The Reluctant Baker (The Greek Village Collection Book 10) (21 page)

Loukas has no idea what to say, how to start. He thought he would just tell them. State that he was leaving, offer Fillipos as a replacement but now he is here, it is not so easy. He would like to know what Stella said, how she handled what she had to say. It must have been even harder for her.

‘Stella was here,’ he opens.

‘Yes,’ the old man answers, his eyes darting to his wife and back to Loukas.

‘Did she ask?’

The old man looks to his wife, his gaze steady.

‘She said she would be delighted if I would take the bread order. She said that it was only not offered to me at the beginning because of some package deal she had taken. If that had caused me any concern, she wanted me to know that she had many reasons why she would rather I took the order. But I do not think she has any idea of how much this will put us out.’

‘But the bakery income will more than double!’ Loukas tries to keep his voice steady.

‘She is a good woman,’ the old man says quietly. The old woman gives him a hard look.

‘As gypsies go.’ There is no hint of softness in her voice.

Loukas holds his tongue. It seems Stella just told the truth. She would in fact be delighted if the old woman had the bread order, although perhaps not for the reasons the old woman assumed. And telling them about the package deal was honest, too.

Honesty.
Loukas internalises. Stella kept her dignity and got what she wanted with honesty. That was what Ellie didn’t have.
Honesty wins, Ellie.
He tries to project the words from inside his head across the world to wherever she is.

‘So, we will need to get up earlier,’ the old woman states, bringing him back to the moment. ‘We have a big order now. Someone will have to get out of bed at least an hour earlier, if not two.’ Her broom begins to flick at the floor. ‘That is something Stella and Mitsos did not think of when they came begging for me to do this thing.’ She is almost talking to herself.

‘Ah.’ Loukas interrupts her. The old man, who has resumed cleaning the mixer, now stops to give Loukas his attention. The old woman narrows her eyes at him. ‘Well, actually, I have a solution for the getting up early bit.’ The woman’s eyes narrow even more.

‘Some people like getting up early, and some don’t,’ Loukas begins, trying to emulate the way he imagines Mitsos would handle the situation.

‘We all know that.’ The way the woman says it implies that his not liking early mornings is the problem. Loukas ignores her and continues.

‘So, with the extra money, you can employ someone who is glad to be up so early, who enjoys that part of the day.’

‘We cannot feed us three adults and afford to pay someone extra to work here. And where would we find such a person?’ The old woman continues her sweeping as if the conversation is over. But the old man continues to wait, to listen.

‘Let me go and employ Fillipos.’ There, he has said it!

The flour in the air continues to hover. The heat from the oven creates a convection in the room and the dust takes a leisurely circle around all the corners.

They are all silent. Somewhere outside, a donkey bellows its raucous call, its heaving lungs losing power until the sound becomes a strange and strangling whimper.

‘Fillipos, who is this Fillipos?’ The broom slows to a halt again.

‘Iason’s son,’ the old man clarifies. Loukas nods.

‘He would take months to train,’ the old woman grumbles.

‘But he has such energy,’ Loukas counters.

‘I hear he’s odd.’

‘He is. He likes getting up early; he thinks working in a bakery would be the best job in the world; he has energy to spare, which he uses up going running at the moment; and, sin of all Greek sins, he doesn’t drink or smoke.’

‘Tell him to come,’ the old woman says as she resumes her sweeping.

The old man nods at him, which Loukas takes as an agreement.

It is only as he is leaving the shop that he realises that no word was said about his future plans, no argument, no thanks, no well-wishing, no enquiry as to where he would go or what he would do. He was just ignored.

Loukas is surprised at how much this hurts.

‘Sex
On the Beach, please.’ The girl flutters her eyelashes at Loukas and her friend, in a matching orange bikini, giggles.

‘Straight Sex or with raspberry liqueur?’ Loukas asks with no hint of a smile. When they ordered their last round, he enjoyed flirting with these two Australian girls, but since then, he popped into the store cupboard and images of Ellie flooded his mind. Flooded his mind and pulled layers of thin healing off his heart. The raw wound hurts with every movement. He would like to be the sort of man who could flirt and play, maybe even have a succession of casual relationships, but in his depths, he knows that this is will never be him.

‘Go on, crack a smile. Let’s see those dimples,’ the girl teases. There’s a way he can grit his teeth to fake a smile and make his dimples appear. He learned to perfect this as a boy to divert scoldings over forgotten homework, to receive the largest bowls of milk puddings from his friend’s mamas, and to be forgiven by his own mama when his boyish energy got him into trouble. He obliges the two girls in the same way and they giggle and pay for their drinks, waving away the change. Maybe with time, he could become that shallow mercenary type.

He watches their feet sink into the sand as they stroll back to their sun loungers.

Out to sea, the sun glints and reflects off every ripple and watery facet. The blue of the sky has deepened with the heat. Being here, looking at this view, this is his work now. There will be no pressure to go to bed, no pressure to be up early. He will see all of the day and enjoy the first stars of the night. The gritting of his teeth becomes a smile, but it is for himself.

‘How are you doing?’ It’s Stella.

‘Great!’ Loukas replies, but the enthusiasm is missing.

‘You know, there’s something I’ve been wondering. What was the connection with the bread order to the hotel planning?’

‘Vlassis!’ Loukas says with delight, pleased with the part he has played.

‘Vlassis?’ Stella asks. ‘The guy who is going to do the tours?’

‘Yes. He is also the old woman’s nephew. Works in town planning.’

‘Ah.’ Stella nods. ‘That makes sense. So it was she who put the stop on it in the first place?’

‘I didn’t know, Stella. Not until last night.’

Stella is frowning and nodding. It is clear that this thought had not crossed her mind.

‘I get it,’ she says. ‘So Vlassis gets a little payback.’

‘Mitsos was clever.’ Loukas pours Stella a lemonade and cuts a slice of fresh lemon, which he splits and hangs on the rim of the glass.

‘When we went to see Vlassis, he was not pleased. First, the old lady is telling him to stop the papers going through, then he is asked to make it go ahead. He started complaining that he is not a pawn in other peoples’ lives!’

Loukas’ stomach was in a knot as they sat and talked to Vlassis. Mitsos suggested that they go to have coffee in the
kafeneio
where Vlassis’ bosses spend so much of their time.

‘It will make him feel as if it is in an official business meeting, make him feel important, like his bosses.’ Mitsos and Loukas followed Vlassis from the town hall to the proposed place.

Mitsos took his time to explain the situation.

‘So you see, if Stheno calls you to say the bread order is hers, you can agree to stamp the papers, yes?’ Then he sat back, his job done. But Vlassis’ face became hard.

‘So I am to be played with. Pulled this way and that. My office is not a game. I have an important job. I do not see any respect being shown for who I am.’ Vlassis had trouble getting his words out at first. Mitsos’ face drained white and he took some time to wipe the coffee spills from the table with a paper napkin. Vlassis looked out across the road where a bus was pulling into Saros bus station and a gaggle of tall blond Scandinavian girls climbed off, pulling at rucksacks, opening maps.

‘You know Vlassis, if the hotel was to stay open, those are the sort of tourists that would come. Streams and streams of them.’ Mitsos sat up a little straighter, put down his paper napkin, and leaned in towards Vlassis.

Vlassis was blatant in his stares, the whites showing on three sides of his irises.

‘What is that to me?’ he replied, his teeth grinding as he finally turned away from the unfamiliar sight. ‘They go around in groups. There is…’

‘You are a genius, my friend!’ Mitsos cut Vlassis short, slapping him on his back. ‘It would take a guy like you to think of that!’

Vlassis frowned then and Loukas felt his own forehead crease but he lifted his brows and followed Mitsos’ lead. Mitsos obviously had a plan, so he backed him with vigorous nodding.

‘And you are the man to do it, Vlassis!’ Mitsos laughed. ‘Although you could hire someone else to take them if you didn’t feel up to it, but yes, you are right, Vlassis. They would happily pay for a local to show them to the best bars, suggest to them, and guide them, to the best tavernas. Why, you would probably be able to agree a cut of the bill if you take a group or eight or more to any one place. I wish I had thought of it myself!’

By this time, Loukas had caught on. ‘And the best bit is you could do it all after work, keep your town hall job and do this on the side,’ he whispered as if it was a secret. Finally, Vlassis began to get the picture. ‘They could sign up at the hotel, start from there. Stella could arrange it all and leave the rest to you! It’s perfect, but of course, only as long as the hotel stays open…’

Vlassis looked back at the blond tourists, trying to hide the grin that was now splitting his face.

‘He tried to act cool, you know, pretend he was doing us a favour, but we could see we’d got him,’ Loukas laughs.

‘Ah, that sounds like Mitsos. We have six signed up for tomorrow night already. I think it’s going to be very popular.’ She pauses and her voice takes on a more intimate tone. ‘You know, Mitsos wasn’t always like that. He used to be shy and unsure, a bit like you.’ As she speaks, she looks past Loukas to some internal picture of her husband.

‘But when we meet the right person, we change I think, eh Loukas?’ Now she looks at him, her eyes slightly closed against the sun. ‘Is your world complete, Loukas? Are you the happiest barman ever?’ Stella stabs at an olive in a dish with a toothpick.

‘Yes,’ he replies.

‘Nothing missing then?’ Stella stops the olive halfway to her mouth. She looks at his face.

‘That’s unkind, Stella.’ Loukas frowns. It is not like Stella to be cruel. He watches her eat the olive.

‘What if she came back, Loukas? What would you do?’

‘Nothing. Nothing will have changed. She is still married, she has still been dishonest with me, so nothing. I mistook who she was and I have learnt. I would run from someone like that now.’ Loukas is emphatic.

‘So if she suddenly appeared in front of you now, you would not speak to her? You would walk away?’ Stella asks.

‘Nothing has changed. She lied to me.’

‘Well, she didn’t so much lie as not tell you the whole truth.’

‘It’s the same thing.’

‘What if I were to tell you her marriage was over?’ Stella says this quietly.

‘You have spoken to her? She has called?’ Loukas retorts.

‘No…’ Stella begins.

‘You know something?’ Loukas balls the tea towel and throws it into the small sink. He misses and it falls to the floor.

‘Well, it is not for me to say, really,’ Stella says coyly.

Loukas’ knuckles have gone white with the pressure of his fists so tightly closed.

‘Stella?’ He tries to sound calm, tries not to shout.

‘Pass me the phone. I just need to call reception.’ She holds her hand out in anticipation.

Loukas passes her the phone, she dials through, says the word ‘yes’ in English and presses the off button.

‘Stella?’ Loukas repeats. ‘What is going on?’ Stella looks in his eyes and holds his gaze to speak very intently;

‘You know, I think that if a marriage is not from the heart, then it’s worth less than the paper it’s written on. Some things you just know are right and some things are not. Like our new part-time receptionist. I just knew she was right the moment I saw her.’ Stella breaks their intense stare to turn away and watch a figure coming across the lawn.

Loukas puts his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. Whoever it is looks familiar. Her outline, the way she moves…

‘Ellie!’ He trips over a crate of beer in his rush to be released from the enclosure of the bar. Still stumbling, he runs.

‘Ellie!’ he repeats. They collide with force, his arms around her, soaking her in, drinking her up. He wants his chest to split open and absorb her; he cannot hold her tight enough. He needs to smell her hair, touch her skin, feel the beat of her heart.

‘Loukas,’ she mutters. She has tears in her eyes, her beautiful, soft eyes, her perfect nose, her exquisite lips. His mouth cannot wait, he wants to express his passion, to show his love, take her on the spot.

‘Ellie,’ he repeats, forcing himself to slow down, be aware of where he is.

‘I am divorcing him,’ Ellie whispers, but he puts his fingers to her lips. She does not have to explain. She is here and that is enough.

‘You are mine,’ he breathes. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Stella has gone behind the bar and is putting on an apron, taking his place.

‘Ellie,’ he says again, looking deep into her eyes. He needs to be alone with her, out of sight of people. They need to find each other again, remind each other of who they are. It will not take long. He recognises her without words, but they need to walk, fall in step with each other, find each other’s rhythms. With his arm around her, he steers her to the coastal path that leads to the village, towards the privacy of an olive grove with a small mud-brick cottage hidden in its depths. There is a For Rent sign pinned to the door.

He hopes she will like it.