Thirty-six
Taverna Georgiou
Andras smoothed down a tablecloth and gently pushed the condiments on table five closer together. It was almost 8 a.m., and soon holidaymakers would be making their way into the restaurant for breakfast. It was another hot day and, as he looked out over the shore, his boat gently swaying with the motion of the ocean, he half-wished he was escaping out on the water again. Yesterday had been good, more than good; he had really relaxed for the first time in a long time. Perhaps he had needed it far more than he realised.
He took out the specials card, wafted it in the air and then replaced it again. Why had he done that? It was fine. He was just being overcritical. The restaurant hadn’t been a state when he had arrived at 5 a.m. to collect in the bread order. His staff had managed well, and Dorothea would be sure to give him a full rundown of events when she got here. Perhaps this was proof that he needed to let go a little. Nothing was perfect and, if he managed to secure a new business partner, he had to be prepared to be adaptable. He might need to compromise, accept change, perhaps change that wasn’t driven by him. He swallowed. The same theory ought to apply to relationships, except with Elissa he had offered every compromise he could think of and it still hadn’t been enough.
‘There is a mark!’
He looked up at his mother’s voice. What was she doing here this early? What was she doing here at all? He stepped quickly towards her.
‘Good morning, Mama.’
‘This is not good enough, Andras,’ Isadora continued.
‘Mama, what are you doing here?’ Andras asked, watching her as she moved on to another table, eyes scrutinising the settings. ‘Last night you said you had wedding plans with Kira today.’
‘I do,’ she stated. ‘Later.’ She sucked in a long, slow breath, looking around the room. ‘I have come to view things.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked lightly. ‘You come to the restaurant almost every day.’
‘Yes,’ Isadora agreed, swinging around to face him. ‘But when I have come here before I have come here to see you or to eat – most of the time, both – and this week I have visited to plan the wedding celebration.’
‘And now?’
‘And now I am here with the eyes of an investor,’ she made clear.
‘Mama, I know that Spiro has talked to you about the restaurant but I—’ Andras started.
‘You have found another business partner?’ Isadora asked bluntly.
What did he say? He hadn’t. But he wanted to. Needed to. To retain his independence. But he didn’t want to lie. He was already deceiving her with Tess, albeit because he had been backed into an impossible corner.
‘Not quite,’ he responded.
‘Not quite,’ Isadora repeated. ‘That means no.’
‘No, it means …’
She waved a hand, as if to dismiss him and headed off to another table, lifting the edges of the tablecloths and blowing away what he hoped was imaginary dust. ‘You are tied up with the woman from England.’
He felt immediately defensive. ‘You mean Tess.’
‘This is what you call her now? Not Trix?’ She huffed. ‘So, is that what I am to call her?’
‘I am sure she would like that.’
‘And her last name. It is Parks?’
Andras baulked. He had no idea what Tess’s last name was. He could neither confirm nor deny and now he was perspiring.
‘There is nothing on the Interweb about someone who brands called Patricia Parks.’
‘What?’ Andras exclaimed. ‘You’ve looked Patricia up on the Internet?’
‘Not me. I do not know how these things work.’
Then he understood. ‘Marietta.’
‘I know what her plan is,’ Isadora said, beginning to move table mats from table twelve.
‘What her plan is?’ Andras asked, not following the conversation.
‘Patricia is not her real name, it is obvious,’ Isadora said. ‘She is duping you.’
His first instinct was to laugh. His second was to wonder where on Earth this was going. ‘What?’
‘Crumbs, Andras,’ Isadora said. She ripped off the tablecloth like a magician doing a trick where all the crockery remained in place. ‘There are crumbs on this tablecloth. It needs to be washed.’
‘I’d rather go back to talking about how I am being tricked by Tess.’
Isadora let out a long, low, almost sad sigh. ‘Andras, I know how you have been since Elissa left you.’
Did she? He felt the need to stand a little taller, straighten his back, pull in his feelings.
‘You have been looking for a replacement – many replacements – quite often, if the village gossip is to be believed.’ She pointed a finger. ‘But I am telling you, this replacement cannot be found in a tourist.’ Isadora sighed again. ‘A woman on holiday is looking only for one thing.’
Now he wanted the conversation to stop altogether. He turned his attention to the beach scene. Milo was just coming along, setting up the loungers and parasols for the day. The sun was high in the hyacinth sky and within an hour or so the small strip of beach would be filled with another day’s sun-worshippers. Boats would be docking as soon as lunchtime came around.
‘Andras! You are not listening to me!’
He turned back. ‘I am not being tricked by Tess.’
‘Pa!’ Isadora exclaimed. ‘You are a man! A man is easily led by his ego being massaged, like in some of those places in Kavos.’
‘Mama—’
‘She wants your money,’ Isadora continued. ‘She has been grooming you over the Interweb. I have read about it.’ She sniffed, nose going down to a candle. ‘She knows you have this place, the house, you’re a single man who is vulnerable. She has given you a fake name so she can work her way into your affections and then take away everything. Well, I will not stand by and let that happen again.’
A seed of discontent was growing quickly in his gut.
‘She is the same as Elissa,’ Isadora continued. ‘Elissa comes here with her fancy clothes and her fancy ways and her career.’ She scoffed. ‘She is Greek on the outside but not Greek on the inside. And that is what you need, Andras. You need someone like you.’
‘Someone like me,’ he repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘Who is it that you think I am?’
‘What sort of a question is that?’
‘One I am expecting an answer to.’
‘You are a Greek man who needs a wife who will support him.’
‘Is that it?’ Andras asked. ‘Is that all you think I am?’
Isadora picked up the candle she had sniffed and passed it over to him. ‘This one needs to be replaced. No scent.’
He took the candle, moulding his fingers around it. ‘I cannot run a business with you, Mama.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! If you have not found another partner then you have to run the business with me!’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘No? What does that mean, no?’
He pushed the candle back to her. ‘You want to run the business? Have it for the day.’
‘What?’
‘You are in charge,’ he stated, passing her a batch of menus. ‘I am going out with Tess.’
‘Wait. Andras, you can’t just walk out on your responsibilities. I have wedding planning to do and—’
With anger and frustration fuelling his every step, he left the restaurant.