‘You don’t like money,’ he said suddenly.
‘Do people actually “like” money?’
‘But I think money makes you feel awkward,’ Kostas continued.
Faye laughed. ‘Only when I can’t make the accounts add up.’
‘You are not being serious with me.’
‘Maybe because you are a millionaire and we are driving a cart down the main beach road with three white Fiat Pandas behind us. I mean, it’s ridiculous.’
‘OK,’ Kostas said. And with a turn of the wheel he took the cart off the road and onto the pebbles, the traffic able to move behind them.
‘You’re insane. These aren’t meant for this kind of terrain,’ Faye said, gripping the side of the buggy.
‘I am not sure what kind of terrain they are made for. Maybe I do need to drive one into the breakfast room tomorrow.’
The cart juddered horribly, their bodies shaking with the motion, and he had had enough. He stopped the cart, jumping out and moving around to Faye’s side of the vehicle. He held his hand out to her.
‘Éla. We will walk the rest of the way.’
She ignored his hand and got out independently. It irked him more than it probably should have, but he already sensed she was someone who was used to doing things for herself.
‘How far are we going? Because if you want to walk to the lake I hope you have insect repellent on.’
The lake. That was one big issue with his complex. It was in the most awkward place and was allegedly home to some protected species of something or other. But that wasn’t insurmountable. Nothing was in the world he had built for himself. He walked a few more paces, then stopped.
‘Here?’ he suggested.
‘OK,’ Faye said, stopping too. ‘Now what?’
‘Now, while I find the best stones, you can tell me why you feel awkward about money.’ He bent down and began examining the pebbles with only the light from the streetlamps.
‘I’m not awkward about money,’ Faye said. ‘I’ve just always had to worry about it.’
‘Your ex-husband did not earn enough so you did not have to worry?’
‘Well, when you have a child there are different degrees of “enough”. We were OK but, you know, not millionaires.’
He stood up, holding a palm full of stones. ‘Did you know most millionaires don’t start out as millionaires? Roughly 85 per cent of millionaires are self-made.’
‘Damn, my husband should have worked harder,’ Faye said with a smile.
‘Maybe he lacked the skills for success,’ Kostas suggested.
‘And what skills are those? In your humble opinion. True talent in your chosen field, I’m guessing.’
He shook his head. ‘Not necessary at all.’
‘Well, I’m not sure I could become a brilliant basketballer – or whatever the terminology is – when I have no skill there whatsoever.’
‘And there is my answer. The most important skill. Self-belief. If you do not have this then it does not matter what talent you have.’ He rolled the stones around in his hand. ‘I was not the best player at the academy. But I worked the hardest and I made myself the best player. Others, you know, they did not want the rewards as much as I did.’ He swallowed away a bite of nostalgia. All those hours. Blood, sweat, tears. It was a success story, yet still he now felt, because of the two incidents and his body not healing fully, that ultimately, unless he continued to make a name for himself, carried on achieving, that his ending would feel like failure.
‘Well, sometimes I think you have to walk a certain path before self-belief arrives in your life.’ She looked out at the sea. ‘I think once you’ve survived so many of life’s challenges you start to realise that if you can get through those you can pretty much take on anything. More than making sure you can scrape enough money together for wine andsouvlakiaat least.’
He smiled, passing her some of his stones. ‘You know, in Athens, the meat on skewers, we do not call themsouvlakia.’
‘What?’ Faye asked.
