“Eínai aftó tis?Eínai aftó i kóri Georges?” a shapely older woman said coming to the front door.
She was dressed in an all white figure hugging gown, and had short, cropped black hair. She appeared to be in her late fifties, but had the body of a toned, voluptuous younger woman.
“Nai,” Nick said. “Aftí eínai i Joanna Nélson. Kóri tou Georges.”
The woman startled Joanna and placed both of her hands on her face to gaze into her eyes. “Nai, you are his daughter,” she said and smiled, displaying straight white teeth and healthy pink gums.
She kissed Joanna on both cheeks and pulled her in for a hug.
Joanna kept her hands to the side, overwhelmed by this strange woman’s onslaught of affection.
The Greek woman squeezed her hard one more time and let her go.
“You are a gem to us,” she said. “Efcharistó! Thank you for coming!”
Joanna looked at Nick and asked, “What did I do?”
“You are George’s daughter,” Nick explained. “It is enough.”
“What time did your plane land?” the woman asked, taking one of Joanna’s hands and clasping it with both of her own.
“Around four,” she replied.
The woman then looked sternly at Nick who promptly snickered and put his arms up to defend himself.
“That was hours ago and I’m sure she’s tired and hungry,” the woman scolded Nick, raining down playful blows upon him. “Romance her after she’s rested! I’m so sorry, Miss Nelson. If you weren’t pretty he wouldn’t have bothered you. You would have been here at four twenty. Come, come. Come inside your new abode.”
“This is…”
“Nai, nai,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Thisis your inheritance, all of it. Villa Azure, the best hotel in Skiathos.”
Chapter Seven
Nick brought her luggage in while Joanna walked around the lobby of Villa Azure, slightly dazed.
The walls were cracking and peeling paint, and the air smelled like a muggy enclosed swimming pool.
“I didn’t properly introduce myself,” the Greek woman said then. “I’m Crisanta Lekas, but you can call me Chris.”
“How did you know my father?” Joanna asked, wandering around in circles, her mind spinning.
“I worked for him the last four years of his life. He was a great man.”
Joanna stopped and leaned before a picture of an old man standing between the columns that lined the staircase.
“Is this him?” she asked, pointing.
“Your father? No, but that is your grandfather. Priam. He’s the man who built this place. Would you like to see a picture of your father?”
Joanna nodded.
“Nick,” she hollered and the younger Greek shrugged and set Joanna’s luggage on the floor.
Chris seemed to think for a moment. “He wasn’t a vain man, you see, Miss Joanna. I don’t think he had anything like that in his room. We’re still going through his things and belongings, and it’s hard. None of us really have the strength or time to do it. I don’t think I’ve seen any pictures of him in there. Eímai ilíthios!” Chris suddenly slapped her head. “My phone. Let me find my phone. Just a minute, dear.”
She walked behind the check-in desk, dug into her handbag, and came back with a white iPhone.
“I forget about how much these things do.” Chris pulled up her photos and scrolled to one of her sitting next to a man with both hands resting atop a carved cane. “On the night of his last birthday I got someone to take my picture with him. This is him. This is your father.”
