Songs of Blue and Gold by Deborah Lawrenson Read Free Book Online Page B

remark. It was a moment before she realised the older man was Manolis, her temporary landlord. The men unloaded some boxes from the boat, and threw some soft bags on to the stone landing stage.
    Manolis shouted something else unintelligible, this time directed at her.
    She closed the book and walked a few steps closer. ‘Sorry?’
    â€˜How is the apartment? Is OK?’
    â€˜Oh . . . yes. Fine, thank you.’
    â€˜You are coming to the taverna? Tonight is very good swordfish!’ He grinned engagingly.
    She couldn’t decide. What if her need for kindness hadbecome too great, if her friends had been right, that it was too soon after the funeral to be making this trip? Perhaps it was better to remain alone, to read and sleep through the pain, until she could accept it with a degree of self-control. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself by a tear slipping down at a friendly smile or a glass of undrinkable retsina on the house.
    â€˜Where is it?’ she asked eventually.
    He frowned then raised his hands to encompass the front of the White House. ‘Here, of course!’
    â€˜Here?’
    â€˜Yes!’ shaking his head at her idiocy.
    Water slurped at the rocks between them. There was no way forward on foot.
    â€˜Take the little path,’ he shouted, pointing behind. ‘Come round that way!’
    How could she not go after that?
    At the side of the house was a small paved area, where some washing still hung. A few beach toys lay abandoned in a corner, along with fishing nets and a pile of old wooden planks that seemed to suggest some renovations were under way. At the front, a short flight of stairs led up to a front door on the storey above. As she walked round she could see that to the right of this was a grey marble plaque. In Greek, then English, the engraved words announced: ‘
In this house lived the famous writer Julian Adie, 1935–39
.’ She could not see any lights on inside. She stood for a few minutes trying to let imagination take over, to picture him as a young man bounding up those steps, but no magic happened.
    A sign for Prospero’s Taverna beckoned her round the far corner and down towards the rocks and sea again.
    The restaurant’s vine-covered canopy had been reinforced by a covering of stout canvas, and plastic sheeting had been let down all along the sea wall to take the chill off outdoor dining. She knew from the books – Adie’s biography, as well as his own account – that this was the old terrace garden. She was actually in the place she had come to see, immediately and effortlessly. Only two tables were occupied. She began to see why Manolis was so keen to lure her in to eat.
    A young waiter with a quiff of curly hair and a loud patterned jumper gave her a choice of any table along the sea wall. She took the one furthest away in the corner, ordered a small carafe of white wine, and chose the swordfish.
    She ate listening to the waves as the night closed in and a fat moon rose. Now and then, ships passed beyond the bay, decks blazing like illuminated honeycomb. With no lights shining from the dark country opposite to provide a reference point, they might as well have been flying though the black sky.
    Apart from the waiter when he served her order, she spoke to no one. It was a relief. She did not want to be drawn into any conversation, to have to pull a curtain over the truth, nor to find herself lying to strangers. It was good to be there without having to provide explanations and justifications. Not to find herself replaying her circumstances, nor why she was here alone.
    How would you ever make idle chit-chat of it?
No, my husband will not be joining me, work or no work. And my mother, who loved me and could once have explained everything, has gone for ever. When I needed to go away, this was the one place that crept into my mind, that made any sense.
    Melissa stared out into the infinite-night sea