The Santorini Summer by Christine Shaw Read Free Book Online Page B

ancient name, Thira. I knew its shape, a crescent, was formed by the collapse of the crater after the big eruption, when the sea rushed in through a breach. I researched everything in the library that related to the eruption.
    But nothing prepares you for your first sight as you sail around the remains of the cone in the centre of the caldera, the high cliffs of multi-layered black, white and red volcanic rock that face you, the little town perched high up on the edge of the crater with its white, blue-domed churches, and the utter serenity of the caldera – a complete contradiction to the unimaginable violence which created it.
    As the boat neared the tiny harbour I could see the steps climbing up to the town, I could see a string of donkeys patiently awaiting the new arrivals, and I could see a young man, slender and brown, waving a white handkerchief. As I stepped ashore, he put out his hand, and I placed mine in it, and he clutched it to his heart, murmuring, ‘Oh, my Olivia.’
    We stood with our arms wrapped around each other, while all around us was a bustle of activity. Passengers disembarked, crates were unloaded, tourists began to haggle with the donkey man, but we stood in a bubble of silent happiness.
    I had been struggling with doubt as the ferry drew into the harbour. What was I doing? Did I really love Christos enough to spend the whole summer on Santorini with him? Did I, in fact, remember him properly, or had my feelings been magnified and romanticised by the year apart? Did he truly love me? Or was I a trophy he had picked up in Crete? What if we now realised we were not soul mates?
    But the second I saw his eager, happy face on the dockside, all my doubts just disappeared. It was strange, what had happened to us, but it was real and true.
    ‘Will you ride, sir, madam?’ asked the donkey man, impatiently.
    Christos looked at me. ‘You cannot be allowed to climb 600 steps, Olivia, so we must take the donkeys.’
    He lifted me up onto the saddle, which wobbled as the beast took sideways steps beneath me.
    ‘You must keep your legs well away from the walls as we go up, since the
    donkeys delight in trying to crush their riders against them if they can. Hold on tight, my darling.’
    I did not enjoy it. I felt sorry for the animals, tormented as they were by flies and the switch of their owner as he urged them on. It was very hot, although it was only May, and the smell of ordure was overpowering. But Christos was on the beast behind me, holding my luggage and murmuring, ‘Oh my Olivia,’ over the tinkling of the donkeys’ bells.
    The view from the top of the donkey steps was magnificent.
    ‘Look, Olivia. Over there you can see Oia, and down to the south that is the tip of Akrotiri. We are in Fira, the island’s capital, and we shall have some lunch and then I shall take you to see the house where you will be staying.’
    That seemed to clarify things. “You” and not “we”. I had been too nervous to ask what arrangements he had made, fearful of the implications, but now that he had made it clear that we were not in fact staying together I was disappointed.
    He took me to a dusty-looking taverna on a narrow street.
    ‘This is Nickolas’ Taverna’, he told me. ‘It is the best place to eat in Fira.’
    A waiter bowed and led us to a small table. He pointed to a blackboard on the wall, and murmured something in Greek I could not translate.
    ‘Will you let me order for you, Olivia?’ smiled Christos. ‘I promise you a truly
    Greek meal which you will like, I think.’
    Since I could not decipher the squiggles on the board, and I was totally overwhelmed by being with Christos once again, I smiled in agreement. The order was given, and soon a basket of bread and a dish of olives arrived. Cutlery followed, and then the waiter produced a bottle which he displayed to us with some pride. Christos nodded, and a small amount of wine was poured into his glass. He sniffed it, took a mouthful, swirled it