Extract from Chapter 1
The Bakers Tale

Having made the last bread delivery of the day, Costa drove back along the coast road in the direction of Laganas beach.
Lost in pleasant and comforting consideration of the forthcoming meal in his favourite Taverna, the baker felt at ease for the first time that day. Memories of merriment and the carefree foolishness of youth, of the moonlight beach outside that taverna, bouzouki music and resinated wine, his first breathless encounter with the dark lustre of a woman's hair, the wonder of her softness and vulnerability. Bewilderment at the ease of every conjured sensation, as she wove her subtle enchantment. The awe of natures eternity in a place where turtles dragged themselves up from the chill of darkness to lay their eggs in warm sand.

Lucky to be born alongside such creatures. To be gifted with a bakers hands, that gave birth to such a pleasurable sustenance, such a smell as bought women running from their houses to buy his bread.
Cursing his lack of concentration; as the van lurched on its aged suspension at a sharp bend in the road. One rusting headlight shed it's anchor of Cellotape and fibreglass, sending an indiscriminate beam of light toward a pile of debris dumped beneath a fig tree.
Beside the mound of discarded bottles, cans and cigarette packets, an abandoned Citron 2CV6, its soft roof left open to the elements of wind and rain.
Costa recognised the car as one belonging to his friend Yanis and so pulled over to see if there was anything he could salvage.
As he approached, the light, intimate laughter of a young woman issued from the vicinity it's rear seat, where amongst items of strewn clothing, a semi naked couple writhed in passionate embrace.
'Sorry I thought car was empty.'�
Costa's apology summoned the appearance of a face, sufficiently familiar for him to stare in momentary disbelief. A moment of time in which; bought about by the passing of time, common recognition collided with an inverse corruption of uncommon values.
And as time would have it, Peters notoriety was uncommonly confirmed.

Retreating hastily to the refuge of his van, the baker continued his journey, the termination of which
coincided with Sophia's cigarette break, taken that evening on a chair behind the serving counter at Yanis Taverna.
Next to her, Yanis scratched the back of his neck with a pencil kept solely for that purpose above one large hairy ear.
'Are you sure it was English waiter.'� Yanis scratched his neck even more vigorously.
'The English waiter, he work for Demetra?.'� Sophia added, making no effort to disguise her curiosity.
'You know anyone else with hair like goat.'� Costa raised the palms of his hands as if to determine whether the roof was leaking.
'And the woman, she is one who rent car.'� Sophia continued her interrogation with the calm determination of a veteran police detective.
Costa launched himself into a full account of the circumstances in which he'd found the yellow Citron, accompanied by gestures of raised hands and arms that flayed around like the sails of a windmill in a thunderstorm.
Not until she was satisfied that she'd wrung every last shred of evidence from her witness did Sophia allow Costa to sit and eat his meal in peace.

The following day Sophia telephoned her cousin Demetra, to inform him of this trivial event and the role of a young waiter he'd reluctantly employed earlier that year. In turn Demetra made his own enquiries and within a matter of hours, every Greek speaking person within a radius of ten miles had heard the bakers tale.

Had it not been for Mels sudden departure and return the following week, local gossip might have abated within several days.
Now the revived interest in all matters relating to her movements and those of Alexander's centred on Yanis taverna, where Sophia, it's most active purveyor of important and newsworthy matters, waited impatiently for their imminent arrival.

Unaware of the intense interest in her tedious, unfulfilled life, Mel spent the morning contemplating how to make the most of the remaining few weeks on Zakynthos. Filling a tumbler with milk, she sipped the cool liquid before emptying it into the sink. 'Milks off and we're out of juice.'� She held the glass under a trickle of water from a tap secured to the wall by one screw. Then slumping into a chair by the open window she threw her head back to observe a couple walking hand in hand along an upside down beach.
Alexander sat quietly reading a copy of 'Ulysses Found'. The book, a gift from Wendy, had been excluded from his hastily packed luggage for Kefelonia.
'Were you running backwards this morning.'� She sat teasing hair, now striped with horizontal shafts of light from the shutters.
'For the half marathon.'� Alexander smiled jubilantly.
'Aren't you likely to bump into something.'�
'I could attach mirrors to a hat, or perhaps a crash helmet.'�
'What's wrong with running forward like everyone else.'�
' A gimmick is essential to successful fund raising. I need something to be identified with.'�
'How about a grizzly bear outfit.'�
'Very uncomfortable.'�
'So you wouldn't feel uncomfortable running backwards in a crash helmet.'�
'Well maybe a cyclists helmet.'�
'Cycling backwards.'�
'Very funny Mel.'�
'It would be an eye catching gimmick.'�
'Yes but even if it were technically possible, I'd be disqualified.'�
'I don't see why.'�
'Because I wouldn't be running.'�
'Oh come on Alex, athletes run, you sort of flop along, gasping for air and drooling over every comfy bench you pass. Anyway why bother, you could just donate a painting.'�
'Not the same really is it.'�
'Not the same without an element of suffering.'�
'Nothing wrong with that if it helps someone, perhaps you should try it yourself sometime.'�
'If your so keen to help, you could come shopping with me this afternoon. I need to buy some underwear and make up.'�
Thanks Mel but I'd like to finish reading this book.
'So you'd rather help anyone but me.'�
'Sartre might have found your obscure perspective, remotely interesting, but frankly Mel I'd rather spend my day perched on a sharp spike.'�
Alex tossed his wallet onto the kitchen table then picked up the book and continued to read.

Later that afternoon and ten kilometres to the east, Peter sat uncomfortably beneath a fig tree, peeling potatoes into a plastic bin.
The only erect feature on this dusty patch of dirt, a tree that cast its shadow like a compass needle towards Kiliomeno. In its shade Chickens pecked at the remains of their breakfast, scattering as Mel entered the yard.
'Not good timing'� He whispered through clenched teeth. 'Can you come back after after two.'�
'Only if you kiss my arse.'� Mel opened a packet of one hundreds, placing one between her lips.
'Thanks for the enthusiastic welcome.'�
She turned her back to him, before lighting the cigarette.
'OK, sorry, but I'd be in the shit without a job.'� Peter attempted to gain a little sympathy.

His friend Niko had warned him about their bosses disapproval of his affair with the married English woman, and that he'd already advertised for a replacement.

'See what I can do.'� Mel, retraced her footsteps across the yard, stopping briefly to glance at the tanned Englishman clutching a half peeled potato.
Deeply unsympathetic she drove back to the apartment where Alexander had fallen to sleep in a chair by the kitchen table, on his lap the opened book.

Mel walked slowly to the fridge, opening the door she stood for a moment bathing her legs in the cool down draft. Then taking a tray of ice cubes, she emptied them into the sink.
Awoken by the resounding clatter Alex dropped his book, casting Mel a disparaging glare while bending forward to retrieve the crumpled pages.
'Really Mel.'�
'Really what'� She wiped an ice cube slowly across her neck and shoulders.
'Really would be great to have a bit of peace and quiet while I'm reading.'�
'Sorry dear, I thought you were asleep.'� Mel slumped into the chair beside him.
'Anyway won't disturb you again today, I've been invited to a lingerie party.'� She added a pained expression for good measure. 'Pretty boring but it's a sale, so would you mind having supper on your own.'�

'Sure.'� Alexander agreed without hesitation. 'I'd like to finish this tonight.'� He held up the book. 'Fascinating read, would you like me to keep it for you.'�
'Thanks.'� After a quick glance at the cover Mel lost interest, slipping quietly from the kitchen she returned a few minutes later in her bikini. 'I'm going to crash out on the beach for an hour.'� Her words went unnoticed by Alexander, asleep after another abortive attempt to read the novel.
Mel allowed thirty minutes to pass before setting off again for the meeting with her lover.
Dressed only her blouse, a sarong and sun glasses she stood by the car waiting for Peter, who crossed the road with a thinly disguised reluctance.

After climbing into the passenger seat he pushed back into the sparse upholstery, to expose as little of himself through the small windows.
'Drive back out on to the main road, then turn left up towards Machorado'�
'Towards what'� asked Mel
'It's. Oh just turn left in a minute, I'll show you.'� Peter turned to look through the rear window.
Mel placed her arm on the steering wheel, while taking a cigarette from a packet on the dashboard. 'Something wrong. We could do this some other time if you'd rather be on your own tonight'�
'Sorry. Still a bit tense after work,'� he smiled, eager for her to drive to a safe distance from the taverna.
Then burying himself solidly in the passenger seat, he remained silent until they came to a sharp bend in the road. Withdrawing his head from between his hairy knees, Peter spoke quietly.
'This is the turning'� he pointed to a barren and featureless track that passed between two ancient olive trees. Mel drove the pram up and over the mound of pertinacious volcanic rubble crested with red poppies, to a modern white concrete villa. Reminiscent of a World War two gun emplacement, the solitary two story building overlooked the entire three miles of Laganas beach.

Peter uncoiled himself from the confines of his uncomfortable concealment. Stepping out from the car, he made his way towards an iron gate, crunching gravel beneath worn sandals that creaked in protest. Opening, then securing the heavy metal bolt again, he followed in the suffocating dust and fumes of the car. Walking quickly past a swimming pool empty but for the lizards clinging to its cracked and faded tiles, he climbed a few steps to the front door. Then taking a key from the pocket of his faded denim jeans he unlocked the door and slipped inside the cool marbled hallway. His efforts to pierce the still silence for signs of another presence subdued by Mel's curiosity.
'So who's place is this.'�
'Belongs to a friend,'� Peter took her arm and coaxing her in from the threshold closed the door.
'Any chance of your friend arriving while we're here.'�
'Its OK, he's away for a few weeks.'�
Smiling nervously, Peter wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.
'Your not absolutely sure are you. I can tell when your not sure Peter.'�
'Sure I'm sure.'� He laughed. 'Anyway if he comes back I'll tell him to piss off.'�
Peter guided Mel towards stairs leading up to a landing lit by sunlight from a dozen square glass panels.
'I'd like a drink Peter.'� Mel tugged him back towards her. 'Make me one while I have a shower.'�

She began to unbuttoned her blouse. 'Go on, I'll see you upstairs.'�
Peter watched her remove each item of clothing as she ascended the stairs, then made his way to the dinning room to riffle the contents of its drinks cabinet.
Mel took her time to investigate the contents of all three bedrooms before stepping into the shower.
Standing beneath the trickle of tepid water she remembered the disappointment of her first day at the building site.

Extract from Chapter 2.
The Pink Man

It was this chain of events that bought Alex and Wendy together on the island of Zakynthos
She stood there quite unnoticed for some time, watching him saw the sheet of plywood, his arm moving backwoods and forwards ripping the board along one thick pencil line, sweat mingling with cement dust on the pink skin of his naked back.
"He might know, they usually do, their all related, ask him, go on your quite good at it."
Jane pushed her firmly towards the pink man.
"Meelas angleeka parakalo" She spoke slowly. Alex continued to saw, assuming the incomprehensible babble to be directed at someone else.
"Ehhem, excuse me parakalo."
Alex turned towards the familiar words. "Sorry, were you talking to me."
"It speaks English" Jane bent forward to whisper into Wendy's ear.
"Oh, I though you were a local." her face screwed into the picture of an apology.
"Anyway my names Wendy."
"Jane." said the taller girl suddenly distracted by the sight of Mel's car.
"Oh my God it's a flying dustbin." she shrieked. "Mummy had one in France last year, their amazing."
"Do you live here?" Wendy focused her attention on the pink man.
"Yes of course, can I help you."
"Rent us your car." Jane strode off towards the 2CV.
Look I'm sorry to bother you but we came here to enquire about the beach loungers." Wendy pointed to a dozen cream coloured loungers stacked between the Tamarisk trees.
"We'd like to rent two for a week."
Alex looked at the furniture bought by Spiro for his guests, now covered in a thick layer of dust and dead leaves.
"OK I'll ask" Alex returned to the task of sawing, his detached response rewarded by the girls swift departure. Their white legs kicking up hot sand as they strode off across the beach.

An hour later Wendy returned.
"Hello there." She spoke breathlessly, hands resting upon her knees as she bent forward.
"Sorry to interrupt again, but I forgot to ask if you knew of anyone who needs a driver. I have a full licence and I don't mind doing the shopping. Oh and I don't mind washing them either."
"Thank you I'll bare that in mind" he turned to see her standing quite still, her unruly windswept hair casting a shadow over unblinking eyes that stared back, defying him not to look away again. Her small white, delicate, dolls hands clutching the knees of her slender white legs.

Putting down the saw he took his shirt from the bench and draping it around his neck, began to walk towards the steps that led up to his apartment.
"I'm going in for a glass of chilled orange juice. Would you like one."
He asked, adding quickly. "You can sit over there in the shade if you like, I won't be long."
Wendy continued to stand for a moment, watching him squinting at her, the sun glistening from beads of sweat on his forehead and shoulders. The sound of his words still ringing in her ears.
"tha ithela mia portakalada parakalo. Sorry. Thank you that would be great, I'd love a glass of chilled orange juice."

Mel sat on a corner of the kitchen table, her long torso stretched out after showering away grime from that mornings shopping expedition. The sight of Alex, reminding her that she needed to buy a new deodorant and perhaps some hair conditioner.
"There's a young girl outside who wants to do our shopping." Alex transfixed by the sensuality of her shapely legs, continued to stare at them.
"So is she a girl guide or something" Mel looked suspiciously at him while waiting for some explanation. Then unable to contain her curiosity she walked over to the kitchen window.
"No, I think she just wants to drive your car, she says that she has a full driving licence." He laughed at the sound of his own words.
"Oh fuck off Alex."
She turned to look at him, just as Wendy appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"Hello, can I give you a hand." Wendy smiled at Alex who still clutching his faded khaki shirt, headed for the fridge.
"That's OK I'm just getting the orange juice." He opened the white metal door and taking out a large cardboard carton, placed it down on a worktop by the sink.
Suddenly noticing Mel, Wendy took one step backwards. "Oh I'm sorry, I thought this was just a building site, I didn't realise."
"That's OK, come in." Mel offered her a cigarette from the packet she'd just opened.
"No thanks, I don't." Wendy looked around at the pine cupboards and furniture as she stepped cautiously into the coolness of the kitchen.
"Oh it's very neat." She smiled nervously at Mel. "And you have such a lovely view." She peered through the French windows that overlooked the beach.
"Would you like some ice." Alex turned to see both women walk out onto the balcony.
"No thanks" Replied Wendy her gaze still fixed on Mel, she lifted a hand to brush away the hair that had fallen across one eye.
"Put some ouzo in mine." Mel called over her shoulder, as she fell into a white plastic chair before inviting Wendy to do the same.
"So have you been here before" asked Mel
"First time, have you been here long."
"Really what's it like."
"I've been in worse places." Mel laughed "No really, much worse."
"Have a seat. By the way I'm Mel, Alex's partner" She placed an elbow onto the plastic table, running her fingers like a comb through long damp dark hair. 'And you are.'�
"Oh I'm Wendy, here with my friend Jane at the Delphi next door.


Extract from Chapter 3.
The Rented Car

Looking down at the thin trickle of blood, he lost sight of Wendy among the Tamarisk trees. Keeping her head down to follow old footsteps in the sand she entered the yard and stopping by the 2CV, wiped it's rear window with one hand.
Then giving no indication of what she'd seen, continued towards the front door.
A moment later the sound of Mels voice burst from within.
"High there Wendy, I'm not dressed yet."
As blood flowed from his thumb onto the dust of white wood, keys flew from the kitchen window with a chink onto gravel near Wendy's feet. "Have a nice day, see you this evening." The sound of shutters closing with a bang indicating her desire not to be disturbed again that morning.
Wendy looked down at the pink and grey chips of gravel where large ants scurried back and forth in two straight lines carrying dismembered parts of a beetle.
Picking up the keys she held them at arms length, shaking them vigorously before unlocking the car door. Then placing her small green canvas rucksack on the passenger seat she checked the dashboard like a pilot preparing for take off, firmly gripping the steering wheel as the Citrons engine spluttered into life. Its large thin wheels propelled ungraciously over the rubble strewn yard and out onto a strip of grey tarmac that ran east along the coast.

Mel spent all of that morning on the beach basting her long limbs in oil and turning to cook them evenly before slipping into warm salty water of the Mediterranean.
Returning to the apartment for lunch she found Alex sitting by the kitchen table, one hand in his pocket, thumb wrapped in toilet paper, and in the other a brochure displaying a small map of the island .
"Would you like to go for a drive tomorrow." Alex looked up from the map. "Apparently there are some interesting caves on the north coast."
"Not really into pot holing Alex "
"It's a boat trip, look." He held open the leaflet for her to examine a photograph of three smiling people seated bolt upright in a brightly painted boat.
"So what do you think." He looked approvingly at the leaflet.
"I'm really quite happy on the beach Alex , it's relaxing here and well, It's not a criticism, but take the bike up there and have a look if your feeling restless."

"Right, OK, well I might go tomorrow." He closed the brochure and placing it back on the table picked up a shopping list that Mel had written for Wendy.
"I'll pop down to the village we're nearly out of orange juice."
"Well drive carefully."
"Actually I thought I'd jog along the beach."
"OK well jog carefully, but remind me why did you rent the bike."
"In case we need it."
"Cant you just rent one when we need it."
"I don't think they open on Sundays, its part of their religion."
"Not to rent bikes on Sunday."
"I don't know, do you."
" Do we need to have a motor bike on Sundays."
"Medical emergencies, getting to a doctor or hospital."
"Well lets hope you don't have a medical emergency today as I can't ride a motorbike and your little friend has the car.

Wendy waited for an hour before checking over her shoulder to see if Jake had appeared by the pool. Then driving off with a determined resolve to enjoy the trip, she began to count her blessings.
There would be no obligation to make polite conversation, pretend to show an interest in a convincing and meaningful way, smile till her face ached and worst of all, listen to the usual masculine clichés without laughing, farting or burping.
The trip to Volimes was however not quite the same on her own and by mid afternoon feeling restless she returned to the building site on Laganas beach.

As the Citron shuddered to a halt, Wendy looked out across the beach to where Mel lay sunbathing.
Overwhelmed by an inexplicable feeling of resentment she left the car and made a bee line for her sleeping antagonist.
Mel awoken by the sound of tyres on gravel, peered through sleepy eyes at the sight of Wendy's ungainly countenance.
"I came back early in case you needed the car." she stopped to catch her breath.
"Thanks. Did you have a nice day." Asked Mel, raising herself on one elbow.
"Yes I drove all over the island, there's a fishing village on the north coast near some caves, bit of a tourist trap, but I found this beautiful old town in the mountains. They have craft workshops with weaving looms, some of their stuff is really cheap, I bought this." Wendy patted the colourful woven bag that hung from one shoulder. "And they sell their own honey."
"Very nice, perhaps you could show me how to get there."

Mel applied a chivalrous smile to the young girl who'd disturbed her equilibrium for the second time that day.
"Well if you take the road to Lithakia, then turn off for Machorado."
"Come inside there's a map in the kitchen." Mel draped the towel over her shoulder.
"Nicks gone to the village to do some shopping"
"I could bring him back in the car and - -."
"No he likes to do a bit of jogging everyday, all part of his mid life crisis."
"What about the shopping"
"No really, he thrives in a permanent state of martyrdom."
"I see, can't be much fun for you then."
"I'm not complaining."
Pushing open the sun baked door to a cool interior filled with smells of Maria's cooking, Mel looked back towards Wendy as she hesitated on the threshold.
"Look really I'd feel much better, I mean if I hadn't used the car."
"He could have used his motorbike."
"He has a motorbike."
"I told you he's a martyr." Mel left the door open for Wendy to follow.

Entering the kitchen she took a carton of orange from the fridge, and placing it beside a litre bottle of ouzo, reached up into a cupboard for two glasses.
Then filling both with the clear Greek spirit, she looked expectantly at Wendy.
"Fine I like Ouzo."
"With or without orange."
"Yes OK I'll try it with some orange thanks."
Mel took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her blouse, placing them beside the map left by Alex.
"So show me honey bag town."
Wendy turned the map towards them, pointing to an area beneath the icon of a church.
"Volimes, is just here in the mountains to the north of Katastari."
"How long to drive there." asked Mel.
" About an hour from Zakynthos Town. I stopped on the way back at the blue caves, just here to ask about the boat tour. An old couple who'd just returned from one said there were nowt there, nowt at all except a few caves wi nowt in them."
"Alex plans to go up there on his bike tomorrow so perhaps you should warn him."
"He might like it though."
"Yes, and if he doesn't it'll give him something else to moan about." Mel returned to the fridge. "Would you like some ice."
Wendy followed her.
"So what's Alex's little factory."
"His own words. In fact he calls it the sausage factory." Mel offered the bowl of ice to Wendy.
'Sausage factory.'�
"It's a print workshop."
"Oh. What sort of prints."
" Landscape etchings."
'Does he print artists originals.'�
'He doesn't print anything, that's my job.'�
"So what does he do."
'He's the artist.'�
'Really. He gave me the impression that he doesn't like artists.'�
'Absolutely. He says that most are self seeking, pretentious, primadonas.'�
'Doesn't include himself then.'�
'Self denial, thinks of himself as a builder.'�
'So why doesn't he do that.'�
'He did actually. In fact he got involved with printmaking while building a studio for a friend.'�
'And then he suddenly became a landscape artist.'�
'No he'd already been to art school. Hated it so much that he left and retrained as a carpenter.'�
'So what changed his mind.'�
'His friend, another printmaker persuaded him. Got him to build a studio in exchange for a few lessons. I think the guy ripped Alex off actually. Maybe that's what made him so determined to succeed.'�
"How long have you known him."
" I met Alex at a party, just after his first one man show at the Battersea Arts Centre.'�
'What did you think of his work.'�
'I was more impressed with the church he'd converted into a studio. It had a stained glass window in the bedroom and this cute bathroom you could sit in all day.
After I'd slept with him he said that I should use his studio as a base, 'Just come and go as you please.' What I really admired about him was that he really meant it. Of course I didn't know about his obsessions then."
Mel knocked back her glass of ouzo, instantly refilling it again.
'Help yourself she pushed the bottle across to Wendy.'�
'Thanks I might have another one in minute.'�

'So did Jane come with you today'� asked Mel taking an ice cube from the bowl.
'No, she had a date.'�
'Oh that's a shame, still no arguments about where to go today.'�
'Yes I shouldn't complain, it's been great to just to drive around and see everything.'�
'What's your room like.'�
'It's OK, not like this of course. At the back overlooking the road, and very noisy at night, you know the disco and people shouting outside and in the corridors.'�
'OK if you like Disco's'�
'I don't, but Jane does, the hotel wasn't my first choice, she insisted on it. We'd agreed originally to do go out to a different place every evening for a meal.'�

Alex appeared in the doorway, having caught the end of their conversation as he entered.
'Someone mention a meal, I'm starving'� He filled a mug with water from the sink.
'Wendy's been telling me about her trip in the car today'�
'Find anything interesting.'�
'Yes I was just saying to Mel that Volimes is worth a visit.'�
'What's there.'�
'Don't think you'd like it Alex, not your sort of place, they make honey and handbags. Anyway if your hungry why don't we walk down to the taverna on the beach.'� Mel lit another cigarette.
'Having been there twice today already, I'm a little reluctant to agree.'� Alex lowered himself wearily into a chair.
'I could drive, if you like.'� Wendy reached up into the cupboard and taking a glass half filled it with Ouzo.
'Thanks Wendy, but we'll probably walk down in an hour or so.'� Alex took the glass from her.
'I'm really not bothered, it's just that you did say you were starving.'� Mel blew smoke nonchalantly into the air.
'But I thought you said.'�
'I didn't say we should stay in every night.'�
'I wasn't suggesting that we should stay in.'�
'Honestly I don't mind driving.'� Wendy looked pleadingly at Alex.

'You'll only have to limp out to the car.'� Mel sprang from her chair. 'I'll see you both outside.'� she disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her with a bang.

Extract from Chapter 4.
A Tangled Web

The next morning Jane returned to her room after spending the night with a young man she'd met while drowning herself in the pool. A few minutes later Wendy called to clear up any misunderstanding about her relationship with Alex and Mel.
"I'm going to their apartment now and I insist that you come with me." Wendy stood with arms folded, determined not to leave without Jane.

The couple arrived just as Mel had settled herself beneath a shady tree, their sudden and unwelcome appearance disturbing her sense of equilibrium yet again.
Inside the apartment Alex had finished work and after taking a shower, walked out onto the beach to find Wendy sitting alone by Mel's beach mat, under the tree.
"They've gone for a drink at the hotel," Wendy lifted a handful of sand, holding it up for the white grains to run through her fingers, counting away silent seconds until Alexander replied.
"Thanks. Could you tell her that I've gone up to the blue caves. I should be back before seven this evening."
"I'm not sure that I'll see Mel again today." Wendy picked up her bag. "Did you say that you were driving up to the caves."
"Not exactly, I'm riding the bike."
"Oh, right. Well I'll see you later." She began to walk in the direction of the beach, then turned back.
"I was thinking about renting a bike, how much are they."
"Five pounds a day from the guy who runs the beach taverna."
"Are they easy to drive, I mean could he show me how to use the gears."
"I'm sure he would."
"Thanks well, see you later." She walked slowly towards the beach, looking over her shoulder after entering the shade of trees, but Alexander had gone.

Meanwhile at the bar in the Oasis, Jane was re-introducing Mel to Peter, with whom she'd spent the previous evening.
The sudden appearance of her boyfriend Spike had caused Jane to flee, leaving Mel and Peter to make the most of each others company.
As is often the case in affairs of the heart, one thing led rapidly to another.
Mel's convincing act of affection was, she assured herself, only to give Spike the impression that Peter had come to meet her, not Jane.
Unfortunately it had been witnessed by none other than Wendy who unseen by Mel, returned to the seclusion of her room where an hour later a knock on her door announced the arrival of Jane.
"You'll never believe what's just happened." Jane announced with uninhibited glee.
"That bloke Peter I met last night has just got off with Mel. Anyway she wants to take me and Spike out with him to a restaurant tonight."
Wendy's bleak response did not deter Jane from continuing.
"So is there any chance that you could go out with Mels bloke for a drink tonight."
"Sorry Jane, could you start again, it sounded for a moment as if you were asking me to date some old guy, so his girlfriend can get off with one of your sleazy mates."
"It's just a drink Wendy, that's all."
"No Jane, I'm not getting involved in your seedy arrangements. I suggest you put it to one of your pool pals, I'm sure they'd all be more than willing to oblige."
"I thought we were friends, if you hadn't chucked me out last night none of this would have happened."
"I didn't chuck you out, you did that to yourself and now your trying to drag me into yet another mess that you've made."
"Oh come on Wendy we're on holiday, you know that's when you can forget all that moral shit and have some fun."
"You didn't have much fun last night did you."
"Well actually I did after leaving here."
"In that case I did you a favour, so I don't owe you one now, do I."
"OK do yourself one then, I know you really want to, it's written all over you."
"Oh don't be ridiculous."
"Well he'll be on his own and so will you. Mel's left him a note and were off in her car soon, so I'll see you tomorrow."
"OK, so what am I supposed to say to him."
"Just tell him that Mel's hooked up with me and a few friends, he'll assume it's just a girlie party."
"So then what."
" Suggest that he takes you for a meal at the taverna on the beach."
"Well I'll tell him that Mel's gone off for a meal with you and some of your friends, but I'm not babysitting him all bloody evening. And I don't fancy him, I really don't know where you got that from."
"Yair whatever. Anyway cheer up, we're only here for a couple of weeks, so make the most of it."
Jane looked back at her friend sitting dismally on the edge of her bed.
"See you later then."
Wendy glanced at her travelling clock. It was just past two pm.
"Try not to get yourself into trouble this time."

After reading the note from Mel, Alexander showered with pleasant thoughts of a meal not chosen by her: for the sake of his culinary education.
Stepping naked into the kitchen, he found Wendy sitting by the table.
"I was heading down to the taverna," She raised her eyes from Alexander's genitals. "and thought you might like to join me."

Alex stubbed a toe on the kitchen door during his hasty exit, returning with a distinct limp and a towel too small to cover his debilitated belly.
"Mel's gone out with Jane. I assumed you'd have been with them."
"Not my sort of thing, really."
"Yes, I see, well thanks for thinking of me, if you can wait for ten minutes I'll put some clothes on."
'I'm not in a hurry'� she smiled as he left the kitchen.
"There's some Ouzo in the fridge, please help yourself."
Alexander called over his shoulder.
"Would you like one."
Now on her feet Wendy peered along the corridor.
"Yes with orange juice if you wouldn't mind."

Coughing over her second glass of neat Ouzo, Wendy laughed as Alexander suddenly reappeared before her,
"Went down the wrong way" She patted her chest, inadvertently drawing his attention to its copious proportions.
"You were quick." she looked inquisitively at his efforts to button a shirt. "Takes me at least an hour to get dressed."
"One of the many advantages of being a man, don't know how you women cope I'd go crazy."
"Cope with what."
"Don't get me wrong, it all looks fabulous, but I couldn't be arsed with all that with dressing up, not to mention the make up and uncomfortable shoes, I'd have to take a pill before even starting."


Extract from Chapter 5.
The Motor Bike

After bumping around the rubble strewn yard, Wendy coaxed Alexander's bike out on to the coast road. Winding back its throttle, the bike jerked then accelerated, disappearing behind its own cloud of dust. Alex ran across the drive expecting to see it's cloud drift away: to reveal Wendy's distorted body laying beside the bent and twisted remains of his motor bike.
Relieved to witness the white mist, barely discernible now as it travelled further inland and up towards the mountain, he returned to the yard and sitting beneath a tree, waited for her to return.
Minutes later the grey cloud: pursuing its frantic nemesis, burst onto the beach like a swarm of angry wasps and began to settle its translucent form over familiar, native layers of pale volcanic ash.
Remaining seated on the throbbing machine Wendy called out to Alex.
"I'm going into town now, would you like me pick up some orange juice."
Mel just awoken, threw open the bedroom window with her own request.
"A tin of coffee please. I'll get some change."
Wendy climbed from the bike, propping it against the wall, before running across the yard and up the short flight of concrete steps.
"Hope last night wasn't too boring for you."
Mel took a deep draw on her cigarette as Wendy entered the kitchen.
"Not at all, he was very entertaining." Wendy threw herself into a chair by the table.
"Yes I suppose he was when I first met him, but once you've heard it all a dozen times, it starts to wear a bit thin."
"So are you thinking of leaving him then."
"Absolutely not." Mel laughed "In fact I'm hoping that he'll propose to me."
"But you don't like him."
"Of course I like him, he's a nice bloke and puts up with all my shit."
"Do you think he knows that you don't love him."
"I care about him enough not to make it obvious."
"So having an affair doesn't count."
"It may be hard for you to believe but he really doesn't mind."
"Yes your right, I do find that hard to believe. Would you mind if he had an affair."
"I'm not sure Wendy. If that's you're real interest then I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Did you really want the coffee."
"Yes nearly out, look." Mel pointed to the jar.
"Did you really want the bike."
"Do you mind."
"About the bike no."
"So you'd prefer it if I didn't see Alex."
"I doubt that it will make any difference, but do yourself a favour." Mel released the blue grey cigarette smoke between lips pressed tightly to her teeth. "He really isn't what your looking for."
"I wasn't looking for anything other than the bike."
"I'm sure you'll have more fun if you just stick to riding that."
Mel took a one thousand Drachma note from her bag.
"So your giving him a Greek lesson today."
"Yes I said I'd meet him at one o'clock outside Yannis taverna."
"Well I'm sure you can teach him more about Greek than he could about anything else. He's just a little boy who needs a nanny rather than a girl friend." She gave Wendy a tired, long suffering smile.
"Choose your words well, he takes everything literally."

Alexander sat for an hour outside Yannis taverna before the familiar sound of his motorbike announced Wendy's arrival.
"Sorry I'm late Alex, I stopped to take some photographs of a poppy field and."
"That's OK I've only just arrived." Smiling, nonchalantly, he offered no excuse.
"Oh right, so would you like me to."
"Yes, just something light and theo bira."
A few minutes later Wendy returned with two beers and a salad.
"I thought we could cover introductions today."
Wendy placed one bottle beside Alexander.
"So my name is, meh-leh-neh and what is your name, would be, Pos-seh-leh-neh"

An hour and three beers later, Alex gave the Honda keys to Yannis, having decided to walk back along the beach.
Wendy continued the lesson, stopping occasionally to pick up shells and shiny, marble pebbles.
"I like you, would be, M' areseis."
"M' areseis." mumbled Alex.
"And you are beautiful would be, Ise omorfi."
"Would that be, and you are beautiful, or just, you are beautiful."
"Oh right that would be just, you are beautiful."
"And what's it in Greek again."
"Ise omorfi."
"Ise omorfi." He repeated. "Handy phrase, I must write that down."
"And even handier, I love you, that's S' agapo."
"S' agapo, S' agapo." Alex grinned "An appropriate comment to a big sweaty mechanic, when your car breaks down."
"Do you love me, would be, M' agapas."
"M' agapas, M' agapas. But only if you pay de bill." Alex laughed at his own joke, ignored by Wendy, now determined not to halt the momentum of her lesson.
"And yes is a simple, neh."
"Neh, that sounds like no to me."
"No is oh-khe."
"Oh-khe, that sounds like OK, are you sure that's right."
Alex offered his hand as they arrived outside his apartment.
"Thanks for the lesson Wendy." He shook her hand vigorously. " Beer is so soporific in this climate." He held his hand up to conceal a yawn.
"See you tomorrow." She smiled, then walking away turned to wave, but he had disappeared into a knot of Tamarisk trees.

Later that evening, awoken by raucous sounds of those around the pool, Wendy quickly dressed and leaving the hotel headed for the beach. Sitting on the soft white sand she looked back to the lights where earlier that day she had tried to impress Alex with her new language skills, while he sat so stubbornly unappreciative, drinking ice cold beer.
Unable to choose between the claustrophobia of her own company and that of others she set off west along the beach towards Yanis taverna.
Walking faster she broke into a run, ignoring the discomfort of sharp stones and brittle driftwood that entered the gaps in her sandals until she stumbled before the white concrete slab where Alexander 's Honda leaned against a wall, now cloaked in shadows.

Extract from Chapter 6.
Kefelonia

Rising early, Mel watched Alexander as he set off towards the village. Clutching the straps of his rucksack, he broke into a run, his bare feet slapping against firm wet sand as he gasped the cool, salty, onshore breeze into lungs that had seen better days.
Mel dressed quickly before leaving the apartment to take a narrow path between dense shrubbery, over a trampled fence and beyond to the quiet, discreet and shady rear entrance of the Oasis hotel.
Leaving the note for Peter at reception, Mel returned by the same covert route to finish packing her two cases.

Unable to decide what clothes to leave behind she took them all, sacrificing a few items that could be purchased the following day.
Slipping her make up into a handbag while she rehearsed her persuasive lines before the bedroom mirror.
'Oh no I've left the shampoo behind. Could we do some shopping Alex.'�
Not too casually, not too pleading, pouting, cajoling, demanding. A subtle, feminine skill that men could never master with all their single minded and applied reasoning.

Their taxi a twenty year old dust grey Mercedes arrived in Aghios Nikolaos just after nine. Parking amidst the tackle and diesel pollution of small fishing boats, the driver prized himself from his battered leather seat 'You catch ferry here.'� Grunting as he wrestled Mel's heavy case from the boot, he returned to his cab and without a parting gesture, drove back along the narrow concrete strip that all but made this meagre harbour.
Carrying their cases back from the waterfront to a taverna, they sat drinking orange juice, watched by fisherman as they repaired nets in the shade of their brightly coloured boats.
Across the bay a single church, the sole survivor of earthquakes that once reduced pastel coloured Venetian buildings to dust and rubble, overgrown with oregano, grazed upon by goats.
'Do you miss sailing.'�
'Why do you ask.'�
'I wonder sometimes if you're thinking about going back to it.'�
'Are you trying to get rid of me.'�
'Not at all. I appreciate that my work's very repetitive, and well, your the sort of person who needs an occasional change of scenery.'�

'Scenery from the print room's not so bad, anyway sailing is pretty repetitive and deckhands are treated like shit.'�
'I thought you'd enjoyed it.'�
'I did sometimes, but all jobs are boring after a you've done everything a twice. So you don't have to worry Alex, I'm not planning to leave you yet.'�
'I've been meaning to ask you something.'�
The scream of rusting anchor chains interrupted their conversation.
Leaving the coffee unfinished, Alexander strapped on his rucksack and taking a suitcase in either hand set off to join the queue for the ferry, now drawing alongside.
Mel followed leisurely behind, amused by Alexander's efforts to disguise his discomfort as he laboured toward the concrete jetty.

Later that day at their apartment in the little fishing village of Assos, Mel reflected on the crossing.
' You needn't have taken those travel sickness pills.'�
'I've never needed them.'�
'So why bother.'�
'I wasn't bothered, just an excuse to go for a jog.'�
'You need an excuse to jog.'�
'Better to be safe than sorry.'�
'An excuse to be safe or sorry.'�
'No, to buy the travel sickness pills Mel.'�
'So did you take one.'�
'Only as a precaution.'�
'They'll give you a heart attack Alex.'�
'You think so.'� He placed a hand on his chest. 'I bought them at the pharmacy.'�
'No, I meant your precautions, but don't worry you haven't got one.'�
'I haven't got one what.'�
'A heart Alex.'�
'Right, well that's some consolation.'�
He opened the access door to a secluded patio where two reclining chairs, an ornate cast aluminium table and potted plants, where strategically placed to break the uncompromising symmetry of a parapet wall.
'What do you think of this place.'�
'Nice contrast to the building site.'�
'You don't find it a bit claustrophobic.'�
'It's got a kitchen, bathroom and a patio for sunbathing. What else do we need.'�
Alexander looked over the low wall and across a narrow street to the Mesethes, a cocktail bar echoing with sounds of homogenised bouzouki music and the hum of conversation from discerning tourists not found within spitting distance of the Oasis Hotel.
Conversation mostly concerning details of mortgage loans, between members of an undefinable class who although employed would never admit to be working. Their vernacular derived from the Guardian's entertainments page, a clichéd narrative relating to their superficial lifestyles financed by credit cards.
A language of cutting edge technological twiddle-twaddle, business babble, marketing mumbo jumbo and any whimsical, waffle, humbug, gibberish jargon that flowed with the coolness of a mountain stream from the silken tongues of commercial enterprise consultants.
A bourgeois challenge to the foundations of Alexander's world, where interest regenerated itself through creative slight of hand rather than a sustainable rise in house prices.

'Well I hope that place isn't going to be open all night.'� Alexander shuddered.
Mel sat on a corner of the bed watching him make his disdainful observations while contemplating a few of her own.
'I'm hungry Alexander can we get something to eat.'� She pulled a brochure from the side pocket of her suitcase. 'There's somewhere I'd like to try, it's highly recommended in the rough guide.'�
'No food tonight then just perfectly inedible cuisine.'� Muttered Alexander, his face distorted into the imagined facsimile of a popular television food critic.
'Sorry, what did you say.'�
'I said you have a nose for perfectly delightful cuisine.'�
'Thank you Alexander it's nice to be appreciated.'�
'Is it, I wouldn't know.'�
'You'll have to speak up Alex.'�
'I said your welcome.'�
Mel walked to the patio door and leaning against its frame pulled back her hair into a pony tail. 'Are you OK Alexander.'�
She took a band from the pocket of her skirt, deftly slipping it over the bunched hair.
'Why, do I look ill.'� he focused on a reflection of himself in the glass door.
'No, just preoccupied Alexander. Is there something on your mind.'�
'Obviously not enough.'� He sat uneasily on a folding metal chair backed up to the parapet.
'If I seem preoccupied it's because I'm trying to think of something with which to occupy myself.'�
'Have you finished your book.'�
'I don't find reading helps, you know, I like to do things with my hands.'�
'Would you like to go for a walk.'�
'Not on my hands.'�

Extract from Chapter 7.
The Cocktail Bar

Alexander had been part of an extended education for Mel. One not shared by those who sat outside the Mesethes, clutching tall glasses of toxic coloured liquid topped by tiny paper umbrellas, made in far eastern sweatshops by children with little more than polluted water to drink.
Fanning herself with a menu taken from the Brasserie Laskarina, Mel approached the bar.
"What would you like." Asked the blonde couple in unison, their blue eyes and white teeth flashing with the subtlety of a pyrotechnical display.
"Just a drink for now." Mel wedged the hand written menu between two empty glasses before seating herself with practised ease onto a tall chromium stool.
Gesturing towards a blackboard displaying an extensive list of cocktails from Singapore Sling to Pink Pussy, Paul, the barman, owner and one time professional football player, turned to his partner Haley. "Can you suggest something honey."
" How about a Sea Breeze." She purred, fixing Mel with her solicitous smile. "It might cool you down."
" What's in it." Mel took the pack of one hundreds from her bag.
"Two parts Vodka, three parts cranberry juice, three parts grapefruit juice, lime wedge and ice."
"Well it won't knock me out." She lit her cigarette from a book of matches, placing the spent stick into a coconut ashtray. "But don't bother with the umbrella."
"You're concerned about the dye."
"No I'm concerned about poking my eye out, and what are they for anyway, keeping the flies off."
"Stops the ice melting." Haley's smile turned to one of sanctimonious revenge. "How long are you here for."
"Not much longer, my boyfriends the restless type, needs the challenge of new horizons."
"Oh you're sailing."
"Not since I met him. He likes hiking."
"So do you have to go with him."
"Not unless he drags me and my bed behind him." Mel took a deep drag on her cigarette, noticing Haley's dutiful working grimace change to a more relaxed and natural grin.
"So where are you staying."
"Right opposite. Got a good view straight in through your window."

Meanwhile at their apartment, Alexander unwrapped the new shirt, a gift presented by Wendy two days before they'd left for Kefelonia.
Ruffling the cuffs and collar to disguise its starched, brand newness, Alex rolled up the sleeves after discounting the idea of cutting them off.
Arriving at the Mesethes to find Mel chatting with the ex shorthand typist from Bromley South, he produced a zipped wallet that wouldn't have looked out of place in any ladies handbag.
"Er, Can I get you a drink." He took a limp thousand Drachma note from the wallet.
"I'm OK Alex." Mel held up the tall glass complete with umbrella, considered by Alex to be passports for the intellectually disinherited.
Haley's eyes rested upon the familiar sight of his shirt, coincidentally a facsimile of one her father often wore. "Cool shirt."
"Really." Mel peered at Alexander. "Are they back in fashion."
"Course they are." Laughed Haley. "Where did you buy it."
"Marks and Spencers, I think." Alexander's reply initiated a fearsome observation from Mel, who's previous lack of interest in Alexander's appearance, had guaranteed the anonymity of Wendy's present.
"Something like that would suite you."
Mel pointed to Paul's white cotton polo. "I'll burn that shirt when we get home." She mimed her silent message to Haley.
"Gin and tonic with ice and lemon please." Alexander waved the note in Paul's direction.
"Oh come on Alexander." Mel tugged the limp note from his hand "Let me choose something more adventurous for you."
"Maybe later." he smiled nervously. "I'll just stick to a gin and tonic for now."
"What's the matter, don't you trust me."
"I'd rather not drink too much tonight, I'm walking to Patrikatar in the morning."
"Maybe tomorrow night then."
"Well actually, I was hoping that we could go back to Zante on Wednesday.
"Oh Alex, please, it's so nice here."
"Sorry Mel, but to be honest with you I'm bored. There's a boat from Pessada at ten am."

The following morning as Alexander prepared to set off for his walk, Mel propped herself up in bed.
"Would you like me to come with you Alex."
"Not really your cup of tea Mel. I'm hiking to an archaeological site, bronze age to be precise."
"I don't mind keeping you company. We need to spend some time together Alex."
"I'll be fine Mel, really I've acquired a taste for solitude over the past few years. Goes with the job, you know, sketching in damp misty fields of distant counties."

Mel looked curiously through sleepy eyes as Alexander laced up his walking boots.
Reluctantly ejecting herself from the comfort of her bed, she limped towards the bathroom.
"Make a pot of coffee, while I have a shower."
Alexander clicked his heels, saluting behind her back in Nazi fashion, then dutifully shuffled off, muttering to himself, "The Führer's orders." while waiting for the kettle to boil.

Progress to the site was painfully slow as Mel's suitcase of shoes had not contained a single pair suitable for walking on any surface more demanding than quarry tiles.
The dreariness of her discomfort only relieved by Alexander's excuses for the lack of anything remotely archaeological.
"It's quite possible that some diligent pen pusher has ordered it to be filled it in." He looked around, studying the terrain from one horizon to the other. "And couldn't be bothered to inform anyone."
"You think he might have filled it in himself, secretly, at the dead of night."
"Anything's possible I suppose."
"Possible I suppose that he fell down the hole and buried himself." Mel laughed.
"A silver lining to every cloud Mel."
"Tell that to my feet." Mel limped back in the direction from which they had come, remembering past readings of Greek literature to compare her own suffering with the fate of Penelope. Who, she concluded, would have wasted no time in marrying the first suitor if she'd undergone such hardship while awaiting Ulysses.

Extract from Chapter 8.
Back on the Beach

'Theo bira parakalo.'� Wendy fumbled inside her bag before producing a limp five hundred drachma note. A voice behind her announcing the arrival of Alexander.
'Hi.'� Alex removed his sun glasses, squinting from the doorway into the darkened interior. 'Thought I saw you outside a few minutes ago.'�
'I came in to get you a beer.'� she took two bottles from the counter.
'Ooh nice and cold.'� She smiled.
'Had a feeling you'd come today.'�
'Oh, why was that.'�
'An educated guess, women's intuition, a strong feeling, whatever, I don't know. Anyway I was right, your here.'�
"I'm impressed."
"So when did you get back."
"Last night, I'd suggested coming down here, but Mel was too tired."
"So where is she."
'Gone to a.'� Alexander hesitated. 'She's gone to a sale.'�
'Really, well that's nice.'� Wendy took a packet of tissues from her bag. 'I go home on Thursday, that's only three and a half days.'� She blew her nose 'Any chance that you could pursued Mel to let me have the car tomorrow.'�
'No but I've got a better idea.'� He placed his glass on the table. 'Be back in a minute.'�
Visible through the open kitchen door Yanis tossed a cigarette but at a stray dog in the yard.
Then picking up the tray of small dishes he shuffled slowly out to the glass counter where Sophia stood alert with the primed ears of a fruit bat.
'Hello Mr Alexander, you want drink.'�
'No, actually I came in to ask if you had a car to rent.'�
'You want rent car. Is problem with Citron.'�
'Not at all, the car's for Wendy, it's her last few days and she'd like to drive around the island tomorrow.'�
'Only have Suzuki Jeep, very small, no top.'�
'I'm sure that will be OK.'�
'Eat first, then we do.'� Yanis took the tray of metzer outside, placing it on the table he apologised to Wendy.
'Sad you leave soon, but only I have Suzuki Jeep.'�
'You have a Jeep, oh brilliant, what time can I pick it up.'�
'I have for you in the morning.'� He smiled in the knowledge that a Jeep offered no more horizontal Wendy returned his smile, waiting for him to leave before thanking Alexander.
'Alex you've been so kind, please let me take you somewhere tomorrow.'�
'You don't have to, really it's the least I can do.'�
'Please, I could drive you up to Volimes, you didn't see much of it last time. There's the workshops, and I could teach you some more Greek on the way there. Oh and there's a fantastic view I could show you on the way back.'�
'OK I give in, its a deal.'� Alexander offered his hand.

Reassured, she contemplated the consolidation of her conquest while listening to tortured lyrics that issued from Yanis antique Bakelite radio.
'I love Rembetika, it's so uniquely Greek like resinated wine and little white churches.'�
She turned her sorrowful eyes towards the sea.
'Sounds pretty wretched. I'd guess it must be a Greek version of the blues.'�
'Yes it's about the unfairness of life and unrequited love.'�
'Same old song then.'� he shook his head.
'Isn't that a little cynical Alex.'�
'It's compulsory when you get to my age.'� busied himself with a bowl fried squid.
'My dad doesn't think so and he's much older than you.'�
'That's a comfort, perhaps it goes into reverse at some point.'�
'Your still upset about her aren't you.'�
'Not unduly. I'd rather she did it here than at home, on our own doorstep.'�
'So you're more concerned about the neighbours.'�
'Yes, it may sound trite, but there's a lot to said for discretion when it comes to those who live within earshot.'�
"So what are you going to do about her.'�
'As I've said before, it's not that simple.'�
Wendy laughed. "I'm sorry Alex but how complicated is it to say piss off."
"In affairs of the heart ration does not apply."
'It does with most rational people, unless of coarse they need a fat excuse to hide behind.'�
Wendy smiled and having successfully made her point, decided to change the subject.

'On a more agreeable note, if you'll excuse the pun, the song playing on the radio is called Saltadoros, Have you heard it before.'�
' Seems vaguely familiar.'�
'It's about stealing petrol cans from German vehicles during the war'�
'Oh not about unrequited love then,'�
'I thought that you might want to change the subject.'�
A cool onshore breeze blew the fragrance of musk and coconut oil from her unkempt locks as she lent forward to pick up the Alex's empty bottle.
"Come on Alexander cheer up." She smiled.
Alexander watched her walk towards the glass counter, his resolve beginning to crumble at the sight of Wendy's sparkling eyes and swaying hips as she returned.
Handing him a beer she raised another. 'Yamas.'�
'Yamas. Whatever that means.'� Alexander drank from his.
'Actually the ya is an abbreviation of eyeia which means health and mas is our. So our health.'�
Actually that would be 'health our ' which makes absolutely no sense, but as alcohol is involved, I don't suppose anyone cares.'�
"I could explain the grammar if you like."
'I'm afraid my enthusiasm to learn Greek doesn't stretch that far, but I admire yours. You've obviously been working very hard at it for the past week.'�
'Yes Mel's friend Peter has been quite helpful with pronunciation. Also he's told me a few interesting things about Greek music and Rembetika.'�
'And what else did he tell you.'�
'What about Rembetika, or Mel.'�
'Come on Wendy.'�
'Oh sorry, right OK. Rembetika began as underground music in prisons, Tekedes, that's like a hashish café, and bars along the Turkish Coast, much like the blues in New Orleans and roughly the same period. When we arrived they were playing Otan Kapnizi O Loulas, which means when you smoke the loulas. The loulas is a still for making Ouzo.'�
'Very interesting, so what did he say about Mel.'�

Extract from Chapter 9.
Volimes

Arriving at three pm, Wendy parked the Jeep amongst a collection of smouldering vehicles in Volimes Town centre. Surrounded by ornamental acacias, the square's only compromise with it's otherwise brittle defacement of nature, offered little solace to the heat of an unrelenting sun.

Adjusting her sunglasses she glanced over the rims and smiled.
"You must see the silversmiths, they make wonderful enamelled jewellery boxes. I thought I'd buy one for Mel as a going away present." She fumbled with the ignition keys before placing them in her shoulder bag, then with one eye on Alex; stepped cautiously from the car.
'It's not far from here and right next to a nice coffee shop.'� She added quickly.
'Yes I could do with a coffee.'� Alex resigned himself to an afternoon of shopping, and
having thoroughly checked the contents of his pockets, ejected himself from the comfort of his seat, to trail sheepishly behind her.
His eyes firmly fixed on softness of her neck and shoulders, Alex failed to notice
the devious route she'd chosen in order to avoid the café where they'd previously sat.

The silversmiths resided uncomfortably next to a café, where a number of locals sat watching; for their own entertainment, the unaccountable exuberance of passing tourists.
Opposite, a shop selling hand woven items of colourful clothing, recently acquired by Armandria, a young art student from Athens. Having recently tired of his ambitions to develop a chain of Greek textile boutiques, he now hid behind clothed mannequins, taking photographs of those who mocked his clientèle.

From the narrow pavement outside, Wendy directed Alex's attention to the window display, where an enamelled chicken took pride of place amongst less elaborately ornamented objet d'art.
"It's different." Alex had to admit.
"Reminds me of Mel." She grinned
"Can't see it myself." Alex shook his head.
"Well you wouldn't, it's one of those intuitively feminine things."
Wendy gave him a devastatingly superior look, empowered by her exclusively feminine intuition.

Later that afternoon after a thorough and exhausting investigation of every nook and cranny in that place of cultural conservation, they sat drinking coffee while listening to the rendition of a solitary bouzouki player.
"Have you come for the music festival." A small voice distracted Wendy's attention.
"Music festival." She looked over her shoulder to a neighbouring table, where a group of elderly women waited patiently for her response.
"Is there going to be a festival."
"Yes here in the square this evening."
Beatrice, their unelected spokeswoman, raised one arm to wave across the square, only to slump back into her chair.
Seconds later she disappeared below the table, followed by several of her companions.
'Are you all right Beatrice.'�
'Give me your hand.'�
'Oh dear, I think she's passed out again.'�
'Shall I call for an ambulance.'�
'They don't have any here.'�
'Surely they must have at least one or two.'�
'How about a taxi.'�
'They only go to the airport. I hardly think she'd want to go to the airport.'�
'I'm only trying to help, perhaps it's the heat.'�
'Try removing her cardigan. I said she shouldn't wear a cardigan at this time of day.'�
'Perhaps it's the wine.'�
'I said she shouldn't drink wine at this time of day.'�

'Thank you. Another glass of Chardonnay would be very welcome.'�
Beatrice's sudden revival cast a spell that pursed lips and fluttered eyelids like the wings of moths.
"It would be a shame to miss the festival."
Wendy broke their embarrassed silence.
"What time does it finish. I'm not keen to drive back in the dark."
Alex moved uncomfortably on his chair, checking the contents of his pockets several times, in preparation for a swift exit.

"It goes on until past midnight."
"Yes but its worth staying up for, the dancers dress in such beautiful costumes."
"They make them here and weave the cloth you know."
"Yes it's quite unique you shouldn't miss it."
"No it's all very authentic, even the musical instruments are antique."

"I don't mind driving back in the dark Alex, really."
"But you won't be able to drink, not even a glass of wine."

"There are some very nice places to stay here."
"Would it be possible to stay Alex. I'd like to stay, it is my last evening."
"Oh if it's your last evening here you must stay, there's nothing like it.'�
'Yes you must stay. Our hotel has spare rooms, it's very reasonable and they do a very nice breakfast.'�
'Would you mind Alex I'd just like to have a look, please.'�
'Yes come back with us and have a look, we're leaving in a few minutes.'�
" You could book a room I'm sure there wouldn't be a problem, they're very nice people."
"Yes that's what they say, No Problem."

"So could we just have a quick look Alex. If you don't like it I promise that I'll drive back before dark."
Having no intention of either fulfilling her promise or driving back that evening, Wendy smiled innocently, her large eyes engulfing his while the group of women gripped their handbags with tense anticipation.
'Yes of course.'� He sighed, smiling with his best mustered sincerity.
The ladies delighted to have assisted Wendy in her campaign of persuasion continued to sing the praises of their hotel owners, all the way to its front door.
Dmitri was as they said, a very nice man who insisted on leaving Alex and Wendy alone to view a very nice double room with a nice balcony that overlooked the exceptionally pretty square.
Ushering Alex inside Wendy quietly closed the door behind her, directing his attention towards a king sized bed that she proceeded to bounce upon as if she had never bounced upon one before. Then flinging open the French windows threw herself into a wicker armchair on the balcony, declaring. 'I have never ever been anywhere so perfect.'�
"Yes it's very nice." Alex reluctantly conceded.
"So we can stay then."
"Yes, I suppose it's the most sensible thing to do." He looked across the square to a group of locals gathering for their evening performance. Dressed in an absurd variety of costumes like the monkeys of an organ grinder in an attempt to entertain tourists drunk on their coarse resinated wine, bloated by their rich food and bitten by their virulent and voracious mosquitoes.

"Yes it was the most sensible thing to do." Thought Alex. The most sensible way to satisfying his encyclopaedic requirements, courtesy of Wendy's own unreasonably obsessive, intuitive common sense.

Extract from Chapter 10.
Two Stick Insects

Bent over an etching plate, Alex scratched a needle through chocolate-coloured wax, revealing the brightness of shiny copper. Thin lines converged to form images of windswept trees and wild grass bent over water. Of timber bleached and bent by sun, its sharp sawn edges removed by salty inshore winds. A landscape to be purchased by Japanese business men, destined to enhance their sterile offices and apartments.

In one corner, shiny, seven by four photographs scattered across the surface of a rough wooden workbench. Tiny reminders of Greece, of geraniums in rusting olive oil containers, of old lace stretched across window frames, where paint peeled in layers to celebrate the passing of time.

At the end of the corridor, the print room where Mel sat mixing inks by the light of a bay window. Occasionally pausing to smoke a cigarette while looking down to the shoreline, at the white sails of dingies as they skipped and darted, like children in a playground.
Across the road, a two tone Citron 2CV sheltered beneath sturdy birch's, from corrosive sea winds and southern sun.
Bought as a memorandum to their recent, amatory ambitions, now a motorised shopping trolley for Mel, that Alex was obliged to use for monotonous journey's to a gallery in Lotts Road, Chelsea.
A dull rout along the M25 and through familiar suburban landscapes, in a vehicle limited to the speed of a district nurse on her bicycle.

Arriving early at the gallery, a converted warehouse of creaking timber and dry rot, ostentatiously fronted with plate glass, Alex waited patiently like a goldfish in a bowl.
Nearby, amidst an awesome collection of affordable art, Charlotte the receptionist swept back her hair with Olympian detachment, to conjure an illusion of subtle sophistication in that mirage of modernism.
A slight of hand performed with the serpentine skills of a ventriloquist, she spoke to Alex without moving her lips.
'James is still on his way back from the airport. Would you like another coffee.'�

Outside a skinny teenager leaned on the plastic handles of a pushchair to peer through eyes caked with mascara. A pale face of tense anticipation, protruding beneath a black leather cap, propped upon her broom handle body like a scarecrow designed to intimidate predatory males.
Her infant struggled to free itself as she opened the glass door, dragging the pushchair in behind her.
Charlotte slid from her stool, prepared if necessary to bring down the unwanted youth in a rugby tackle. An ungainly confrontation between two determined stick insects.
'Can I help you.'� Charlotte's impassive gaze locked upon her target.
'I'm supposed to be meeting someone here,'� The skinny girl barked, shrinking behind her infants pushchair to avoid the consequences of their intrusion.
'And who might that be.'� Charlotte smiled.
'Alexander Bolshoi.'� she brandished the name like a weapon of mass destruction.
Charlotte turned to Alex, now already on his feet and approaching with thinly disguised discomfort.
'Maria?'� He asked.
'Oh. - - - Are you Alex '�
'I wasn't expecting you for a least an hour.'�
'Got a lift from a friend, she works around the corner, so I thought.'�
'Sure. Anyway I have to do some business here first. There's a pub at the end of the road.'� Alex fumbled nervously with his wallet. Finally holding out a ten pound note like a flag of truce, his face a picture of painful uncertainty.
'I'll meet you there in about half an hour.'�
Stuffing the note into a pocket of her leather jacket, she gave him a fretful smile.
'Thanks, see you in a minute then.'�
Alex watched, frozen in his own bewilderment, as she made her rapid exit while avoiding any further eye contact with the receptionist.
'My daughter.'� He coughed on the unexpected lump in his throat, before returning to a comfortable chair in the corner.
'Yes of course.'� Charlotte left to compose herself in the staff toilet, a damp and claustrophobic room, where peeling paint clashed with layers applied by previous tenants.
Returning a few minutes later via the directors office with a message.
'If you'd like to go through, James will see you now.'� She pointed to the red door, a familiarity that Alex had ceased to find irritating after succumbing to the numbness of this tedious monthly routine.

Sporting a jacket ripped at the shoulder, James stood up from his desk to welcome Alex.
'Nice suite, did you buy it in the States.'� Alex peered closely at the tear.
'Unbelievable'� James blushed, adding colour to a face that had not felt the benefit of a razor for thirty six hours.
'I was attacked by a guard dog in customs.'�
'Obviously an intelligent animal.'� Alex sat in a leather button back chair next to James desk.
'Ha, that's what Ethan said'� James maintained his boyish grin. 'By the way he wants to have a chat with you,'�
Picking up a set of keys from the desk he moved towards the open door of an adjoining office.
'Apologise for the rush, but my taxi's waiting, Anyway I'll tell him your here.'�
'It's OK.'� Ethan appeared in the doorway. 'You'd better go. Don't forget the meeting at three, and keep an eye out for those nasty doggies.'�
'Yes Ethan, shouldn't you answer the phone.'� James frayed nerves manifested into an embarrassing twitch of one eyebrow.
Ignoring his concern for the persistent buzz, Ethan accompanied James to the door.
'Good to see you Alex .'� James paused for a moment as he remembered yet another item of business. 'We could do with some more of the watermill. Did you bring any with you?'�
'I'm afraid not.'� replied Alex. 'Problems with the steel facing again.'�
'Well if you could manage fifty within a week or so.'�
'I really will do my best,'� Alex smiled, relieved to have made a sale without trying.
The sound of a car horn prompted James' exit, a fast transition from yet another adrenaline filled meeting, to catch a few minutes of blissful sleep in the back seat of a London taxi.

'Everything all right?'� Ethan eased his charming way into Alex's confidence, disregarding the buzz from his own office.
'Absolutely. Couldn't be better.'� Alex's undermined by his own fretful countenance. 'So what can I do you for Ethan?'�
'James thinks that we should sell more images of London. Frankly I think it's oversubscribed, but apparently, that's what the Americans want.'�
'Your not going to ask me to do the Tower and Big Ben.'� Alex stiffened, his fingers digging into the expensive upholstery.
'Heaven forbid dear boy. No we thought that you might like to do a series of bridges.'�
'Which ones.'� Alex snapped
'James thought you'd prefer to chose. That is if your interested.'�
I'll give it a ponder, if you don't mind. I'm meeting someone this afternoon.'� Alex lifted himself reluctantly from the armchair.
'Fine, but if I don't hear from you within a few days, I might ask Paul.'�
'And you'll tell him that you asked me first.'�
'Of course not. Anyway what is the problem with you pair.'�
'Apart from accusing me of plagiarising his style, nothing really.'�
'Well, hopefully you won't scratch each others eyes out. He owes us some work and we'd appreciate a few new editions from you.'� Ethan swept a mop of hair back with one hand. 'Anyway I'm sure it'll all blow over if you just stop seeing each other for a while.'� He leaned forward to give a reassuring grip on Alex's shoulder. 'Let me know about the bridges.'� Ethan disappeared back into his office to answer the phone.

Alexander made his way into the main gallery, glancing back nervously at the receptionist as he opened the street door.
'Have a nice trip back.'� She gave him a smile that said. 'To shitsville, In your silly little car.'�

Dejected, he walked hands in pockets, past the array of auction rooms and trendy warehouse businesses along Lotts Road to a pub inaptly named 'The End of the World'.
Maria sat huddled over a pint of Guinness puffing nervously on a thinly rolled cigarette. Her infant still in its pushchair, oblivious to the music punctuated by clinking of glasses.
'Hi, sorry I had to leave you back there but.'�
'That's OK, I was early. It's just that my friend works just around the corner.'�
'Yes you said. Are you hungry?'� Alex looked towards the crowded bar, where a tall woman in stilettos waved irritably at bar staff for attention. 'Would you like to go somewhere else.'�
'No I like it here.'� She smiled. 'They do a good pizza.'�
'What sort.'�
'Just cheese, I'm a vegetarian and Delphine could have some.'�
'Does he eat pizza.'�
'He'll eat anything I give him.'�
'Really, is that good or bad.'�
'Easy, its very easy. He's no trouble.'� She brushed the infants cheek with a finger. 'Your no trouble, are you Delphine?'�
'He's very.'� Alex struggled to find an appropriate compliment. 'Bonny.'�
'My mum used to say that. My adopted mum that is, I still think of her as my mum.'�
'Do you see much of her.'�
'She died six years ago.'�
'I'm sorry.'� Alex diverted his attention to the infant in the pushchair, a beaming little face wrapped up tight in a hooded orange jumpsuit.
'What did you think I'd look like.'� She coaxed him back.
'I imagined that you'd have inherited your mothers looks but you bare a remarkable resemblance to a friend of mine.'�
'Who's that.'�
'Her names Wendy, about your age. I met her a few months ago while on holiday in Greece.'�
Alex reluctantly shook off the images that began to fill his mind. 'And you you're so grown up it's hard to think of you as my daughter.'�
'That's OK,'� Maria smiled 'I think of Peter as my dad. Its impossible to think of him as anything else now I guess'�

Extract from Chapter 11.
The Farm


It was a sunny day in the first week of June. Alex rolled back the canvass roof, after stopping yet again to repack their luggage. 'Third time lucky.'� His face locked into a self satisfied smile as he climbed back into the passenger seat.
Mel took a last drag on her cigarette before tossing it through the narrow fold back window. 'Shall I pull over in the next lay-by, just in case three isn't your lucky number today.'�
'I did say.'� He started
'Yes and before you say it again, I have to say that I'm not prepared to live for a whole week in one bloody pare of shoes.'�
'So now you have enough to open a bloody shop.'�
'Maybe a charity shop, then I'd have a good excuse to buy some new clothes.'� Mel reached for a packet of cigarettes on the dash board.
'You've only just put one out.'�
'Sam smokes, so does James and he's got a shotgun, so I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it Alex.'�

He watched Mels delicate hands as they took the white stick from its packet. Watched them place it between her lips, then reach behind and grasping her hair, pull back the soft silken strands into a pony tail.
Framed by silver bracelets, like the picture on a mantelpiece, gentle hands, not tempered for hard work. One on the steering wheel, while the other guided a flame to the white stick. Watched her soft cheeks suck into hollows, her lips push out into an O, watched the smoke curl out and up.

'Watcher lookin at buster.'�
She gave him that, 'I got you,' look.
He turned away as she took the car out into the stream of traffic.

Watching the changing landscape, he settled back into his own cerebral scenery.
As clouds cast shadows over ploughed fields of brown earth, cut into the green skin of soft grass covered hills.
Obscure buildings perched along the edge of his narrow roads, doomed to be demolished by the fickle whims of town planners.
Changing from rural idyll to urban industrial estates, built in an age of commercial philanthropy, now decorated with bitter graffiti, littered with its own burnt and broken products, rejected by a less appreciative consumer society.

Walking between the litter, a swollen grey woollen pullover, hung squarely on its frame, a hunched figure, frozen at the waist, swinging arms like a guardsman on parade.
Placing one flat foot in front of another.
A careless waste of vigour, of buoyant youth.
A misguided ebullience, to take joy in such discordant jauntiness. Such irreconcilable progress of torso and legs in conflicting trajectory, that would result in their separation.

From suburbs, a festering of unresolved tensions,
A creation of planners, devoid of all humility.
Exempt from prosecution for their crimes against humanity.
Gave way to the a wealth of towers.
Trophy's to the ingenuity of consultants, bureaucrats, and bent politicians.
Masters of manipulation.
The moguls of mounting debt and misery.
Award winning fingers of offensive concrete and glass that thrust from the ground, to mock all that is human, in human beings.

Cars converge on busy town centres.
Stopped by lights, they watch the frenzied passing of three Geisha's in tight skirts. Balanced upon grotesquely contorted limbs, their faces hidden behind masks of neon lipstick, snap open to shriek with laughter. Soft body parts move with choreographed and strategical intent, as their audience follow them over the striped crossing.
A woman follows, her body spent by years bent to service the fecklessly refined. She moves from side to side, swaying with the motion of an old pendulum clock on bowed legs, her arms stretched by the burden of carrier bags filled with convenience food.
While dogs sit behind net curtains, longing for freedom, and children are scolded for venturing down to the river of speeding steel.
On past blue lights of countless living rooms in ashen grey suburbs. Illuminations of a mass nocturnal escape by its inhabitants into the mediocrity of a multi media, sponsored by purveyors of chocolate, and high interest loans.

Breaking free from urban constriction, a dual carriageway cuts it's own glacial valley. Depositing frail saplings as a concession to this sublime destruction, it bypasses washing lines spattered with droppings of friendly sparrows. Traffic slows, as the road narrows.
Mel stops the car under a canopy of oaks trees, to look at an old and familiar sight.
'Hey I got pissed here in, - - shit in seventy six, with Sammy. '�
'Right, are we going in, only I could do with a piss myself.'� Alex struggled to release his seat belt.
Stepping out onto the gravel he made his way quickly into the gents toilet of The Bull Inn.

Mel stood at the bar, beside a man wearing green Wellington boots and a Barbour jacket. He leans back to gain a full view of her cleavage.
'Walking to the pub of course is out of the question as one might fall over on the way home, ha, ha.'� He laughs through the froth of his real ale.
'Alex.'� Mel's reassuring smile prepares him for an introduction. 'Meet my old friend, David.'�
'Hey less of the old, Mel.'� David pleads, while holding out his hand to Alex.

In conflict of conduct and caution.
Of etiquette and enmity.
He satisfies his curiosity,
confirms his intuitive suspicions,
by the lack of firmness in Alex's grasp.

'So what are you doing here.'� David asks Mel, clean across the top of Alex's head. Still holding onto his forgotten hand.
'On our way to see Sammy.'�
'Really. What's she up to now.'�
'Married with children and her own farm.'�
'Christ, are we talking about the same Sam Mason.'�
'Sure.'�
Alex excused himself. 'Just need to check something.'�
He slipped away, unnoticed by either Mel or David.

Half an hour later Mel found him asleep in the 2CV, an opened atlas upon his lap displayed coastal topography of northern Cornwall.
Gently closing the drivers door, she kissed him on the cheek affectionately.
'Have a nice nap dear.'�
'Oh, yes well I thought I'd check the map for historical sites.'�
'Bit rude of you just to sneak off though.'� She looked disapprovingly over the top of her sunglasses.
'Sorry to have withdrawn from your nostalgic revelries. Sometimes two's company.'�
'Not this time. David's in a class of his own, as the king of sleaze. I felt most uncomfortable.'�
'Didn't give me that impression. In fact.'�
'You don't know the facts, Alex. So please lets not spoil this trip, I've quite enjoyed it so far and you've been so relaxed.'�
'Right, yes your right. I'm sorry Mel, just felt a little persona non gratia. You know, your friends are so alien to me. All wrapped up in their own world of Great Britain, empire, Bank of England interest rates and the fear of impending Gypsy sites.'�
'Of course they are, but so what Alex. They're not harming anyone, they just want to be left alone like everyone else.'�
'Left alone to sit on their piles of cash.'�
'And I suppose you'll give your pile to the gypsy's.'�
'If I ever make one. yes I probably will.'�
'Yes Alex. I believe you probably will.'�
She looked at him, with imperceptible resignation.

They arrived at Tregavethan earlier than Sam had expected
'Bang on time, I was just about to dish up.'�
She clenched one fist inside the pocket of her apron.
The children were still eating theirs. Their mess still strewn across the kitchen table.
James hadn't yet opened the bottle she'd asked him to, more than an hour ago.
She'd intended to have at least two glasses of wine before meeting Mel and her boyfriend.
'Just got to pop upstairs for a sec. Make yourselves at home, James is in the study.'�
She slipped quickly upstairs, and into the bedroom to take a slug from a bottle, kept at the back of her wardrobe.
'You look well Sam'�

Mels voice came from behind.
Caught her in the act.
Betrayed her little secret.

'Busted.'� her laughter betrayed by the sadness in her eyes.
'Had such a fucking day of it Mel.'�
She stood clutching the bottle, catching her breath.
Mel snatched the bottle from her. Taking a mouth full, she swallowed hard.
'Tell me about it, would you.'� She took another mouth full. 'I bumped into sleazy Dave on the way down here. Alex caught him drooling over me and we had a bitch of a row in the car.'�
'Oh I'm sorry Mel.'�
They hugged each other. Tears of melancholic joy spilling from their eyes.
'So how was your holiday.'�
'Fine. Alex had an affair with and eighteen year old bimbo.'�
'Oh Mel, your such a brick, how did you cope.'�
'Shagged a waiter of course.'� Mel offered a pack of cigarettes taken from her the pocket of her jeans.
'Given it up.'� Pam gave a regretful smile.
'Good for you. Wish I could, makes your skin age, apparently.'�
'Oh I didn't know that. Its just that James wanted me to. He's never smoked, his parents don't either and we see quite a bit of them, so.'�

Downstairs James coaxed Alex into the study.
'Woman safely where they belong'� he checked outside the door before silently closing it.
'See if we can finish this before they escape'� James held out a glass and filled it with malt whiskey.
'The foods edible here, but I get the kids to taste it first, can't be too careful.'�
James raised his own glass
'Get enough of this down and you can't tell the difference'�

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