Introduction
This story will be published in three instalments, submitted to appear on consecutive days. In total there are over 30,000 words in what is an exploration of love, not sex, hopefully with emotion, drama and suspense along the way. Life is full of wonder and I want to capture some of that. There is sex in the story but it's not described indulgently. If you want something short and full of sex stop reading now and find something else. This one is for readers who enjoy the journey as well as arriving.
I appreciate feedback, positive or negative, from anyone who has read the story. It's okay not to like it or to find fault with the way I write. But I post it here only because some readers have bothered to express their appreciation for my previous work and have asked for more. A few discerning readers are all that is needed to make writing worthwhile.
Island Love
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
(Kubla Khan, S.T. Coleridge)
It seemed unlike a holiday and more of a business trip when Philip finally stepped onto the airport tarmac and looked round the forlorn terminal building. The heat was shocking, the burnt herbal smell a reminder of how much he loved the Mediterranean. He was tired, it was early, and he'd not enjoyed journeying as much as he usually did. When he had his bag, he sat down at last with a coffee and watched as passengers struggled with their luggage in a hurry to get away. Try as he might, he was unable to think about what to do, so he did nothing. Gradually he relaxed in the heat and began to lose the headache he'd gained from the inconvenient start.
When the transfer bus arrived it was crowded and there was no air conditioning. The driver, it seemed, was putting his trust in the icons and relics that fringed his windscreen as he hauled the long vehicle round the hairpins and over the mountain to the sea. More than once on a bend Philip was shrugged against his neighbours, a silent young couple who no doubt had been travelling since the middle of the night too. In spite of their discomfort they made friends. Tim and Nicole were on a delayed honeymoon. Happy to have someone to talk to, Philip explained that he was meeting his wife Tibby for the first time in four months. He could see the newlyweds' surprise at this admission but was disinclined to reveal more. He told them he worked for a bank in London, but actually he was unemployed - he'd left his job the day before.
The bus finally halted and Philip looked across a neat lawn to the entrance and a large sign bearing the picture of a Greek God: "The Gardens of Prometheus Resort." He climbed down and let out a surprised exclamation. "Not bad!" Nicole's reaction, spoken to him not her husband, was more emphatic: "But it's paradise." White-painted chalets rose up the broken hillside, each with a neat border of flowers irrigated to counter the parched climate. To the right was a curving band of white sand and the sea - just as it appeared in the brochure.
A uniformed employee raised the entrance barrier and their bags were emptied from the bus onto a patch of burned lawn. Philip looked round for Tibby but she wasn't there. Unsure what to do, he was disturbed by the swish of a motor buggy on the gravel path. Out jumped a tall man in a blue suit - too hot for the weather - and a badge on the lapel with the resort's logo and the brand catch-phrase - "holiday fun day and night."
He turned to Philip and shook his hand. "You must be Philip. Good to meet you. Tibby will be so pleased that you've come. I'm your manager, Ben Mills." He brushed back his dark, wavy hair and gave a disconcerting self-satisfied smile. "Anything you want, come to me. I want you to have a good time."
Piling luggage into the back of the buggy's trailer, the manager glanced swiftly at the group and went over to Nicole, shook her hand, the sleeve of his light grey suit riding up to show his slender wrist and a death's head tattoo. Turning to Tim he formed another empty smile and shook his hand too.
"You'll like it here. Best beach in the Aegean."
The guests wandered along the path lined with white painted stones, taking it slowly in the sun, but Tim and Nicole were installed beside Ben in the buggy and rode to the resort office. Sticky with sweat in his travel clothes, Philip was checked in by a thick-necked young man with cropped hair and black stubble. He looked as if he worked out for three hours every morning and wore a tee shirt - again with the resort logo - stretched tight across his torso.
"So you're Philip. I suppose you can't wait to get stuck in," he said with an unctuous smirk.
"What's that?" Philip was startled from his sleepy trance.
"You're going to have a great time. I'm here to make this a perfect holiday. Don't hesitate to ask for anything."
"That's odd," remarked Philip, disconcerted to find that everyone knew him because of his wife and seemed to believe that he was in urgent need of help to enjoy himself. "The manager said almost the same thing."
"Take no notice of Ben. Anything you want, you come to me," said the man producing a ghoulish smile and wiping his sweaty hand on his belly.
Philip climbed the hill to his chalet, past neat flower borders and hanging baskets. It was a steep climb and he arrived to see that Tim and Nicole were his neighbours, already installed in the chalet immediately above his.
"Shameless," he called out to Tim. "Sucking up to the manager just to get a lift up the hill."
"Come over when you're settled in and help us drink this champagne. The Manager says he gives out a bottle to one couple from every group of arrivals. Good for business apparently."
"Don't feel guilty. He'll make you pay. I'll be round in a while. It may be my wife turns up too."
"The more the merrier."
He'd been keyed up for the moment and Philip was disappointed that Tibby was not there to meet him. Unlocking his chalet, he saw his bag by the bed - he'd travelled light - and looked round the room without pleasure. The fridge was stocked with wine and cheese; there was a multi-channel television, a shower and air conditioning. He turned on the air conditioning, lay back on the bed, then rose and opened the sliding window. It led onto a balcony with a view of the beach and the rocky coastline further to the south.
Outside, he waved to Tim, who sat on his balcony. Behind the chalet was a rugged mountainside covered in thorn and an overgrown terrace of olive trees. He would climb to the ridge at the first opportunity. Below was the resort - fifty or so chalets and a number of larger buildings. The crenulated walls of what looked like a mock medieval castle formed one edge to the resort. Bad taste and out of place, thought Philip. Closer, in front of the beach, was a swimming pool surrounded by a café terrace and sun loungers. He watched a woman in a hat and a bikini wander from the café counter to one of the loungers and stretch out in the sun. After she was settled, she removed her bikini top.
Back in the room, he discovered a note by the door. "Darling, so happy to have you here. Working hard but hope to catch up with you at dinner. Enjoy. Your loving wife."
He thought about the note and suspected Tibby had a plan but had no idea what it was. She'd got him the chalet - "A freebie for working hard," she assured him. "You don't have to worry about making it up to me."
At first, he had no intention of accepting the holiday, suspicious of the gift and wondering what his wife hoped to achieve. But the idea of meeting Tibby worked on him. Maybe this was her compromise, her attempt to say sorry. Whatever her plan they must decide what to do with their comatose marriage. He was sure it was over but had no idea what he wanted to happen.
Four months apart was a long time but, in many respects, he was still in shock. The breakdown had been too sudden, too unexpected, for him to process. And Tibby's abrupt departure had denied him any chance to understand why she had fallen out of love. He'd received the occasional email telling him what a good time she was having, but nothing that touched on why she left. She'd told him that she "wanted to do something with her life" and as far as he could tell she had succeeded.
He was lonely and admitted to himself that he missed Tibby, but mostly he was angry and upset with her for leaving. Then came the email about the free chalet. It took a few days, but he eventually accepted the offer knowing there was a good chance he'd regret it.
Leaving his job was a way of forcing himself to take charge of his life. He'd been trapped in the bank by the size of his pay packet. Wealthy, but hating every day at work and unhappy with his life, it made no sense to have money which bought him no pleasure. He had no idea what he'd do instead.
What had gone wrong? One lazy Sunday afternoon when he was recovering from a dreadful week, Tibby had informed him that she no longer loved him, that their marriage was a prison, that they made one another miserable and that she needed to find a way forward on her own. This was after ten years of companionable marriage during which both had put their best efforts into their work.
Tibby's announcement left Philip in shock and for three days they moved cautiously around one another, saying very little. Everything Philip might have said was demolished by the fact that without love his words had no point. Why fight for a relationship when the love had died on one side? He couldn't make Tibby love him. She insisted there was no other man and he believed her. He'd not been superseded by a better man. It was worse: in her eyes he was unlovable, undesirable, even if he was the last man on earth. Quite possibly she'd never loved him but saw him as a convenient provider and protector. Now that she was more confident and financially secure, he was redundant.
Then Tibby announced she was giving up her job as a teacher to work for a holiday company. Furthermore, she was leaving only days later for a secondment to their flagship Mediterranean resort. Philip had no time to make sense of this. Tibby loved being a teacher. She adored children and no effort was too great for her work. It seemed clear that she was making a mistake, but he knew she'd ignore anything he said.
The day of departure came and no doubt they were both anxious to say something appropriate to the momentous occasion. Neither uttered a word. When it was time to go, Tibby put on an insouciant manner and managed to sound both fatuous and false: "Look after yourself Philip. I'll be in touch and don't worry about anything. I know this will all work out for the best."
And that was that, apart from occasional emails and texts. Nothing of importance was said in these messages by either about their future together. Philip threw himself into work and developed a phobia about his home. It was a struggle to sit in the familiar rooms stripped of Tibby's presence. He spent a lot of his leisure in pubs or at football matches or walking in the country. Wherever he went, he failed to escape a taunting looping re-run of those nightmare last days, the words they'd said and not said. And the killer question: had their whole marriage been a lie, or had they once loved one another? The friends he spoke to all said the same thing: forget Tibby and move on. You've been unlucky but you'll get over it.
But he now hated the human race and hated himself. Move on to what? That was the question he asked himself without ever finding the answer. Lying on the bed in the chalet, he closed his eyes and would have fallen asleep. But then he heard Tim call for him to come over before the champagne lost its chill.
He changed his shirt, put on a sun hat and sandals and went over to the next chalet. Nicole opened the door wearing a red print sarong which left her shoulders bare. Tim was on the balcony wrestling with the champagne cork. There was silence until the cork flew out with an impressive bang. He filled their glasses and lifted one.
