taxos with its turquoise waters and shortbread sand – of my imaginary teashop where I’d do the school run, dance in the dark and wake with the birds. Oh, the hours Niko and I had spent thinking up ridiculous names for it: Scones Sweet Scones; Teacakes Ahoy; She Shells Cake; Shiver me Sandwiches. In the end, I’d plumped for Pippa’s Pantry. BORING, Niko had declared – cue a generous handful of hot sand down his back.

I leant up against Henrik, wondering if I would miss him whilst out in Greece. He wanted kids, but not until our thirties and, like my parents, thought boarding school fitted the executive life best. A bustling family home like Georgios and Sophia’s wouldn’t suit him one jot.

‘Funny you should talk of Taxos, you see my surprise…’ Henrik sat upright and turned to face me.

Eek! Greta’s words rung in my ears. Was her son about to propose and take me to Greece on honeymoon? Because his surprise certainly wouldn’t be chocolates or extravagant bouquets. Henrik wasn’t the chivalrous, romantic type, and would consider such gifts a waste of money. Which was good, right? I was a successful, independent woman, not a Disney princess – although if I was, it would have to be Snow White, with her love of birds and forest life. Not that I’ve, um, thought that through at all *clears throat*. Knights – or princes – in shining armour, I knew, belonged in fiction books. And Henrik always respected my modern outlook. He rarely gave out flowery compliments either – said I was far too intelligent to be patronised by such “tosh”. Neither of us could understand why I loved reading anything with a romantic theme.

‘Oh, goodness, is that the time…’ I rambled, desperate for a speedy exit. I moved forwards, to the edge of the sofa. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go out right now, forgot I have Zumba and–’

‘Whoa! Slow down, Pippa! Surely an exercise class can wait two minutes?’

Aarggh! There was no way out of this. As if already feeling apprehensive about an engagement ring, my left hand curled into a fist.

‘Guess what? Thanks to your parents and my boss, you’re in for a great holiday abroad.’

Like the detergent-blue Greek tide coming in, a growing sense of uneasiness washed over me.

‘As a thank you for me heading over to sort out the flooding mess, your mum and dad insist we have the villa to ourselves this summer. They will visit your aunt in Canada instead. My boss said he can just about afford to let me go for three weeks as long as…’ Henrik fiddled with his watch again, ‘…I find a few days to head off to Kos Town to tie up some business at our new offices there.’

‘Since when did ThinkBig have offices on Kos island?’ I said, for a minute forgetting my total relief at him not having proposed.

‘Ignore all that for a minute – didn’t you hear? I’m coming with you, Pips! It’ll be just us, cocktails and waves… And who knows what could happen.’

Voice husky now, Henrik took my hand and – uh oh – ran his thumb over my wedding ring finger.

Chapter Two

‘Us split up? Why?’ said Henrik, and his well-defined jaw dropped. He put down our cases in the lounge of our villa and straightened up. His head almost touched the ceiling built by much shorter Greeks. To avoid an answer, I gazed around. Nothing much had changed since my last visit. The wooden coffee table in the middle of the floor, on top of a mosaic rug… the cream sofa and armchairs… the paintings of fishing boats on the whitewashed walls… the vases of dried flowers… I glanced over at the kitchen with its gleaming white units, deep cornflower blue cupboard doors and spotless silver appliances. Plus the sturdy, rectangular breakfast bar in the middle, surrounded by high stools. The eating area had hardly been used seeing as Mum and Dad preferred to dine out. On the rear side were French patio doors, revealing the Aegean Sea in the distance, beyond a small dusty patio edged with trees and shrubs.

‘Um… I need to stretch my legs and could pick up some essentials like bread and milk. You’ve worked so hard this last week, Henrik, why don’t you unpack and take a dip in the pool?’ I gave a bright smile, knowing this would appeal to his practical side. ‘We’ve got the next two weeks in each other’s company. A couple of hours apart won’t kill.’

What? Did you really think I’d break up with him minutes after arriving in Greece? Where would be the sense in that, and talk about cruel? Plus…*sigh*… thanks to my head and heart tug-of-war, I still hadn’t quite come to a decision.

‘Okey doke.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever suits. I know you get twitchy if we stay anywhere that doesn’t stock flour, milk, butter and eggs.’

Which was true – the scone-maker in me was never far away.

Henrik jerked his head back towards the corridor, leading from the front door. ‘Which room is ours, that big one on the right – your mum and dad’s?’

‘No way! That would be
wrong
.’

Henrik grinned. ‘The English are so uptight about things like that. So what if your parents have shagged in that bed?’

My shudder only fuelled his laugh.

‘We’re in the spare room, on the left, which has a lovely big bed.’ I led the way in, walked past the huge mosquito net, draped down from the ceiling, and headed for the round window. Like a small child, trying to spot Santa’s sleigh, I peered out. Henrik came up behind me and as he let out a whistle, his breath brushed my skin.

‘I’d forgotten this view of the sea. Talk about peacock blue.’ Gently he ran a hand up and down my bare left arm. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you to stay a bit longer? I’ve been dying to get you out of those shorts ever since we got off the plane. Why don’t I turn down the bedcovers?’

He kissed my neck, pulled away and within minutes uttered an expletive. I turned to see him fighting the mosquito net. Eventually he burst out laughing.

‘Jeez! This stuff makes the best form of contraception! Just look at my cool moves.’ He karate- chopped his long arms and became even more tangled.

I couldn’t help giggling. Suddenly his phone belted out the Dutch national anthem – a nod to his roots, him being a mad fan of that country’s football team. Then, as had become his way of late, he mouthed “sorry” and after a moment’s more struggle, left the room to answer. Hooray! This gave me the perfect opportunity to head off into Taxos.

What with my doubts, I’d found it nigh on impossible recently to… well, ahem, just “go through the motions” in bed, so it really was just as well we hadn’t signed any kind of Christian Grey contract. Call me old school, but I truly believed sex went hand-in-hand with love – unless there had been partaking of Prosecco. Fizzy alcohol had a lot to answer for in my life, including a Brazilian wax, one tiny tattoo (don’t ask where) and a snog with a university professor.

My chest squeezed. Henrik being Henrik, he never complained. He’d simply ask, in his straightforward way, if it was that time of the month or bought Paracetamol when I’d pleaded stress headaches. On a relaxing holiday, sweetened by sun and cocktails, it might prove harder to avoid his flirtatious touch. Tip-toeing, I picked up my floppy hat and big bug-eye sunglasses from the lounge. Henrik didn’t look up as he sat next to a large folder, having brought work papers with him – or at least I’d assumed that’s what it contained. He’d kept the folder well sealed, muttering something about confidential documents.

Suited me. I’d come away for a break from that office stuff and left my mobile phone on the kitchen worktop, before heading out of the front door. I admired terracotta pots bursting with bubblegum-pink flowers, and strolled past our gleaming white car – ThinkBig had left it at the airport for us, having apparently signed a good deal with Range Rover for their company’s transport. I made my way down the dusty road to my left, having glanced at the fire station opposite. A skinny tabby cat scooted past. It would be fifteen minutes’ walk before the village appeared. I suppressed a yawn. Although I’d slept on the four-hour flight, it had been a ridiculously early start. It was only just half past twelve now – and the hottest time of the day. Yet after all these years, curiosity reenergised me. Would Taxos live up to my memories?