‘It’s avoidance, being here, for both of us,’ she said as they continued to walk towards The Liston.
‘Maybe,’ he answered. ‘And you know what is good to go with avoidance as well as Corfu Town?’
‘If you say anything about rhythm I will?—’
‘What?’ he asked, eyes glinting with mischief. ‘What will you do, Mrs Lawson?’
‘Save your rizz for Tinder is what I’m saying. It does nothing for me.’
But the second the words were out of her mouth her insides were frying.
‘Is that so?’ he asked, his body brushing hers a little as they walked.
‘Yes.’
‘So, there is only one thing I can do,’ Kostas said as they rounded the corner and stepped out onto the wide marble promenade fringed by an arched arcade on one side and a space of still-green grass on the other.
‘What?’ she queried.
‘Pagotó,’ he said with confidence. ‘Ice cream.’
She laughed. ‘OK.’
‘Is it going to work?’ he asked her.
‘It depends how good the ice cream is.’
‘Well, I remember a place.’
38
They were sitting on a green iron bench in Spianada Square, opposite a beautiful arrangement of orange flowers basking in the moonlight and the glow from the streetlamps. Kostas closed his eyes and ate a mouthful of the ice cream piled up on his cone. It was even better than he remembered it from his childhood. Papagiorgos ice cream was something his father had introduced him to. It became almost a rite of passage when they visited Corfu Town. And he had never forgotten the first time he had tried this iconic flavour – vanilla, strawberry, almond and cinnamon. Sweet, spiced, cream and fruit all combined into one perfect taste. All his senses were on high alert…
‘You are watching me,’ he said without opening his eyes, tongue licking the edge of the cone.
‘Your eyes are shut, how do you know?’ Faye asked.
‘Because you will never have seen a man enjoy ice cream this way and you are finding it very, very sexy.’
She laughed. ‘So this ice cream is something you like about this island.’
He hadn’t forgotten that she had heard the words he had exchanged with his grandmother. She now knew that he was bitter about something here, at the very least. She was smart, switched-on, not someone he could easily manipulate into his way of thinking. And, for some reason, thinking about that very fact – how he had wanted to use her, for the purposes of furthering his hotel complex, whatever it took – well, it didn’t feel good.
‘Faye,’ he said. ‘Do not spoil my ice cream eating experience.’
‘Well, I’m just saying, you like this Corfiot ice cream, you like driving the hotel carts; this is turning into a solid list.’
He couldn’t be drawn into this right now. There was conflict he hadn’t envisaged, inner voices asking him questions, as well as Faye. He wasn’t ready. He opened his eyes, watched her nibbling at her cone. ‘What flavour did you get?’
‘The only best flavour there is. Mint chocolate chip.’
‘Oh my God! That is not an ice cream flavour, that is… toothpaste… with bits in.’
‘It’s delicious,’ Faye told him.
‘Not as good as this. Try it.’ He held his cone out to her.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
