Just a few weeks after they’d met, Theo had taken Helena to Sidiro for a long weekend that had stretched to a month.
It had been on this paradise that he’d first mentioned his dream of turning the three-kilometre-square peninsula off Sidiro’s eastern tip, long cut off from Sidiro itself and reached by a five-minute boat ride or a very long swim, into a home to raise a family. The peninsula had many years ago been abandoned by his mother’s family, who’d moved to Agon in search of better opportunities, but the now derelict land itself remained in the family.
She remembered exploring the peninsula with him. He’d taken her to an old abandoned shepherd’s hut nestled in the most perfect spot, giving a spectacular view of the Mediterranean and shelter from the worst of the elements. This was the spot, Theo had decreed, where they would build their home and raise their family.
More memories flooded her and, to Helena’s distress, hot tears stung the backs of her eyes.
How could the afternoon sun blaze so brightly in the perfect blue sky? It should be hidden by thick, dark grey clouds like the ones that had hung over her these past three weeks.
It felt as if she were sailing into a long-forgotten dream.
She supposed that technically that was what she was doing. Once, she had shared the same dream for them. Dreams, she now knew, were whispers and impressions. Dreams were not real. They had no substance.
The peninsula had a small harbour and that was where Helena’s first sailing adventure in three years came to an end. There was a flurry of activity as her cases and work equipment were loaded onto a golf cart, the only vehicular transport allowed on the island other than taxis and deliveries from the twice-weekly ferry. As she watched her possessions disappear from view, a growing speck in the distance caused the hairs on the nape of her neck to lift.
Heart rising up her throat, she kept her gaze fixed on the approaching scooter.
Theo brought the scooter to a halt with a flourish and grinned. He’d watched Helena’s arrival from the hilltop with a mixture of emotions coursing through his blood. The strongest had been understandable satisfaction, followed closely by unfathomable bitterness. He’d never told her that his grandmother, thrilled at the thought of her only grandson making a life on the island of her birth, had signed over the deeds for the peninsula to him as a wedding present. He’d wanted to surprise Helena with it on their wedding day.
His grandmother was delighted he was finally building on it. She’d adored Helena and had been devastated when she’d jilted him, something else he would never forgive Helena for.
But he didn’t want to learn about forgiveness. He wanted that most American concept of closure.
He had not anticipated how greatly seeing Helena again would affect him. Not on an emotional level, of course, but on a physical level, as if inhaling her perfume had retuned his senses to a greater pitch that heightened his every waking moment. He felt like the man he’d been before the jilting and it felt great. There was a zing in his veins, a strut in his walk, a greater appetite for food and stimulation whilst his boredom threshold had increased and he’d had to fight his own mind not to keep wandering off track. Theo employed a great team who were perfectly capable of keeping his many and varied businesses and interests going for a short while without him, but when he was present they looked to him for leadership. He’d had to drink a lot of caffeine to keep himself sharp and stop his wandering mind going off on too many tangents. But really, it was too delicious to imagine Helena going stir crazy as she made the arrangements needed for her trip back into his life.
He knew how badly she’d wanted to say no to the commission and keep the door slammed on him for good.
A flash of their final argument suddenly played in his head. It had come on the heels of a lunch with her parents, a lunch that was supposed to be the last meal they shared before separating for the night to avoid the bad luck that plagued newlyweds foolish enough to see each other before exchanging their vows. If he caught so much as a glimpse of Helena after the sun rose and before they stood before the bishop, they would be cursed with a plague of locusts or some other such nonsense. It was a tradition he’d been willing to honour because Helena had wanted it.
She’d returned to the house with him to get her overnight bag and, he’d thought, for a few minutes of privacy before they separated for the night. Her wedding dress had been sent directly to the hotel Helena and her family were staying at that night. Theo had booked the whole top floor for them.
Instead of the loving words and promises he’d anticipated, she’d turned on him about an innocuous comment he’d made to her father about babies. Theo had taught Helena to argue in their time together and to begin with he’d enjoyed watching his usually possessed fiancée unravel.
‘You want me to quit work! You want me barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen...’
The imagery had provoked a burst of wild laughter from him. Helena? In a kitchen? As if that would ever happen, pregnant or otherwise.
‘You think that’s funny?’ she’d shrieked. ‘None of this is funny! I thought you were supportive of my career.’
‘I am!’ he’d shouted back, blissfully unaware that it was his relationship as well as his fiancée unravelling around him. Hadn’t he framed that first picture of the palace he’d so admired? Hadn’t he told her he wanted her to design their home when the peninsula became his? Hadn’t he found all the information
