Free The Reluctant Baker (The Greek Village Collection Book 10) by Sara Alexi Page A

Stella’s mama got to do with anything, and why is the old lady suddenly so cross at her?’
    ‘Ah, Loukas, you were married for such a short time. Not long enough to know women.’
    ‘What is that meant to mean?’
    ‘Listen my boy, they are not logical like us. They think a thought and they hang on to it forever. You would have learnt this with time, even with my sweet Natasha. But if we stay here for a while, Stheno will calm down.’
    ‘Well whatever the old woman’s issue is, it has nothing to do with me. But it’s not right to speak like that about Stella. She’s our neighbour. We do business with her. She is my friend.’
    ‘She’s your friend is she? Then tell me why she does not order the bread for the hotel from us?’ The old man asks quietly.
    Loukas cannot answer. He vaguely wondered when the hotel first tentatively opened its doors but the thought has not occurred to him since. It would be a big order, too, and would make a difference to them.
    ‘Listen, we are the old generation, me and the wife.’ The old man straightens slowly as if to emphasise his aching bones but to Loukas, the pantomime is wearing thin. Loukas is beginning to feel unsettled about the old man’s plea for rest in the mornings and he is beginning to wonder more and more if all this time, they have been taking him for a fool, playing on their age, and, God forgive, the death of their daughter. But why? Just so he will make the bread instead of them? The old man interrupts his thoughts.
    ‘In our time, in Greece, there were only Greeks and very few Albanians and Romanians and all those types of people mixing in. When we were children, we had never seen a black face but now the Africans are selling cheap watches and jewellery in all the bigger towns and the Indians and Pakistanis help us to pick the oranges. It is a different time.’
    ‘Are you going to lecture me on racism?’ This is ridiculous. He lived from the age of ten in Athens, went to university there. He lived a cosmopolitan life until university ended and he and Natasha decided that a job at her family bakery was better than no job at all.
    ‘No, no son. I am just telling you that some people, Natasha’s mama for one, finds it hard to let go of the old ways. To her, the gypsies and Albanians may as well be one and the same and she believes both will murder her in her bed, given the chance. They are not Christians, you know? They lie.’
    Loukas’ face feels on fire, his fists tighten, but his imminent explosion is halted by the arrival of the old man’s coffee. After a few pleasantries, during which Loukas regains his composure, Theo leaves and the old man continues.
    ‘Before you say anything, Loukas, let me tell you one of the most popular tales we would tell when we were even younger than you. There was no television then, remember. I first heard this from…’ He stops and looks up to the ceiling, trying to recall. ‘Well I can’t remember who first told me it, but it went round and round, people telling it backwards and forwards. They said it was true, and who knows maybe it was, but I think there is no smoke without fire.’ His takes a sip of coffee. ‘So here is what happened. A farmer from across the bay,’ he twists his hand and his thumb loosely indicates the direction of the sea, which is just a short walk away but hidden by a hill, ‘needed help with the work in the fields. At the time, his wife had not borne him children. Anyway, an Albanian turned up at his gate and the man employed him. The Albanian works hard and he is paid and he goes away. The next day, he came again and then again the next day until he becomes as one with this man and the work that needed doing. All this time, he had been sleeping under the trees. Winter comes and he is still sleeping under the trees, but he does not complain. In the spring, the farmer’s wife falls pregnant and in time, they have a son. Well, the farmer has grown close to the Albanian working alongside