love Greek salad,’ Winnie said, imagining colourful plates laden with fat ruby tomatoes ripened beneath the Greek sun, and huge, creamy chunks of feta.
‘I love Greek men more.’ Stella grinned as on cue a shirtless Adonis emerged from the sugar cube, all oiled chest and mirrored sunglasses.
‘Do you think he’d be offended if I asked him to sing “Careless Whisper” to me?’ Frankie murmured. Her enduring love for George Michael had seen her through many a dark time. There were several times in her life when she wished she’d turned a different corner.
‘Probably.’ Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Think he’d be offended if I asked him to slather me with baby oil?’
A second, equally gorgeous guy in DayGlo neon shorts joined the Adonis and kissed the back of his neck.
‘Fuck,’ Stella sighed. ‘All the best men are gay. Look at Matt Bomer.’
‘And George Michael,’ Frankie added.
‘You really need to get over the George thing. He was always too old for you anyway.’
Frankie looked horrified, as if she’d been asked to get over the loss of a limb or broker world peace.
‘I think he’s staring at us,’ Winnie murmured, as Adonis checked his watch then studied them intently. Throwing a few words over his shoulder towards his lover, he broke into a Baywatch-worthy jog across the sand and came to a halt in front of them.
‘Ladies, welcome,’ he said, his accent only adding to his allure. ‘You must be the three new guests due this morning?’
Winnie glanced at the other two and nodded, pulling her paperwork from the side of her weekend bag and scanning it quickly.
‘Are you … Ajax?’
He nodded with a slight bow. ‘And one of you is Winifred?’
Frankie and Stella both laughed under their breath at the use of Winnie’s much-detested full name. She’d been sentimentally named after a great aunt who’d died a few days before her birth; even her mother had gone off it within a month and everyone had called her Winnie from thereon in.
‘That would be me.’ She stepped forward and held out her hand, smiling uncertainly at Ajax. ‘And this is Frankie and Stella.’ She glanced behind him at the B&B. ‘Are we too early to check in?’
He laughed good-naturedly. ‘I make exception for three beautiful ladies. Come.’
He collected each of their weekend bags from where they’d dropped them in the sand and then turned and strode away towards the villa, leaving the three women to exchange speculative glances and then break into a trot to keep up behind him.
Ajax led them through the little beach bar, all whitewashed chairs and driftwood tables set with jam-jars of fuchsia-pink wildflowers. The bleached, sand-covered crazy-paved terrace lay warm and smooth beneath Winnie’s feet, changing to cool stone flags as they entered Villa Valentina’s shady, deserted reception. There was an air of faded splendour to the old mansion house, as if it might once have been home to Greek glitterati and had fallen on hard times. The peeling paint was sort of shabby chic and sort of just shabby, but the high ceilings and grand proportions kind of made up for it and let the villa get away with it. Just.
Ajax slid behind the wooden desk, reached for a huge red diary and leafed through it to today’s date. He was quick, but not fast enough for Winnie to miss the fact that the pages he flicked past were emptier than you might expect for a bookings diary.
‘OK, so it’s your lucky day!’ he announced. ‘You’ve been allocated the most splendid rooms up on the top floor.’ He tapped his pen against the page. ‘Best views in the house.’
‘Fantastic,’ Frankie said, fanning herself with her pink hat. ‘Are they ready, or do you need us to wait?’
Ajax looked slightly wrong-footed before his expression cleared to sunshine again. ‘No need to wait. Our cleaners come to work very early to make your rooms ready especially for you.’
‘Well, that’s very kind,’ Winnie said, smiling, grateful for their forethought. Already there was something about Villa Valentina that felt magical; the weight on her shoulders was a little lighter, the melancholy in her heart a little less oppressive. Even though the effects would most likely wear off as soon as they touched down back in the UK, she’d be stronger and tougher for a couple of days off from feeling like a fool.
The three women trooped up the grand central staircase behind Ajax, who skipped his way up the winding flights of steps even though he’d insisted on carrying all of their weekend bags slung over one shoulder. On the top landing he made a ceremony of studying each of them in silence for a few contemplative moments before handing out three ornate keys, as if first deciding which of the rooms best suited each of the women.
‘For you, the Seaview Suite,’ he said, pressing a key into Stella’s palm. ‘Because it is grand and has the finest view.’
He moved along the line to Frankie. ‘For you,’ he said, handing her her key. ‘The Cleopatra Rooms, because the bathtub is the deepest. You have the face of a lady who needs to relax.’
Frankie looked almost as if she might burst into tears; it had been a long time since a man had taken the time to notice how worn down she was.
Ajax stepped sideways to look at Winnie. ‘And for you, Winifred, I think the Bohemian Suite.’ He passed her an old, blackened key. ‘Many artists have chosen to stay in here over the years because of the light. I think you will especially like the paintings.’
Winnie took the key, wide-eyed, wondering if Ajax had sneakily researched them all on Google because he seemed to have taken one look at them and seen right into their hearts. He couldn’t have, not really; they’d only booked the break two days ago on a last-minute whim and none of them were prolific enough for Google to provide much in the way of interesting gossip. He must just be one of those rare beasts, a genuinely thoughtful, empathetic man. Winnie recognised that her worldview on men was more than a little off-kilter just now, but she genuinely wasn’t sure if her heart would recover enough to think more charitably about the other half of the human race. For now though, for the sake of sisterhood, she was prepared to give Ajax the benefit of the doubt.
‘Please, call me Winnie. Everyone does.’
He smiled widely, as if truly honoured. ‘Then because we’re friends now, you should come down to the bar when you have settled and I make special cocktails for special ladies. I mix just the right one to make you carefree.’
He gave them one of his little bows and then set off down the stairs two at a time, leaving them all staring at the fancy cast-iron keys in their hands.
‘Does anyone else feel a bit like Alice about to tumble down the rabbit hole?’ Frankie asked, turning the key to the Cleopatra Rooms over in her hand.
‘This is what happens when you book a last-minute break to an island you’ve never heard of,’ Stella said.
Winnie looked at her, surprised. ‘What, you end up in a mystical pink B&B with a guy who seems able to read minds?’
Stella plucked at the bottom of her Breton-stripe vest, flapping it away from her body to cool herself
