The Holiday by Erica James

Author:Erica James [James, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781409107477
Google: f-RsRsGi5dIC
Amazon: 0752883488
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2009-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

That evening, Laura sank into her chair on the terrace beside Izzy, who, as she so often was these days, was engrossed in her book. Exhausted — too tired even to admire the setting sun, she closed her eyes, grateful that Corky and Olivia had gone into Kassiópi with Francesca and Sally.

As kind, as thoughtful and as fun as they were, her in-laws were running her ragged. With most of the sights now ticked off on their extensive list of places to visit, Laura was almost out of ideas and energy to keep them amused.

Why couldn’t they be lazier? A little more like her own parents.

Why this constant need to be so active?

And why on earth did she feel so dog-tired? Surely she should be used to the heat by now. Last night during supper Francesca had caught her with her eyelids drooping and had teased her that she was hitting the menopause. ‘When all those hot flushes kick in we won’t need to bother with a log fire in the winter,’ she had laughed. ‘We’ll sit in front of you and warm our toes.’

Oh, the cruelty of youth.

Olivia had suggested a course of HRT, saying she wished she had been young enough to take advantage of it when she had gone through the change. ‘My hot flushes were so awful, they were more like tropical rainstorms,’ she had said. ‘I had several fainting phases as well. Very unpleasant.’ Maybe, with all that behind her, it was no wonder that Olivia was so full of beans.

She and Max had done their best to occupy his parents, taking them far and wide. They had been to Kanóni to see the much-photographed Mouse Island with its chapel tucked into the cypress trees. Another day they had been to the top of Corfu’s highest mountain, Mount Pantokrator, all 2,972 feet of it. They had been lucky with the weather: the sky had been crystal clear, and they had been able to make out Paxos, and even a glimpse of mainland Greece. They had also been to Corfu Town and had covered what to Laura had felt like every square inch of it. They had taken in the new and old fortresses, the paper money museum, the leather and jewellery shops, of which there were hundreds, and all had had to be inspected before Max’s mother decided what to treat herself to. Then they had sat in the cool, gloomy interior of the beautiful old church of St Spiridon, with its towering campanile and red onion dome, which they all decided bore an uncanny resemblance to a fireman’s helmet. In true Anglican fascination, they had watched locals hurrying in during their lunch-break to light candles and plant ritualistic kisses on the tomb of their much-loved patron saint, their lips murmuring prayers of hope and exultation. They had finished the day by relaxing over a drink in the quiet, arcaded street of the Listón where Max and Corky had got involved in the drama of a local cricket team showing a guest side from England how the game should be played.

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