own gastronomic offerings to the gathering. In no time the table was groaning under plates of steaming moussaka, stifado, salads, fava dip, tzatziki, village bread, and a huge platter of briam. This dish, a vegetable stew of aubergines, herbs, peppers, potatoes and courgettes cooked in flavoursome tomato sauce, was a special favourite of Calli’s; though akin to the French ratatouille it was enhanced, she was sure, with some kind of Cretan magic. She couldn’t identify what made it different from its French or mainland Greek counterpart, perhaps it was the potatoes, she just didn’t know, but in her view the Cretan recipe decidedly had the edge.
‘It’s because I make it with love, that’s why you love it so much,’ her grandmother used to say when Calli as a young girl had come back for more.
Everyone that evening had been invited to the house to welcome the new arrival and one by one took their place at the table. Several of Froso and Eleni’s cousins and their grown-up children with their wives and husbands were present, and Calli was delighted to see among them Andreas and his sister Vasiliki, whom she was very fond of even though, she remembered, Vasiliki had mostly refused to join in their rough-and-tumble games, preferring to stay home by her mother’s side. How many summers had she and her brother Alex spent playing with their cousins and kids in the village, all galloping across the neighbouring hills and beaches until sundown? How could she have neglected these people, she asked herself; how could she have put that part of her life to one side for so long? Manolis had come too, promising to deliver fresh fish for her every day.
‘I remember your mama always asked me to bring her some Maridaki whitebait, because it’s your papa’s favourite,’ the fisherman told her. ‘Where can she find such fresh fish for him in your London now, eh? Tell me!’ he demanded with a hearty laugh.
The local wine flowed, the food was eaten with relish and everyone’s spirits were high; when all was consumed and the table cleared, the raki was once again brought to the table and all glasses were filled. No feast was ever complete without a bottle of liquid fire, as Calli referred to the drink, to mark the end of the meal. All the guests stayed until late except for Costis’s wife Chrysanthi, who had to take the children home to bed but who promised to return the next day.
‘You’ve done well, my cousin,’ Calli goaded him after Chrysanthi had left. ‘Your wife is a beautiful person . . . Where did you find her and how did you manage it?’ she teased.
‘She comes from the other side of the island, and she hasn’t done too badly herself to find me, either,’ he protested, laughing, and poured himself another shot of raki.
That first night, after everyone left, Calli, Costis and Thia Froso sat together under the olive trees in the night breeze, chatting quietly until sleep started to get the better of them.
The next morning, she woke early. She had slept deeply and soundly in the old bed she used to occupy as a child. Her good-sized bedroom on the first floor of the house had two picture windows, one at each end, looking to the sea in one direction and in the other to the mountains. The two single beds against the wall had been for herself and Alex when they were children, both facing towards the sea. When Calli had started to visit the house with James her aunt would always push the beds together and lay her best cotton sheets edged with lace over them – but this wasn’t good enough for James. ‘This is so uncomfortable, I haven’t slept in a single bed since I was a child,’ he whinged.
From a young age Calli loved to rise early, throw open the wooden shutters and then climb back into bed to lie and look out of the window to the sea; that morning was no exception. Both the early breeze from the shore and the evening one from the mountains always found their way into that room, never did she feel the stifling heat of high summer which engulfed her the moment she walked downstairs to the kitchen or living area.
She stretched back on the cool sheets, folded her arms behind her head and through the open window feasted her eyes on the vast blue of the Libyan sea, following the perfect