Later on at the taverna, Eleanor enjoyed an entertaining lunch hour as she watched seagoing craft of all descriptions making for the other island. When Petros finally came to say her boat was waiting for her, the sun was so fierce she was glad of dark glasses and sun hat for the trip across the sea, her excitement mounting at the approach to the steep, rocky island dominated by an ancient kastro. She breathed in the familiar sage and lavender scent of the Greek maquis lining the paths winding up through sun-baked hillside; the sound of music and chattering crowds in festive mood added to her anticipation as her genial ferryman docked at a jetty.
Eleanor thanked him and settled a time for the trip back later that evening, then got straight to work to take shots of the houses which clustered around the Kastro and climbed the slopes above it to a summit crowned by the blue dome of an icing-white church. Groundwork done, she threaded her way through the chattering, animated crowds to claim the place she’d reserved at one of the tables under the pergola. Musicians were playing at the far end of the terrace, but she’d learned from Petros that the main event would be after dark when bonfires were lit for the performance of the famous bull dance. She eyed the stage with misgiving. She’d seen pictures of the frescoes on Crete, depicting dancers somersaulting over a bull, but there was no visible way to restrain an animal here if it got out of hand, which was worrying.
She promptly forgot about bulls when the doors to the Kastro opened and three people emerged to descend the steps to the terrace. Of the two men in the group, it was obvious who was king of this particular castle. Alexei Drakos was smiling down at his blonde companion, and Eleanor realised in sudden excitement that she was Talia Kazan in the flesh, from this distance as beautiful in maturity as she had been in her heyday. The blonde was no pillow-friend after all, but Alexei’s mother, in a hyacinth-blue dress of exquisite cut, a large straw hat on her gleaming hair.
The son was equally striking. His curling hair was only a few shades darker gold than his mother’s, instead of black as Eleanor had expected before she’d researched him, but his face was carved from different, utterly masculine clay, with heavy-lidded dark eyes and handsome, forceful features which bore an unmistakeable resemblance to his father. He was slim-hipped and broad shouldered, and even in conventional linen trousers and white shirt, which merely hinted at the muscles beneath, there was a powerful masculine grace about him. Alexei Drakos was a magnificent specimen of manhood by any standards.
Eleanor watched, riveted, as Alexei linked his arm through his mother’s to inspect the goods on display at each stall for a brief moment and exchange a few words with the vendors before leaving the field clear to the purchasing public. From under cover of her table’s parasol, Eleanor took a few shots of mother and son with the Kastro as backdrop then turned her lens on the festive crowd milling about in the hot sunshine.
Eventually she put her camera away and went off to browse among the stalls for presents to take home. The crafts on display were of good quality. She soon found carved worry-beads that would amuse her father and a small, exquisitely embroidered picture perfect for her mother. With regret she passed by the displays of pottery and copper pots as too difficult to transport home, but then reached a stall with goods that made her mouth water. She’d read that it was hard to find really good jewellery outside the larger towns in Greece, but the wares on sale here were the real deal and obviously came from the mainland. When enough space cleared to let her get a look, she passed over the striking pendants and earrings way out of her price range and concentrated on trays of small trinkets, one of which caught her eye and said ‘buy me’.
‘Copy of Minoan ornament,’ the man on the stall stated, but in such strongly accented Greek Eleanor barely understood. ‘You like it?’
The tiny crystal bull had a gold loop on its back; perfect to attach to her charm bracelet. She liked it a lot.
‘How much?’ she asked, but when he mentioned the sum she shook her head regretfully, which prompted an unintelligible spiel from him on the virtues of the charm. The man only broke off when space was made for someone who addressed Eleanor in Greek to ask if she needed help with the problem. Her most immediate problem, due to the sudden sight and scent of Alexei Drakos at such close quarters, was trying to muster enough breath and vocabulary to answer.
‘I don’t speak enough Greek to bargain,’ she said at last in English.
‘Ah, I see. Allow me.’ He began a rapid exchange with the stall holder and turned to Eleanor with a smile that rocked her on her heels as he named a price just within her budget.
‘Thank you so much!’ She hastily counted out money to hand over before the stall holder could change his mind, and tried to concentrate as the man said a lot more she couldn’t understand. Standing so close to Alexei Drakos was scrambling her brain!
‘He will attach it to your bracelet if you leave it with him for a while,’ he translated for her, the hint of attractive accent adding to her problem.
‘Thank you.’ Eleanor unfastened the heavy gold chain from her wrist and handed it to the vendor, pointing to a link near the lock.
‘I told him to bring it to you later,’ said Alexei. ‘Do you have a table?’
Eleanor nodded dumbly, certain by now he thought she was a total idiot.
‘Alexei mou, I heard you speaking English,’ said his mother, hurrying to join them. ‘Won’t you introduce me?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve only just met the lady myself.’
‘Then I will make the introductions. I am Talia Kazan, and this is my son, Alexei Drakos.’ Her accent was equally fascinating, but more pronounced than her son’s, the words spoken with friendly warmth that unlocked Eleanor’s tongue.
‘Eleanor Markham,’ she said, smiling. ‘How do you do?’
‘Delighted to meet you. Are you here with friends?’
‘No, I’m travelling alone.’
‘Then would you care to join me for a drink?’ said Talia.
Would she! Eleanor beamed. ‘I’d love to. Perhaps you’d come over to my table.’
‘I’ll send someone,’ said Alexei, and went off to speak to a waiter.
Talia gave Eleanor the smile that had made her famous. ‘I am so glad of some company. Alex is very busy today.’ When they reached the table, to the intense interest of people sitting nearby, she sat down with a sigh of pleasure. ‘Are you just here for the day at the festival, or are you staying on Karpyros?’
Eleanor explained about her assignment.
Talia’s violet eyes were instantly guarded. ‘You are a journalist.’
Eleanor met the look steadily. ‘Yes. But I’m not a gossip columnist. I work in features, mainly on travel, so I won’t capitalise on meeting the famous Talia Kazan.’
The slender shoulders shrugged. ‘It is a very long time since I was famous.’
‘Yet you’ve hardly changed at all.’ Eleanor spoke with such obvious sincerity the beautiful eyes warmed.
‘How kind of you to say so. You are here to write about the festival?’
Eleanor nodded, hoping she didn’t look guilty. Bad move to reveal that an interview with Alexei Drakos was her main objective.
‘I have not been here for the festival for a while,’ Talia told her. ‘But Alex always leaves his calendar clear for it, so I came on impulse to surprise him.’
‘He must have been delighted!’
‘Fortunately, he seemed to be. Not every man welcomes a surprise visit from his mother.’ Talia smiled up at the youth setting down glasses, bottles of mineral water and fruit juice. ‘Efcharisto, Yannis.’ She eyed Eleanor with gratifying interest. ‘So, tell me about your assignment.’