Free Songs of Blue and Gold by Deborah Lawrenson Page A

cherries? It must have been, though the rocks looked too jagged and hard to lie down or even stand on. It was an odd moment, entrancing yet unsettling. There were elements of obsession here. Or should that be possession, by the spirits of the past?
    Her trial hour with the boat was up. On the way back she was glowing deep inside. It was hard to explain. She had done it, though it was such a little thing. There was definitely a sense that she had conquered some fear, perhaps that of taking a risk on her own.
    But I am on my own. This is it, from now on.
    From her shifted perspective, as she guided the boat back into Kalami the bay was a wider expanse, the village sparser and more vulnerable in contrast to the looming rise of the green mountain behind.
    Manolis was waiting. She cut the engine as he had shown her when she approached the mooring, let down the anchor, then threw the rope for him to catch. He caught it with one hand and reached out the other to help her on to the landing.
    â€˜How was that – good?’
    â€˜Fantastic!’
    â€˜I said it was easy.’
    â€˜Well . . . good boat, good teacher!’ She was full of her achievement.
    A few waves away were the rocks where Adie and Grace had sat and talked and gazed and swum, where they had laughed and argued on summer nights with literary friends from London and Paris, splashing into silver and eating grapes at midnight.
    â€˜Who owns the White House now?’ Melissa asked.
    He gave his look of slightly absurd surprise. ‘We do. We’ve always owned it.’
    â€˜You mean your family rented it to Julian Adie?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    She was taken aback by the simplicity of the facts.
    â€˜I don’t suppose . . . does anyone still remember when he lived here?’
    â€˜My father was a boy when Julian Adie lived here, but he remembers him well.’
    â€˜Did he come back to Kalami, after he had moved away?’
    â€˜Yes, many times.’
    Melissa’s heart jumped.
    Was it possible that he had ever brought Elizabeth here too? ‘Do you think I might be able to talk to your father about him sometime?’
    â€˜You like the books?’
    â€˜I do.’
    Was any further explanation going to be required? It seemed not.
    â€˜I will tell him,’ said Manolis.
    Manolis, kindness pleating the corners of his eyes as he smiled, was slotting a note under the door to her apartment when Melissa returned with breakfast the next morning.
    â€˜Ah! Mrs Quiller! A little invitation for you –’
    She smiled warily, suspecting some kind of special tourist deal on a boat, an ever-so-gentle hard sell. ‘Thanks.’
    â€˜My mother says it is the perfect time for you to come, so you must! She is the wise woman of the village!’ He laughed, wagging a finger to suggest that she should take him up on whatever offer was being made. ‘She says she can tell you like tea, and not the cocktail drinks in the colours of the rainbow!’
    â€˜Right . . .’
    He gestured at the door with an open palm, so Melissa put the key in the lock and opened it. On the floor was a folded piece of paper, which read:
    We hope you can come to tea at the house called Seraphina on the hill behind the boat office at five o’clock today. Manos and Ekaterina Kiotzas.
    â€˜You can ask them about Julian Adie,’ said Manolis.
    â€˜That’s lovely! Thank you so much . . . will you thank them, and say yes, please!’ She was burbling, she knew, embarrassed by her ungracious misreading of the situation.
    He nodded. ‘I’ll tell them you are coming.’
    It was warm enough, if wrapped up, to lie reading on the egg-shaped stones of Kalami beach. There were few other people on its wide crescent that morning. None of them braved the sea. A stiff wind had brewed up a few grey clouds to which were thrown upward, indignant glances.
    At lunchtime Melissa wondered about trying