Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance) by Mandy Baggot Page B

was supposed to apply to the affected areas before she went to bed that night. Sat on a wonky stool in the kitchen, she realised she was exhausted.
    ‘Where did you say Harry has gone?’ Elpida asked, savaging a fresh loaf of bread with a blunt knife.
    ‘Well, Risto said he knew someone with a van and they were going to a hotel who are getting rid of some of their tables and chairs.’
    Elpida waved the knife in the air and stared at Imogen. ‘Risto? Risto Dimitriou? My grandson?’
    ‘Yes, I…’ Imogen cleared her throat. ‘Your other grandson offered us his services.’ She hoped this was acceptable to the woman brandishing the bread knife.
    Elpida put down the knife and leant on the countertop, both palms on the granite surface like it was bearing her weight. ‘He did, did he?’
    ‘Should I not have accepted? When he said it was free I thought it was too good to be true, but—’
    Elpida shook her head. ‘That boy!’ she cursed.
    Imogen frowned, wondering if she meant Panos or Risto.
    ‘Panos has so much to give but he chooses to chase the dream his father had,’ Elpida said. ‘Of course, he does not realise this. He thinks he is doing the exact opposite.’
    Imogen recalled the tall, dark-haired man with the soulful eyes standing beside the beach and looking at the restaurant with half a life story written on his face. She also remembered the taut forearms and the way the espresso eyes had held hers.
    ‘Some people live other people’s lives, don’t they? Always doing something that isn’t in their own soul,’ Elpida announced. ‘But not you and your Harry, huh?’ She smiled.
    Imogen felt sick and the lemon smell emanating from her face was making things worse. What was in her soul apart from her family? A forgotten love of cooking? A dream about working for a hotel company? Worldwide destinations and a suitcase full of trinkets and pens? Or serving bacon and beans in Southampton and looking after her mum?
    ‘Working here will be good for Risto,’ Elpida stated. ‘He is a good boy who has fallen on hard times…’ She paused. ‘I don’t know why I tell you all this. You do not want to hear these old stories from an old lady.’
    ‘No, don’t be silly.’
    The back door slammed and Harry and Risto appeared, covered in dust and sweating profusely.
    ‘We’re back!’ Harry announced. ‘Got twenty tables in the back of the van and they’re perfect.’ He put his hands into his hair, shaking flakes of sand and shavings onto the floor.
    ‘Pfft! Risto! You know better than to come into a kitchen covered in grease! Out!’ Elpida ordered, turning to face the man and making shooing motions with her hands. ‘Out!’
    Both men backed away. Imogen looked at her brother, juice running down her face, palms up as she shrugged her shoulders.
    ‘You can come back in when you have dusted yourselves down and then I will start to work on this kitchen,’ Elpida said, following the men as if to make sure they were going to leave. ‘Lunch will be five minutes.’
    ‘Mrs Dimitriou—’ Imogen began.
    ‘Elpida,’ the woman corrected.
    ‘Sorry, Elpida.’ She wet her lips then screwed up her eyes as the lemon tainted her tongue. ‘You really don’t have to do this, you know.’
    ‘Do what? Make this meal?’
    ‘No… I… well, maybe. I mean, not that it isn’t all appreciated, but we don’t want to put you out,’ Imogen tried to explain.
    ‘Put me out?’ Elpida asked, her face creasing with misunderstanding.
    ‘Sorry, what I mean is, you don’t have to do this for us. Cleaning and clearing up.’
    ‘Pfft!’ she snorted. ‘What is wrong with young people today? Always refusing help. Look at this place!’ Elpida waved the knife outwards, indicating the mess the kitchen was in.
    Imogen hadn’t even opened all the cupboards and drawers yet and wasn’t keen on finding out what was inside. She had visions of blue cheese being far mouldier than it should be and out-of-date tinned