The Great Greek Escape

by Sue Roberts

Genres: Holiday books; Humor & Satire; Women's Fiction; Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Sun, sea and a sizzling romance… the perfect holiday, right? Wrong. After a work party gone disastrously wrong, Samantha suddenly finds herself jobless and jilted. So when her sister invites Sam to stay at her little whitewashed farmhouse on a Greek island, Sam leaps at the chance to escape. Before long, she’s trundling up the cobbled driveway, almost colliding with sexy neighbour Spyros. It isn’t all sunshine and smiles though. For every afternoon spent lounging by the pool, cocktail in hand, there is a morning spent adjusting to life with boisterous six-year-old nieces. When Spyros invites Sam to explore the island with him she’s tempted, but with his carefree, live-for-the-moment attitude, he couldn’t be more different to Sam with her five-year plans and high-maintenance hair. One drink, as friends, couldn’t hurt though? Over glasses of fruity Greek wine and honey-sweet baklava, can he – and the other charming locals – help city girl Sam to appreciate the simple pleasures the Greek life has to offer? Just as Sam is considering ditching her designer gear for good though, she runs in to an old flame from home, and suddenly her London life comes hurtling back. Can her smooth-talking ex convince Sam to return to the concrete jungle, or will the lessons she’s learned from her Greek escape persuade her to stay? A fun, fabulous and completely laugh-out-loud summer read perfect for fans of Carole Matthews, Jenny Colgan and Sophie Kinsella. Readers adore Going Greek : ‘ Wow, where to even begin with this book? I loved it… Hollywood, let’s see this as a movie!… I gorged on this book in two sittings… I can’t recommend this book enough.’ Celebrating Authors, 5 stars ‘I loved this book… Sue’s descriptions had me yearning to get back on a plane to savour the famous Greek delicacies, drink the local wine and relax on one of the many beautiful beaches. I was hooked from page one and completely devoured each page. A wonderful five star read.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘You can feel the sun, smell the sea and relax into the gorgeous descriptions as your shoulders sink, your breathing slows and you relax. It’s that good!… A glorious summer read! ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘ A full five-star read!… I’m off to search out her backlist. High five for Sue Roberts! She’s found the perfect recipe for escapist reading with a touch of sweet holiday romance for all of us armchair travellers. THANK YOU! You must put this wholesome, dreamy, vacation romance onto your radar…’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘ So much fun! I love travel romances and this one fit the bill to a T!!! Perfect Beach read.’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘This is definitely the book for a lazy summer afternoon. Full of family, friendship and great descriptive writing about Greece… I felt I had escaped to a beautiful tourist destination while enjoying the Greek food and hospitality.’ Prima Magazine, 5 stars ‘ PRECIOUS. A wonderful, delightful escape from real life! I enjoyed reading this so much. I found myself thinking about the characters and the beautiful little Greek town it’s set in when I wasn’t reading… I highly recommend this as a poolside summer read! ’ Goodreads reviewer ‘The perfect escapism read… transports you into a whole new world while reading… I couldn’t put it down.’ Fiction Café, 5 stars ‘A brilliant heart-warming easy read which I couldn’t put down.’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘Summer romance? Yes please… I definitely fell in love… It makes me sad that it’s over. I wish there was more to read! ’ @escapingpages

Release date: May 28, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

They’re still out there. I’m trapped inside my house like Julia Roberts in that scene from Notting Hill as they hover like vultures, cameras posed ready for even a sniff of a photograph. The grey-haired bloke in the battered leather jacket looks exhausted. He’s probably waiting for a scoop that will save his fading career, if you can call being a paparazzi a career.

‘Come away from the window, Sam,’ Pippa sighs.

My best friend pushes a plate towards me with a delicious roll stuffed with Italian meats and cheeses from a local deli, but I’m not hungry. I haven’t eaten a thing since the story broke two days ago.

‘I know you don’t feel like eating,’ she says sympathetically, ‘but you have to keep your strength up, or you’ll end up ill.’

Keep my strength up for what? I wonder. A stroll to the job centre? Because right now my career is in ruins. And I can’t see how things are going to change anytime soon. I sink down next to Pippa on the bedroom floor. Just then, my phone begins to ring and the screen lights up with a call. I recognise the number as my sister Fiona’s. And she’s calling me from her rustic farmhouse in Greece.

‘And so, from me, Sam Southern…’

The camera pans to Will and his smiling handsome face with twinkling blue eyes, framed by the slightly floppy blonde hair that gives him a boyish look.

‘And me, Will Hudson, have a great summer.’

When the camera stops rolling, I throw my notes into the air and give a loud whoop as my stint on Wake Up Britain! finishes for the summer holidays and husband-and-wife team Tom and Geraldine Turner (yes, they get Tom and Jerry jokes all the time) will take over. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but the early starts combined with my other television appearances of late have taken their toll. The make-up girls have been working extra hard to try and hide the dark circles under my eyes and smooth my normally glossy auburn hair that’s been needing ever-more-frequent intensive conditioning treatments recently. What I really need is a holiday. But I haven’t had time to even think about where I’d want to go, beyond a vague plan to visit my sister, who lives in Greece, this August. But with six glorious weeks stretching ahead of me, I reckon I’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the summer.

‘See you at the wrap party later,’ says Will, as he heads off. Will and I hit it off the second we began working together five years ago, although initially we laughed so much, the director wasn’t sure we were a good pairing, especially when presenting a serious topic. Will has this uncanny ability to throw his voice like a ventriloquist which often led to me literally biting down hard on my lip to suppress laughter. One such time was when we interviewed ghost hunters and he kept emitting this wailing sound, which even spooked the ghost hunters themselves.

I walk into make-up to give the girls some little gifts, and after hugs and kisses, I set off for home, with a promise to see them later at the restaurant where the studio is throwing the party.

Home is a glorious two-bedroomed, wisteria-covered mews house a stone’s throw away from Kensington High Street. A dozen white-painted houses surround a little courtyard, filled with urns bursting with flowers and shrubs, and a gate at the end of the cul-de-sac leads to a beautiful communal garden. My home is a luxurious mixture of modern and traditional, with carefully sourced paintings and antique pieces contrasting with the modern sofas and mirrors, giving it a sumptuous, yet cosy feel.

It looks nothing like the small single-parent home I grew up in and sometimes I have to pinch myself that I have a lifestyle I could only have dreamed of when I was growing up. From an early age, I was obsessed with watching presenters on TV and was forever getting my best friends to video me whilst I spoke into the camera about just about anything. Mum would smile at us in the garden through the kitchen window when she was doing the washing up, as I would give a running commentary on anything going on around me.

‘Now, this oak tree has been here for as long as I can remember and attracts a daily visit from a grey squirrel.’ I’d ramble on whilst my patient friend Heather would dutifully record every second with a rather heavy camcorder perched on her shoulder. Once, we recorded two men removing furniture from a garage, me talking merrily into the camera, not realising they were thieves. We had to run when they noticed us and gave chase. Gasping for breath, we crouched behind two bins down a side street, shaking like leaves until the blokes gave up and walked away, cursing. At that point, Heather suggested I might like to get a different hobby. Or at least a different friend to lug the camera around. But it wasn’t a hobby. I was in training for my future career.

I was never going to be anything other than a presenter. It was written in the stars. So, armed with a first-class degree in media studies I secured my first presenting job on a shopping channel. I was an instant hit and the producers were thrilled I had the ability to make people part with their well-earned cash and buy things they probably didn’t need. Three years later I had presented just about everything, including a stint on children’s TV where I regularly got covered in slime. The Wake Up Britain! job finally sealed my reputation as the darling of daytime TV.

The pride I feel when I arrive home and push the key into the front door never gets old. This afternoon, I kick off my Louboutins and walk into the lounge, sinking my feet into a black rug that contrasts beautifully with the white walls, and pour myself a gin and tonic. I wouldn’t normally start on the alcohol so early, but I’m celebrating the start of my summer holiday. Sipping my drink, I put on some music and listen to it on my surround sound speakers, before curling up on the sofa, dreaming about lie-ins and reading the books I’ve been gifted by authors who have appeared on the show.

A couple of hours later, I head upstairs to luxuriate in the scent of my Jo Malone shower gel before getting ready for the party across town. We’ll be dining at a new Italian restaurant with rave reviews and I can hardly wait. I take a minute to consider how blessed I am.. I love my life.

I’m just out of the shower, slipping into my thick white bathrobe, when my phone rings. It’s my good friend Pippa.

Pippa and her husband Ben are both teachers. Ben is the head of a busy high school and Pippa the deputy head of a local primary school. They’ve been married for six years and don’t have any children. Pippa once told me that they weren’t ready to spend all day with kids and then go home to the demands of a young family. At least not yet.

‘Hi, Pippa, how’s things?’ I ask her cheerfully.

‘I’m good, thanks. I bet you’re thrilled it’s the summer break from the show. Actually, I was going to suggest lunch tomorrow but I’ve just realised it’s the wrap party and you might not be in any fit state.’ She laughs.

Maybe she has a point.

‘Umm maybe not. Ok, so the day after, then? Although I’m surprised you’re not on the first plane out of here to somewhere sunny.’

Pippa found the last term particularly stressful, as she’s had to mentor a steady stream of student teachers, some more capable than others.

‘I think I need a week or so of doing nothing before I can even think of packing a suitcase and standing in an airport queue,’ she says now.

We agree to meet in two days’ time for lunch and cocktails in Soho.

I don’t have a lot of friends outside work, but maybe it’s because I’ve been so focused on my career. I’ve stayed friends with Pippa since university though, after meeting her when we both worked part-time in a coffee shop to make ends meet. She was training to be a teacher and we often had chats about our future careers. I had another friend at university called Maxine, but she married and moved up North with her husband five years ago. We stayed in touch for a while but sadly, our friendship never really survived the distance and it’s little more than the odd text and sending of birthday cards these days. The people I’m closest to now are my co-presenter Will, who’s become a great friend, and his gorgeous, raven-haired ex-model wife, Hattie. They often invite me round for Sunday lunch, along with some of their single male friends, in the hope that I might hit it off with one of them. To be fair I’ve been on dates with one or two but there’s no one I have really felt a connection with.

In fact, there hasn’t been anyone since my first love Aaron, who I met at university, which, shockingly, was twelve years ago. I adored him. We were inseparable for almost two years which I don’t suppose is that long really, but our relationship was intense. I imagined us as husband-and-wife presenters like Tom and Gerry and a London townhouse filled with children. Then one summer, Aaron announced he was taking a gap year to go travelling. He set off for the Far East without a backward glance and my heart shattered into tiny pieces. He vaguely asked me if I wanted to go with him when he realised how upset I was, but it was clear that he hadn’t planned on having me tagging along. In retrospect, despite my heartache, and the fact that he still pops into my head a couple of times a year, I don’t regret my decision to stay. I never let anything stand in the way of my ambition to be a TV star.

I dry and style my hair then pull a knee-length, slightly low-cut teal-coloured dress from my wardrobe. I love this dress because the colour matches my eyes, and I accessorise with a silver necklace with a matching bracelet, a gift from Pippa on my thirtieth birthday two years ago. I slip on a pair of heels and spritz myself with my Viktor & Rolf perfume, before grabbing my clutch bag and heading off. I can’t wait for the get-together at the restaurant as I adore Italian food, and I’m excited as I lock up and hail a taxi, hoping it will be a night to remember…

The first thing that hits me is the smell. I enter the restaurant and the scent of garlic wafts towards my nostrils. We’re dining at a beautiful, modern restaurant, with brick walls perfectly displaying colourful modern art. I’m greeted by a handsome Italian waiter who guides me across the pale oak floor, to the party who are sitting at a long table in an alcove. The table is dressed with white linen, oversized wine glasses and a stunning cream floral centrepiece.

Most of the programme staff are already seated at the table, including the backroom staff, and ten minutes later, when everyone else has arrived, toasts are proposed to enjoy the summer. The food when it arrives is utterly stunning, and we devour the bowls of tasty broth and creamy pasta dishes that are set down in front of us. We finish off with a delicious tiramisu, garnished with orange zest, which is just divine.

A couple of hours later, most of the gang have said good night and headed off home to their young families. This includes Will, as Hattie is heavily pregnant. There are only half a dozen of us left now, drinking Prosecco and letting our hair down, clearly not wanting the evening to end.

‘Anyone fancy a nightclub?’ suggests Claire, an attractive twenty-four-year-old runner on the programme.

I realise I haven’t been on to a club after dinner in such a long time, mainly due to the early programme starts. I suddenly relish the freedom in front of me.

‘My uncle owns a members-only club not far from here. You won’t get hassled there.’ Claire looks directly at me as she speaks and I realise that I am the ‘famous face’ around the table. The rest of the crew can all go about their lives anonymously, but everyone recognises Sam Southern. It’s a strange feeling that I’ve tried to make peace with over the last few years.

‘Sounds good.’ I down the rest of my drink and follow Claire and the other party-seekers out to the street. It’s a warm July evening and the street is filled with groups of people, the sound of their laughter ringing through the air. I feel so blessed to be here with my colleagues and link arms with Claire and cameraman Seth as we walk along the streets in an ebullient mood. Once or twice, I get stopped and duly pose for a selfie with people who recognise me. I don’t mind stopping for photos though, as I’m keen to have a good relationship with the public, which I hope will continue forever.

The small club has a similar vibe to Ronnie Scott’s, where I’ve enjoyed many a mellow evening pre- Wake Up Britain! days, listening to jazz music. There are rows of tables set up with red lamps surrounding a stage and a small dance floor, where instead of a live music act, a DJ is playing tunes. One or two people are already up dancing but at ten thirty, it’s still a little early in the evening for the serious clubbers. We head straight to the bar and I buy a couple of bottles of champagne for us all to celebrate the beginning of the summer break. We cheer and clink our glasses together, chatting about our various plans for the holidays. Claire is heading to a family villa in Portugal whilst Seth will be fulfilling a long-held ambition of going to see the orangutans in Borneo. The rest of the group are staying in Britain; one or two are planning to doss about in Cornwall and enjoy some surfing. It sounds so exciting that I suddenly feel a bit boring. All work and no play seems to be the best description of my life at the moment. Maybe I could ask Seth if I could tag along to Borneo, but then I’m not really keen on orangutans. Or jungles, for that matter.

Half an hour later, the club begins to fill up a little and as a dance number comes on, I drag a reluctant Seth onto the dance floor where it becomes obvious that he hates to dance. He looks so uncomfortable, I take pity on him and feign needing a drink halfway through the song so he can sit down again.

As I make my way back to our table, plonking myself on a chair, I watch the others making shapes on the dance floor.

I refresh my glass with champagne before looking up to see a strikingly handsome bloke smiling at me. He’s sitting alone on a bar stool at the far end of the bar. As our eyes meet, the tall, square-jawed vision approaches me and I notice that he is more than just handsome. He’s drop-dead gorgeous.

‘You’re looking a little lonely there; have your friends abandoned you?’ He has a slow, seductive smile.

It’s refreshing for someone to start a conversation with something other than, ‘It’s really you, isn’t it? Sam Southern!’ At times like that, I always wonder if they’re only interested in me because I’m a celebrity.

I gesture to the others on the dance floor. Claire is spinning around to the Kylie Minogue tune of the same name.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ asks Sex-on-Legs.

I lift the now-empty champagne bottle.

‘A glass of champagne would be nice,’ I say, thinking that the first evening of the summer holidays is shaping up very nicely indeed…

‘Coming right up.’ He winks.

To my surprise, he buys a bottle and pours us each a glass. He introduces himself as Marcus and tells me he’s in London for a conference at a nearby hotel.

‘What about you? Are you out celebrating something?’ He takes a sip of champagne and looks at me intently with his big brown eyes.

I’m a little shocked he doesn’t recognise me, although maybe he doesn’t watch the kind of programmes I appear in. Even so, I kind of thought I was a household name. It feels oddly refreshing to be a stranger to someone.

‘It’s the end of filming for Wake Up Britain!. I’m celebrating not setting my alarm tomorrow morning.’

I tell him about my job as a presenter on the show and he nods slowly. ‘Ah yes, I’ve never really been one for watching morning television, though. I prefer the radio,’ he tells me.

‘What do you do?’ I ask with interest.

‘I’m a doctor,’ he says and takes a sip of champagne.

‘Really?’ I guess that explains the lack of daytime TV. ‘What do you specialise in?’

‘Aesthetics. I have my own clinic in Essex.’

Could this be a dream? A dishy doctor who can keep me looking young when my looks begin to fade? I wonder whether he’s had any work done himself, but I’d noticed the slight crease lines around his eyes when he smiled so maybe not. As a disco light illuminates his face, I notice Marcus has long eyelashes that frame his eyes and expensively styled dark brown hair. Imagine having a doctor like him, I think to myself as I sip my champagne, feeling slightly light-headed and unsure if it is down to the champagne or the effect of the man sitting beside me.

We chat for over an hour, the conversation flowing easily between us as we talk about our respective careers and favourite places to eat in London. I recommend the Italian restaurant we’ve just been to and Marcus hints at maybe taking me there sometime. When he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor for a smoochy number, I follow happily, thrilled to have met such a lovely man.

‘Fancy a nightcap at the hotel?’ Marcus asks as he circles his arms around my waist and we sway gently to the music. He pulls me closer to him and I can smell his intoxicating cologne. My heart rate increases as any resolve to take a taxi home alone suddenly goes right out of the window.

A quick taxi ride later, we’re in the foyer of the sumptuous hotel, walking beneath the huge chandelier at its centre. Marcus retrieves his room key from the reception desk and we climb the red, thickly carpeted staircase to the first-floor room. I haven’t felt such an intense physical attraction to someone in a long time, and I enter his bedroom in excited anticipation. A minute later, we’re pulling at each other’s clothes, before falling onto the huge bed. It sounds like a cliché but I really never normally do this sort of thing and beneath the layers of champagne and giddiness, somewhere in my mind I’m slightly shocked at my own wild abandon.

‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ Marcus says, as he kisses me and renders me completely speechless. Later, as I finally fall into a glorious slumber after the best sex I’ve had in ages, I wonder whether I might be in the middle of a delicious dream, little knowing the dream was about to become a nightmare.

‘Sam, come away from the window.’

I gently ease a curtain open as a guy with a long-lens camera snaps a picture. Bugger. Now I’m going to look like I’m too terrified to step outside my own house. But the truth is, I am.

There was no clue as to what was about to unfold the morning that Marcus and I checked out of the swish hotel. We’d taken breakfast in his room, still entangled in the expensive cotton sheets on the huge bed. Well, I was hardly about to head down to the breakfast room wearing last night’s party dress. This was the start of my time off, no more rising at the crack of dawn now that work had finished for the summer. I had a couple of cookery programmes to present and a pilot recording for an outrageous game show I’ve had second thoughts about signing up for, but hopefully it would be a lot of fun. I’d hoped this would be a summer to remember and now Marcus Woods had walked into my life and changed it forever. I hadn’t been looking for love when I’d headed out with the work crowd, but perh. . .