who tended to the villa Charlotte was renting, was busy pegging out washing when Charlotte arrived back. Turning, hands on hips, to survey the young English visitor, she said sternly, ‘Why must you go to the beach undressed?’
All Charlotte cared about was that she was back, and in one piece. ‘I won’t do it again,’ she promised fervently, meaning every word. She had certainly learned her lesson! ‘But I’m not undressed, Marianna,’ she felt compelled to explain. ‘I’m wearing my pyjamas—’
Marianna threw up her hands in dismay. ‘And what about the fishermen?’
‘Fishermen?’ Charlotte affected innocence, but she felt her face heating up. ‘You knew about them?’
‘And you saw them,’ Marianna stated with confidence. ‘And, more importantly, they saw you.’ She wagged one blunt-nailed finger at Charlotte as she spoke. ‘It is not done here on Iskos. Next time I shall accompany you.’
Charlotte knew the admonishment was well meant, but hurried to change the subject. ‘Here—let me help you with that,’ she offered. Dipping down to pick something out of the loaded basket, she extracted a damp pillowcase, which Marianna promptly removed from her hands.
‘Did any of them speak to you?’ the older woman managed through a mouthful of pegs.
Marianna was not going to let the subject rest, Charlotte realised. ‘There was one man.’
‘Taller than the rest?’
‘Larger than life,’ Charlotte agreed with some irony, realising as she spoke that it was absolutely true. But Marianna’s sudden stillness rang a warning bell. ‘Do you know who I mean?’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘If we’re both talking about the same man…’ Charlotte hesitated, and saw from Marianna’s face that they were. ‘A little,’ she admitted cautiously. ‘Why? Do you know him?’
But Marianna, exclaiming in Greek under her breath, seemed in no mood to answer questions.
‘What’s wrong Marianna?’ Charlotte prompted. She had to know. In fact, she wanted to mine Marianna’s brain for every scrap of information about the fisherman.
‘The fishermen made their decision to come here only this morning, or I would have warned you,’ Marianna said at last. ‘The weather is unusually warm for the time of year. It brought the fish to this part of the island.’
‘But why should it matter if I saw the fishermen?’
‘Fishermen? Bah!’ Marianna exclaimed. ‘Fisherman,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose for emphasis.
‘Yes?’ Charlotte prompted eagerly.
‘I must get on,’ Marianna said briskly. ‘Your breakfast is waiting on the terrace.’ And she turned her back, leaving Charlotte in no doubt that the conversation was over.
Faced by such an uncommunicative expanse of Greek matriarchal back, Charlotte was forced to concede defeat. ‘I’ll take a shower before I eat,’ she said, almost thinking aloud.
She would wash all the salt from her body and the memory of the fisherman from her mind. Then she would slip into some fresh clothes and bring her camera back to the terrace, just in case she felt like taking some background shots for the article. At least that way she would have accomplished something positive as far as work was concerned—because time was running out, she reminded herself.
He was there! She could hardly believe it. Right below her on the beach, hauling nets with the other men, clearly distinguishable because he was at least a head taller than the rest.
If this was what came with loss of privacy on the stretch of beach below her villa, she was all for it, Charlotte mused as she adjusted the focus on her camera.
The delicious breakfast Marianna had prepared for her lay forgotten on the plate as Charlotte clicked away furiously. She must get some shots of the other men too, she reminded herself, and the scenery. She took those as quickly as she could, and then zoomed in again to focus on her prime target—the broad sweep of sun-bronzed shoulders shown off to perfection beneath a faded blue vest. She couldn’t help noticing how the fabric clung to his toned torso—and then recoiled, almost falling off her chair when his head lifted and he swung around. Now he seemed to be looking straight at her…
Righting herself, Charlotte instinctively covered the lens of the camera with her hand. The sun must have glinted off the glass. Reaching for the camera case with shaking hands, she stowed the camera away inside it.
The man had definitely seen something. The way he was standing now, hands planted on his hips, staring up towards the terrace, proved it. And though he was too far away for her to be able to read the expression on his face, she didn’t have to.
‘Ah, you have not eaten your breakfast.’
Charlotte turned around, relieved to hear Marianna’s reproachful voice. It brought a welcome gust of normality into a situation that was growing increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled into Marianna’s raisin-black eyes. ‘Here, let me help you with that,’ she insisted as Marianna began collecting up the dishes. She was in no mood for playing Russian roulette with the fisherman’s intentions, and would feel a lot safer inside the house.
‘You will fade away,’ Marianna declared once they were back in the kitchen. ‘You must eat.’
‘Fade away? Me?’ Glancing in the mirror, Charlotte viewed herself critically. She had always been on the generous side of average, as far as weight was concerned, but a healthy diet, as well as plenty of exercise in the Greek sunshine, had stripped away much of the excess. She was surprised at how fit she looked. No amount of pounding rubber in the gym had managed to achieve such a firm body back in England.
Altogether her looks had undergone something of a transformation. Her hair had paled to a rich golden red, and even that was streaked with lighter strands around her hairline. Just as well, she mused wryly, since the tip of her nose was bright red. She needed the contrast. But her freckles… Charlotte groaned as she wiped her hands across her nose and cheeks, and sighed with frustration.
‘Do you eat at all when I leave here?’ Marianna persisted, breaking into her cogitations. ‘No, I thought not,’ she said disparagingly, without giving Charlotte a chance to speak. ‘But tonight you shall.’
‘I shall?’ Charlotte said with surprise.
‘Yes,’ Marianna said decisively. ‘Tonight you shall come with me to the taverna and eat a proper meal.’
‘But—’ Charlotte bit back the words she had been about to say. Anticipating a refusal, Marianna looked crestfallen. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Charlotte said hurriedly, ‘but I don’t—’
‘Don’t eat? Yes, I know,’ Marianna said, rolling her eyes. ‘That’s why I’m suggesting you come along with me tonight. There is delicious food at the taverna. And there will be music, and dancing too.’
Raising her arms above her head, she clicked her fingers rhythmically, with such a look of mischief in her eyes that it didn’t take much for Charlotte to imagine the woman Marianna must have been maybe fifty years before. It would be churlish to refuse, she realised.
