Title: A Wedding in the Olive Garden
Author: Leah Fleming
Genre: Holiday Romance
Pub. Date: May 7, 2020
Publisher & Hosted: Head of Zeus
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Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2yQVeR3
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/3aQxZnZ
Google Play: https://bit.ly/2XjeKzk
Can an island in the sun provide the second chance Sara needs?
A warm and uplifting novel about love, friendship and new beginnings on the beautiful Greek island of Santaniki.
Sara Loveday flees home and crisis to the beautiful island of Santaniki. Here, amid olive groves and whitewashed stone villas, where dark cypress trees step down to a cobalt blue sea, Sara vows to change her life. Spotting a gap in the local tourist market, she sets up a wedding plan business, specialising in 'second time around' couples.
For her first big wedding, she borrows the olive garden of a local artists' retreat, but almost at once things begin to go wrong. To make matters worse, a stranger from Sara's past arrives on the island, spreading vicious lies. Can her business survive? And what will happen with the gorgeous new man who she's begun to love?
This is a gorgeous, warm-hearted and uplifting novel conjuring the local colour, traditions and close bonds of island life.
Jolyon de Grifford, warden manager of the Elodie Durrante Arts Foundation retreat house was busy trying to sort the blockage in the bathroom of one of the guests. Greek plumbing had a will of its own, with narrow pipework that forbade any flushing of paper or wipes. This was written in large letters over the bowl, and he asked guests to be careful, but the Brits were not used to this at first, some complaining about such primitive arrangements until they got used to obeying the order. Some never did.
Griff sighed, holding his breath, getting used to this task on a weekly basis. He was just clearing up when he heard a shout through the open window. Peering out, he saw a bald-headed man floundering in the pool. Dropping everything, he raced downstairs and out to the poolside, jumping in fully clothed to grab the drowning swimmer while one of the other guests flung the lifebelt to him.
Griff pulled the man to the shallow end where they could both stand up. ‘Don, how many times have I told you not to drink, stuff yourself with chips and then try to swim?’ Don Ford may be a famous crime writer but he was rotund, unfit and almost a non-swimmer.
‘Sorry, Griff, but it was so hot I just wanted to cool off.’
‘You should be in your room in this heat. It’s siesta time so have a cold shower. I thought you were having a heart attack. Please don’t go out of your depth and keep off the sauce at midday. It’s water for you from now on, especially in this heat,’ Griff ordered, his shorts dripping, clinging to his legs.
Tragedy being averted, Griff returned to his fetid task. Talk about eyes in the back of your head in this job. Warden was a good name for his constant vigilance. What was it with artists, writers, poets – did they live on another planet? Most of them acted like big kids when they weren’t closeted away in the shade working on their creations. Nevertheless, this lot were a great bunch and formed a gang.
He was living a world away from his former work in the City with its routines of gym, dinner parties and business meetings. Santaniki was an escape from his past life, thank God. He had his bike and his gardening to get away from bad memories. The courses were usually two weeks long but some stayed for a month, like Don. He was a regular on the lecture circuits and spent most of the summer writing in Elodie’s old study.
‘I write away from my desk,’ he explained. ‘It must be the light here, the slow pace, but it just gets my juices flowing.’ Griff knew him well enough to guess that the juices flowing through Don’s veins were a lethal combination of village wine and raki, sold on the markets with an unknown level of alcohol. Still, Don was a great raconteur when in or out of his cups and a loyal customer in the tavernas around the harbour and the square.
Author Bio ↓
After careers in teaching, catering, running a market stall, stress management courses in the NHS as well as being a mother of four, Leah Fleming found her true calling as a storyteller. She lives in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales but spends part of the year marinating her next tale from an olive grove on her favourite island of Crete.
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