Authors: Lucinda Riley
I’ll bet James Bond never had this kind of trouble with Moneypenny. So I had to leave her be and face the consequences alone.
Rupes appeared at the allotted time. He was wearing those hideous Ray-Bans of his and trying to look cool.
‘Got the letter?’ he asked me, from the other side of the pool.
He stood legs akimbo, arms folded, looking like he was having his team photo taken as captain of the Rugby First XV. He didn’t frighten me. Much.
‘Got the bunny?’ I replied.
‘Yeah. Let’s see the letter then.’
‘Let’s see the bunny.’
Rupes unfolded his arms and turned to retrieve a plastic bag from under a sunbed mattress. Damn! He’d obviously planted Bee there earlier and I could have come and got him
without all this palaver. I saw Bee’s precious head sticking out of the plastic. And nodded. I held up the envelope.
‘It’s in French, as promised.’
‘Read it to me.’
‘Of course.’
I cleared my throat.
‘“Ma chèrie Chloë. Prendre vers le bas la lune!”’
‘In English, you muppet!’
‘Sorry. “Cancel the stars! There is a new light in the firmament! You shine like a new-born angel, fresh against worn-out planets! You have eyes like
sma—”’
‘Okay, enough.’ Rupes looked as if he was going to be sick. ‘Give it to me.’
‘I want the bunny at the same moment. We’ll walk towards each other and do the exchange.’
Rupes shrugged and started walking round the pool. We met at the edge of the deep end.
I could see he was sweating. I was as cool as a cucumber. ‘Here.’ I reached out one hand which contained the letter and the other to grab the bunny bag.
His hands came towards me. He clasped the letter and I clasped the handles of the bag.
Then, quick as a flash, he wrenched the bag out of my hands and threw it into the pool.
There was an almighty splash. I gasped in horror as, having expected it to float, I realised that it wasn’t going to. My precious Bee sank slowly out of sight.
‘Cheers for this.’ Rupes was waving the envelope and chuckling manically. ‘You can practise your apparently magnificent diving skills, saving that old bit of
fluff. Sorry Chloë’s not here to cheer you on!’
‘Bastard!’ I screamed, unzipping my shorts in preparation to jump in, then realising I had no underpants on underneath and doing them up again.
‘Come on then, let’s see you!’ taunted Rupes as I jumped in, heavy Bermudas with days’ worth of un-emptied crap in the pockets weighing me down.
I took a gulp of air and went under, feeling the chlorine burn my eyeballs (I never swim underwater without goggles as I emerge looking like a close relative of the Devil) and
searched around in the murk for Bee.
He couldn’t have gone far. He was light, so why on earth hadn’t he floated? I came up for air, my vision blurred, to see Rupes laughing his socks off. (If he’d had
any on. Which he didn’t. Another ridiculous turn of phrase, but this was not the moment to analyse the English language.)
I drew breath again and swam down, and down, my lungs bursting with fury and panic and lack of oxygen. And there, right at the bottom of the seven-foot-deep deep end, lay Bee.
I came up again, wishing I could take my shorts off, but knowing the ignominy of remarks about the Lilliputian state of my privates would be too much to bear. Off I dived again, and
managed to grab the top of the bag and pull. Then I pulled some more.
I couldn’t move it. About to expire, I swam to the surface, my head spinning. I was gulping for breath so heavily I could not speak. I swam to the side and held on as I let my
lungs fill. The thought of Bee drowning at the bottom, the chlorine eating into the remains of his delicate, un-furry fur, spurred me on. Taking a last gargantuan breath, I dove under the surface
again, clasped the ear of my little friend and gave an almighty tug. And thank the Lord, he shifted. The swim up to the surface, dragging myself, my Bermudas and what felt like a two-ton sack of
coal, will go down in history as the most harrowing moment of my life so far.
I could have drowned. My worst enemy and my best friend could have killed me.
When my hand came out of the water and I groped for the side of the pool to haul myself up the last few agonising inches, coughing and choking, I saw Rupes laughing away above
me.
‘Just doing as my dear mama asked; getting you ready for boarding school. See ya, Alex.’
With a wave and a smirk, he was gone.
My legs shaking like unset jelly, I pulled myself and my bunny up the steps and collapsed onto the side of the pool.
I turned and looked at the pitiful pile of soaking fur lying next to me. And saw the big rock that was tied to his paws. The ear by which I had pulled him up was now hanging on by
one tiny thread.
I don’t know how I’ve got through today, but I have. My fury and humiliation have known no bounds. I have contemplated running away, taking the next flight to Marrakech
where I could work as a snake-charmer, if I could learn to conquer my intense phobia of snakes, but that would punish my mother and so wouldn’t be fair.
Instead, I must go to this party, and live with the fact that my adversary will be there too. I comfort myself with the idea that he looks like a large pink pig in that shirt and
also with the fact that Chloë is now completely ignoring him. I will use the time to make a plan which will be – and do not doubt me here – a fitting and just revenge.
The engagement party was taking place in the large courtyard at the front of the ancient, vine-smothered winery, which stood at one of the highest points in the village,
overlooking a deep valley. The courtyard was bedecked with strings of fairy lights woven through the branches of the silvery olive trees that surrounded it, their glow augmented by the dozens of
lanterns that had been lit all around.
A group of cheerful local women served out platefuls of food from behind a line of trestle tables, which were loaded with an enticing medley of delicious-smelling dishes: stuffed vine leaves,
spit-roasted pork and lamb,
spanakopita
and grilled fish, accompanied by huge bowls of rice and salads.
By the time the Pandora posse arrived, the evening was already in full swing. A three-piece Cypriot band was playing in the corner, drowned out for the most part by the chatter of the two
hundred or so guests. Wine was poured into glasses through a tube, straight from an enormous oak barrel.
‘An alcoholic’s paradise,’ breathed Jules, taking a glass of white. ‘Sacha would love it,’ she added as she wandered off to circulate.
‘Can I have a glass of wine, Mum?’ asked Alex as he watched both Chloë and Rupes help themselves.
‘Yes, a small one,’ Helena agreed, taking a sip of her own and feeling oddly alone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a party without William beside her.
The situation was made all the more poignant by the fact that tonight should have been a celebration of their own marriage.
‘Look, Alex, there’s a man eating fire over there.’ Viola, left stranded by Jules, pointed to another corner of the courtyard. ‘Can we go and watch?’
‘Why not?’
They pushed through the crowd, who were all dressed in their best, towards the fire-eater.
‘Do you think my daddy is okay?’ Viola reached up on tiptoe to speak into his ear.
‘I don’t know, Viola, but I should think so.’
‘He’s not. I know something is wrong with him.’
Alex reached for her small hand and tucked it into his own. ‘Viola, parents are funny things. Try not to worry. I’m sure whatever it is will sort itself out. In my experience, these
things usually do.’
‘William’s not your real dad, is he?’
‘No, he isn’t.’
‘Did you know that my daddy isn’t either? Or my mum?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I love him like he is, though. He’s always been there, you see. It doesn’t matter really, does it?’
‘What?’
‘Whether you have their genes. I’m sure my real father could never have been as nice and kind as the one I got. Do you love William? I think he’s lovely.’
‘I . . . yes, I do.’
‘I’m glad he’s my godfather. Alex?’
‘Yup?’
‘Do you think they love us the same as if we
were
theirs?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘’Course they do, Viola. Probably even more. I mean, you got chosen by them especially.’ He gave her a clumsy hug, then pointed to the fire-eaters. ‘Hey, look how high
they’re throwing the fire sticks up in the air.’
‘Wow,’ she said, distracted, her face full of wonder.
‘There you both are.’ Helena appeared behind them.
A waitress was passing with a tray of wine and Helena drained what was left of hers, then took another.
‘Mum! Be careful. You know you can’t drink more than a couple without getting squiffy.’
‘Alex, you are not my minder, and this is a special occasion,’ Helena snapped at him.
‘Sorr-
eee
. Come on, Viola, I’ll take you to the front so you can see better.’
Left to herself again, Helena drifted through the mass of people, listening to the excited chatter of a crowd in which everyone was almost certainly distantly – if not directly –
related to someone else, through years of intermarriage. She gazed at the throng gathering around the band, a few couples beginning to dance. Dimitrios and his fiancée, Kassie, were at the
centre of it, their faces animated with happiness.
Helena thought it unlikely that their lives would ever take them far from this place, and she imagined they would probably produce a new generation of strapping boys who would one day take over
the winery. They would find their pleasure through each other, their children and the close community that supported them.
Helena felt suddenly envious. And terribly sad.
‘How are you this evening, my Helena?’
She was momentarily startled by the voice at her shoulder, and turned to find Alexis standing behind her.
‘Hello.’ She gathered herself together, thinking that she mustn’t spoil the celebration with her own self-indulgent melancholy. ‘This is a wonderful party – thank
you so much for inviting us all.’
‘It is my pleasure, and my son’s. I only wish to know that you are enjoying yourselves.’
‘Oh, we are.’ She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to broach the subject, but feeling she must. ‘Alexis, please forgive me for my outburst yesterday.’
He gave her a sad smile. ‘No apology necessary. I only wish you had told me years ago. But what is done is done. The important thing now is that we learn and move forward. Speaking of
that, where is William? I have not seen him tonight.’
‘He’s coming later, with Jules’ husband.’
‘I see.’ Alexis let out a sigh. ‘I fear he is unhappy because he saw me holding his wife in my arms.’
‘He is. And it just happens to be our tenth wedding anniversary tonight.’
‘Then Helena, I think you must explain to him the circumstances. William should know the truth. It will help him to understand you. And me.’
If only it was as simple as that
, thought Helena, as a cheer came up from the crowd watching Dimitrios and his fiancée dance.
Alexis looked across at them and smiled. ‘I wish that we were them, beginning our lives together. But’ – he shrugged – ‘it was not to be. And I want you to know I
now accept it will never be. You belong to another, and I can see that he loves you very much. Truly, Helena, I wish to apologise both to you and to him. My behaviour has been unacceptable. I have
struggled to adjust to the fact you are no longer mine . . . but I must. Now, come and let me introduce you to some faces from your past.’
He stretched out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she held out her own. ‘Yes. Thank you, Alexis.’
Alexis’ friends – mere boys when she first knew them – were now fathers with wives. They clasped Helena to them, greeted her warmly, telling her she was still beautiful and
asking her questions about her family and Pandora. She enjoyed their attention, but with Alexis’ sage words still ringing in her brain, she couldn’t help wondering whether William would
actually come, or whether she’d spend the night of their tenth anniversary alone.
Which was no more than she deserved . . .
The dancing had begun in earnest and the guests were all taking to the floor to dance the traditional Cypriot steps, passed down through generations. Helena saw Jules and Sadie in the crowd,
their arms above their heads, trying to follow their partners’ movements.
‘Papa! Papa! You must dance
Zorba
for us.’ A sweating Dimitrios clapped his father on the back.
‘Yes, Alexis! Dance for us! Dance!’ The crowd took up the refrain.
‘And Helena, you must dance with him, like you danced together here before!’ It was Isaák, an old friend of Alexis’.
‘Yes, let’s see you strut your stuff. It’s meant to be what you do, after all!’ Jules shouted from the crowd, as multiple hands pushed Helena forward to join Alexis in
the centre of the huge circle that had formed around them, everyone grasping each other’s shoulders in preparation.
‘Remember this?’ He smiled at her gently. ‘My eighteenth birthday party, held right here.’
‘How could I ever forget?’ she whispered.
‘Shall we begin?’
He clicked his fingers above his head, the signal that they were ready, and the bouzouki player struck up the ponderous opening chords.
As the circle began to move around them, so Helena and Alexis did too, the steps precise, clipped. They danced separately, but together, and even though Helena had not danced these steps for
almost a quarter of a century, they were imprinted on her memory. And now, the music and her body commanded her. She was no longer a nearing-forty wife and mother, but a free-spirited
fifteen-year-old, dancing in a sun-filled field of grapes with the boy she loved.
The steps, so simple when they were slow, became more complicated as the music raced on, faster and faster, Helena twirling and swooping around Alexis. As the tempo increased, the crowd circling
them began whooping and stamping their feet. Alexis caught her in his arms and lifted her high above him, spinning her round and round until they were a whirling dervish of passion and
excitement.