Kate bumped her shoulder against Ella’s. ‘It’s most definitely worth a shot. Who knows? She could be in possession of a lot more information than she’s let on.’
Ella put some of the octopus on her plate, savouring each mouthful of the delicious food. But her mind was a million miles away, trying to work out exactly how she was going to get Mia to reveal more to her about this mysterious Hope. She wanted to know more about Hope’s House, and how one woman had single-handedly helped so many pregnant mothers and their babies.
* * *
Ella sat up in bed, curling her toes into the thick duvet as she leaned back into her pillows. The box was open on her lap, the sheet of music placed beside her as she looked at the photo. She held it so close to her eyes that it almost touched her nose, as if she might magically be able to recognise the people staring back at her if she just looked hard enough.
But if she was honest, it was the scenery that kept drawing her back.Imagine what it would be like to paint this. She couldn’t stop the thoughts, could almost imagine herself picking up a paintbrush and recreating the beauty that was so uniquely Greek, her skin flushed from the heat, her fingers stained with paint as she worked under the bright golden sun.
What would it even feel like?It had been years since she’d painted. The day after Harrison passed away, she’d packed up her work-in-progress and stored her easel in the attic at her parents’ house. That part of her had died along with her brother, and even though she’d thought about it constantly since, even though sometimes she ached to paint in a way that she could hardly describe, she’d never once wavered in the decision she’d made. But tonight, after Kate had asked, she’d started to wonder:what if?Would it be so bad to find that part of herself again? Why couldn’t she have a career at the same time as fostering her dream? Did she have to be the perfect daughter with the perfect career that her parents approved of for the rest of her life? Or could she somehow forge a path more authentic to her own needs and desires?
She glanced at her phone, wanting to call her mum but knowing it was the wrong thing to do. Once, her mother would have been the first person she’d have called with news or to talk through how she was feeling. It would have been her mum who’d laugh with her, who’d ask her what piece she was working on, who’d tell her that her creative side was as important as her practical one. But she hadn’t just lost her brother on the eve of her first day at university; she’d lost her mum too. Suddenly the warm, glass-half-full woman who’d raised her had turned into someone she barely recognised, and no matter how many years passed, she never glimpsed that mum again. Not once. Their house was a shrine to Harrison, a place of sadness, clinging to a past that had gone forever, no matter how much they all wished they could change what had happened.
Ella placed the clues on her bedside table and turned off the lamp, wriggling down under the covers and closing her eyes. But when she shut them, all she could see was herself with a paintbrush in hand, staring out at a pure blue ocean that was reflected on the canvas in front of her.
I want to be an artist again. They were words she only ever whispered in the dark of night, because she’d made a career dealing in art, not creating it, and she couldn’t see how those two parts of herself could ever truly coexist. Not now.
3
KONSTANTINIDIS FAMILY ESTATE, ATHENS, GREECE, 1967
‘Darling, are you certain you don’t want to join me?’
Alexandra looked up when her mother spoke. She was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, dressed in riding breeches, tall black leather boots and a white sleeveless shirt, looking as if she were dressed for a photo shoot. Her dark hair was swept back off her face and knotted at the nape of her neck.
Alexandra shook her head, absently touching her own dark locks that matched her mother’s. Only hers were loose, falling halfway down her back in a tumble of untamed waves. ‘You know I don’t love riding like you do, Mama. Maybe another day.’
Her mother walked across the room and sat down on the bed beside her as she lay stretched out. Alexandra let her take the book from her hands and curled her feet up beneath her as her mama smiled at her.
‘You’re reading Jane Austen?’
Alexandra nodded, her cheeks colouring slightly. Her father thought her reading was a waste of time, but she loved nothing more than curling up with a book. ‘I am.’ She knew how much her reading impressed her mother though, especially when she was reading in English. She might not have been gracious in her acceptance of horse-riding lessons over the past few years, but she’d certainly embraced her English tutor.
‘Are you certain you can’t set aside your novel for an hour to ride with your mama? It’s such a beautiful day, and I believe the Queen might be joining me.’
Alexandra glanced at her book, about to open her mouth when her mother touched her fingers lightly to her cheek and smiled at her, before pressing a kiss where her fingertips had been. ‘Darling, enjoy your book. I should know better than to ask. How about you just promise to tell me your thoughts on the dashing Mr Darcy over dinner tonight.’
‘You’ve readPride and Prejudice?’
Her mother rose and laughed, placing the book carefully back into her daughter’s hands. ‘Of course I have. Only I was a little older than twelve when I was given a copy.’ She smiled. ‘Your grandmother would never have let me read romance at your age. She was always terribly concerned about my impressionable young mind.’
Alexandra smiled and watched her mother walk back across the room, pausing at the door. Their eyes met, and her mother gave her a look that only she could give, one that told her just how fond she was of her daughter, her only child.
‘I love you, Alexandra.’
‘I love you too,’ she replied, wondering for a fleeting second whether she should change her mind. But it was so hot, and she didn’t like horses nearly as much as her mother did.
She opened her book again and began to read, but when she heard laughter outside after a few minutes, she stood and went to her window. Below, a car had pulled up on the gravel driveway and she watched as her mother walked towards it. As if sensing her daughter was watching, she glanced up at the house, shielding her eyes from the bright sunshine. Alexandra lifted her hand in a wave and her mother blew her a kiss, before disappearing into the car.
Alexandra sighed and went back to her bed, curling into the pillows and finding her place on the page. Her mama was right; they could talk about it over dinner, and tomorrow if she asked her to go riding, Alexandra would say yes. There were worse things than riding horses for the afternoon, and she did always love having her mother’s undivided attention.
* * *
Alexandra lifted her head, blinking as she glanced towards the window. The light had faded, and she stretched and glanced over at her clock, wondering how late it was. She placed her feet on the ground, glancing at her book on her bedside table, the spine splayed open on the last page she’d read. She must have put it there before she fell asleep.
She grinned, remembering what her mother had said about dinner, and quickly checked her appearance in the floor-length mirror in the corner of her room, smoothing her hands over the wrinkles in her dress. She brushed her hair and tied it back, smiling at her reflection before she walked quickly down the hall, listening out for her mother as she stepped down the stairs.
The house was quiet, but Alexandra made her way to the kitchen first, expecting her mother to be there overseeing dinner. Their cook looked up and smiled, and Alexandra gave a little wave, disappointed to see her mother wasn’t there. She looked in the dining room and the front sitting room, but there was still no sign of her. She was usually a creature of habit, having a pre-dinner drink as she checked to make certain that everything for the evening was to her liking.
