The Housekeeper (The Greek Island Series) by Sara Alexi

Author:Sara Alexi [Alexi, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oneiro
Published: 2017-04-02T07:00:00+00:00

'Monica.' Poppy felt her mouth move and heard the name spoken, but it was not she who said the name, was it?

'Yes, that’s right,’ the smiling, scarlet-lipped woman replied. ‘And you are Poppy. How do you do? Pantelis has told me so much about you! He’s done nothing but sing your praises and say how well you keep the house and what a good cook you are. I declare, you put a girl to shame!' And with this she feigned embarrassment, but no colour came to her cheeks.

'And what treats do you have in store for this evening’s meal,’ asked Pantelis. ‘I am famished.' He put out his hands to take the woman’s – his wife’s – light jacket, which he then passed to Poppy. Poppy stood where she was, not knowing what to do with it.

'I don't think you will need your jacket in the house, will you, my dear? It will be just fine hung by the main door, am I right?' he spoke to Monica but Poppy understood what he was doing, telling her what to do with it, as if she were a servant.

'Oh, thank you so much.' Monica turned and purred directly at her, showing that she too understood the implication. 'Do put it on a hanger, won’t you, so it doesn’t lose its shape.'

Then she turned to Pantelis. 'Darling, this is just so – well, so fascinating,’ she gushed. ‘Look at all this old furniture and …' She stopped by the African mask. 'Things.'

She stared at the mask for a while and then shook her head as if in disbelief, before turning to the terrace doors, which stood open. 'Oh my!’ she exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘What a fabulous view!'

Pantelis hesitated for just a second, in which time his eyes locked with Poppy’s. She hadn’t moved and she still held the jacket.

'I’ll hang it with mine,' he said, and he took it from her gently and hung it on a hook. He was just on his way out to the terrace when he faltered. 'If you happen to find a hanger, that would be great, you know, at some point.'

Then he hurried out after his wife and Poppy was left standing, her mouth open, her hands still positioned as if they were holding the jacket, and her eyes wide, staring out at them in the sunlight. There were no racing thoughts in her mind; she felt quite calm and very still. There was just one, only one, question. Had she, this woman, this Monica, with her red lips and smart clothes, been part of his life all along?

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