Daughter of the Winds Read Online Free Page A

I closed the door behind me and followed timidly towards the hubbub.
    As I stepped through into a large kitchen area an amusing scene greeted my eyes. Two young boys, with chocolate-smeared faces, were running around naked. One of them had a colander on his head and the other was brandishing a wooden spoon menacingly. There was a slightly older girl of about six standing on the table. The woman, who I assumed was Antheia, was pinning up the hem of the girl’s yellow dress while holding pins in her mouth. One last twirl and the older woman nodded with satisfaction. She said something to the girl in Greek, slipped the dress off her slender shoulders and then lifted her off the table. The young girl, now in her underwear, ran out of the door following her two brothers while the hefty woman put her sewing kit away.
    Another girl of about ten or more stood in the corner looking wistfully out of the half open window. She turned her head to me sadly and, when our eyes met, her face illuminated with a smile that brought light and warmth to the kitchen. I couldn’t explain it but she looked so pleased to see me that I thought I must know her from somewhere. I shook off the unlikely thought and smiled back at her. There was a peculiar connection between us, and for a fleeting moment I thought she was going to embrace me. She took a step towards me but just raised her hand in my direction.
    Antheia turned her attention to me as if she was appraising me with her enormous bovine eyes, which were topped by generous black eyebrows, and then she grinned so that her cheeks bulged and her nose wrinkled up. She was almost as tall as I was, which was a rare occurrence for me. To say she was plump would be an understatement, but I wouldn’t really have called her fat either. Her face wasn’t conventionally pretty but it held a strong beauty that comes with age and self-assurance. She had that allure that only women truly comfortable in their own skin have and I couldn’t look away from her clear, deep brown, almost black, eyes.
    “ Leni!” she said as if greeting an old friend. “How are you?” Her Greek accent was strong but her English confident. “George telephoned and said I must look after his good friend, the writer.”
    I opened my mouth to respond but all of the air rushed out of my lungs as she squeezed me in an embrace. I didn’t quite know whether to hug her back so instead a stood with arms limply and self-consciously by my side. By the time I decided that this was too awkward, and that I really should hug her back, she had let go of me.
    “Come. You are tired. Let me show you your room and then I will make tea. I have PG Tips. That is what you drink in England, yes?”
    She weaved her way out through the open double doors of the kitchen and through the shrieking whirlpool of children. She cuffed them playfully as we dodged past them and they squealed with delight. In front of me, an open terrace held uninterrupted views down the mountainside and towards the sea.
    D espite the cries of the children at play, tranquillity washed over me. The house was set around three sides of a courtyard with the right-hand-side wing protruding further towards the sea than the left. The focal point of the courtyard was a stone trough and water pump and, judging by the pools of water on the ground, was still in use. A quick glance around me revealed that there were two sunshades canopying four assorted and mismatched chairs and a table each. I was almost overwhelmed by the smell of warming rosemary, and looking behind me, I found raised beds beneath the kitchen window holding aloft thick bushes of herbs with small purple flowers hanging between wide pungent needles. The older girl was watching me from the doorway, unwilling to play with the others but surely not too old for games. Much as I wanted to, I had no time to engage in conversation with her as Antheia had already crossed the courtyard and was descending some hidden steps. I hastened