I’m desperate to return immediately to Methoni to find this man, but I’m at the behest of Christoph, Zino and Theo’s plans. Which I was overjoyed about before I saw the photograph. But the staring man isn’t going anywhere – I can easily hunt him down later.
Getting back into the car to set off on our planned excursion, Theo looks at me hopefully.
‘Did you find anything?’ he asks, eager to know more.
I shake my head. ‘Not really, but there is possibly someone I found in a photo with my mum who may know something. I don’t know their name, but I know what they look like. And I’ve seen them in Methoni.’
He squeezes my hand. ‘This is great. Have you got this photograph?’
‘Not yet. Tony’s going to email it to me and then I can show you. You might even know him.’
Theo smiles. ‘I knew you would get some help here. I feel it – you will find this painting, Sophie.’
He closes his arm around my shoulder and I feel any misgivings at having to confront the staring man fade, for now.
* * *
The historic site spreads out over acres like a mass graveyard of buildings. Ionic columns freshly excavated lie in rows. In the distance is the imposing full-sized stadium, stone seats carved into the hillside. There’s nobody else here and after paying our entrance fee, we walk in the footsteps of ancient man.
Nearing the brow of the hill that will lead us downwards, Christoph stops our group.
‘Wait! I want to watch Sophie’s face – you stay there.’
He ushers Zino and Theo ahead of me to the tip of the knoll then beckons me forwards. I’m clueless as to why.
But his reasoning is revealed with each step. Below is a perfectly preserved amphitheatre concealed from initial view. Intricate mosaics in the flooring, a trough around the circumference and row upon row of seats. Christoph and Theo sprint down to the middle ahead of Zino and me, a glimpse of the excitable schoolboy bond that’s endured. As they scrabble to be the first to the centre, Zino explains the beauty of the construction. The acoustics are a feat of design. It’s stunning.
Theo whistles to us, then whispers, ‘Kalosirthaté stin Ellada!’
Even from several hundred metres away, I can hear him as clearly as Zino next to me.
‘Yes, yes, welcome to Greece! They are so proud, we all are, but I guess for me, living and working in Thessaloniki has made me cynical. So much poverty that you see every day. These boys in Methoni is protected from reality.’
I recollect the scenes splashed across the news at the height of the recession. Protests, smoke and flames, political volatility, angry civil servants displaced by hardship. Methoni seems like a make-believe haven. An existence with a picture-perfect façade far from the rest of the world, but even the simplest of lives can sometimes be the most difficult to sustain.
I turn to Zino, lowering my voice so it’s not amplified by our surroundings.
‘Could you ever live somewhere like Methoni?’
He shrugs as we continue our walk down to the others, who are sat side by side on what appears to be a throne, deep in discussion.
‘Perhaps. When I’m old. Is perfect, idyllic as you have seen. Fine for maybe holidays, but to live? I am not sure is for me.’
I feel sorry for Christoph and his obvious love for Zino, kept apart by family, duty and work. But surely that could change if the stakes were high enough.
‘Tell me, while I have you away from the others, I have been hearing much about you from Christoph. I feel like I know you already. How are things with Theo?’
A smile betrays my feelings, the newness and the ever-present butterflies increase their flitting when I think of him. Zino notices.
‘Ahh, that smile … I remember those days at the beginning when you cannot hide the happiness and the world is filled with light …’
‘It’s been quite unexpected. I wasn’t looking for anything …’ I try to be casual.
‘He is changed, Sophie, different. Christoph says this, too.’
The sheer pleasure at hearing this is undermined by guilt. I don’t want to think about the fact that I must leave, and inevitably hurt us both. There can’t be any future, as Theo and I want very different things. Even if we lived in the same place, I want a family one day and he, unalterably, does not.
I pause to take photographs with my phone. Theo and Christoph remain engrossed in their conversation as Zino and I make our way towards what was once an agora.
‘It’s sad because of the finite time I have here. But we’ll always have a special connection, I’m sure,’ I say lightly.
We’re interrupted by Christoph before Zino can press further.
Christoph begins a flamboyant but informative tour of the former market, comically demonstrating the cattle yokes, where livestock would be tethered and auctioned. Pointing out temples to gods and the huddle of archaeologists who continue their mammoth task of uncovering precious treasures.
I feel Theo’s hand take mine and he pulls me away from the others whispering, ‘Your ears must have been burning. Christoph is filled of questions.’
He looks at me with a shyness I haven’t seen before. His green eyes gleam in the sun, skin the colour of toffee against his white T-shirt. The irresistible magnetic pull I feel when we look at each other draws me into his arms, like we can’t be physically apart.
‘What did you say?’ I ask, eager to know the content of their chat.
He taps me on the nose playfully. ‘That is not for you to know, Sophie mou.’
‘Well, then I shan’t tell you what I’ve been talking to Zino about, either.’
I bait him and he retaliates, picking me up and swinging me round. Ancient Greece is swirling until it’s a blur of stone and cypress trees.
‘Stop! I’ll be sick!’
He eventually relents and as I regain my balance, waiting for the world to stop whirling, he holds me tight and kisses me. His citrus scent takes me back to his bed in my mind and my hand instinctively moves to his chest, where those special words are written beneath his T-shirt. I look into his eyes and see our growing affection reflected. The speed of this is gathering momentum, unstoppable.
* * *
The rest of the site was so large it was impossible to take in every carving and detail. Theo and I walked hand in hand, snapping selfies and enjoying the remainder of the morning. Sitting in the shade of a large tree beside the stadium, sharing a bottle of water, I can’t help but marvel at the scale and size of the arena. Imagining races, roaring crowds, the blood and sweat of thousands of years ago. The opposite of its tranquil setting today. The only sound is birdsong. I sit between his legs and lean into him.
‘Does the sun shine every day in Greece? It’s so strange to wake up to blue skies when I know it’s been snowing in London.’
‘I never have seen snow in Methoni,’ he admits. ‘Maybe it did many years ago, but not in my lifetime. Yes, high in the mountains, but not in my village. Is colder in winter. November is raining perhaps for two weeks, but the rest is sun.’
I hit him lightly on the arm.
‘How awful for you!’ I giggle at the idea that winter is a just a fortnight of bad weather compared with months of storms in Britain.
‘So, I say to my yiayia about this very special English girl and I tell her you are chef, which she does not believe because how is this possible when you are not Greek. But she is willing to show you how to make portokalopita.’
I’m thrilled. Not only at the prospect of learning the recipe, but that he’s spoken to his beloved granny about us. Sitting up, I turn to face him.
‘That would be amazing.’ I’m amused at the dismissal of my profession based on my nationality. ‘Is she very scary?’
He laughs, the love he feels for her clear on his face.
‘She is very tiny but very fierce. She speaks little English, so I must translate.’
‘Then you shall be rewarded in cake and in many other ways!’
‘I hope so,’ he replies, brushing my lips with his, the softest of touches.
I wish we were alone in his bed without the eyes of ancient ghosts upon us.
My phone begins to ring, cutting through the peace. I pull it out of my bag and answer it. There’s nobody there, again. Yet, I’m sure I can make out the sound of breathing. My blood chills despite the heat of the day. My thoughts return to the stranger outside Theo’s house.
‘Hello?’ I press, but still no response.
I hang up, turning my mobile to silent. Theo frowns, searching my face for a clue.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yes … fine. No one there.’
‘But is not perhaps a call about this painting …?’
‘No, it wasn’t. I’m not sure what it was.’
My heart is racing. My phone vibrates in my hand, ringing again and I decline the call, hoping if it’s Dimitri at the Pylos gallery, he’ll leave a message. Christoph’s voice interrupts.
‘Hey! It’s lunchtime.’
He waves his arms over his head to attract our attention. I feel the buzz of a voicemail and I signal to the others I’ll catch them up.
As I dial for my message, I shake off the alarm I felt at the previous call. Watching Theo, admiring how the light seems to have been made solely for him, to showcase his muscular body, I crave his intimate touch. My mind replays the feel of him moving inside me, teasing my desire with the memory.
But a voice cuts through my thoughts at the other end of my phone.
‘Sophie, you need to call me. You’ve got my number, just unblock it, please. Having to withhold my number is so tiresome. We need to talk. Urgently.’
Theo turns and I see a flicker of uncertainty as he looks my way. I feel the colour drain from my face at the sound of Robert’s voice. I hang up and throw my phone in my bag as if the action could erase him from the day.
‘Sophie, are you all right?’ asks Theo. ‘Is anything about your painting?’
‘No, it’s …’ I say too brightly. ‘Just a sales call. I’m fine.’
As the lie leaves my lips, I instantly regret it. My past can’t halt the present or stop the future. The inevitable march of time continues, discarding souls in its path. And Robert has played his part in the history of me, but he doesn’t belong in what comes next. Not now, not ever.