‘Well, isn’t it obvious? You need some time and space to consider your future and what better place to do that than overlooking the crystal blue calm of the Ionian Sea? Maybe you could even indulge in a passionate fling with a handsome Greek guy to reacquaint yourself with what life is really all about?’
‘No! No way! I can’t stay in someone else’s house without their permission! Especially if that house belongs to the man who has just fired me!’
‘James did not fire you, you resigned.’
Pippa narrowed her eyes and raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. The determined tilt of her friend’s chin warned Evie to select an alternative submission in her argument for the defence.
‘Even if I did agree with your suggestion, didn’t you just say it’s been closed up for the winter?’
‘The house has, yes. But there’s a little studio above the garage next to the swimming pool, which James lets anyone use. Remember? Last year when our cleaner, Doris, and her husband, Stanley, enjoyed their very first foreign holiday there? And one of the clerks at Dad and James’s chambers went with his girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. James said they could use it for a bottle of Bolly. He even offered it to you and Dylan in the summer, remember, but you said you were too busy to take advantage of his generous offer? Go there, relax, gain some perspective. As long as you stay away from the main villa there’ll be no problem – no one will even know you’ve been.’
Pippa clearly took Evie’s gobsmacked silence to be acquiescence so she continued.
‘It’s the perfect location to recharge your batteries and it’s the ideal place to paint. You said it yourself: sun, sea, and sand – it has all those things in abundance. You have to do this, Evie. You have to get away from everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours and rediscover what is important in your life – your passion for art and your dream of being an artist. Remember what Sam is always telling us? If you want to fly, you first have to jump! Get some distance and I know you’ll make the right decision about where your future really lies.’
‘But Pippa, it might not come as a surprise to you that I don’t even have enough cash for a train ticket to Penzance …’
‘You’ve got a credit card. Use that for the airfare. It’s the end of September – flights will be cheap. And you can live frugally when you get there – aren’t artists supposed to be at their best when they’re suffering for their work? No, sorry, I’m joking. Maybe you can find a job at the local bar or something.’
‘I don’t think so …’
‘Look.’ Pippa levelled her eyes to stare directly at Evie, her expression serious. ‘It’s time you put yourself first for a change. You’re always at the bottom of those long lists you insist on living your life by. Love yourself a little – come back refreshed and in control of your own destiny with a portfolio stuffed with gorgeous watercolours of Greece. You never know, maybe James will have missed your organizational skills so much that he’ll offer to host your debut show at the gallery!’
‘Whoosh, look, a pig just flew past the window!’ Evie giggled for the first time since Jaxx had appeared on the threshold of Bradbury’s to demolish her carefully constructed life.
She allowed the audacious plan Pippa was proposing to sink into her sluggish brain and begin to morph into a potential solution to her current predicament. Her suggestion had a number of advantages. Yes, it offered time away from her frazzled work schedule and the treadmill her life in London had become, but it would also afford her the opportunity to dissect the reasons why her relationship with Dylan had fizzled out. However, the thing that finally swung it was the opportunity to replenish her artistic coffers with golden-hued, sun-soaked inspiration. When would she get the chance to shoot for her creative dreams again?
Could she do it? Or, more importantly, could she live with herself if she didn’t? Would she look back and regret not grabbing this chance with both hands? A rush of optimism, mingled with a generous splodge of gratitude, shot through her veins. She leapt from her seat to envelop Pippa in a hug.
‘You are the best friend anyone has ever had, Pip.’
‘So you’ll go?’
‘Yes!’
‘Fantastic.’ Pippa clapped her hands, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling with delight. ‘I want regular progress reports and lots of selfies. No social media though don’t forget, not until this whole “Mystery Canvas Switch Fiasco” has been sorted out.’
Evie laughed as the concrete weight that had been bearing down on her chest shifted to allow her to breathe freely again.
‘There won’t be anything to report. If I’m going to Corfu, I intend to paint, paint, paint until my brushes are bare. Now come on, help me book a flight before my sanity returns!’
Evie massaged her temples in an effort to alleviate the nagging headache that had burgeoned since the flight had left the runway at Stansted. The autumn sweater she had hastily selected in London for her last-minute dash to Corfu clung to her skin and perspiration collected around her neckline and beneath her cleavage.
She glanced out of the window of the speeding taxi as the driver pulled away from the airport – a chaotic experience in itself as she and her fellow passengers had been forced to wait over two hours for their luggage to appear on the carousel. She could have liberated her suitcase from the hold quicker herself. Tempers had frayed, children had moaned vociferously, and babies had screamed for their next feed. It wasn’t the serene start she had been expecting to her sojourn in the Ionian isles.
The next thing she knew she was head-butting the headrest of the passenger seat in front of her and the shrill screech of brakes reverberated through her ears like nails down a chalkboard.
‘Oww!’ she cried as a sharp spasm of pain shot through her nose.
‘Sorry. But the tourists around here are crazy!’ declared the driver, throwing his hands in the air and issuing a stream of Greek expletives at a gang of intoxicated revellers who had lurched into the taxi’s path from one of the tightly packed bars that lined the roadside before making their unsteady way to the narrow pebble beach on Evie’s right.
As she stared after them, one of their number whipped off his football shirt, circling it above his head like a lasso whilst he sang a raucous tune from the terraces. Evie prayed he didn’t intend to take a dip in the sea. She had no doubt it was a refreshing experience during the day, but at eleven o’clock at night the water looked like an infinite sheet of rippling tar and, to her mind, looked quite foreboding.
Through the taxi’s open windows, she could hear the thud of disparate tunes, from ballads to bouzouki music, echoing along the neon-bright strip. She sent up a missive of grateful thanks that she wasn’t staying in the resort, heaving a sigh of relief when the taxi left the partying resort behind to continue their journey north of Ipsos.
‘How much further is it?’
‘Nissaki is not far now,’ declared the driver, raking his fingers through the gelled tufts of his ebony hair. The young Greek Adonis in the front seat may have decided to emulate one of his favourite movie star heroes with his Mediterranean-hued good looks and toned biceps, but he had clearly modelled his driving skills on Lewis Hamilton.
Evie checked her seat belt before tipping her head back and allowing her thoughts to float over everything that had happened in her life in such a short space of time. A spasm of fear shot from her chest and radiated out to her fingertips.
Was she just as crazy as the drunken holidaymakers planning a midnight swim?
The answer was a resounding yes!
Why on earth had she let Pippa persuade her to catch the next flight out to Corfu? She felt like she had been