Game of Scones (9 page)

Looking for inspiration, I pulled down my own beige sunhat and headed over to the famous Tree of Hippocrates, in a quiet square, opposite the entrance to the castle. A baby in a pram dropped its rattle and I hurried after the mum, to give it back, before returning to the tree. Despite screeching seagulls and chattering tourists, tranquillity washed over me as I gazed at its wide crown, held up by scaffolding. Like many tourist spots in Kos, there was no explanatory notice. I only knew its history because of visiting the island so often. Hundreds of years ago Hippocrates had supposedly taught his students underneath – to think that this man of priniciple, the Father of Medicine, had stood at this exact spot. No doubt this tree could tell many stories.

Hmm, like the one about the English woman, carrying a large red hat and debating whether to stalk her boyfriend. Aarghh! Henrik, too, was good man, but I felt a duty to the endangered turtles, with their huge heads, horny beaks and thick-skinned flippers. Other children used to throw pebbles at them and call them mutant Ninja turtles after the film. However Niko and I always appreciated their beauty – especially underwater where, despite their cumbersome shape, they cut through the currents like submarines.

If another nesting ground was decimated they might never recover. I gazed at the tree once more then opened my rucksack. Within minutes I’d swapped my hat for Leila’s and despite the suffocating heat, wrapped the red shawl around my shoulders. I did trust Henrik. At worst he was being forced to close some ill-conceived deal by the bosses at ThinkBig.

I smoothed down my linen trousers. Now it was almost two o’clock. Either way, it was best that I knew what was going on and could offer my boyfriend support. If I hurried, I’d just catch them having dessert. A wry smile crossed my face. I felt like a rather flamboyant Miss Marple.

Mentally thanking Hippocrates for pushing me in the right direction, I headed back into the town centre. Outdoor stalls with a rainbow of flower baskets contrasted the ancient brown buildings all around. The sign outside The Flamingo Inn, bearing a large pink bird, came into view, except so did… I paused outside an office. From the advertising photos in the window, I could tell it was an employment agency.

Was that
Leila
inside, being interviewed? I’d recognise that petite frame, the exotic flair for clothes and raven hair swept to the side anywhere. But she was supposed to be ill. Why would she lie to her fiancé? And why would Leila be looking for a job? Niko clearly thought their future was mapped out, working locally in Taxos.

I looked at my watch. Yes, well, so what – Niko’s love life was nothing to do with me.

I darted behind the clothes rail of a nearby stall, but still peeked as she stood up and shook the hand of a lady behind the desk. Then she turned around. Hmm. Leila it definitely was. She left the agency, put on sunglasses and headed in the direction of the harbour. Aarggh! Why did I feel obliged to investigate? To see if she was up to something Niko didn’t know about? It would serve him right for flirting behind her back…

I bit my lip. A small part of me, that I soon shot down, hoped that she was planning to move to another part of Kos. Perhaps with a new boyfriend, yes, and she’d get a job in a bar or restaurant. Maybe she’d been seeing someone else behind his back. My heart fluttered as I imagined her announcing her departure for a new life in a glitzier part of the island, because then Niko would be free to… to… *big sigh* I shook my head. What was I thinking of? She mustn’t leave him – apart from anything else, it would hurt Georgios, Sophia and Grandma. In fact, I owed it to
them
to try to find out more. And this detective work would be nothing at all, in no way, to do with a ridiculous sense of loyalty to some boy I’d known a lifetime ago.

I cleared my throat, strode over to the agency and pushed open the glass door, prepared to make up some story about my “friend” – Leila – having lost her purse. However, the small plastic sign on the desk she’d been sitting at gave me all the information I required. “International Recruitment”. Goodness. I hadn’t seen that coming. Was Leila sneaking off abroad?

Quickly I left the office and stood outside again, perspiring not just because of the outside sun or shawl. Perhaps Leila’s friendliness was all just an act. What if she’d seen the butterfly kisses last Saturday? Not that anything untoward had happened, but she was bound to have been aware of his flirting over the last few months, if I’d noticed within a matter of days. But where would she go? With her good English, Great Britain or the States? And to do what? As far as I knew, she had no formal training… I glanced at my watch again. Niko’s problems would have to wait – at this rate I was about to miss out eavesdropping on Henrik’s lunch date.

Hands up, no need to tell me I was a hypocrite as I snuck carefully through The Flamingo Inn’s doors. But I’d only chided Niko for eavesdropping the night before as his aim had been to stir up trouble between me and Henrik – whereas I was acting shadily for the sake of endangered turtles. Pulling down the red hat, I surveyed the busy pub, filled with sunburnt holidaymakers, mahogany tables and a huge television to the right. Photos of Churchill, bulldogs and the Queen had been mounted on the walls. Plus to the left of the bar was a snooker table, just behind Henrik who sat with a generously built man with dyed curly black hair and a high forehead glistening with sweat.

Even sitting down, Henrik was easy to spot. In fact he looked way too big for the small circular table and wooden chair, like one of the giants out of his favourite TV series Game of Thrones. A waitress brought them coffees and she shot my boyfriend a flirtatious glance. Attention from other women used to make me proud, in the beginning, because I was his chosen one, but these days such behaviour didn’t move me at all.

I hurried to sit on a tall stool at the bar nearby, my back to them, and ordered a mineral water from the landlord in a Union Jack T-shirt. A man, stinking of aftershave, stood next to me, in a black suit. He clicked his fingers at the landlord and I glanced sideways. Eek, it was Henrik’s companion. He turned his head in my direction and gave me a smile full of yellow-stained teeth. He had beady eyes and a crooked nose. Without turning his head away he said, ‘My usual cigar, Jim.’ Then, ‘you English?’ to me.

Um… no I wasn’t, just in case Henrik heard and recognised my voice.

‘
Non
,
je suis francaise
,’ I replied, thanks to my French GCSE, praying that he didn’t speak that language.

‘Ah, Paris, the city of love,’ he said and leant close. Ew – stale retsina breath. Fortunately, at that moment, the landlord returned with a long, plastic-wrapped cigar. The man slid it into the top pocket of his coat and turned to go.

‘That’s six euros please, Stavros.’

Ah ha. So he was the mayor.

Stavros turned back to the landlord. ‘So Jim… Tell me, how is your son looking forward to starting at his new school, in September? It’s the best on the island. He was very lucky to get in there, no?’

‘Er, yeah, he’s well chuffed.’ The landlord cleared his throat. ‘Cheers for asking. Look, why don’t you have that cigar on the house, mate, for, um, being one of my best customers?’

Stavros grinned, nodded to me and muttered
au revoir
.

Wow. Had I just witnessed proof of the mayor’s corruption? It sounded as if he’d swung a favour for the landlord and expected freebie cigars and goodness knows what else, in return.

Nah, surely not – thanks to Niko, I’d become over-suspicious. No doubt “Jim” had just been grateful that someone as important as the mayor would take an interest in an expat’s children. And if Stavros had helped Jim’s son get into a smart school, well that was charitable, wasn’t it? Not the action of someone who’d risk the future of endangered turtles.

‘
Efharisto
for lunch, Henrik – us meeting has been productive, no?’ I heard him say behind me. He must have sat down again.

‘My pleasure, Stavros,’ said Henrik. ‘And it’s me who should be thanking you.’

Sitting more upright, I strained to listen – just as a noisy couple collapsed onto the stools next to me and read the menu out loud. Would they have fish and chips? Pizza? Or double cheeseburger? I smiled as they oohed and aahed at the prospect of English food. Anyone would think they’d just suffered years of war food rationing.

Unfortunately, their loud voices meant I could only pick out odd snippets from the conversation behind me. Stavros said “It’s been hurried through as a favour.” Henrik replied – as Niko had mentioned – by saying that “Pippa must not know yet”. I also heard “Taxos town hall”, “send out the invitations Friday, in the post,” and “shaped like a Caretta turtle – Pippa will like that.”

A ball of nerves spun in my chest. No… I was imagining things… The two men couldn’t mean… I listened hard again.

‘Okay,’ said Stavros. ‘Saturday, midday, in the town hall. All paperwork done… No worry, Henrik. From what you tell me about her, I’m sure Pippa will approve of your proposal and it will all go to plan.’

Weakly, I beckoned to the landlord and ordered a straight ouzo. Henrik’s mum had got it wrong. Her son wasn’t hoping to get engaged. He was skipping that part and going straight for the wedding. That folder of “work” he’d brought over no doubt contained our birth certificates and all the paper work… Wow. In four days’ time I could be getting married. In Taxos town hall. With all the villagers as guests – and a Caretta turtle shaped cake.

Chapter Eight

Did you know that the term Godzilla is a combination of the Japanese words for gorilla and whale? I liked to think “Bridezilla” would represent a cute monkey and graceful dolphin, seeing as my wedding was to be set on this beautiful, sunny island. Because, within the space of a few hours, all my previous ideas about my dream minimalist wedding day had disintegrated. Gone was the sophisticated white trouser suit – instead I wanted a full-length beach dress with intricate ruffles. And forget the small posy made up of white and cream roses – give me a giant bouquet of Greece’s colourful wild flowers. Plus heart-shaped confetti, a four foot tall cake and cars draped with a mile of white ribbon.

Hmm. Was that how I should have reacted? Truth be told, I was in shock, now my potential future with Henrik seemed about to become real. I wanted to jump up and down, buy tens of bridal magazines and ring Mum, all bubbly and emotional, but just couldn’t reach that level of excitement. Instead I went on automatic and logically made preparations. First and foremost, yes you’ve guessed it, this involved food, namely scones. Whilst I liked varying the traditional English cream tea recipe, with bright red jam, I’ve always thought nothing would suit a wedding better than that. Although to make them extra special, I’d mix edible gold glitter into the fruit conserve. What a fabulous centre piece on the buffet table they would make. Did they sell clotted cream in Greece?

As we drove back to Taxos later that afternoon, my stomach fizzed like a bath bomb. Everything now fell into place. My parents must have been staying somewhere secretly in Kos – I’d been surprised when they’d announced their visit to Canada anyway. Mum hadn’t seen her sister for over ten years, so why now?

And take that folder of “ThinkBig paperwork” Henrik had brought on holiday – it probably contained all the documents we needed to get married abroad. In fact, this now explained why, a couple of weeks ago I couldn’t find my birth certificate. Having finally decided to book driving lessons, I’d unsuccessfully hunted it out, in order to apply for my provisional licence. As for waiting until Saturday for the wedding, that made sense – a friend got married in Athens a few years ago and one of the regulations was that she had to live there for seven days, before the ceremony could go ahead.

And of course, Henrik would propose this Friday, during lunch on the “special day out”. After eating, he would no doubt take me on a shopping trip to buy the ring and dress. The invitations for locals wouldn’t arrive until later that day either, in case anyone ruined my surprise. Super organised Henrik would have thought of everything. But then, as someone who excelled at arranging surprises, a wedding was the ultimate bash. He’d probably already picked out all essentials. All I’d need to do was turn up and approve his choices.

In a daze, as I’d left the pub, I headed for the nearest jewellers and spent a few minutes studying the exquisite wedding rings. Trouble was, the tingles I got came from admiring the craftsmanship of the jewellers, not from the prospect of spending the rest of my days with Henrik. So, I gave myself a good talking to. Any man who went to such trouble to marry me must surely be The One. Pursing my lips, I tracked down a shop that sold edible gold glitter. I’d never meet a more suitable partner than Henrik, so I should get ready for the weekend, when we would exchange our vows.

‘So, how did your lunch go, Henrik?’ I said – since meeting up again, all we’d discussed was ThinkBig’s more general plans to develop parts of the Aegean islands that bankrupt native builders couldn’t afford.

He turned up the air-con and before returning to the steering wheel, his hand squeezed mine.

‘You would have enjoyed it, Pippa – I had sticky toffee pudding, your favourite. And what a relief to drink English coffee again.’

‘We’ve only been here four days!’

He grimaced. ‘Four days of pouring sludge down my throat.’

‘Nothing wrong with Greek coffee – Grandma Sotiropoulos reads the sediment like tea leaves, you know.’

‘Did she predict your wonderful financial career when you were younger then? And your amazing boyfriend?’

We both laughed. Yet I thought for a moment…

‘Funny you should say that – she did once say a man with foreign blood would capture my heart. Thanks to Greta, I’m guessing you’d fit the bill.’ More proof perhaps, that Henrik was my Mr Right.

Of course, at the time of Grandma’s prediction, newly fourteen year old me had pulled a face. The idea of even kissing any member of the opposite sex didn’t appeal, (er okay, not unless he was Harry Potter whom I thought was really cool).