Sofka Zinovieff - Putney

It was less than five minutes’ walk to the house, starting out along the port with its ouzo cafés.

‘Like hanging out the washing,’ said Daphne, gesturing towards the purple octopuses draped on lines, their dangling tentacles stiffening in the sunshine.

‘Rather a macabre load of laundry they’ve done today. Though I can see you in an octopus bikini…’

They passed the tourist shops crammed with mocked-up ancient relics and silver jewellery, and along one of the cobbled alleys by the fish market, with its piles of small, reeking corpses. She had known these streets since babyhood and now feared it was wrong to come here with Ralph. People would recognise her or Frosso would call her grandmother. All this subterfuge was exhausting. She was hot and bothered and annoyed with the whole world and this was exacerbated by her savage hunger for Ralph. She could hardly wait to tumble into their private darkness.

Her grandmother’s house was an elegant, neoclassical building painted creamy ochre with dark green shutters and terracotta roof tiles. As arranged, the keys were hidden under a stone between pots of geraniums and she opened an imposing green door that led into the courtyard.

‘Christ, that’s lovely.’ Ralph dropped the bags on to the honey-coloured stone paving and she watched him take in a place that was so familiar she hardly saw its beauty – lemon trees, scented jasmine plants and the marble table beneath a vine canopy where they always ate in the summer. He walked past the well in the corner and then hurried up the stone staircase to inspect the loggia draped with shocking-pink bougainvillea. Kyria Lemonia had evidently prepared for them as there were cushions on the chairs and everything was immaculate.

‘It’s so private and secluded,’ Ralph marvelled as he came down. ‘You come in off the street and there’s another world, like a secret garden. Nobody can see you here.’ He took off his sweaty shirt and ran across to the tap in the corner, dipping his head under the cold water. ‘Aah, that’s better. You should try it, Daff.’ She couldn’t help being infected by his good mood. He shook his head like a dog after a bath, scattering droplets around him, and she removed her top too, taking his place at the tap and yelping with delight as the cold water hit her scalp and splashed over her body.

Dressed only in her shorts and still dripping, Daphne used a second, ancient-looking key to enter the house. The hallway was shady and cool and smelled of polish. A pale-skinned gecko raced up the wall on Spiderman-sticky feet. Ralph came up behind her, putting a hand on her bare shoulder.

‘Now, sir, let me show you the accommodation,’ she said in estate-agent tones. ‘Here on the right, the saloni . Only for special occasions.’ The dark room was cluttered with uncomfortable-looking chairs and glass-fronted cases of ornaments, its heavy mahogany sideboards topped with lacy cloths. ‘And over here the dining room.’ More mahogany and lace was visible in the dim light. ‘And the kitchen.’ She unlocked a door giving on to another small, more workaday courtyard and opened the green shutters, letting in a dazzle of sunshine. On the table was a baking tray filled with a sweet pastry, and she got out plates and small forks as her grandmother did, and poured two glasses of chilled water from a bottle in the fridge.

They sat shirtless at the scrubbed wooden table and ate two pieces each of the galaktoboureko , the syrup-laden custard pie slipping down like nectar. Ralph gulped a whole glass of water and leaned across the table to kiss her lips.

‘We did it, eh Daff? I can’t believe we’ve actually arrived. We’re completely free. We can do anything. Nobody knows where we are.’

‘Apart from fat Frosso.’

‘Well that’s nothing to worry about. Anyway, your grandmother knows you might stay. It’s all OK.’

‘Won’t Nina wonder where you are?’ Daphne wasn’t sure if she should mention Ralph’s wife, but curiosity won the battle with discretion.

‘No. She’s fine. There isn’t a problem.’ His breezy reply didn’t satisfy.

‘Do you think she knows? About me? Isn’t she jealous?’

‘What?’ He didn’t look pleased and, with greater emphasis than was necessary, repeated his earlier response. ‘No!’

‘No, she isn’t jealous or no, she doesn’t know?’

‘Both. Neither. It’s not an issue.’

Daphne didn’t show her discomfort and pretended, even to herself, that she didn’t feel any. Why should she? she reasoned. She didn’t own him? But she couldn’t help wondering what would happen to her and Ralph if Nina disappeared or died. Perhaps they would live together when she was old enough? Even get married?

‘Nina knows I’d never leave her. She’s happy. It’s all fine.’ Ralph jumped up as a physical method of changing the subject. He liked to keep a well-defined space between his wife and his special friend and he looked uncomfortable. ‘Why don’t you finish showing me around? Where will we sleep?’

She felt like an obedient dog dropping a bone and she led him upstairs to the landing that opened at one end on to the loggia. There were three bedrooms.

‘This is Yiayia and Pappou ’s room.’ She held the door but didn’t go in. There was no way they’d use this room filled with the framed and unsmiling faces of generations of family members wearing their best clothes in photographic studios. It seemed to retain Yiayia ’s perfume. ‘Then there’s this room with a double bed, where Ellie and Ed usually go, and the one at the back there with two single beds, where me and Theo sleep.’

The clock from a nearby church struck so forcefully they both jumped, then as the chimes continued to mark eleven, they smiled with relief.

‘I’ll put my bag in my usual room and mess up both single beds so it looks like Jane and me slept there. Let’s put your stuff in the double room.’

She suddenly felt timid and young with this talk of beds. Her overwhelming wish was to be entwined with Ralph, but she hated the time before it happened, the stark light that made it seem calculated. Having a drink or being in the dark often simplified the process. She hadn’t worked out how to make the awkward transfer from the ordinary world into the other one of sex, of becoming those different people.

They decided to go swimming and bought a picnic of bread, cheese, olives and white peaches. Walking away from the port, they passed the sandy beach and the ruined Temple of Apollo, with its single, slim column sticking up on the headland. They continued along the coast road until they reached some steps leading down a steep slope to a rocky beach. Skirting a few bathers who were preparing to leave, they took over a small section at the far end, made private by some large, russet-coloured boulders.

‘Bliss,’ said Ralph, as they placed their towels and bags down and changed into bathing costumes. The stones burned her feet as she scampered into water so cool and refreshing it was almost effervescent. Ralph whooped from happiness and she imitated him, feeling wild as a sea wolf. She swam out as fast as she could, only stopping when she ran out of breath. He was still floating near the shore and waved. The sea had transformed her from sulky teenager to woman in love.

She stayed in the sea long after he got out, diving down to pick up curvy, mother-of-pearl shells, turning underwater somersaults and basking in weightlessness. Afterwards, she lay flat on her towel as the sun burned the water off her back and the salt tightened her skin. It was the first time she’d consciously felt beautiful, as if she had become what he saw. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Ralph pull food out of the knapsack and use a penknife to slice hunks of bread and cheese. They ate in silence, looking out to sea, throwing the olive pits as far as they could. The peaches made such a mess that they went back into the sea to clean off. Then, finding a shady area amongst the pines and eucalyptus trees, they slept with T-shirts over their heads.