The summer of secrets, p.35
The Summer of Secrets, page 35
Sofía felt her heart break for her sister. She gathered all her emotional strength and gave her as much support as she could, as she always had. ‘Well, come on then, no use in snivelling about it, let’s get going. How far have you got?’
María sniffed and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown. ‘I’ve blended jasmine, vanilla and frangipani, with undertones of coffee. It’s a start, but I’m missing some heat. I need a darker side – passion, even lust. Something rich and mystical and completely irresistible.’ She sighed, tears bumping their way down the scars on her face.
Sofía’s heart cracked open and bled.
María lowered her eyes. ‘You must think I am crazy. I should simply let him go and be glad for the wonderful time we’ve had. There’s no way I can keep him when I look like this.’
‘Oh, do shut up and stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ Sofía said, sharply. ‘Let’s try adding bergamot and what about a little myrrh, or musk to give it weight, or mandarin and almond – ooh, I love orange marzipan. Do we have any cocoa? I mean, who doesn’t feel sexy after eating dark chocolate?’ Perhaps she spoke a little too fast. Finding the right words to feed to her sister seemed urgent. Sofía’s body was paying attention to the scents and a stirring sensation awoke inside her. ‘Make a note of that, cocoa; goes wonderfully with the almond and bergamot.’
Dawn broke and one by one the children woke. ‘Come on, let’s leave it or our nose will be tainted. We’ll continue this evening,’ Sofía said.
‘Listen, you never told me, why couldn’t you sleep?’
Sofía sighed. ‘Why can’t I get pregnant, Maria? It’s not for the lack of trying, I promise you. We’re both terribly disappointed and I can’t help feeling somehow it’s my fault.’
‘You know what they do on Rhodes?’ Sofía shook her head. ‘Instead of going to their doctor – the desperate, childless women climb Tsambika Mountain on their knees until they reach the chapel of Saint Tsambika at the top. Then, if they have a child in the next year, they must name the child after the saint.’
‘Perhaps I should do it,’ Sofía said.
‘No, you will not, Sofía! It’s a silly superstition and an arduous task and some women have died after getting sepsis in their wounds from the goat droppings. Really, think about it. What sort of a saint would want to cause that much suffering to women who are already devastated because they’re childless? It’s a cruel and silly superstition, nothing more.’
Panayiotis came into the distillery. ‘I’m hungry, Mamá,’ he said sleepily.
*
That evening, Sofía and María continued in their search for a perfumed oil so potent it made those who detect its aroma fill with blind desire for the wearer. For seven nights, they worked in pursuit of this infallible concoction.
‘I know!’ Sofía cried with a sudden flash of inspiration one evening. ‘Add some boswellia resin to increase the blood flow; after all, that’s what we’re looking for, isn’t it . . . throbbing, pulsating, hard passion?’
María grinned, her top lip turning white and shiny with the stretch. ‘Sounds perfect, but I’m brain dead with tiredness. Remind me, what’s boswellia resin?’
‘You know, frankincense.’
‘Ah, yes, why didn’t I think of that? I’m so excited. We must have the perfect ingredients. Now, we just have to get the quantities right.’ She smiled at Sofía. ‘I’m so grateful, darling sister.’
‘Look, why don’t we take the same ingredients each, go to opposite ends of the distillery and blend. We’re so close, I’m sure one of us will soon come up with something, to use your own words: so powerful and irresistible it’s magical.’
*
Another four nights of blending, writing recipes and testing – then, approaching midnight, the day before Mustafa’s expected arrival, Sofía inhaled the scent of her latest blend.
The room seemed to close in on her. ‘María,’ she whispered. ‘Come here.’ She realised her voice was thick, as if she were half asleep, or drunk. ‘My God, I do believe I have it.’
As María came close, she seemed veiled in a holy light that was only semi-transparent. Sofía’s own body responded to the perfume. Her lips swelled and tingled, as did her nipples. But most importantly, her sex throbbed with desire.
‘Oh my goodness. I’m breathless and my heart’s pounding,’ she whispered. ‘María, I’m sure I have the recipe for your magical perfume and I have the name too. You must call it Desire.’
‘You’ve really mixed the perfect blend?’ María whispered. ‘Please, let me try it.’
Sofía took a little cotton wool, dipped it in the oil and stroked a line across the inside of María’s wrist.
Even while they are talking to each other, the scent rose and María whispered, ‘Oh, this is the weirdest sensation, I feel as if I’m in a dream, floating, intoxicated, at the same time I’m filled with passionate desire and powerful eroticism. My vision is so blurred I can hardly see. Yet my other senses are increased a hundred-fold. I have a fire burning below and I long to press my body . . . well . . . I can hardly breathe for the want. But enough of this.’ María realised she was trembling. ‘I must wash this off to break its spell, before I burn up. I think we can celebrate a success, dear sister, and I certainly could not have done it without you. Of us all, you are the one who has always had that magical sense of smell.’
Sofía was filled with happiness for dear María. She slung her arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘You’re beautiful, María, as you always have been.’
‘This is terrific, exactly what I was hoping for. You did write down all the ingredients and their proportions, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. Look, it’s almost dawn. You go and catch a couple of hours’ sleep while I tidy up here. Babá is in Kaş for a few days, so when Mustafa arrives, Mamá and I will take all the children for a swim. You will have the house to yourselves.’
Since the Empire Patrol disaster, all the Konstantinidis children had learned to swim. Terrified at first, each eventually found the courage to lie on the water without a lifebelt and be guided, trembling, back onto their feet by a watchful Babá.
‘Are you crazy? You need to sleep too. Go to bed, we’ll tidy up later. And Sofía . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
*
Sofía and María were on tenterhooks for nearly two weeks, waiting for the schooner to appear. At nine o’clock the following Sunday morning, Zafiro came racing into the house. ‘He’s here! Papa is here! I just saw the ship turn into the harbour.’
As the church bells pealed nine o’clock, they all rushed onto the patio and saw the great ship slide home. It had been six months and now María was terrified that he had come to say their marriage was over.
Sofía saw that fear in her sister’s eyes and could have wept for her. ‘Come, María, it’s time to get ready. Don’t let me down now.’ She turned to Ayeleen. ‘Get everyone to clean up and put on their best clothes. We must give your father a welcome like he’s never known before!’ She gathered the girls together. ‘Ayeleen, Popi, Kristina and Bebe, make a real fuss of your darling Papa.’ She turned to the boys. ‘Right, you lot. It’s time you started to behave like young men. Zafiro, Fevzi and Panayiotis, you make sure you shake hands with your father. Fevzi, pay attention! This is important, or I’m telling you all, you may never see him again, do you understand?’ Their eyes widened and they all nodded frantically.
‘Zafiro, you ask you father if you can work on the ship, next trip,’ Mamá said. ‘You tell him how much you admire him and that you want to be just like him, right?’
‘But I don’t want to work on the ship. I want to go to school,’ Zafiro said.
‘Don’t argue with me, young man. Your father won’t take you on the ship until you’re sixteen anyway. So don’t worry.’
Mamá, who never missed an opportunity to rib Babá now he was back from Kaş, ordered him to go wash and smarten up, then she sent Fevzi down to the butcher for lamb chops, ‘And while you’re there, get a litre of raki and a kilo of salted almonds.’ She turned to Popi. ‘Go into the field and pick a bunch of fresh glystretha for a nice dish of greens – Mustafa loves my purslane salad – and collect the eggs while you’re there and put them on to boil. Now, listen, make sure everywhere is as clean and tidy as possible. Best clothes and washed hands and faces at all times! Sofía and I are going to help your mother get ready. Don’t let me down now!’
Sofía had made a beautiful pale blue dress that hugged her sister’s figure. Besides her singing voice, the only thing not spoiled by the fire was María’s amazing body.
The family had just emerged from a year of mourning when black was worn by everyone, even the children. The new dress was button fronted with a deep elastic belt, which showed off María’s narrow waist. The pencil skirt finished mid-calf and flattered her long legs and narrow ankles. The sisters had studied post-war fashions of Paris and London and had copied the most classic style.
The red, angry-looking skin grafts on the backs of María’s legs were covered in theatre make-up, then a pair of proper silk stockings with seams up the back. Sofía struggled to control her tears, when she remembered why the back of María was so much more badly burned that the front.
A delicate white chiffon scarf – draped softly over her head and around her neck – kept her hair in place and hid her shrivelled ears. The doctor stated it was a miracle that her thick and lustrous tresses had grown back, but he doubted her eyelashes or eyebrows ever would. Meanwhile, the two sisters had become experts at applying false eyelashes and Mamá had wept the first time she saw the result. Sofía applied pan-stick make-up, then a fashionable shade of red lipstick and a dab of rouge. She stepped back and studied her sister.
‘You look amazing, María!’ Sofía trilled. ‘He’ll be swept off his feet. Now, apply a drop of the perfume, no more. Then later when you’re alone, splash it on you and him, all right?’
‘Yes. Oh, I hope it works, Sofía!’
‘I’m sure it will. We’ve re-arranged the children’s accommodation so you’ll have the room to yourselves. I’ve also taken the light bulb out and left some candles, which throw a more flattering light.’
‘Thank you. This means so much to me.’
Excited sounds and the aroma of grilled lamb chops drifted upward. They both heard a pattering on the stairs, then Ayeleen burst into the room.
‘Papa’s here!’ Then a gasp. ‘Oh, Mother, you’re so beautiful . . . so beautiful, you look like a film star.’
María’s tension fell away. ‘Do you really think so, Ayeleen?’
‘Let’s all go downstairs, shall we?’ Sofía said to her niece.
‘I’ll go first, then you follow me, Aunty Sofía, then Mother, so we’ll have everyone’s attention.’
‘Good plan,’ Sofía said.
‘I’m feeling nervous,’ María said.
‘Honestly, Mother, you look terrific,’ Ayeleen said.
‘On second thoughts, just a dab of perfume behind your ears, María,’ Sophia said with a wink.
They came downstairs and, as María appeared, Mustafa gasped, then stood blinking at her as if he wasn’t quite sure she was his wife.
*
The evening was a huge success. Lamb chops in the twilight on the patio, then an early night for everyone. Mamá scurried the children off to bed, then almost dragged Babá up the stairs. Mustafa couldn’t take his eyes off the wife he truly loved and María’s confidence returned. She flirted with him, made it clear she wanted him and he found her irresistible. Before long, they were blowing out the candles.
*
Early the next morning, a rather dishevelled María woke Sofía. ‘He’s going this afternoon, please, help me get ready again. I’m not sure I could make such a good job of the make-up.’
‘Was it worth it?’ Sofía giggled.
María sighed. ‘What a night. He loves me, Sofía, and he adores his children. I was foolish to worry.’
‘Still, it’s best to not leave anything to chance.’
CHAPTER 47
OLIVIA
Castellorizo, Greece, present day
‘MORE CAKE, GEORGE?’ ELENI ASKS.
He pats his belly. ‘Tempting – it was so delicious – but absolutely not, thank you, Eleni. Couldn’t fit another crumb in here.’
‘Let’s have the bill, Eleni, please,’ I say. ‘I think we’re all in for an early night.’ I’m thinking of Greg. ‘We have a lot to do tomorrow, going through the house renovations.’
‘First, will you join me with a small brandy, Olivia? Helps to settle the food while we make a plan for tomorrow?’ Uncle says.
‘Why not?’ I pull my notebook out while he orders the drinks and pays the bill.
‘Now where shall we start . . .?’ He looks at me expectantly and I get the feeling he’s testing me, so I voice my plans.
‘First, we must secure the house, get the roof repaired and a new front door and windows installed. I’m hoping we can rescue the original shutters. Next, order the solar panels and batteries to produce our own electricity and while we’re awaiting delivery, we do the first-fix plumbing. I think we should tank the basement. Two tanks with water pumps to bring it up, fitted before the rest of the ground floor goes down. At the same time, we must organise guttering and downpipes to capture the winter’s rainwater.’ I draw a line under my list. ‘Once those things are done, we can look at the next stage.’
‘Which is?’ Uncle narrows his eyes; yes, I was right. He’s testing me.
‘New floors, walls, ceilings, all made sound; internal doors. Then, a ground-floor kitchen, bathroom and decoration.’
‘You seem to have thought it through.’
‘To be honest, it’s not as simple as it sounds. I suggest just making the ground floor habitable to start with. Open-plan living room and kitchen, a bathroom and two bedrooms.’ I peer into his eyes for a reaction, but he simply stares back, so I continue. ‘That way, the money we save on accommodation when we come over can go towards the refurbishment.’
Now, he smiles and nods.
‘Can we take the ledger and the perfume book home with us? I’d like to study them.’
He nods again. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m not sure; just considering all options. I wonder if there’s a market for cottage industry here. Precious oils, hand-made candles and soap, ethnic cookery, flavoured olive oils, bee keeping, even painting and photography holidays. There’s space for eight rooms in the current building and so many people with special skills here, yet it all seems a little . . . trapped in the past.’
‘I’d love to see the distillery running again. So, we agree, tomorrow we’ll concentrate on the building?’
‘After you come back from fishing.’
‘And you drag yourself out of bed.’ He winks mischievously.
*
The next morning, I walk up to the house, hoping to be alone for a while. After a struggle to get the front door open, I sense the mice have vacated the premises. Probably a mass exodus on the day of the party. The floor feels solid as I walk across it. In the distillery, I come across a few handwritten notebooks in a drawer. I gather them up and return to the patio. They all seem to be variations of the same blend. Interesting. I wonder what they were aiming for as I drop them into my bag. It’s time for a coffee, so I decide to return to Eleni and to work on my cookery book.
At ten o’clock, my uncle surfaces. ‘What time do you call this?’ I tease.
‘Oh dear, I guess I missed the fishing trip? I’ve just come to realise I’m not as young as I was. Did they go?’
‘You’re recovering from a heart attack, dear Uncle, so you really ought to be taking it easy! No, they didn’t go. Eleni says that Dino and his father overslept. Young Nathan was going with them. He waited until six o’clock then went out for a few hours alone.’
He grins at me. ‘Good, I hope he catches something. Anyway, there’s still time for a trip before we leave. Have you ever been fishing at dawn?’
I laugh. ‘Dawn! Fishing at dawn – no, that’s obscene. And I can’t imagine I ever will, either. There’s only one place I want to be at dawn.’
‘Now there’s a mistake, deciding you won’t like it without giving it a go. You must let me take you out before daybreak one time, before we go home. I would like that very much.’
I realise he’s had a smile on his face for most of the time he’s been here and it’s infectious; I smile too. Then a sudden heaviness in my chest makes me realise how much I don’t want to go home. He turns to Eleni as she approaches with his coffee.
‘Any of that wonderful cake left? Would make the perfect breakfast.’
‘You’re a hopeless case, Uncle,’ I say. ‘Perhaps we ought to have a day off today. Take a boat over to Turkey. Visit Kaş, just relax.’
‘No, we have to get the builders organised,’ he says. ‘Even if we only get the roof and the front door sorted on this trip, it’s a step forward.’
‘All right, Mr Stubborn, have it your own way.’
‘Cake for the overweight man with a weak heart,’ Eleni says, sliding a portion across to sit next to his coffee, then pulling a chair out for herself. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘No. Clearly you know today is pick-on-George day!’ he says.
Eleni and I laugh.
Dino staggers out of the kitchen. ‘My Blessed Virgin, I’m not as young as I was, George. Dead on my feet today.’ He glances over at me and bobs his eyebrows. ‘I would suggest a fishing trip, George, but I’d be afraid that your boat may be kidnapped by the lovebirds again . . .’
Uncle nods wearily. ‘How about a game of tavli instead, your father was one of the best on the island. Besides, that would leave the boat free, just in case anyone else has plans . . .’ He winks mischievously at his friend and nods my way.
‘You can both stop it, right now,’ I say with humour. ‘You’re being too naughty!’
