styled, with a very tall and imposing front door. It was shabby, its paintwork peeling, and the garden uncared-for, but you could see that once upon a time it had been very grand indeed.
‘Are Irina’s parents rich, then?’ I asked, struggling to equate this idea with a poor young couple who lived in a fisherman’s cottage.
‘By Oia’s standards they are better off than most. They own three boats, and Stavros no longer goes to sea himself. His two sons, and now his son-in-law, work the boats and he sells the fish to the tavernas. He is an ambitious man. One day he will be rich. I will take you to meet him, but not today.’
We walked on, the pathway beginning to narrow and slope downhill.
‘Irini and Niko live down here, close to the harbour’, continued Christos. ‘You shall have my room, and I will stay with Niko’s crewmate, Dimitrios.’
After a year apart I did not want to be away from Christos any more than necessary. ‘Can’t you stay with us, too?’
‘There is no room for both of us there.’ He blushed. ‘And the village would be scandalised if we shared a room. I shall only be two doors away.’
Niko and Irini lived in a dug-in house close to the little harbour. It had the distinctive barrel-shaped roof and it was painted white, with door and window frames bright blue. Old olive oil cans planted with flowers sat either side of the door. It was small and neat and well cared-for.
Niko welcomed us first, Irini hanging back shyly, her arms crossed protectively across her pregnant belly.
‘Christos was not exaggerating after all. You are as beautiful as he said, Miss Olivia, but you are too pale. Santorini will cure that. Come, come inside.’
Behind the centrally-placed door was a small room which was lit by two windows, left and right of the door, and a skylight above. There was a table, two chairs and a stool at one end and in the corner was the kitchen, which comprised a sink and a hotplate. A pair of glass doors curtained with panels of lace led into another room beyond. We sat at the table and Irini made coffee, shyly placing a plate of honey cakes before us.
They questioned me politely about my journey, about Cambridge and London in particular. Christos had obviously spoken of me in great detail. I asked about their families, knowing how important family life is to Greeks, and we talked about the baby, which made Irini blush. Then Christos explained their routine.
‘Niko, Dimitrios and I leave early in the morning to sail out to the fishing grounds. We are back in the afternoon for sleep, and then we eat. We go early to bed because we must rise early. Irini will show you the way things are done here. Will you be all right while I am away?’
I was thinking that I was going to be very bored and lonely, but of course I replied that I would be fine. Then they showed me where I was to sleep. Beyond the glass doors there was a tiny vestibule and off this two other doors, one of which led into a room which had been made ready for a baby. In a corner stood a wooden cradle draped in muslin. Beside this was a narrow bed and a chair. A rail fixed to the wall held two empty coat-hangers. There was no natural light - the glass panel in the door borrowed light from the vestibule which in turn borrowed light from the living room. It was claustrophobic and I was glad to leave it, although I smiled and assured them I thought it was charming and I would be very comfortable.
‘Our bedroom is next door’, Niko told me, causing Irini to blush again, ‘so if you need anything…’
Christos, who must have been reading my mind, said, ‘We take turns to wash in the kitchen, and the lavatory is out in the yard. Let me show you.’ He squeezed my hand both to reassure me and, I understood, to beg me to accept these primitive arrangements.
The yard was communal, serving Niko and Irini and two other dug-ins. There was a stone hut which enclosed the lavatory, a copper laundry basin of the sort I’d seen
‘Are Irina’s parents rich, then?’ I asked, struggling to equate this idea with a poor young couple who lived in a fisherman’s cottage.
‘By Oia’s standards they are better off than most. They own three boats, and Stavros no longer goes to sea himself. His two sons, and now his son-in-law, work the boats and he sells the fish to the tavernas. He is an ambitious man. One day he will be rich. I will take you to meet him, but not today.’
We walked on, the pathway beginning to narrow and slope downhill.
‘Irini and Niko live down here, close to the harbour’, continued Christos. ‘You shall have my room, and I will stay with Niko’s crewmate, Dimitrios.’
After a year apart I did not want to be away from Christos any more than necessary. ‘Can’t you stay with us, too?’
‘There is no room for both of us there.’ He blushed. ‘And the village would be scandalised if we shared a room. I shall only be two doors away.’
Niko and Irini lived in a dug-in house close to the little harbour. It had the distinctive barrel-shaped roof and it was painted white, with door and window frames bright blue. Old olive oil cans planted with flowers sat either side of the door. It was small and neat and well cared-for.
Niko welcomed us first, Irini hanging back shyly, her arms crossed protectively across her pregnant belly.
‘Christos was not exaggerating after all. You are as beautiful as he said, Miss Olivia, but you are too pale. Santorini will cure that. Come, come inside.’
Behind the centrally-placed door was a small room which was lit by two windows, left and right of the door, and a skylight above. There was a table, two chairs and a stool at one end and in the corner was the kitchen, which comprised a sink and a hotplate. A pair of glass doors curtained with panels of lace led into another room beyond. We sat at the table and Irini made coffee, shyly placing a plate of honey cakes before us.
They questioned me politely about my journey, about Cambridge and London in particular. Christos had obviously spoken of me in great detail. I asked about their families, knowing how important family life is to Greeks, and we talked about the baby, which made Irini blush. Then Christos explained their routine.
‘Niko, Dimitrios and I leave early in the morning to sail out to the fishing grounds. We are back in the afternoon for sleep, and then we eat. We go early to bed because we must rise early. Irini will show you the way things are done here. Will you be all right while I am away?’
I was thinking that I was going to be very bored and lonely, but of course I replied that I would be fine. Then they showed me where I was to sleep. Beyond the glass doors there was a tiny vestibule and off this two other doors, one of which led into a room which had been made ready for a baby. In a corner stood a wooden cradle draped in muslin. Beside this was a narrow bed and a chair. A rail fixed to the wall held two empty coat-hangers. There was no natural light - the glass panel in the door borrowed light from the vestibule which in turn borrowed light from the living room. It was claustrophobic and I was glad to leave it, although I smiled and assured them I thought it was charming and I would be very comfortable.
‘Our bedroom is next door’, Niko told me, causing Irini to blush again, ‘so if you need anything…’
Christos, who must have been reading my mind, said, ‘We take turns to wash in the kitchen, and the lavatory is out in the yard. Let me show you.’ He squeezed my hand both to reassure me and, I understood, to beg me to accept these primitive arrangements.
The yard was communal, serving Niko and Irini and two other dug-ins. There was a stone hut which enclosed the lavatory, a copper laundry basin of the sort I’d seen
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