CHAPTER THREE
ITWASAminor glitch.
So very minor in the scheme of things.
Mia was hyperventilating as the chefs from Santorini commandeered her kitchen. Yolanda had been difficult to wake up, and so tired she’d actually needed a little help from Roula into her chair. And Leo Arati had had to be gently prompted, several times, and told that it was time to head to the beach for the party.
There were just a million balls, but Roula was actually very used to juggling them at work.
She stood, her work smile on, as the party took off. All were invited. The chefs, waiters and security guards were all externally hired, and rarely the retreat was running on a skeleton staff for a few hours.
Beatrice and Roula were the skeletons!
‘Aunty Roula!’ Dimitrios’s twin nieces came running towards her, all dark curls and huge brown eyes, the sweetest girls on earth.
‘There’s going to be dress-up soon!’ the leader of the two declared.
‘But you’re already dressed up!’ Roula teased, for she knew what they meant. Soon the music would start, and there was a dressing up area and a photo booth for all the children, andof coursethe twins knew it. ‘You both look beautiful.’
‘But they’re starting to give numbers out...’
‘Are they?’
‘We’re going to be last.’
Roula smiled and then put her hand in her pocket and took out two numbered tokens. ‘Shh...’
‘Will we be first?’
‘No,’ Roula said, ‘that would not be fair.’ She gave them a tiny wink. ‘But you will be third and fourth!’
They were the sweetest, cheekiest pair, and she waved to their father as the little ones scampered off. Stephanos, Dimitrios’s brother-in-law, waved back, and then helped the baby he was carrying wave too.
Roula smiled, but then blew out a breath. Her confrontation with Mia had shaken her, perhaps? Or was it her knowledge of the news to come? Would she see still be able to see the twins? Roula had held them the day they were born...
It fully dawned on her then that her time here might be ending. That her family, her home, her career were silently coming undone—the truth, when revealed, wouldnotbe setting her free.
Galen wasn’t faring so well either.
In dutifulkoumbaramode he worked the beach. He loathed mingling and small talk at the best of times, but he kept his smile on and made dreaded chit-chat. Yet his eyes kept drifting.
There was no doubt the retreat was marvellous, but it was the village in the distance he scanned. There was the church where he had stood silently as hisyayahad openly wept each week. He looked upwards at the lush hilly terrain, at the winding road that hugged steep slopes and had claimed his parents and almost him.
‘You must see a lot of changes...?’ someone said.
‘No,’ Galen responded, and saw the startlement of the small group nearby. ‘Well, of course the retreat is incredible. I meant the village looks the same...’
‘But it’s completely different,’ one of the man insisted. ‘Designer shops now, cafés and restaurants, a medical centre...’
‘Of course,’ Galen agreed, choosing not to explain that he had meant the skyline, and the roads carved into his brain so clearly he could almost see the school bus heaving it slow way up the hill.
‘Some familiar faces...?’
‘Yes,’ Galen said. ‘Your father was the postmaster...’
‘Still is.’ The man nodded. ‘Well, he retires soon. Hey, Pa...’ He called the elderly man over. ‘Remember Galen?’
Again his gaze drifted, though now it swept the beach. On the edge of the activities stood Roula, talking and laughing with two little girls who were identical twins.