Read The Girl Under the Olive Tree for Free Online

and mint, strips of octopus, rich tomato sauces full of dried beans and herbs, creamy feta cheese drizzled with olive oil, and custard-filled pastries warm from the oven.
    Everywhere a blaze of colour feasted the eye: blood-red geraniums hanging over wrought-iron balconies, lilac wisteria dripping from walls, the ink-blue of morning glory crawling over wasteland and the frothy bracts of bougainvillaea, rich in vermillion, purples and pinks. Long-forgotten phrases came into her head, and Penny discovered to her surprise that she could understand snippets of conversations rattled out like gunfire and raised voices shouting instructions, back, as if she’d always known them. Reading was another matter. If only she’d been taught a little formal Greek like Zan, she thought wistfully.
    Evadne’s house was delightful, a villa the colour of pink blancmange. It had cool marble floors and high ceilings, elegant wooden furniture. The shutters were kept permanently closed. The sun was the enemy in summer, bleaching fabric and wood. The fans in the ceiling whirled through the night to cool the air. Penny slept under only a sheet and a net, waking at first light, dying for the day to begin.
    How different from their routine at home. If an excursion was planned, they rose early in the cool of the morning, wandered about town, stopping for strong coffee or freshly squeezed orange juice, before heading for the open market before it shut at noon. There, her senses were assaulted by the noise of the stall holders shouting their wares. Tables of fresh fish, most species she’d never seen before, shimmered in displays. The butchers hung skinned rabbits with furry paws, whole lambs and poultry from hooks. The vegetable stalls were a rainbow of new and exotic shapes. Evadne’s housekeeper rose at dawn to pick only the freshest of produce; the girls were not here to buy, only to marvel at the variety, the bustle of people and the contrast to their own sedate market squares back home.
    Often they had a late lunch with Walter and then the compulsory siesta. Afterwards, maybe a little shopping or visiting friends in their lush manicured gardens, sitting in a grove of lemon trees sipping lemonade or milkless tea. Then home to change for a late dinner in one of the clubs with friends from the English community.
    There were British living all around the district, their social life consisting of cocktail parties, pre-dinner visits, dancing in the nightclubs. Penny wondered if Evadne would soon get bored with this small circle of friends. She knew
she
would.
    Their outings to the coast were a delight, picnicking looking out across the peacock-blue Aegean under great parasols. The change of diet and too many honey-soaked pastries caused Diane to fall foul of enteritis, which most new visitors endured. She was confined to the bathroom for an entire day, heaving her guts out. Penny played dutiful nurse, trying to put into practice her meagre knowledge of the affliction.
    To her surprise she was good at bed making and brow sponging, which was just as well, as poor Effy just wanted to heave at the attendant smells. Walter escaped to his office, leaving Penny to minister to the two invalids. When it was time for Diane to leave, several pounds lighter than when she arrived, Penny was not sorry to be staying on. She wanted to have time with her sister alone. There were exquisite places to shop for baby linens, intricate lacework to buy to take home, lunches, and strolls in the wonderful National Gardens.
    The extended stay would give her a chance to explore further. Plus she had an ulterior motive.
    ‘You know Mother did say I was to be “finished off” here? Well, I’d like to take some art lessons. Do you know anyone who would teach me?’ she asked Effy one day when they were sipping iced coffee and nibbling yet another syrupy pastry.
    Evadne laughed. ‘There are plenty of young artists who’d like to take you off my hands but none I would trust alone