Greece, the Eighties
Clive’s place stood a few metres from the road. She eyed him with a narrow gaze as they approached the spot where the path thinned, growing knotted with trees.
‘I lied,’ he said brazenly. ‘I wasn’t lost. I saw you sitting there on the wall and I decided to speak to you … You come up here a lot.’
‘You’ve been watching me?’ Something about this quiet invasion of her privacy both thrilled and unnerved her.
He didn’t answer and she inhaled the smell of burnt pine, enjoying the muted sounds of the island, little clouds of dust rising at their feet as they padded along the dirt track, which gave way to olive groves and a small house.
‘It’s where we lived. Our house was back there,’ Artemis said, by way of explanation for why she had been sitting on the wall. Clive stopped.
‘Really? Before the earthquake, I take it?’
She took the hairband from her ponytail and shook out her hair, looking away from him. Why had she brought it up?
‘Don’t worry, I was only five. I don’t remember it, not really,’ she replied, obscuring her face with dark brown curls. ‘It’s a nice spot for painting, it’s peaceful … At least it was, until you came along and tried to push me off the edge of a cliff.’
‘Yes. Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘But you didn’t fall, so that’s the main thing.’
She smiled, a fluttering in her chest as her hand brushed accidentally against his. ‘That’s OK,’ she replied, emboldened by his attentions. ‘As long as you don’t try it again.’
Clive’s cottage stood over two floors on the edge of the mountain, with painted blue shutters and a small Juliet balcony overlooking untended olive groves rolling down towards the edge of the mountain, and the sea beyond.
It was impossible to fathom how this tiny house had survived the earthquake when every other building around it had been blown apart, and something about its survival gave it an otherworldly quality, as if it existed in isolation, untouched by the vulnerabilities of the rest of the world.
Artemis felt her head lower, almost reverentially, as Clive led her into the cool shade of the dark stone kitchen, which had just enough space for a cooker and a couple of shelves along the far wall, a small dining table to the right of the door. It smelt of wood and citronella, and against the left wall was a recently erected staircase leading up to the mezzanine level. As she looked up at the stairs, Artemis felt a sudden chill.
‘The stairs and the upper floor were the only things that were damaged, amazingly,’ Clive said, following Artemis’ gaze around the house.
She wrapped her arms against her chest for warmth. ‘Did you rebuild it yourself?’
Clive nodded proudly. ‘Want to have a look?’ Noting her expression, he added, ‘Don’t worry, I have insurance, in case you fear the robustness of my treads …’
‘I trust you,’ Artemis replied, placing a tentative foot on the first step. In that moment, she had no reason not to.
There were two rooms upstairs. The second was empty, the first sparsely furnished with a neatly made bed, a copy of a book entitled In Search of Excellence placed on the pillow.
She felt him moving close behind her, the hairs on her arms lifting in the relative cool of the house.
‘What are you reading?’ she said.
Clive grimaced. ‘Ah yes, that. Not very alluring, I’m afraid. It’s a business book, by a couple of Americans. It’s … well, it’s all very American. But what can I say? I’ve just started my own company and I’m looking to expand so I need all the advice I can get.’
Artemis was impressed. ‘What sort of business?’
‘Import/export, trading. All highly sexy. But it keeps me busy and I get to travel.’
‘You work alone?’
‘For now. My old pal Jeff does the accounts, and we share an office in London so I have some company.’
‘And this place, you’re not planning to live in it?’
‘God no,’ Clive said and then caught himself. ‘Not that … Sorry. It’s an investment. But I suppose it’s more than that. A contact of Jeff’s suggested looking at this island as a place to invest and something about it …’ He stopped and held her eye. ‘Well, the whole thing is quite enchanting.’
Artemis felt her cheeks burn. Turning away from the intensity of his gaze, she placed her fingers on the handrail. Did she imagine it buckling under her weight?
‘And where do you live the rest of the time?’
‘In London. My parents both died within a year of each other and I inherited their house and some money and I decided to start my own business. I was working in the City before … But enough about me, I want to know about you.’
She visibly clammed up, imagining the words spilling from her lips: I watched my sister die in an earthquake and did nothing to help her.
She swallowed. ‘There isn’t much to tell. I grew up on the island. I was born in a house in the old village and then after the earthquake my parents moved down to the port and relocated their bakery. I work there five days a week, and … there’s little more to say.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Artemis glanced up at him, her cheeks growing hot.
‘You paint,’ Clive prompted her, after a beat. ‘And you speak excellent English. I mean, you could have warned me when I was trying to make small talk with you in my finest pidgin Greek.’
Artemis laughed. ‘Why? It was entertaining. But yes, I’m interested in languages.’ She paused. ‘Reading is a good escape from reality, don’t they say? And I like to sketch and paint. Carolina, who owns the shop in the old village, lets me take the room at the back for free every Saturday in summer. Out of pity, I suppose—’ She broke off.
‘You’re very talented.’
Artemis looked unconvinced.
‘What, you think I’m trying to seduce you by pretending to be interested in your artwork?’ He smiled. ‘Why would I bother? You’re already in my bedroom.’
Clive held up his hands. ‘I’m joking – honestly, I’m joking. Sorry, poor taste. My mother was an artist, actually. Not professionally, but after the war, when she and her family escaped to England, she used to sketch. And honestly, your paintings … They’re mesmeric.’ He looked at her without breaking eye contact and she felt her cheeks flush.
His tone changed then. ‘I tell you what, I was thinking of hiring a boat for the day tomorrow, but I’ll need a skipper. Why don’t you come with me? You can bring your paints.’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. Her heart was thumping in her chest, for reasons she couldn’t explain.
‘Why not? You’ve already told me you don’t work on Sundays … See, you’re giving away too much already …’
Artemis got the sense this was a man who got what he wanted. But for all his assertiveness, and yes, she saw it now, his arrogance, there was something magnetic about him. The men she knew of her own age were just as arrogant, and yet most of them with far less reason to be. And some of them weren’t just arrogant, they were cruel.
She returned his gaze, a sense of anticipation building inside her. Why shouldn’t she go out with him? The sensation in her stomach was part excitement, part nerves. And yet what reason did she have to be nervous?
She looked down, shaking her head in amused surrender. ‘I tell you what, a new restaurant is opening tonight and I’m meeting a friend there for dinner. You could join us.’