One Summer in Crete - Nadia Marks Page 0,2

best to make your crème caramel the day before you want to serve it,’ was Susan’s repeated advice to her. ‘So much better, because if you turn your caramel custard out too soon it will stay in the bottom of your ramekins . . .’ Calli didn’t even know what a ramekin was, nor did she care, when she first started living with James, and she was certainly not going to be cooking anything the day before. But she decided that if once in a while she was willing to make James’s beloved dessert, she must ensure at least that she had a few ramekins in case he refused to eat it in anything else. He was quite particular about that. ‘Not that your mother spoiled you or anything,’ she’d tease him. She didn’t really mind, it didn’t happen that often and she made it pretty clear that that was where her housewifely duties and indulgences would end; she tried to leave most of the pampering to his mother. ‘I’ll learn to make your crème caramel if you learn to make me my Greek coffee,’ she bargained.

Calli finished going through a batch of photos and turned off her computer for the day. She walked downstairs to the kitchen in search of her mother-in-law’s recipe.

For a much richer taste add an extra two yolks to the eggs, Susan had added as a footnote to the recipe. Calli started with the caramel custard, thinking that if she made it in plenty of time there would be less chance of it sticking to the wretched ramekins. The thought made her smile; her mother-in-law had little more to weigh on her mind other than making the perfect dessert or three-course dinner. But she, Calli, was different; she was occupied with her work, no time for all of that. She always referred to Susan as her mother-in-law even though she and James had never married. ‘After ten years of me living with her be-loved boy she has earned the title,’ Calli would joke to James, ‘and in any case she’s stuck with me whether she likes it or not.’

She poured herself a large glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and chose a Greek CD from a pile she kept in the kitchen – she found cooking with Greek music in the background inspiring and mood enhancing, and since she was still alone she could listen to whatever she chose. She gathered her ingredients, placed her mixing bowl on the counter and reached for the eggs. She cracked the first four and then separated an extra two as in Susan’s instructions. Watching the golden yolks land softly in the bowl, her mind turned to those other eggs inside her own body.

James sat back on his chair, reached for the bottle of wine and filled his glass to the brim. Calli watched and waited. She had been speaking for some time without interruption while James sat silently listening. That was not how she had envisaged the discussion. What she had hoped for and wanted was a conversation between the two of them, an exchange of views, not for her to deliver a monologue.

Dinner had been a pleasant affair with animated talk full of anecdotal chit-chat and laughter, mainly about James’s day at his law firm; he always liked to take centre stage, be the centre of attention. The crème caramel was consumed with satisfied exclamations and praise. ‘Mmm! Nearly as good as my mother’s,’ he had said, which was approval enough for her – so long as he was happy and enjoyed it, that was fine by her. But after they had finished eating and Calli started to speak, the mood gradually began to change; whereas just a short while ago she couldn’t stop him talking, all of a sudden James seemed to lose the power of speech. The more silent he became, the more Calli continued, nervously explaining how she was feeling of late about her ageing eggs and how maybe it was time to consider seriously what it meant to grow old childless. He sat mutely, listening and watching her. When she stopped, James reached for his wine and gave her a long silent look.

‘Well? Say something, James, for God’s sake!’ she burst out. ‘Surely you have something to add on the matter?’

Still he said nothing. Calli gritted her teeth and waited. Finally he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, looked her in the eye and spoke.

‘Calli . . .’ he began, his ice-blue

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