ChapterFifteen
Grace was outside, waiting on the pavement opposite the language school, at five to eight in the morning. The streets were quiet, and she could see all the way up the coast road. There wasn’t a car in sight. Will was going to be late picking her up for their hike. Her eyes followed a black dot that was making its way down the hill at speed. As it got nearer, Grace realised that it was a motorbike. And a big one at that. She’d guess a Harley Davidson. Her father had been a motorbike fanatic and had made Grace and her sister experts at identifying bikes in the street, sometimes by sound alone. Neither of them had ever wanted to own one, to his obvious frustration.
The bike turned left along the port road. Will was definitely not going to make it on time. The machine came to a halt a few feet from where she was standing, and the helmeted driver got off and waved.
No, please no. He had to be joking.
Will took off his helmet and beckoned her over.
Grace was too shocked to speak. She’d envisaged a scenic car journey to the other end of the island. She hadn’t been on a bike for probably thirty years. The memory of holding on tight to her dear dad as he navigated the Oxfordshire roads on his Triumph flashed into her mind. He’d taken her out for a spin most Sundays when she was growing up. Her sister had hated the whole thing, and her mum flatly refused to go. It had been her special time with her dad.
Will had his smirk on.
‘Surprised?’
‘You could say that.’
‘No need for a car here if you can ride a bike. And nowhere to park it anyway.’
‘It would have been nice to get a little warning.’
‘Ah, that would have spoilt the surprise.’
Grace pointed at her shorts and T-shirt.
‘But I might have worn something different.’
Will’s eyes travelled the length of her body, down to her shoes. It was like being in an airport scanner. She wasn’t asking him for a weapons assessment.
‘No, you’re fine.’
He opened one of the saddlebags and tossed her a helmet.
‘Catch!’
At least he was wearing a helmet and had one for her too. From what she’d seen, a large majority of Greeks didn’t bother with helmets, especially in towns. They also managed to talk on their phones, drink coffee, carry small dogs and huge bags of shopping and balance children on their laps while riding.
‘Thanks.’
Will put his hand on the leather seat. She swore he gave it a little stroke.
‘So, before we set off, I’d better give you a few basics about what to do and what not to do on the bike. The most important thing is that you lean the same way as me round corners.’
Grace snapped on her helmet and climbed aboard the machine with ease.
‘No need. I was brought up around bikes.’
Will’s face was a picture.
* * *
She clung on tight as they climbed back through the town. Thankfully, Will had given her plenty of solid muscle to hold onto. Privately, she’d been concerned that she might be a bit rusty on bike etiquette, but her muscle memory kicked in in seconds. It literally was like riding a bike.
Perhaps a change of scene would stop her worrying about the meeting with Giannis the following morning. Lying in bed last night, she’d realised that she wasn’t ready to go home. Even if she was sacked, but decided to stay on for a holiday, it would be virtually impossible, and incredibly expensive, to secure any accommodation on the island in August. But she was racing ahead again.
The town dropped away as Will eased back on the throttle and the houses became more and more spaced out. She’d read that very few people lived in the north of the island, just a few farmers and the odd taverna owner. The land was rocky, and the road just a dirt track in places. As they wound up and down the hills, the slower pace let Grace take in the ancient stone terraces cut into the rock, which fell in layers to sea level.
The sheer isolation of the place gave it the feel of a lunar landscape. Grace wasn’t sure she’d venture out here on her own. She held onto Will a little tighter.
