eucalyptus tree, their hearts were now beating as one.
From that day on the two of them were inseparable; she had all the proof she needed that Nicos felt as she did – having that conversation with Michalis was now starting to be constantly on her mind. The intimacy that had developed between herself and Nicos in such a short time was obvious and she was sure Michalis must have picked up on it. She felt disloyal, she couldn’t imagine what he must think of her. If it was the other way round, if she had a sister and suddenly Michalis transferred his attentions to her, Calli was certain she would feel pangs of jealousy.
The three would often meet up as before, although now Michalis seemed to only join them in the evenings leaving Nicos and Calli to spend most days together. What countryside and beaches she hadn’t seen in the weeks she had been on Crete, Nicos was showing her now by driving around on his motorbike. He left no secluded beach or hillside unexplored and the proprietors of most of the local tavernas had become their good friends.
Nicos had not intended to stay for very long – he had come for a short break to visit family and friends – but after meeting Calli he postponed his return for a couple of weeks; soon he would have to leave, time now was of the essence, for both of them.
‘I wish I didn’t have to return to Athens,’ he said to her one day while having a coffee at a beach cafe. ‘I need to go and deal with our business, but I will return.’ He looked anxiously at her. ‘I wish I could stop the clocks and turn back the time to when we first met that night, at the party . . .’ His voice faded and he shifted closer to put his arm around her. ‘When do you plan to leave for London, Calli?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she replied with a sinking feeling. ‘I have no reason to go back at the moment.’ She couldn’t bear to think that their idyll might be coming to an end so prematurely.
‘Will you stay, Calli? Will you wait for me?’ he asked, his eyes turning serious, and leaned in to kiss her on the lips.
13
The very next day she called Michalis and arranged to meet him at the little beachside cafe on the outskirts of the village. This way, she thought, after having a drink, they could take a walk and talk alone together, away from curious ears, as August was the month that the village saw some action from holidaymakers.
She found him already there, chatting to a couple of elderly local men who were playing backgammon.
‘Yiasou, Calli,’ he called and jumped up to greet her. She looked at him with fresh eyes and registered once again how physically similar he and his brother were. She was nervous. All the way down the hill from her aunt’s house she had rehearsed what she would say to him, scolding herself for being so anxious. She had done nothing wrong, she insisted to herself, she must be herself, open and honest; yet her palms were moist and her face was flushed.
They ordered coffee and ice-cold lemonade. Michalis was insistent that she try the delicious baklava that was freshly baked that afternoon, but she had no appetite to eat, thinking only of what she must say to him. They sat talking about nothing in particular, while the two old men at the next table joined in their conversation for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time. At last, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Calli stood up and suggested they take a stroll.
They walked barefoot along the shore, their footsteps washed away by little waves as they sauntered towards the end of the long beach to some rocks. Along the way she started to tell him all she needed to say. She spoke in a small breathless voice, her eyes fixed on the horizon, avoiding his gaze. She told him that in the short time they had known one another she had grown very fond of him and that at first she had imagined, hoped even, that their relationship would develop into romance, but it wasn’t to be. She told him that she loved him like a brother and that he had become very dear to her, and that he had awakened her love for the island and the Cretan landscape, which