The market wasn’t hard to find, and she wandered along the rows of stalls, looking at the biggest display of olives she’d ever seen, as well as vegetables, breads and even fresh seafood, but it was when she reached the fruit stall that she paused. Despite knowing who she was looking for, she still wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say. She reached for the photograph in her pocket and took it out, holding it against her chest as she approached the woman behind the stand.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, smiling at a woman who was probably no older than her. ‘I was told you might be able to recognise the women in this photograph?’ She hesitated.
The woman nodded, taking the photograph from her. ‘It will be my grandmother you’re looking for. Give me a moment.’
Ella stood and looked over the produce, nervously waiting for her to return. She didn’t have a copy of the photograph, and she wished she hadn’t handed it over without explaining its importance. Other people milled around and looked at the fruit, some picking up peaches and apricots to inspect them, and Ella decided to select some pieces herself while she was waiting, loving the look of the fresh figs.
When she looked up, she saw that there were now three women on the other side of the stall watching her—presumably three generations of the same family. Suddenly she forgot all about the figs.
‘This is her?’ asked one of them, pointing at Ella.
The younger woman nodded before returning to her customers, and Ella set down the fruit she’d chosen.
‘I was told you might know the woman and the girl in the photograph?’
The grandmother lifted her hand and gestured for Ella to go with them, and she followed them a few steps away to the shade of a doorway.
‘This is my grandmother, and she would like to know why you are asking.’
Ella took a deep breath, looking between the two women. ‘I believe that this lady,’ she said, pointing at the photograph that was now in the gnarled hands of the older woman, ‘is my great-grandmother. This photo was left by the woman who gave birth to my grandmother.’
She waited for her words to be translated, surprised when the old lady took her hand and squeezed it.
‘She wants you to know that the woman in the photograph is Maria Konstantinidis.’
‘I was told she may have holidayed here with her family,’ Ella said. ‘That this girl was her daughter.’
‘They did holiday here, often. But Maria died tragically many, many years ago, when her daughter was only a girl.’
Ella couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘I don’t understand. So this photo was taken just before her death?’ She was confused—how could this woman have died such a long time ago? Could it all be some sort of mistake? If she’d passed away soon after the photo was taken, which she must have if her daughter was still a girl, then how did her own grandmother fit into the story?
‘It was a terrible tragedy,’ the older woman said, suddenly speaking in heavily accented English. ‘Her daughter’s name was Alexandra, but her father fled Greece when the royal family was forced into exile. He worked closely with the King, and he and some others connected to the family all left.’
‘Did you ever hear what happened to her daughter? To Alexandra?’ she asked, pointing at the girl in the picture. ‘What happened to her after she left Greece?’
This time both the women smiled, but it was the younger of the two who replied this time.
‘Alexandra Konstantinidis was gone for many years, but she returned as a young woman when she married. Alexandra came home.’
Ella took the photograph when it was passed back to her. ‘To Greece?’
‘To the islands,’ the older woman said. ‘She lives in Alonissos to this day, in a house that was originally gifted to her mother by the royal family. It was no secret that she was one of the Queen’s closest friends and confidantes before her death.’
‘Alonissos?’ Ella repeated, not familiar with the name. ‘Is it far?’
‘Twenty minutes by ferry,’ the youngest woman from the stand said, making Ella turn as she approached, a bag of nectarines in her hand that she was holding out to her. ‘The ferry runs three times a day, and you can’t miss her house. It’s the largest on the island.’
Ella looked among the three women, before taking the bag of fruit and tucking the photograph back into her bag.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for the fruit and for all the information. It truly means so much to me.’
‘I hope you find what you’re searching for,’ the youngest woman said. ‘You look like her, you know. There’s almost something about you that reminds me of the Konstantinidis women.’
Ella didn’t know what to say, but she smiled and turned away, forgetting all about the other food she’d planned to purchase to fill her fridge with, and hurrying back the way she’d come.
Alexandra Konstantinidis. But what could the link to this woman possibly be, and could she just island-hop and turn up at her house with a photograph and nothing else? But then if this woman was the link to her family’s secret past, surely the fact that she had this photograph in her possession would mean something to this Alexandra? Although if the link was to this girl’s mother, then perhaps it would be as much of a mystery to her too.
Ella took out her phone to see if Gabriel had replied, but there was still nothing from him, so she slid it back into her bag, refusing to feel deflated. They’d made a plan to pick up where they’d left off after her trip and his tour, and he was busy preparing for the biggest opportunity of his professional career. She needed to focus on why she’d chosen to come to Greece in the first place. She had a name to go on now, which meant she might actually be able to uncover at least part of the mystery while she was in Greece. But as far as her looking like the woman and her daughter in the photo…she touched her hair, running her fingers through it. She might have the dark hair, but to actually be a relative of this Alexandra Konstantinidis? There was no way she resembled the woman and the girl in the photo.
