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

here, we could maybe look at getting a little house to live in.’
    ‘Harry,’ Imogen started, the word catching in her throat. ‘There aren’t any beds.’
    ‘It’s all in hand.’ Harry had acquired a broom from somewhere and was sweeping it across the terracotta floor, sending up plumes of thick dust that were seeping into Imogen’s mouth.
    ‘What does that mean?’ She put her hands on her hips and focussed her blue eyes on him. Suddenly the dust dried her throat up and she forced out a cough. When was the last time she’d had a drink? She looked to the limescale-tarnished hand basin in the bathroom, a green coating around the tap. Could you drink the water in Greece?
    ‘It means that I packed sleeping bags in my luggage.’
    Imogen blinked in astonishment. She didn’t know what surprised her more. That Harry thought sleeping on the floor in this sty of an ‘apartment’ was acceptable, or that he managed to pack clothes, toiletries and two sleeping bags in a luggage allowance of twenty kilos.
    ‘Harry,’ she began. ‘I think we need to sit down…’ She looked around for chairs that weren’t there. ‘Somewhere… as in not here… and talk about this.’
    ‘I agree,’ he replied, still sweeping. Now the dust was like a fog between them and Harry was becoming fuzzy round the edges.
    ‘You do.’
    He nodded. ‘Of course! We need to work out a schedule.’
    ‘A schedule.’
    ‘Yep. Everything works better with a schedule. So we need a date to work towards.’
    She cleared her throat. ‘A date for…’ She deliberately left the end of the sentence open, feeling a little like she was teetering on the edge of Beachy Head.
    Harry grinned. ‘The grand opening.’
    Beachy Head wasn’t enough of a drop; now she was freefalling off the Shard. She steeled herself. It was OK. Because this was day one. They’d just arrived. She had plenty of time to get him to realise no amount of cleaning would make this a place where people wanted to eat. She swallowed. ‘I see… So your plan is to take a week or so to clean it up and open it… as a restaurant?’
    Harry stopped brushing and leant his weight on the broom as he looked at her. ‘Are you alright, Immy?’
    Suddenly reality was kicking in. It was only a few days ago she’d been told she was going to be head chef at a restaurant a thousand miles from home that looked like it had held a Hell’s Angels party. She croaked out an affirmative. ‘Yes.’
    ‘I know I dropped this on you but there was a good reason for that,’ Harry continued.
    ‘You told me,’ Imogen replied. ‘You knew I would talk you out of it.’
    ‘ Try to talk me out of it, I said.’ Harry sighed. ‘I wanted to prove to you… prove to everyone that I could rejuvenate…’ Harry shook his head. ‘No, that isn’t the word. Reinvigorate…’
    Harry moved his head as if trying to dislodge a blockage that was there. Imogen remained quiet, watching the specks of dust dance in the air between them. She watched him lean backwards and take a deep breath of the musty air.
    ‘I wanted to prove to everyone and prove to myself that I could make something happen,’ he said finally. ‘I know how things have been with me being ill and—’
    ‘Oh, Harry…’
    ‘No, Immy, please. I’m not a child.’
    ‘I know that, I just want to help you…’ She hesitated before she continued. ‘Help you work things out. With Janie, Olivia and Tristan.’
    ‘Then help me with this,’ Harry said, his blue eyes wide and pleading.
    ‘Harry, I really don’t know the first thing about running a restaurant,’ Imogen said.
    ‘You’ve worked in one for years.’
    ‘I know, but that was cooking the odd pan of fried eggs and microwaving baked potatoes. It wasn’t marinating or blanching, I haven’t done that for so long.’ And he was going to expect pastry, she just knew it.
    ‘But you can learn it again… and so can I.’ He grinned. ‘It might be like bike riding. Once learned, never