‘Not the Manoses’,’ I mumbled. ‘Do you think it was a stupid suggestion of mine? Did it…’ My voice wavered. ‘…sound patronising? I’d hate that. I mean, Mrs Manos is right – selling a few festive scones and gifts won’t give people back their decent incomes and dignity overnight.’
Grandma squeezed my shoulder. ‘It’s a great idea. Like you say – at least better than nothing. And who else is looking out for Taxos? Mrs Manos will come around. It’s not been easy for her, since April when her husband died.’
Arms slipped around me and I turned to face Niko’s intense gaze.
‘The Christmas fair is a great idea, even if it will just fill our wallets in the short term. Papa is going to make bags of Greek yogurt-dipped nuts, raisins and figs – any tourists will love those. And Demetrios will make pottery flamingos, seeing as they inhabit Kos at this time of year.’ He shrugged. ‘It will give everyone something positive to focus on.’
Grandma sipped her drink. ‘Just like in the summer, lots of small ideas, pooled together, make one big success.’
‘I’m determined they will,’ I said and pursed my lips.
The villagers started to put on their outdoor clothing, to go home and make a late dinner. Someone tugged at my sleeve. Sheepishly Theo grinned up at me. Of course, the chocolate scones! I dashed into the kitchen and a minute later returned.
‘Thank you,’ chorused Mr and Mrs Dellis.
Pandora came over and hugged me goodbye. ‘Tell us, dear Pippa – the most important thing: what other flavour scones will you bake for the fair?’
‘I’m thinking plain, with a generous dollop of glittery jam in the middle, in different colours, like Christmas baubles…lime green, blueberry purple and apricot orange…’
‘So preeetty they will look!’ Pandora buttoned up her coat. ‘I must work on some festive recipes too, to go alongside my traditional December sesame baklava and cinnamon cookies.’
I smiled and glanced over her shoulder, as a draught swept into the restaurant. A group of young women near the front window giggled and fiddled with their hair. One quickly applied a slash of lipstick and then stared at the doorway. I shivered. Someone must have gone home and left the door open.
But why were some of the girls staring at it, cheeks red, heads shyly cocked? My gaze switched to the front of the taverna. Ah. Now I understood why their hearts must have been beating like the hooves of reindeer pulling a sleigh.
‘Hey, Pips.’ Slate eyes crinkled as the song ‘Santa Baby’ played in the background. ‘Why the party?’
There, looking as debonair as ever, holding a leather briefcase, stood Henrik.
‘And that,’ said Henrik, ‘was how we undercut our competitor’s bid.’
He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, having cleared a plate of Georgios’ delicious lamb stew. Henrik, Niko and I sat in a corner of the taverna, catching up on the last few months. Our table stood near a small Christmas tree that Sophia had already put up. The first in the village, according to several bemused locals who attended today’s meeting.
‘ThinkBig is going from strength to strength, then?’ I said.
Henrik nodded. ‘The accountants have just been in and couldn’t speak highly enough of the company, once they’d been through our profit and loss report.’
Boring you, are we? Sorry, but the mathematician in me was thrilled to be back on familiar ground. Henrik and I chatted a while longer about one of the government’s new fiscal policies.
‘I bumped into your friend Charlotte at a new bistro in Soho,’ said Henrik. ‘Seems like it was just as well you left your job at the bank.’
‘Do tell.’ I leant forward.
Cue gasps from me as Henrik described accusations of insider trading and fraud. I pumped him for every detail as we then discussed the implication of the bank’s illegal activity for the whole of the City of London.
Eventually Niko cleared his throat. ‘Um, ’scuse me, Henrik, Pippa – I help my parents tidy up. It’s been a long evening.’
Heat flooded my cheeks and I put my hand on his arm. ‘Sorry, Niko – all this business talk must sound about as interesting as an empty fishing net. It’s just that it’s been so long since–’
Niko’s mouth quirked up. ‘No problem. I understand.’
‘Apologies, mate. Very rude of us. So…how is the seafaring business going, now the colder weather is here?’ Henrik yawned. ‘Bet you get to put your feet up for a few weeks. Lucky chap.’
Niko bit his lip as if suppressing an unsavoury reply and I glanced at Henrik. No. He wasn’t being sarcastic, I was sure of that. My eyes roved across his frame, taking in the sharply cut suit and those long, long legs. Then I gazed at Niko’s ruffled black curls and slightly creased white shirt, rolled up to his elbows. Feeling a tiny bit disloyal for a second, I wondered if Henrik would think I’d let myself go. My hair was no longer straightened. Make-up free, my face shouted freckles, those little ginger spots Niko was so fond of. I glanced down. Gone were the tailored trouser suits, replaced with jeans or comfy blouses and skirts.
I twisted a strand of hair. Well, who cared what Henrik might think? Towards the end of our relationship, his pristine appearance had niggled anyway. I was happy. My life here in Taxos would be a dream for most people caught up in the rat-race. Although city-loving Henrik looked ultra relaxed and as self-assured as ever. He’d shaken hands with many of the villagers, recalling most of their names, and charmed the shawls off the local women, be they aged nineteen or ninety.
Niko explained the challenges of fishing during the winter, and was just about to move onto sponge-diving when Henrik cut in.
‘Good on you, mate, for making the most of difficult circumstances. Hopefully next winter life will be easier.’
‘It’s great that work is progressing on the Marine Museum,’ I said and gave Niko a small smile. Under the table my fingers intertwined with his.
Henrik drained his wine glass and sat more upright. ‘Agreed. I think it was clever of us, back in the summer, to decide sealife was the theme that might attract visitors to this village – the fact that Caretta Cove used to be a nesting site for the endangered loggerhead turtle certainly makes it special.’
Niko shrugged. ‘Yes, the end-of-season tourists loved Demetrios’ pottery sea animals and Pandora’s iced sponge turtles. Things could start to take off next year. We keep our fingers crossed that holidaymakers keep coming here.’
‘Georgios has incorporated seabirds into the bird walks he organised,’ I added.
‘Plus Cosmo planned his cycle tours near the cliffs, where the gulls and shags live.’
‘Shags?’ Henrik glanced at me and we both chuckled. Niko’s brow furrowed.
‘Oh, it’s nothing, Niko…’ I grinned and rolled my eyes. ‘Just me and Henrik being childish.’
Niko fiddled with the cuff of one of his sleeves.
‘Talking of preserving the future of the turtles, I’ve learnt a little more about these animals lately,’ said Henrik, and leant back with his hands behind his head. ‘As you know, they migrate to North Africa over the winter. Part of the problem is that when they head back here to nest, tourists have invaded their beaches.’
I forced my jaw not to drop open. Since when was Henrik so interested in conservation?
‘Down on the south of the island a protection plan seems to be working,’ he said. ‘It involves encouraging the turtles to return. Caretta