A Song Amongst the Orange Trees (The Greek Village Collection Book 13) Read Free

work, his song writing, his passion. Sakis accepts every glass of champagne offered. He also accepts that this is the reality of the fame he was seeking. It is a pale shadow of his dream. He spends the whole day half cut, wondering what he has done.
    The following day, there are more parties. The pain in his throat has grown worse and he speaks as little as possible. Jules is around sometimes, and sometimes not, depending on each event. But he is in his hotel suite when the day is done, offering him a sense of grounding, something real, something that agrees with his soul. They talk of the deeper aspects of his music, what he is trying to say, the sense of community that maybe no longer exists that he is trying to evoke back to life. They continue to talk and talk into the night, his voice growing fainter and fainter until Jules forbids him to talk anymore and makes him a drink of lemon and honey.
    Sakis yawns. It's been a long two days and his forehead is throbbing and hot.
    'All right if I crash on your sofa again?' Jules asks. It doesn't need an answer.
     
     

Athens
     
    'Oh, there you are.' It is Jules' voice. Where is he? His brow is mopped with a damp cloth that smells of lavender. 'You've had a rough few hours.'
    The shadow of the window on the ceiling is familiar. He is at home. But how long has he been here? And why is Jules here?
    Harris pushes her soft, furry, two-tone nose in his face, incessantly meowing for attention, her wide eyes on the edge of panic until she receives a caress. Ginger Eleftheria is weighting down his legs, his loud purrs drifting in the still room.
    'You were out for the count for a while there. You have a fever,' Jules says. The cream curtains are drawn but the sun finds its way between the threads to spread a mist of its rays in the room.
    He knows he has a fever. He is burning up.
    'Is Andrea here?' There is a recall of Andreas and a woman with a stethoscope around her neck.
    'No, he left hours ago. But you’d better heed what the doctor said and stop talking.'
    'Gamoto !' Sakis hisses. This is such bad timing. He needs to get out there, take his bow, find his way to the serious musicians. He has his 'pass' of winning now; he needs to use it while it is still valid. The world is fickle.
    'He said it's laryngitis, a virus, but my guess is all that partying didn't help.' Jules leans out the window to smoke a cigarette. The sun streams in around him and the heat rushes into the air-conditioned room.
    'What do you think?' Sakis asks hoarsely. 'You think Andreas can keep the momentum up if I am off the scene?' But he cannot wait for the answer. His eyes must close.
     
    There are no shadows on the ceiling when he wakes again. The room is dark except for a lamp on his desk where Jules sits typing away on a laptop whilst thumbing his way through a pile of magazines and newspapers. His face in the moment of joy when he won is all over the covers.
    'Ah, you are awake. How you feel?' Jules stops typing.
    'Better.' But his throat denies this. At least the throbbing in his head has gone.
    A damp cloth is dabbed across his brow.
    'Life shows no favours,' Jules states, getting up and going through to the tiny kitchen. He returns with a bowl of something steaming. 'Here you go. The market here is good, yes?' But it’s not a real question.
    'Thanks.' Sakis takes the bowl. 'It smells good. What are you writing?' What he really wonders is what is Jules doing here. Somehow it is not a question he feels he can ask when food is being provided. In any case, Jules pre-empts him.
    'My paper’s asked me to do an in-depth article on you. I told them a bit about you and they thought it would interest our readers.' He laughs as if the idea is ridiculous. 'You know: “The real musician behind the popular song,”' he adds as he goes back into the kitchen and returns with his own bowl of soup, into which he pours cream from a carton. He holds the carton out to Sakis, who pulls a face. He prefers to taste the