Ravenna Morgan removed her robe and entered the quiet pool—naked—wearing only the thin gold chain and the dangling, gold Celtic cross she had worn since she was young. She swam with ease in the hotel’s private lap pool, enjoying her daily, early morning swim.
Water glided over her body as she dipped her hands in front of her, crossing the pool with measured, elegant strokes. Her long red hair floated behind her. The soothing water massaged her athletic body and caressed her curves as she left gentle ripples in her wake.
She knew she could swim here, just outside her modest apartment, and not be disturbed. It was one of the few perks she truly enjoyed as resident manager of the Hotel Petros.
There was another pool for guests in front of the hotel. From there, you could see for miles past the turquoise blue waters of the Aegean Sea. While it featured the most spectacular, panoramic views of the island and the seas beyond, her pool featured tree-shrouded seclusion. She treasured her privacy.
The hotel was empty, which was common at this time of the season. The large, private luxury yachts would come at the end of the month, and their passengers stayed to enjoy the beautiful beaches and her fabulous cooking. They would be making their southern sojourn before heading north, back to the more populated islands, like Mykonos. Here, they were far from all of the other islands, and she liked it that way.
When they came, the wealthy men would drool over the tall, shapely Irish beauty, and even her gold wedding band did not stop them from making their usual advances. Sometimes it would take the presence of her better half, Trevor, to cool the hot passion of some of her more amorous visitors.
But by and large, most guests were gracious and appreciated the laid-back atmosphere and lifestyle on the beautiful island of Petros. They came to enjoy the splendor of the crystal blue water for swimming and diving, along with the fine sandy beaches on the other side of the island. But most of them only wanted a long hot shower, a good meal, a full-sized bed, and the opportunity to listen to Ravenna strum her guitar and sing around the patio fireplace at night. Even life aboard a luxury yacht becomes tedious after a while.
There was no television on the tiny island, no cell phone service, no radio signals, and spotty Internet service. But the hotel offered plenty of peace and quiet high atop the hill, and it was the quiet, laid back atmosphere that Ravenna had come to love.
Her regular visitors, after they left the island, would send her music and books. She loved cookbooks and travel books. The hotel had stacks of CDs sitting at the front desk outside the bar, sent from her guests as they made their journeys worldwide. She loved to listen to music, and she loved to dance. The one thing she did miss was the dancing more than anything else. Trevor no longer liked to dance. “Too tiring,” he would always say.
When she finished her swim and toweled off, she showered, then dressed for a day in town. She pulled on her loose-fitting Levi’s cutoffs, slipped on her handmade leather sandals, and tossed on an old Greek peasant blouse, which was cut low to reveal her ample female charms.
The tall, striking beauty, with her emerald green eyes, youthful figure, and morning glory smile, felt right at home on this slow-paced island paradise. At age forty-four, she could have easily passed for someone ten years younger. She was easy to pick out in a crowd and stood in stark contrast to the dark-haired, older island women who usually dressed in black. Her beauty even rivaled the younger female residents who, with their flashing eyes, dark hair, and mysterious good looks, were some of the most beautiful women on earth.
She reread Trevor’s note, which he had left on her bedside table for her to find when she awoke that morning.
R—
I did not want to wake you. Will be back in a week.
See you soon.
Trevor
Trevor and Mikel, the hotel’s occasional fix-it man, had already left for the ferry. She hated to see Trevor go, even though it was only for a week. She had said her goodbyes the night before because she detested long farewells at the ferry. Dressed, she headed for the lobby of the small hotel.
Ravenna positioned the welcome sign on the registration counter. It directed those who found their way to the hotel to sign in, choose a room key, and make themselves at home. Everything was very informal and relaxed at her island hotel hideaway. Hotel Petros was one of two hotels. The other hotel on the island was Zorbas, which catered to Greek visitors from the other side of the island and wayward ferryboat passengers who got off on the wrong island.
Ravenna grabbed a flower from a pink trailing vine near the hotel’s deep blue swinging entrance gates. She pinned the blossom behind her ear and took in a deep breath of fresh air.
She was always in awe of the view from her hilltop hotel. Far in the distance she could see the nearest islands, over an hour away by fishing boat. She noticed the bustling village below and the shallow, light blue water that surrounded the island. From her hillside perch she gazed further out at the calming, azure Aegean sea, the blue shades becoming darker as the water became deeper. It was a breathtaking sight. Down below was the harbor town of Thios.
As Ravenna made her way down the steep hill into town for her grocery shopping, she sang to keep her mind off Trevor’s departure. The pretty Irish American lass hummed an old Irish tune, “Carrickfergus.” She loved the ancient Irish song she had learned as a child from her parents. She was born in western Ireland, outside of the small town of Limerick, but moved with her family to St. Louis when her father got a job with an American company.
The road down to the village of Thios was partially paved with irregular, peanut-sized rocks. The loose stones kicked out from under her sandals, sending them bouncing in front of her. She watched them roll down the dusty road.
She passed row upon row of brightly colored flowers, hanging from vines everywhere. Their colors harmonized with the colors of the rainbow. She sniffed the blooms of her favorite flowers, including the lemon yellow claritis, dark purple bougainvilleas, and the magnificent hot pink passionflowers.
While some flowers clung to nearby fences, others sprouted from old stone pots and anywhere else these beautiful wild flowers could find an inch of earthly ground. Flowers staked their claim to the overgrown telephone poles and dangled from telephone wires. Ironic, she thought, that the phone lines were good for something, since it was next to impossible to make calls off the island. She loved the flowers and the sweet smells that always filled the air around her home.
Ravenna glanced around at the beautiful vista and thought about how much she loved it there. She smiled. Maybe today would be a good day after all. Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood in St. Louis and the many friends she’d left behind so many years ago. Her imagination filled her with wonder. Whatever happened to them? Walking toward the village, she was lost in these ruminations. But soon her past would come rushing back to her, and quicker than she’d ever imagined.