her wedding photo.
Had she been happy with her life in little Taxos? My mind jumped forwards, imagining me in forty years’ time, and a sense of unease washed across my chest. Forty years in a fishing village…what seemed romantic in the short term might not over a period of years.
I picked up the dishcloth, but almost dropped a pan on the floor when the back door flew open and Yanis strode in. He wore a coat stained with mud and worn jeans. He caught sight of me washing up.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, brusquely. Mouth pursed, he looked from Mrs Manos to me.
‘Is nothing for you to worry about, dear Yanis.’ Mrs Manos cleared her throat. ‘Pippa simply brought us scones and—’
‘And now she cleans the crockery? We no charity. Thank you all the same, Pippa,’ he said and took the dishcloth from me. ‘Appreciate the thought, but we can manage. Is best you leave.’
Goodness. Talk about an over-the-top reaction. Whilst admirable, sometimes Greek pride had a lot to answer for. I raised an eyebrow at Mrs Manos. Her lips downturned and she nodded.
‘Another time, Pippa,’ she mumbled. ‘Today’s not been good. We received an unexpected bill.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said, ignoring Yanis’ sour expression. ‘I’d love to look at the dogs. If you ever need a hand walking them, I’d be more than happy to—’
‘Bah. Please leave!’ said Yanis.
You’ll never guess what then happened. He muttered something in Greek, grabbed my coat and practically frogmarched me through to the front shop. Yanis opened the door and firmly pushed me outside. I lost my balance and fell over, twisting my ankle. Was that a brief flash of concern on his face? I wouldn’t know as he disappeared and moments later appeared with the basket and set it roughly on the ground. It tipped over and scones scattered across the road. So much for Grandma’s prediction that my new ankle boots would bring me good luck. Their pristine slippery soles were no doubt to blame for my tumble.
‘The Sotiropoulos family think they above anyone else!’ he shouted, purple spots in his unshaven cheeks.
‘Yanis, stop!’ spluttered Mrs Manos, eyes wide, whilst I caught my breath.
Yanis took some deep breaths and then – oh no. I gasped. He lunged at me. Crouching on the pavement, I instinctively raised an arm to protect my head. Had he gone mad?
But Yanis never reached me, because – big mistake – he had no idea that six foot four of incandescent Dutch property developer was approaching.
‘Take that back,’ boomed Henrik. ‘The Sotiropoulos name clearly has ten times more integrity than yours!’ He swore loudly, strode past me and despite Mrs Manos’ pleas, grabbed Yanis by the collar.
Chapter Five
Dutchmen in shining armour (okay, Italian suits) certainly had their uses. With one arm, Henrik pinned Yanis against the shop’s doorframe, whilst stretching the other out behind him. I grabbed it and he pulled me up. Hopping, I reached Mrs Manos and did my best to tear the men apart. As much as I appreciated Henrik’s intervention, I could look after myself – with words, anyway.
‘Let go of him, Henrik,’ I said for the third time.
With a snarl my ex backed off.
‘And if you’ve any sense, Yanis,’ I continued, ‘you’ll keep away from Taxos Taverna – otherwise I’ll have you charged with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.’
The Greek’s brow furrowed as he rubbed his neck where Henrik had held the collar tight. ‘No understand.’
‘You were about to hit a woman – whilst she was on the ground,’ spat Henrik. ‘Coward!’
‘Not true!’ said Yanis and his fists curled. ‘
Never
would hit anyone. Was going to help Pippa up.’
‘Didn’t look like it to me,’ I said in a measured voice, heart racing, having glared at Henrik to keep quiet. ‘And I’ll be around tomorrow – if I can walk – to check on your mother. You’ve clearly got a temper. If you so much as…’
Mrs Manos mouthed
Had she been happy with her life in little Taxos? My mind jumped forwards, imagining me in forty years’ time, and a sense of unease washed across my chest. Forty years in a fishing village…what seemed romantic in the short term might not over a period of years.
I picked up the dishcloth, but almost dropped a pan on the floor when the back door flew open and Yanis strode in. He wore a coat stained with mud and worn jeans. He caught sight of me washing up.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, brusquely. Mouth pursed, he looked from Mrs Manos to me.
‘Is nothing for you to worry about, dear Yanis.’ Mrs Manos cleared her throat. ‘Pippa simply brought us scones and—’
‘And now she cleans the crockery? We no charity. Thank you all the same, Pippa,’ he said and took the dishcloth from me. ‘Appreciate the thought, but we can manage. Is best you leave.’
Goodness. Talk about an over-the-top reaction. Whilst admirable, sometimes Greek pride had a lot to answer for. I raised an eyebrow at Mrs Manos. Her lips downturned and she nodded.
‘Another time, Pippa,’ she mumbled. ‘Today’s not been good. We received an unexpected bill.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said, ignoring Yanis’ sour expression. ‘I’d love to look at the dogs. If you ever need a hand walking them, I’d be more than happy to—’
‘Bah. Please leave!’ said Yanis.
You’ll never guess what then happened. He muttered something in Greek, grabbed my coat and practically frogmarched me through to the front shop. Yanis opened the door and firmly pushed me outside. I lost my balance and fell over, twisting my ankle. Was that a brief flash of concern on his face? I wouldn’t know as he disappeared and moments later appeared with the basket and set it roughly on the ground. It tipped over and scones scattered across the road. So much for Grandma’s prediction that my new ankle boots would bring me good luck. Their pristine slippery soles were no doubt to blame for my tumble.
‘The Sotiropoulos family think they above anyone else!’ he shouted, purple spots in his unshaven cheeks.
‘Yanis, stop!’ spluttered Mrs Manos, eyes wide, whilst I caught my breath.
Yanis took some deep breaths and then – oh no. I gasped. He lunged at me. Crouching on the pavement, I instinctively raised an arm to protect my head. Had he gone mad?
But Yanis never reached me, because – big mistake – he had no idea that six foot four of incandescent Dutch property developer was approaching.
‘Take that back,’ boomed Henrik. ‘The Sotiropoulos name clearly has ten times more integrity than yours!’ He swore loudly, strode past me and despite Mrs Manos’ pleas, grabbed Yanis by the collar.
Chapter Five
Dutchmen in shining armour (okay, Italian suits) certainly had their uses. With one arm, Henrik pinned Yanis against the shop’s doorframe, whilst stretching the other out behind him. I grabbed it and he pulled me up. Hopping, I reached Mrs Manos and did my best to tear the men apart. As much as I appreciated Henrik’s intervention, I could look after myself – with words, anyway.
‘Let go of him, Henrik,’ I said for the third time.
With a snarl my ex backed off.
‘And if you’ve any sense, Yanis,’ I continued, ‘you’ll keep away from Taxos Taverna – otherwise I’ll have you charged with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.’
The Greek’s brow furrowed as he rubbed his neck where Henrik had held the collar tight. ‘No understand.’
‘You were about to hit a woman – whilst she was on the ground,’ spat Henrik. ‘Coward!’
‘Not true!’ said Yanis and his fists curled. ‘
Never
would hit anyone. Was going to help Pippa up.’
‘Didn’t look like it to me,’ I said in a measured voice, heart racing, having glared at Henrik to keep quiet. ‘And I’ll be around tomorrow – if I can walk – to check on your mother. You’ve clearly got a temper. If you so much as…’
Mrs Manos mouthed
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