Among the Olive Groves Read online

  Among the Olive Groves

  Chrissie Parker

  First published in 2014

  Copyright, Among the Olive Groves © Chrissie Parker 2014

  Cover Design © Chris Joyce 2014

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters and events are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Dedication

  To Christopher and Frank Betts, who worked as dispatch riders in Bristol’s Home Guard during World War Two.

  To my brothers Matt and Si, the surfers.

  To my cousin Sandra Beavis, who lives the Zante dream.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cornwall, England, 1991

  Kate Fisher ran. Her legs pounded the ground, each blow sending shockwaves through her feet and up into her shins, but she pushed through the pain and continued on.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t be happening. Not today.

  Today was supposed to be a happy day, a momentous occasion filled with laughter and celebration. Instead her world had crumbled around her and she had been unable to stop it.

  The terrain along the clifftop was rough and uneven. Tufts of thick grass and rabbit holes threatened to trip her and send her tumbling to the ground, but Kate was smarter. She knew the area well and jumped lightly over them, leaving them in her wake. The tangy smell of salt hung in the early morning air and she could feel the ocean spray dusting her already sweat-soaked skin. Her hair was whipped by the strong Cornish winds and small tendrils stuck to her sweaty forehead, but she didn’t care.

  As she finally rounded the headland, the beach came into view. A large expanse of golden sand that arced its way along the shore, clinging to jagged granite cliffs; cliffs that had shaped the landscape for thousands of years making the countryside what it was today. Searching the crashing waves below, she looked for him, scouring the tumble and froth in vain. Moments later, a surfer appeared on the crest of a wave and she watched as he expertly rode it to the shore.

  Determination coursed through her and she pushed her body to its very limit. With lungs aching and muscles screaming, she picked up speed, each step bringing her closer to him, as the tears began to fall.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Zakynthos, Greece, 1938

  Elena Petrakis walked through the olive groves, it was a place she loved. Her slender fingers traced the bark of the trees as she went, and her feet displaced small blades of lush grass and the occasional wild flower. She loved mornings like this, mornings where the sun shone brightly overhead and the sky blazed a brilliant blue. It was a hot and steamy summer, the sea was calm, the olives were growing plentiful and war was now a memory. The islanders lived in paradise in the middle of the Ionian Sea, with nothing but the beauty of nature to keep them company. It was idyllic.

  Elena was lost in her own world. Her small frame danced in time to the tune she sang. Her long brown hair, falling in small tendrils from her headscarf, flowed in the gentle breeze and her bright green eyes, all knowing just like a cat’s, didn’t miss a thing.

  She loved the island. It had always been home and she knew of nothing else. She lived in the mountains with her parents and brother, helping her mother around the house, sneaking out when she could to explore the picturesque land that was surrounded by vibrant turquoise waters. Her parents never knew where she was from one moment to the next and, despite their frustration, they loved her more for it. They liked that she was a free spirit and, as long as Elena remembered the traditions of her heritage, she could do as she pleased.

  Elena was nineteen, almost an adult but in many ways still like the mischievous and happy child she had always been. She had always taken an interest in the world around her and had grown into a strong-minded young woman, who lived life to the full. She was part of the island and it was part of her. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

  As she reached the end of the olive groves, she climbed the stone wall and sat on top, staring down at the world below, quietly singing. As far as her eye could see, the ground was interspersed with rows of thick, twisted and gnarled brown tree trunks. Their branches held plentiful leaves, and budding green olives, growing heavy with the promise of a good harvest. Wild flowers and grass grew in abundance, while lizards either stalked the undergrowth chasing their next meal, or leisurely basked in the heat of the summer sun.

  It was then that she saw him, walking towards her through the trees. A boy not much older than herself. Elena had seen him around the island before but only ever at a distance, and he had always fascinated her. He was taller than her, handsome in a Greek sort of way, with brown hair that fell untidily about his face. His skin was tanned from the intensity of the Zakynthian sun and, whenever she saw him, his clothes were always smart and tidy, unlike hers. Today he wore the clothes of a working man and she wondered why that was. She remained on the wall, swinging her legs, singing a little louder now, watching like a cat as he drew ever closer.

  Angelos Sarkis was checking the olive trees when he heard the sweet melodic voice; it carried on the light breeze and wrapped itself around him like a comforting blanket. Intrigued, he stopped working and followed the sound. With growing curiosity, he dipped under the branches of a tree, and took in a scruffy girl, sitting on the wall. He was very tempted to stop, but knew he did not have the time, so he continued walking, a brief smile passing across his lips as they locked eyes.

  “Hey you! Sing with me!” she shouted as he walked by. Angelos tried his best not to stare, but her beauty shone brighter than the sun overhead. He had to stop. He was lost for words and just stood like a fool gaping at her, as though an angel had descended before him, trapping him in its heavenly spell. Elena grinned, jumped down and ran over to him. It was only then that he noticed her feet were bare.

  “Do you realise you are barefoot?” Angelos asked, perplexed by this strange vision. He wondered who she was and why he had never seen her before.

  “Yes, I hate shoes. I prefer to feel the earth against my skin.” She stood before him, smiling, trying to sum him up. “Come, sing with me!”

  Angelos shook his head. “No. I can’t sing.”

  “Everyone can sing. Come, sing with me!” She playfully danced around him, continuing the song she had sung a few minutes earlier. She was full of energy and her spirit was infectious. Despite himself, Angelos found himself singing, albeit very badly.

  As soon as the song had begun, it was over and she stood before him once more.

&nb
sp; “Elena Petrakis,” she said holding out her hand. Her formality made him laugh.

  “Angelos Sarkis,” he replied, shaking her delicate hand. Every part of her was beautiful.

  “Sarkis?” she raised an eyebrow. It was a name she knew well.

  “Sarkis,” he nodded.

  “Hmm. You are very handsome, Angelos. Tell me about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything!” she giggled, running rings around him making him feel dizzy.

  “Do you ever keep still?”

  “No. Never! If you keep still, then life stops. You have to keep moving, Angelos, or the grass will grow under your feet and your life will cease to have meaning.”

  Angelos laughed loudly. “How old are you, Elena?”

  “I am almost twenty. Why do you ask?”

  “You are much too wise for your age.”

  “You sound like my father!” she laughed. “Come, let us go to the beach.”

  She grabbed his hand, and Angelos had no choice but to follow her, his work forgotten. Elena ran, weaving between trees, heading for the lane, her bare feet kicking up dust as she pulled him along behind her. They felt the wind on their faces, the sun on their skin and, for Angelos, the thrill of spending time with a beautiful girl, something he rarely did.

  Running along the rough track, they eventually found themselves on Xigia Beach, a small expanse of coarse sand dotted through with pebbles. It was silent other than the gentle swish-swish of waves washing back and forth along the shore. Angelos stood and watched as Elena ran to the water. She dipped her toes into the waves, and squealed as the cool viridian waters washed over her warm, sun-kissed skin.

  “Angelos! Join me.”

  “No thank you. I will just sit here.” He plonked himself down on the sand and watched as she continued to dance in the shallow waves, like a child who was seeing the sea for the first time. As he stared out across the water towards the neighbouring island of Kefalonia, his mind began to wander. He really should not have stopped work. He was supposed to be checking the groves for his father. His father. Angelos’s stomach tensed. If Loukas Sarkis knew his son was sitting on a beach, spending time with a girl instead of working, he would be furious, and Loukas was not a man to cross. Angelos jumped to his feet.

  “Elena! I must go.”

  She spun around and ran up the beach, her face filled with disappointment.

  “You must?”

  “I must.”

  “But why?”

  “I am supposed to be working. My father owns the olive groves. He would be cross if he knew I was here.”

  “Pah! Work is for fools.”

  Angelos sighed. “I am sorry Elena. It was lovely to meet you but I really have to go.” He turned and walked up the beach. Elena ran after him and grabbed his arm.

  “I am sorry. I did not mean that you are a fool.”

  “It is okay. Maybe I will see you again another time?”

  “Maybe,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  He sighed again. “I have to go. But I will see you again, Elena.” Without a second glance, he ran off up the rough track and back towards the road. At the top, he could not help glancing back at the girl who had stolen his heart. He knew he would see her again, even if he had to scour the island for her, for Angelos Sarkis had fallen head over heels in love.

  ~

  Elena silently crept along the wall. She was desperate to look at the Sarkis house. She had heard the name before; most islanders knew who the Sarkis family was. They were one of the wealthiest families on the island. Loukas Sarkis owned many of the olive groves, a business he had inherited from his father. She now understood why Angelos looked and dressed the way he did. He was a cut above her and her family. Too good for her.

  Sighing, she sunk to the ground and leaned against the wall. She did not have many friends, and she liked Angelos. He had a pleasant smile and spoke to her rather than at her like most people did. Finding out who he was had been a shock, and she knew that Loukas Sarkis would never allow them be friends. Picking at the grass and watching the birds flit from tree to tree, she heard a bang. Elena sprang to her feet and peered over the wall to see Angelos and his father leaving the house. Studying them, she took in the elder of the two. There were similarities between them but, whereas Angelos was good-looking and had a pleasant air about him, Loukas looked gnarled and beaten, like one of his ancient olive trees. Like many of his kind, a fondness for ouzo, too much sun and the weight of business had begun to take its toll.

  At the gate, the two men parted, Loukas in a donkey-drawn cart and Angelos on foot.

  Elena continued to watch. As Loukas disappeared around the bend in the road, she ran to catch up with the younger man.

  Sneaking up behind him she tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Good morning, Angelos.”

  “Elena! What are you doing here?” Anxiously, he scanned for his father.

  “I came to see you. Do not worry; I waited until your father had left. Why did you not tell me who you were?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I want to know everything about you.”

  “You are very sweet, Elena, but I have to work and I do not think it would be appropriate for us to be seen together.”

  “Why?” His attitude irritated her. “Why Angelos, are you worried about what people will say? The landowner’s son running about the island with a peasant.”

  “I never said you were a peasant, Elena!”

  “You did not, but others do. I can see how it would bother you. You are a Sarkis, destined to own the island’s best olive groves. You live in a nice big house and wear fancy clothes and do not have time to spend with the likes of me, a lowly island wretch. Good day, Angelos Sarkis, it was nice to meet you!” She turned and stormed off down the road.

  Angelos watched her go, torn between work, and the beautiful spirited girl he wanted to get to know better. His heart won out and he ran after her. Catching up to her, he took her arm.

  “Stop one minute.”

  “No. I have said all I have to say.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Elena. Stop and let me speak!”

  She heard his tone and whirled round, coming to a standstill. “What?”

  “Do you know you are very beautiful when you are angry?” he laughed.

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  They walked silently side by side along a narrow road, lined with trees and hedges. It was a typical island morning; the sky was a vibrant cornflower blue, with barely a cloud in sight. A light breeze wafted around them, birds sang and vegetation blossomed. Angelos was first to break the silence.

  “Where do you live, Elena?”

  “In the mountains with my mother, father and brother. My brother is younger than me. We do not have a lot, we are not very rich, all of our money comes from my father working on the land or in the olive groves, but we are a happy family. I love them very much; I do not know what I would do without them.”

  “Being rich is not the most important thing in the world. Being happy with who you are and what you do in life is far more important.”

  “You think so, Angelos?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you are rich! Does it not make you happy?”

  “You think I am rich?”

  “Yes. Your father owns many olive groves and much land. Look at the big house you live in. You must be rich!”

  Angelos laughed, shaking his head. “It is true that we have money, and that we can buy many things that others cannot, but we are not rich, Elena. We have no gold or jewels or a motor vehicle. We work twelve hour days almost every single day of the week, sometimes more. I rarely see my mother or father other than at the dinner table or at work. I would rather be poor than be who I am. I hate it. My father only cares about work.”

  “You do not like your life, Angelos? You are unhappy?”

  He looked away from her. He was a man, and there were things he could never tel
l her, things he could never tell anyone. It had been a mistake to come out with her today. “It has been nice seeing you again, Elena. Enjoy the day.”

  With that, he was gone, leaving Elena standing alone and confused, wondering how she had managed to upset him.

  ~

  Elena lay under the large olive tree. Its branches hung low and wide, giving more than adequate shade on the humid summer day. She closed her eyes and began to drift off to sleep, the rustling sounds of the trees above and click of cicadas in the undergrowth relaxed her. It was two weeks since she had seen Angelos and she had given up ever spending time with him again. They were from different worlds, worlds that would never safely collide.

  During those weeks, she had run through the mountains with the other village children, climbing trees and searching out undiscovered places to play and hide, but it had bored her. She was nineteen years old and too old for childish games. She wanted the company of someone her own age, and her mind had slowly crept back to Angelos. She had woken early that morning and crept down to the olive groves, where she had lain ever since, desperately hoping he would turn up. So far she had been disappointed. The day was hot and sleep overtook her. She dozed under the tree in a deep dream-filled slumber.

  Angelos strode purposefully through the groves, checking the branches of the trees as he went. It looked like the harvest would be a good one this year. Up ahead, he spied someone asleep under an awning of branches. Stepping closer, he pulled up short and smiled. Elena. He had not seen her for weeks and he had missed her. He regretted walking away from her the last time they were together, but there were things in his life he could not talk about to anyone, and he had come perilously close to revealing them to her.

  He crouched next to her and ran his fingers through the loose brown waves that fell across her shoulders, before sitting with his back to the tree.