Alexis, glancing at Helena.
‘Terribly,’ she agreed, spotting an English-style pub with a garish banner outside, announcing televised football and all-you-can-eat roast lunches every Sunday.
They parked outside a cavernous homeware superstore, and Helena realised Alexis was right: Paphos had exploded into the kind of shopping experience any British town would be proud to call its
own.
‘Globalisation, I loathe it!’ she muttered as she climbed out.
Inside the store a few minutes later, Helena picked a lace tablecloth up from a pile and read the label of origin. ‘China,’ she remarked to Alexis. ‘Last time I was here, the
lace was made by the local women and sold on market stalls. You offered them what you wanted to pay.’
‘You are just sad because we are no longer “quaint”. But we learned everything we know from you British during your occupation,’ Alexis added with an ironic smile.
Two hours later, with a token stop-off at McDonald’s to placate Immy, Alexis’ van – laden with white goods and a mountain of other items Helena had bought – arrived back
at Pandora. The shopping spree had cost a small fortune, but she’d used some of the money from Angus’ bequest and hoped that her godfather would have approved of it being spent on
refurbishing Pandora. It was certainly in need of updating.
Alex, who had hardly spoken a word all day, silently helped Alexis and his builder relative, Georgios, lug the boxes off the van and onto the wheeled trolley that Alexis had left at the house
earlier.
As she spread pretty bedspreads, put cream silk lampshades on bases in place of fly-blown orange glass, and hung wispy pieces of voile at the bedroom windows, Helena reluctantly admitted to
herself that there were some advantages to globalisation.
‘The freezer is switched on, the new oven in and the old one out, and the dishwasher and washing machine await a plumber, who will come tomorrow.’ Alexis had appeared at
Helena’s bedroom door and stood watching her making up the old wooden bed with crisp, white cotton sheets. He surveyed the room and smiled. ‘Ah, a woman’s touch . . . it is
irreplaceable.’
‘There’s a long way to go yet, but it’s a start.’
‘And perhaps the beginning of a new era for Pandora?’ he ventured.
‘You don’t think Angus would mind, do you?’
‘I think a family is exactly what the house needs. It always did.’
‘I’d like to paint this room, soften it a little,’ she remarked, looking at the stark, whitewashed walls.
‘Why not? My sons could start tomorrow. They would have it done in no time at all,’ Alexis offered.
‘Oh Alexis, you are kind, but they have work, surely?’
‘You forget I am their boss. So,’ he said with a grin, ‘they will do as I say.’
‘The time is flying already,’ Helena exclaimed. ‘My husband arrives on Friday with Fred.’
‘Does he?’ Alexis paused, then continued. ‘So, you choose the colour and we will do the job.’
‘Well, in paltry return for all your help, I shall open the bottle of wine you brought us.’
‘Helena, you look pale. Are you tired?’ Alexis put his hands tentatively on her shoulders. ‘You are an English rose and cannot take the heat. You never could.’
‘I’m fine, Alexis, really.’ Helena broke free from his touch and hurried down the stairs.
Later, once Alexis and Georgios had left and Alex was setting up the DVD player with Immy dancing round him excitedly, Helena climbed guiltily into her new hammock, which Alexis had suspended
between the beautiful old olive tree that stood proudly in the centre of the garden to the side of the terrace and another, younger upstart.
A delicious breeze rustled through the branches, gently blowing wisps of her hair across her forehead. The cicadas were practising for their sunset chorus and the sun had lost its midday glare,
softening into a dappled, mellow light.
She thought about the imminent arrival of her unknown stepdaughter,
‘Terribly,’ she agreed, spotting an English-style pub with a garish banner outside, announcing televised football and all-you-can-eat roast lunches every Sunday.
They parked outside a cavernous homeware superstore, and Helena realised Alexis was right: Paphos had exploded into the kind of shopping experience any British town would be proud to call its
own.
‘Globalisation, I loathe it!’ she muttered as she climbed out.
Inside the store a few minutes later, Helena picked a lace tablecloth up from a pile and read the label of origin. ‘China,’ she remarked to Alexis. ‘Last time I was here, the
lace was made by the local women and sold on market stalls. You offered them what you wanted to pay.’
‘You are just sad because we are no longer “quaint”. But we learned everything we know from you British during your occupation,’ Alexis added with an ironic smile.
Two hours later, with a token stop-off at McDonald’s to placate Immy, Alexis’ van – laden with white goods and a mountain of other items Helena had bought – arrived back
at Pandora. The shopping spree had cost a small fortune, but she’d used some of the money from Angus’ bequest and hoped that her godfather would have approved of it being spent on
refurbishing Pandora. It was certainly in need of updating.
Alex, who had hardly spoken a word all day, silently helped Alexis and his builder relative, Georgios, lug the boxes off the van and onto the wheeled trolley that Alexis had left at the house
earlier.
As she spread pretty bedspreads, put cream silk lampshades on bases in place of fly-blown orange glass, and hung wispy pieces of voile at the bedroom windows, Helena reluctantly admitted to
herself that there were some advantages to globalisation.
‘The freezer is switched on, the new oven in and the old one out, and the dishwasher and washing machine await a plumber, who will come tomorrow.’ Alexis had appeared at
Helena’s bedroom door and stood watching her making up the old wooden bed with crisp, white cotton sheets. He surveyed the room and smiled. ‘Ah, a woman’s touch . . . it is
irreplaceable.’
‘There’s a long way to go yet, but it’s a start.’
‘And perhaps the beginning of a new era for Pandora?’ he ventured.
‘You don’t think Angus would mind, do you?’
‘I think a family is exactly what the house needs. It always did.’
‘I’d like to paint this room, soften it a little,’ she remarked, looking at the stark, whitewashed walls.
‘Why not? My sons could start tomorrow. They would have it done in no time at all,’ Alexis offered.
‘Oh Alexis, you are kind, but they have work, surely?’
‘You forget I am their boss. So,’ he said with a grin, ‘they will do as I say.’
‘The time is flying already,’ Helena exclaimed. ‘My husband arrives on Friday with Fred.’
‘Does he?’ Alexis paused, then continued. ‘So, you choose the colour and we will do the job.’
‘Well, in paltry return for all your help, I shall open the bottle of wine you brought us.’
‘Helena, you look pale. Are you tired?’ Alexis put his hands tentatively on her shoulders. ‘You are an English rose and cannot take the heat. You never could.’
‘I’m fine, Alexis, really.’ Helena broke free from his touch and hurried down the stairs.
Later, once Alexis and Georgios had left and Alex was setting up the DVD player with Immy dancing round him excitedly, Helena climbed guiltily into her new hammock, which Alexis had suspended
between the beautiful old olive tree that stood proudly in the centre of the garden to the side of the terrace and another, younger upstart.
A delicious breeze rustled through the branches, gently blowing wisps of her hair across her forehead. The cicadas were practising for their sunset chorus and the sun had lost its midday glare,
softening into a dappled, mellow light.
She thought about the imminent arrival of her unknown stepdaughter,
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