Almost. If he were a fanciful man. Which he wasn’t.
KATHERINE PLACED HER pen on the table and leaned back in her chair. She picked up her glass of water, took a long sip and grimaced. It was tepid. Although she’d only poured it a short while ago, the ice cubes had already melted in the relentless midday Greek sun.
As it had done throughout the morning, her gaze drifted to the bay almost immediately below her veranda. The man was back. Over the last few evenings he’d come down to the little bay around five and stayed there, working on his boat until the sun began to set. He always worked with intense concentration, scraping away paint and sanding, stopping every so often to step back and evaluate his progress. But today, Saturday, he’d been there since early morning.
He was wearing jeans rolled up above his ankles and a white T-shirt that emphasised his golden skin, broad shoulders and well-developed biceps. She couldn’t make out the colour of his eyes, but he had dark hair, curling on his forehead and slightly over his neckline. Despite what he was wearing, she couldn’t help thinking of a Greek warrior—although there was nothing but gentleness in the way he treated his boat.
Who was he? she wondered idly. If her friend Sally were here she would have found out everything about him, down to his star sign. Unfortunately Katherine wasn’t as gorgeous as Sally, to whom men responded like flies around a honey pot and who had always had some man on the go—at least until she’d met Tom. Now, insanely happily married to him, her friend had made it her mission in life to find someone for Katherine. So far her efforts had been in vain. Katherine had had her share of romances—well, two apart from Ben—but the only fizz in those had been when they’d fizzled out, and she’d given up on finding Mr Right a long time ago. Besides, men like the one she was watching were always attached to some beautiful woman.
He must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced up and looked directly at her. She scraped her chair back a little so that it was in the shadows, hoping that the dark glasses she was wearing meant he couldn’t be sure she had been staring at him.
Not that she was at all interested in him, she told herself. It was just that he was a diversion from the work she was doing on her thesis—albeit a very pleasing-to-the-eye diversion.
Everything about Greece was a feast for the senses. It was exactly as her mother had described it—blindingly white beaches, grey-green mountains and a translucent sea that changed colour depending on the tide and the time of day. She could fully grasp, now, why her mother had spoken of the country of her birth so often and with such longing.
Katherine’s heart squeezed. Was it already four weeks since Mum had died? It felt like only yesterday. The month had passed in a haze of grief and Katherine had worked even longer hours in an attempt to keep herself from thinking too much, until Tim, her boss, had pulled her aside and told her gently, but firmly, that she needed to take time off—especially as she hadn’t had a holiday in years. Although she’d protested, he’d dug his heels in. Six weeks, he’d told her, and if he saw her in the office during that time, he’d call Security. One look at his face had told her he meant it.
Then when a work colleague had told her that the Greek parents of a friend of hers were going to America for the birth of their first grandchild and needed someone to stay in their home while they were away—someone who would care for their cherished cat and water the garden—Katherine knew it was serendipity; her thesis had been put to one side when Mum had been ill, and despite what Tim said about taking a complete rest, this would be the perfect time to finish it.
It would also be a chance to fulfil the promise she’d made to her mother.
The little whitewashed house was built on the edge of the village, tucked against the side of a mountain. It had a tiny open-plan kitchen and sitting room, with stone steps hewn out of the rock snaking up to the south-facing balcony that overlooked the bay. The main bedroom was downstairs, its door leading onto a small terrace that, in turn, led directly onto the beach. The garden was filled with pomegranate, fig and ancient, gnarled olive trees that provided much-needed shade. Masses of red bougainvillea, jasmine and honeysuckle clung to the wall, scenting the air.
The cat, Hercules, was no problem to look after. Most of the time he lay sunbathing on the patio and all she had to do was make sure he had plenty of water and feed him. She’d developed a fondness for him and he for her. He’d taken to sleeping on her bed and while she knew it was a habit she shouldn’t encourage, there was something comforting about the sound of his purring and the warmth of his body curled up next to hers. And with that thought, her gaze strayed once more to the man working on the boat.
He’d resumed his paint scraping. He had to be hot down there where there was no shade. She wondered about offering him a drink. It would be the neighbourly, the polite thing to do. But she wasn’t here to get to know the neighbours, she was here to see some of her mother’s country and, while keeping her boss happy, to finish her thesis. Habits of a lifetime were too hard to break, though, and four days into her six-week holiday she hadn’t actually seen very much of Greece, apart from a brief visit to the village her mother had lived as a child. Still, there was plenty of time and if she kept up this pace, her thesis would be ready to submit within the month and then she’d take time off to relax and sightsee.
However, the heat was making it difficult to concentrate. She should give herself a break and it wouldn’t take her a moment to fetch him a drink. As it was likely he came from the village, he probably couldn’t speak English very well anyway. That would definitely curtail any attempt to strike up a conversation.
Just as she stood to move towards the kitchen, a little girl, around five or six, appeared from around the corner of the cliff. She was wearing a pair of frayed denim shorts and a bright red T-shirt. Her long, blonde hair, tied up in a ponytail, bobbed as she skipped towards the man. A small spaniel, ears flapping, chased after her, barking excitedly.
‘Baba!’ she cried, squealing with delight, her arms waving like the blades of a windmill.
An unexpected and unwelcome pang of disappointment washed over Katherine. So he was married.
He stopped what he was doing and grinned, his teeth white against his skin.
‘Crystal!’ he said, holding his arms wide for the little girl to jump into them. Katherine could only make out enough of the rest of the conversation to know it was in Greek.
He placed the little girl down as a woman, slim with short blonde hair, loped towards them. This had to be the wife. She was carrying a wicker basket, which she laid on the sand, and said something to the man that made him grin.
The child, the cocker spaniel close on her heels, ran around in circles, her laughter ringing through the still air.
There was something about the small family, their utter enjoyment of each other, the tableau they made, that looked so perfect it made Katherine’s heart contract. This was what family life should be—might have been—but would likely never be. At least, not for her.
Which wasn’t to say that she didn’t love the life she did have. It was interesting, totally absorbing and worthwhile. Public health wasn’t regarded as the sexiest speciality, but in terms of saving lives most other doctors agreed it was public-health doctors and preventive medicine that made the greatest difference. One only had to think about the Broad Street pump, for example. No one had been able to stop the spread of cholera that had raged through London in the 1800s until they’d found its source.
When she next looked up the woman had gone but the detritus of a picnic still remained on the blanket. The man was leaning against a rock, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the child, dwarfed by his size, snuggled into his