When it had arrived three short days before, and Cecily had first read its contents, it had taken her an hour or maybe two before she could do anything other than just stare at it. Norman had been out with his rambling friends and Cecily had sat herself at the kitchen table and reread it over and over until she knew its contents off by heart. When Norman returned, all pink-cheeked and muddy, she had simply passed the letter to him without explanation.
‘Oh,’ he said when he read it, and then, ‘Oh my.’
Cecily said nothing, Norman having captured her thoughts precisely.
‘Will you go?’ Norman asked simply.
‘I don’t see that I have much choice,’ Cecily replied.
‘But Monday? It’s very short notice.’
Cecily shrugged. ‘It is what it is. I’m not sure that there’s much I can do about it. I rang the travel agents and they say there’s a flight on Monday morning. Shall I book a seat?’
There was, of course, a chance that Norman would have objected, raised the obvious concerns about her venturing across the globe on the say-so of a letter received out of the blue and containing only the sketchiest of information. But she had known that he wouldn’t. How could he?
As the wheels of the plane unfurled and it hurtled towards the runway, Cecily refolded the letter, placed it carefully in the envelope and slotted it back into the pocket of her handbag. The invitation had been made. She had accepted it. Nothing could be more simple.
5
The Hotel Aphrodite was an hour’s drive from the airport, or so they told Cecily at the Travel Connect desk. They had been expecting her, which was a relief, and the lank-haired girl ticked her name off the list with an extravagant flourish, as if she were the very last to arrive and it was now a job well done. In fact, another four people appeared after her and they all clambered into the minibus with their luggage and then sat back and watched the unfamiliar countryside take shape beyond the window as they drove along increasingly narrow roads.
After a while they reached the coast. The clear turquoise water shimmered beneath them and the cliffs rose up from the roadside, the earth a vibrant zingy orange. It looked like a page in a travel brochure. Cecily had always assumed that those images were manipulated somehow, the colours turned up to make the scene even more appealing, but it seemed not. Kefalonia really did look like the pictures and it was breathtakingly beautiful. She wished Norman was there to share it with her but she could tell him all about it when she got home. And in a way, it was quite nice to be striking out on her own.
She leant back against the headrest. So far so good, she thought. The next test would be whether the hotel had a room for her when she tried to check in, but Cecily took comfort from the fact that she had been on the minibus list. It was all working just as the letter said it would.
They made several stops on the way for people to get out. One couple, who were dressed alike in matching waterproof jackets despite the azure sky, muttered under their breath that their accommodation didn’t look much like the picture on the website as they descended the stairs. Cecily smiled to herself. The British abroad were a race apart.
Eventually there was just her and one other woman left on the bus. Cecily, keen to avoid a conversation when she had so many gaps in her knowledge as to why she was here, did not make eye contact, but she could feel the woman staring at her and sensed her desire to start a conversation.
‘Are you going to the retreat?’ the stranger asked her, when it became obvious that Cecily was not going to engage unprompted.
Cecily nodded and gave her a thin smile.
‘Have you been before?’ the woman pressed on, undeterred. ‘I come every year. It’s marvellous. Just what the doctor ordered. I usually just go to a couple of yoga classes and then spend the rest of the time by the pool. One year, I did the detox programme but the food is soooo goood . . .’ – she stretched the words out and let them roll around her mouth as if she were actually tasting the food there and then – ‘that it would be a crime not to eat it, you know what I mean?’
The woman was carrying more weight than might be considered good for her but Cecily was heartened by the information. She would have survived on rabbit food for the week if that had been required, but she was grateful that it wouldn’t be necessary.
‘That’s good,’ she replied simply, and hoped it would be enough.
As the minibus drew to a halt the woman let out a huge sigh as if arriving home after a long journey, then sprang down the steps and disappeared up the path and into the building, her suitcase bouncing along behind her. Cecily sat where she was until the driver came and eyed her quizzically.
‘Aphrodite Hotel?’ he asked in a heavily accented voice.
Cecily nodded and he gestured to the door. She was going to have to go inside, but still she hesitated.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You go in,’ he asked, ‘or I take you back?’
‘I go in,’ she said, repeating his pidgin English back at him, but actually at that moment she would have returned from whence she came quite happily.
Once she had her case, the driver clambered back into the minibus and drove away, leaving Cecily standing on the doorstep of the hotel like a wartime evacuee. It was an attractive building, two storeys high with expansive arched windows, each with a little Juliet balcony in front, and painted a greyish pink, like the underside of a mushroom. Tall urns planted with yuccas and other softer foliage were spaced evenly across the frontage, and the terracotta roof tiles were set off perfectly by the deep blue sky. It looked smart and well kept, which was promising.
Cecily took a deep breath. If everything went wrong, at least it was a nice spot to be in for a week. She could have a little holiday here and then just go back home and do her best to forget all about it.
But she wasn’t going to get anywhere if she didn’t actually go inside. With her heart in her mouth, she pushed open the front door.
The reception was bright and airy, the floors and walls all a cool white marble with yet more healthy-looking plants in huge pots positioned tastefully in the corners. The desk was at the far end and Cecily headed for it, the wheels of her suitcase clattering noisily across the tiles.
The man on reception smiled expectantly. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said in English.
Her fair hair and skin always seemed to betray her nationality.
‘My name is Cecily Nightingale,’ said Cecily. She hoped that this would be enough, as she wasn’t sure of any of the details of her stay. He nodded as if he knew precisely who she was, and Cecily relaxed a little.
‘Ah, Mrs Nightingale,’ he said. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip?’
‘Very pleasant, thank you,’ replied Cecily brightly.
‘You are here with the retreat, I understand. We have a room booked for you overlooking the sea. I hope this is good.’
Cecily nodded. ‘Lovely,’ she said.
‘The costs are all dealt with, but if I may take your passport . . .’
Cecily dug it out of her handbag and handed it over. Costs all dealt with. What did that mean? Was she to stay free of charge? That was very kind, but perhaps it would have been better if she paid her own way. She was already feeling exposed and a long way from where she felt comfortable. This generosity just compounded it. But now wasn’t the time to question things, she could see that. There would be time to clarify the situation when she had a better idea of what was what.