Strangers in Company (13 page)

“Of course not.' Marian was glad she had kept quiet about her own experience. Mrs. Duncan was close enough to panic as it was. But at least she had started down without waiting for an answer. Marian followed her at a slower pace, unable to help casting a nervous, backward glance from time to time. Absurd, of course, to think of the Ancient Mariner and wonder if some frightful fiend might close behind her tread. But impossible not to be pleased to meet a cheerful party of young Greeks, grinning and greeting her as they started on the long climb. After that, she felt able to go as slowly as she wanted.

Reaching the hotel terrace, she forgot her own fright in the scene she found raging. Stella, dripping wet in bathing suit and towel, stood furiously in the middle of a small, exclamatory crowd. Mike was there, shirt and trousers soaked, his normally curly hair clinging to his head, and Cairnthorpe, dressed and dry, both looking shaken and, Marian thought, angry. “Absolute nonsense.” As Marian approached, Stella's voice rose towards hysteria.

“You were pretty far out,” said Cairnthorpe. “I was coming back along the cliff path. I admit I was a bit worried.”

“But at least you didn't come diving in like a bloody Leander.” Stella turned from him to Mike. “And you know as well as I do you nearly drowned me with your damned ‘lifesaving.' Quite the little hero, I don't think. When I want to be rescued, I'll let you know.”

“A million apologies.” Mike was shivering in the sea wind. “But how was I to know you swim like a Nereid?”

“I should have thought you could bloody well have seen. I was in no more danger than I am now. And a lot less than I was when you were hauling me into shore. I'm only grateful you didn't decide to knock me out and do it that way.” She turned angrily away from him and saw Marian. “Oh, glory be. Come and tell these idiots I'm not a suicide type.” And, back savagely to Mike, “Oh, yes, I know that's what you were thinking. And you couldn't be more wrong. I'm going to do something before I die.'

“I bet you are,” said David Cairnthorpe surprisingly, and got a grateful look. “Anyone can see you're far too obstinate to think of suicide,” he went on.

“Yes.” Marian was surprised and pleased at the perceptiveness of this. “But one thing I do know is that it really is suicidal for you two to be standing about in those wet clothes. Come on in and change.”

“Thanks,” said Stella, as they turned towards the hotel, and then, “Blast.” She had seen Miss Gear and Miss Grange, on a farther level of the terrace obviously taking in everything avidly. “Now we're for it.” She wrapped her large beach towel more closely round her and led the way into the hotel.

Marian, following, was aware of Charles Esmond gazing, all eyes, at Stella and of his mother saying something angry and being ignored. Safe in the privacy of the lift, she asked, “Were you very far out?”

“No farther than I usually go. I really can swim. But I suppose it was stupid of me.” She admitted it now. “I'd told David I knew what I was doing. I never thought Mike would turn up and get in a flap.”

“Gallant, I suppose.” Marian was remembering what Miss Gear and Miss Grange had said about last night's tête-à-tête.

“Bloody stupid,” said Stella. “He nearly drowned me.”

“Aren't you overworking that word a bit?” Marian stepped out as the lift door opened.

“Bloody?” Stella laughed. “Sorry, Mrs. F.” And then, warmly, “My God, you do do me good. I'd never have
gone out so far if you'd been anxious on the shore. But then, you wouldn't have been. How was the Palamede, by the way?”

“Exhausting—and a bit odd. But you need some dry clothes. I'll tell you about it later.”

They were soon on their way down into the little town, since Stella insisted that she was none the worse for her experience. “Just a bit full of Aegean. What I need's an early ouzo, so let's go and find one out of doors somewhere. Away from all this.…” Her descriptive gesture had included both the hotel and its guests.

It was pleasant to be off on their own, working their way down steep, narrow lanes, full of hens, cats, children and the occasional motorbike. As always, in Greece, plants bloomed lavishly out of petrol and olive-oil tins, washing flapped in the breeze, rich smells of cooking teased the senses. Stella was leading. “Well, now—”she had stopped to admire a huge fisherman's pullover—“what happened to you, Mrs. F., while I was being half drowned by our Mike?”

At what point in the walk had Marian decided not to say anything about the boulder that had so nearly killed her? She was not sure, only certain that she was right to keep entirely quiet about it. Mrs. Duncan's experience, which was odd enough in all conscience, she described as casually as possible, making a point of Mrs. Duncan's request for secrecy and feeling guilty as she did so.

“Funny,” said Stella. “I wouldn't have thought she was the type to imagine things.”

“No, nor would I.” Marian was able to say this with perfect truth. She was afraid she did not think Mrs. Duncan had been imagining things. The two of them had been wearing similar windbreakers. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What was the matter with this tour? And then, nonsense, she told herself briskly, if one middle-aged lady could imagine things, why not two? But that boulder had been real enough.…

“Come on, Mrs. F.,” said Stella. “You need that drink. And so do I.” She laughed. “What a busy afternoon. And
what do you think Gear and Grange would say about it?”

“I hate to think.” Marian was relieved at least that she had not communicated her own feeling of disquiet to her companion.

The settled, at last, at a small waterfront café, where Stella procured their ouzos with her usual cheerful competence, then paid up fast at sight of Miss Gear and Miss Grange striding purposefully towards them along the quay. “I don't know about you, Mrs. F.”—she rose to her feet—“but I suddenly find myself longing to get back to the hotel.”

Marian laughed, drank up and rose, but it was too late. The two psychiatrists were upon them. “None the worse for your experience, I'm glad to see,” said Miss Gear. And, “Drinking again,” said her expression.

“We're going to walk back round the point,” said Miss Grange. “Why don't you come, too? I'm sure you need a good warm-up after that fright.”

“Which fright?” asked Stella. And then, “I'm fine, but Mrs. Frenche has been right up the Palamede. I'm taking her straight home while she can still walk.” She watched the two sensibly clad figures move briskly away. “I hope that was right?”

“I should say so. Actually, I don't think I'll do the point, but would you like to sit here a while and go on your own?”

“No, thanks. Being rescued is damned hard work. I wouldn't mind a sit before dinner either. Let's just hope it's edible.” Stella stepped quickly back on the narrow pavement as a small red car nosed past them on its way to the quay. “It's those men again.”

“So it is.” Marian could not muster much interest. “I suppose one's liable to meet the same people over and over.”

“At least it makes a change from our own lot. Let's get
into dinner early tonight and try and bag us a couple of spare schoolmistresses. I have the most sinister feeling that Gear and Grange will be laying for us with a lot of casual questions. Which I am not prepared to answer.”

Marian had meant to seize just such an opportunity for some casual questions of her own, not so much about the “drowning” episode as about Stella's tête-à-tête with Mike the night before, but she could not bring herself to do it. Best let sleeping problems lie?

In fact, Miss Gear and Miss Grange did not appear until dinner was nearly over. Sitting, as planned, with Meg and Pam, Marian and Stella had a good view of their hurried entry to the dining room. Both looked white and shaken, and Miss Gear had a professional-looking bandage round her head. “What on earth?” said Stella.

“I can't think.” Marian watched the two psychiatrists join David Cairnthorpe and the professor, talking hard. “Some kind of accident, poor things.” Another accident?

They learned after dinner that this was an understatement. Walking round the cliff path, the two ladies had heard an explosion above them and had huddled against the cliff just before a shower of rocks came hurtling down. One of them had struck Miss Gear a glancing blow on the head, and it had taken Miss Grange some time to get her back to the little town and find first the police and then a doctor. The police had been understandably appalled at this accident and had sent at once up to the site of the fort. “They're going to report back here.” Miss Grange had settled Miss Gear in one of the hotel's uncomfortably modern armchairs and was standing over her protectively.

“And here they come,” said David Cairnthorpe. “And Mike, too, thank goodness.” Mike had vanished after the scene with Stella and had not appeared for dinner.

He had been dining, he explained now, with a friend of his who was a member of the police, and had come along at once when he heard of the accident. “Most regrettable.” He and the policeman told the story between them. The workmen up at the fort had been impatient to get their day's stint finished—they were working late as it
was. “Our people are not very sensible about explosives,” explained the policeman. In short, they had tried to hurry things up, to make one explosion do the work that should have been spaced out over two. “The usual foreman was off sick,” Mike pleaded in extenuation.

“They gave themselves a terrible fright.” The policeman's English was almost as good as Mike's.

“Not half such a bad one as they gave us,” said Miss Grange dryly. “None of them was hurt, I take it.”

“Mercifully, no. They send their most abysmal apologies to you two ladies.” The policeman turned to Cairnthorpe. “The doctor's bill will of course be taken care of by the town of Nauplia. Is there anything else we can do to make amends?”

“We'll have to see,” said Cairnthorpe. “It depends rather on whether these two ladies feel up to coming on to Sparta tomorrow. If not, I will have to ask you to find them somewhere to stay in Nauplia.”

“That's no problem,” put in Mike. “Of course the ladies will wish to rest. I have already had a word with the manager here. In these circumstances, he says, a room will certainly be available for them.”

“Two rooms,” stipulated Miss Grange.

“No need,” said Miss Gear. “An early night tonight and I'll be as right as rain tomorrow. It was only shock.” She spoke with a rather daunting professional competence. “Not concussion.”

“We'll see in the morning.” Cairnthorpe did his best to end the discussion.

But, inevitably, it continued as word of this new accident spread through the party. More and more of them gathered in the steel and plastic bar, where the drinks might be expensive but the atmosphere was reassuringly that of any bar anywhere. Safely settled in a corner, Marian and Stella watched the Adamses order scotch and soda. Mrs. Adams' colour was high already. “They've been quarrelling again,” said Stella.

“Poor things.” Inevitably, Marian's thoughts harked back to all the humiliations of her own “honeymoon.”

“Oh, God,” went on Stella, “here come the Esmonds.” Charles Esmond was making towards them when his mother took him firmly by the arm and steered him over to join the Adamses. “Mother's good boy,” said Stella with relief. And then, as Mike appeared in the doorway. “Do you know, I think I'll make an early night of it. OK?”

“Of course.” Marian, who had not finished her own drink, sat where she was and watched Stella pass Mike with a quick exchange. A drink offered and refused? Or an assignation for later? Impossible to tell and disconcerting to find herself worrying a little about Stella.

“May I join you?” She looked up with a pleasure that surprised her at the sound of Edvardson's voice. “And may I get you another drink?” He had his own in his hand.

“No, thanks, but do sit down. Stella's gone to bed, and I've got a touch of the grues.” And how odd, she thought, to find herself admitting this to a total stranger.

“Well, no wonder,” he said cheerfully. “Anyone would think we'd got the Furies on board that bus. But, tell me, Mrs. Frenche, did you see anything of that sinister figure that is supposed to have chased Mrs. Duncan this afternoon?”

“Oh, dear,” said Marian. “I did hope she wouldn't mention it.”

“She thought it was her duty.” The professor's voice was dry. “After what happened to Miss Gear and Miss Grange.”

“Ridiculous,” said Marian, and changed her mind. She had actually been tempted to tell him about the boulder but did not want to risk his using that tone about her.

“Yes.” He looked round the crowded room. “Panic makes strange friendships.” The Esmonds were still with the Adamses, and Mrs. Duncan was talking, low and quick, to Mrs. Spencer.

“Panic?” The word gave her an odd twinge.

“Pretty close to it. I'm glad I'm not in young Cairnthorpe's shoes.”

“He's doing very well, don't you think?”

“Yes.” His laugh was the youngest thing about him. “Much better than I expected. In every way.” He was facing
the window, with its view of windy terrace. “I was backing young Mike to get your ewe lamb, but I suppose she doesn't take to being half drowned.” And then, seeing her puzzled look. “She's out walking with him. Cairnthorpe, I mean, not Mike.”

“She said she was going to bed.”

“Well, maybe she was, until she met Cairnthorpe. And maybe not. They all lie when it suits them. Well”—cheerfully—“who doesn't?”

“They?”

“The young. Which, thank the Lord, you and I are not. There”—he laughed again—“I knew that would get you bristling. If you were a cat, you'd spit.”