chain on which hung a pendant, a single stone that dwarfed the others. Finally there was a ring. The design of the whole set was minimal – the cut of the gems was its feature. They needed no embellishment. The translucent blue and pale gold were the hues of the island, perhaps the reason that the jeweller had named the collection
Hromata tis Kiprou
– ‘Colours of Cyprus’. They were the same colours in which every islander was bathed from day to day, but only Aphroditi possessed them in this way.
She had gone with her parents to the airport late morning but had done little else that day. Their farewell was full of unspoken emotion and little outward show of feeling. Anyone observing them might have assumed that the sixty-year-old couple had come home for a family funeral. There was no other reason why a woman would have worn a black dress on such a sunny day as this.
Nicosia airport was very busy at this time of year, with planes coming and going each hour. The arrivals area thronged with expectant package tourists, while the departures lounge was slightly more subdued, with tanned holidaymakers regretful that their time in paradise had ended.
‘I am so glad you were there last night,’ said Aphroditi, addressing both her parents. ‘It meant a lot to us.’
‘The hotel is magnificent,
kardia mou
,’ responded her father. ‘I am sure it will be a big success.’
‘It wouldn’t have happened without your help, Father.’
‘The money was one thing,’ he replied. ‘The hard work was all your husband’s … and yours, of course.’
‘I hope you’ll come again soon, maybe for a bit longer …’
Her words sounded empty and automatic. She knew as well as they did that neither of these things was likely to happen.
She squeezed her mother’s arm affectionately, and Artemis bowed her head as if to shy away from the kiss that her daughter wanted to give her.
Aphroditi swallowed hard.
A moment later she found herself enveloped in her father’s embrace.
‘Goodbye, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you,’ he said. ‘Take care.’
‘You take care of yourselves too,’ she said firmly.
She watched her parents as they went through passport control and out of sight. Only her father glanced over his shoulder and gave a final wave.
Now that the party had taken place and the hotel was officially open, Aphroditi would have much less to do. She felt a strong sense of anticlimax and emptiness as she drove back from the airport, and wondered how she was going to fill her days. She had worked for months towards the grand opening, designing the flower arrangements, tasting the canapés and compiling the guest list. Her job with the soft furnishings was completed too.
How would she maintain her status from now on, if she was expected to do little more than plan the occasional event and appear each day for cocktails and dinner?
This would be a performance that required careful preparation, though, one stage of which was the daily visit to the hairdresser.
‘Kyria Papacosta, what an evening that must have been!’ exclaimed Emine when Aphroditi appeared at the salon entrance. The hairdressers had already seen the account of it in the daily newspaper. ‘
Everyone
who was anyone was there! Everyone important, I mean!’
Emine and Aphroditi shared the easy familiarity of people who had known each other for a long time. To the Turkish Cypriot, Aphroditi played many roles: daughter, client, and now employer. Perhaps the latter should suggest a greater formality, but tacitly they both rejected such an artificial change.
‘And you looked so wonderful!’
‘Thank you, Emine,’ replied Aphroditi. ‘My hair certainly had a lot of compliments!’
‘We’ve had quite a few people in today,’ said Emine. ‘Non-residents wanting the excuse to come in and have a snoop round, I think.’
‘But a few bookings from the new guests too?’ enquired Aphroditi.
‘Plenty!’ replied Savina.
Tonight Aphroditi had chosen
Hromata tis Kiprou
– ‘Colours of Cyprus’. They were the same colours in which every islander was bathed from day to day, but only Aphroditi possessed them in this way.
She had gone with her parents to the airport late morning but had done little else that day. Their farewell was full of unspoken emotion and little outward show of feeling. Anyone observing them might have assumed that the sixty-year-old couple had come home for a family funeral. There was no other reason why a woman would have worn a black dress on such a sunny day as this.
Nicosia airport was very busy at this time of year, with planes coming and going each hour. The arrivals area thronged with expectant package tourists, while the departures lounge was slightly more subdued, with tanned holidaymakers regretful that their time in paradise had ended.
‘I am so glad you were there last night,’ said Aphroditi, addressing both her parents. ‘It meant a lot to us.’
‘The hotel is magnificent,
kardia mou
,’ responded her father. ‘I am sure it will be a big success.’
‘It wouldn’t have happened without your help, Father.’
‘The money was one thing,’ he replied. ‘The hard work was all your husband’s … and yours, of course.’
‘I hope you’ll come again soon, maybe for a bit longer …’
Her words sounded empty and automatic. She knew as well as they did that neither of these things was likely to happen.
She squeezed her mother’s arm affectionately, and Artemis bowed her head as if to shy away from the kiss that her daughter wanted to give her.
Aphroditi swallowed hard.
A moment later she found herself enveloped in her father’s embrace.
‘Goodbye, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you,’ he said. ‘Take care.’
‘You take care of yourselves too,’ she said firmly.
She watched her parents as they went through passport control and out of sight. Only her father glanced over his shoulder and gave a final wave.
Now that the party had taken place and the hotel was officially open, Aphroditi would have much less to do. She felt a strong sense of anticlimax and emptiness as she drove back from the airport, and wondered how she was going to fill her days. She had worked for months towards the grand opening, designing the flower arrangements, tasting the canapés and compiling the guest list. Her job with the soft furnishings was completed too.
How would she maintain her status from now on, if she was expected to do little more than plan the occasional event and appear each day for cocktails and dinner?
This would be a performance that required careful preparation, though, one stage of which was the daily visit to the hairdresser.
‘Kyria Papacosta, what an evening that must have been!’ exclaimed Emine when Aphroditi appeared at the salon entrance. The hairdressers had already seen the account of it in the daily newspaper. ‘
Everyone
who was anyone was there! Everyone important, I mean!’
Emine and Aphroditi shared the easy familiarity of people who had known each other for a long time. To the Turkish Cypriot, Aphroditi played many roles: daughter, client, and now employer. Perhaps the latter should suggest a greater formality, but tacitly they both rejected such an artificial change.
‘And you looked so wonderful!’
‘Thank you, Emine,’ replied Aphroditi. ‘My hair certainly had a lot of compliments!’
‘We’ve had quite a few people in today,’ said Emine. ‘Non-residents wanting the excuse to come in and have a snoop round, I think.’
‘But a few bookings from the new guests too?’ enquired Aphroditi.
‘Plenty!’ replied Savina.
Tonight Aphroditi had chosen
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