Strangers in Company (15 page)

“They lived their own life, ladies and gentlemen, keeping themselves to themselves and avoiding foreign trade as much as possible. The simple life was their ideal.”

“Yes.” Professor Edvardson spoke from behind them. “The simple life with paederasts and slaves.”

“Oh.” Marian turned to him. “Tell me!”

“And a secret police,” said Edvardson. “You look tired, Mrs. Frenche.” They were straggling after Mike from the museum towards the bus. “Can I persuade you to cut the rest of Sparta? It's honestly not worth seeing, still less hearing about from that young enthusiast.” His dismissal of Mike was firm but kind. “I thought I'd walk up the
Eurotas a bit and see what I could see in the way of birds. How about coming, too? It's pretty there, and quiet.”

“Oh, I'd love to.” She spoke impulsively, then directed a quick, anxious glance to where Stella was walking between the two Esmonds, her entire attention fixed on Charles. “I don't know,” she began doubtfully.

“I do. Let it work itself out. The best thing you can do. She'll be bored to tears in a day or so.”

“That's what I think,” said Marian gratefully. “As long as his mother.…”

“I don't suppose she'll actually take a hatchet to your protégée, though I admit she looks as if she'd like to. You tell them, and I'll tell young Cairnthorpe. We should be back about the same time as they are. I don't suppose your ewe lamb can get in much trouble between now and then. No sea here, at least.”

Of course he had heard about yesterday's “rescue.” One must face it, gossip would spread like wildfire in a group like this. No doubt there would be gossip, too, if she went off for the afternoon with the professor. For some curious reason, this decided her to do it, and she caught up with Stella to announce her decision.

“Really? You don't want to see the grove where the hyacinths grow?” Stella looked disconcerted and pressed her hard to change her mind, but having made her decision, Marian was firm. It would do them both good, she thought, to have an afternoon apart, and, after all, it was Stella who had initiated it by involving them with the Esmonds. Besides, with luck, a whole afternoon of them might well hasten the cure the professor had predicted.

She found him wonderfully pleasant, easy company. He talked a good deal about birds and insisted on her trying to see a golden oriole through his binoculars. “It's no good”—she handed them back to him—“I can never use these things. It's like opera glasses at the theatre. Hopeless.”

“You like the theatre?”

“Love it.”

“So do I.” He turned out to be surprisingly
knowledgeable. “I always make a point of going when I'm in London,” he explained. “And a few weekends a winter in New York. You can have the movies,” he added.

She laughed. “I don't want them.” Would the twins miss going to the theatre with her? Why should they? They had their father and all his glamour. They would be going to first nights, no doubt. “I'm sorry?” She had missed something the professor said.

“Not important.” He had a kind face, she thought, in its craggy way. “Lonely people like you and me do a lot of our talking to ourselves anyway.”

“Are we lonely?”

“Of course we are. And I often find a crowd makes it worse.”

“Well.” She thought about it. “Certainly a crowd like ours. Goodness, I'm grateful to you for getting me away for a while.” She paused to listen to the rush of the Eurotas, a surprisingly lively river.

“It's a pleasure.” It was formally spoken, but he sounded as if he meant it, and she felt an unaccustomed warmth steal through her. It seemed a long time since her company had been a pleasure to anyone.

“Thank you.” She too spoke formally, and yet it did not come out quite as she had expected. “They're a curious mixture, aren't they?” She hurried it a little.

“Not quite the usual,” he agreed. “I come on these tours—ones like this—all the time,” he explained. “And I must admit some of our fellow travellers baffle me a little. Those Adamses, for instance. They're the most unusual honeymoon couple I ever saw.”

“They've had some ups and downs,” she agreed. “But then—” She stopped. She had been going to say, “One does,” but—had he ever been married? Extraordinary how little she knew about this man who was now holding out a helpful hand to get her over a rough bit of path.

“Oh, yes.” He was no fool. “I've been through it. I know what you mean. She died.”

There was a little silence, then, “Children?” asked Marian.

“No. That's why I come on tours like this. Look! There's a bee-eater.”

“Where?” She recognised the subject as closed.

“They nest in riverbanks,” he explained. “Look! Down there. Come on, try the binoculars. I'll adjust them for you. There” He put a steadying hand on her shoulder as he held the glasses to her eyes. “How's that?”

“Oh, my goodness!” Was the exclamation for the tiny, fast moving bird or for the extraordinary, long-forgotten surge of emotion that rose to his touch? “I wish I'd brought my glasses.” She was babbling and knew it. “I'm all right for a museum, but when it comes to birds I really need them.”

“You're not nearly so bad as poor Mrs. Esmond.” The professor had clearly felt nothing. His voice was matter-of-fact as he put the binoculars back in their case. “I can't think why she doesn't wear glasses—or even contact lenses. Have you noticed?”

“No.” Her voice was under control again.

“She can't read a notice or recognise a face at more than a few yards. I think it's partly why she clings to that unfortunate son of hers.”

“Much better to wear glasses.” Marian wondered whether, if he had seen her with Sebastian and Viola, he would have thought she clung to them.

She was considering the temptation to talk to him about them, when they heard a shout from behind and turned to see Stella and Charles hurrying along the little path by the river. “Caught you,” said Stella. “We got bored with old Sparta, too, and Mike very kindly dropped us off at a convenient corner. Seen any good birds, Mrs. F.?”

“No, alas. I was just telling Professor Edvardson. I'm not much good without my glasses.”

“Just like my mamma.” Charles looked guilty.

“She'll be all right,” said Stella bracingly. “That competent Mrs. Spencer is looking after her.”

“Amazing woman,” said the professor. “I don't know how she endures this heat in those woollies of hers.”

Stella laughed. “I call her ‘Twinset a Day.' I suppose nobody told her about the Greek climate.”

“It's odd about her,” began Edvardson, but Stella interrupted him.

“I say, what's that?” She pointed at a black and white bird, large enough so that even Marian could see it, hovering over the water, its long beak at the ready.

“Good God!” said the professor. “It's a pied kingfisher. I never saw one before, but it must be; look at the way it's watching the water! There it goes!” The bird had plunged swiftly into the water and emerged with a small, wriggling fish. “I do congratulate you, Miss Marten.” He turned to her warmly. “I never even hoped to see one of those.”

After this stroke of luck their slightly odd quartet proved more of a success than Marian had feared. Stella seemed genuinely interested, now, in what Edvardson could tell her about the birds she spotted with her sharp eyes, and Charles was apparently prepared to take an interest in anything Stella cared about. Enjoying themselves, they walked farther than they realised and got back to the hotel a good deal later than the rest of the party, to find Mrs. Esmond sitting like a thundercloud in the hotel lobby.

She looked at them muzzily for a moment, then her eyes focussed on Charles. “There you are at last.” It was the scolding tone appropriate for a small child. “I was beginning to be afraid of another accident.”

“Another?” asked Stella. “You don't mean—”

“No, no,” Mrs. Esmond interrupted her rudely. “Nothing new. But you could hardly say this was a lucky tour, could you? Not so far. That poor Miss Gear's beginning to look like death. I thought she was crazy to insist on coming today. Much better to have stayed at Nauplia the way that guide suggested.” Marian had noticed that she refused to call Mike, or anyone else, by his first name.

“‘Hermes means death,'” quoted Charles lightheartedly. “Do you think the old thing's going to kick the bucket?”

“Charles!” said his mother.

Stella was very late down that evening. Marian had finished her ouzo, and the rest of the party was already in the dining room, when she appeared. “Sorry, Mrs. F., we'd better go right in, hadn't we? I wonder what our doom will be tonight.”

In fact, they found a whole empty table awaiting them and dined, restfully, alone. Miss Gear and Miss Grange were absent, and an empty place at another table caught Stella's eye. “Mike's out on the tiles again. Let's be devils and have a bottle of wine, Mrs. F. After all, I missed my ouzo.” She caught a hurrying waiter's eye and ordered white Demestica. “I warn you, in a night or so I'm going to make you try the retsina.”

“That pine-flavoured stuff? Must I?”

“You'll like it in the end. It's like oysters—habit-forming. And good for you. What about Mistra tomorrow, by the way?” She had waited until the wine arrived, been poured and happily sipped. “Do we still think we'll opt out?”

“Well—” Marian had been thinking about this. “What do you think? Granted that we went off on our own this afternoon, perhaps we ought to go along tomorrow? Unless you'd really hate it, that is.”

“Ghoulies and ghosties?” She thought about it. “Better to face them, perhaps? And Mistra does sound quite a place. Besides, what would we do here all day?”

“I know.” Marian had thought of this, too. “We could go back to the museum, I suppose, but really, Sparta—”

“Just so. I gather most coach parties stay in Mistra itself. Mrs. Spencer did last time. She says it's a heavenly little place—the new village, that is, with a stream flowing out of a tree. I'd quite like to see it.”

“In that case—”

“Yes.” Stella settled it. “Let's go. And let's go to bed early, too. I don't know about you but that long drive this morning has left me stiff as a post.”

“Me, too.” Marian could not help wondering if Stella, after seeing her to her room, meant to go down again and keep some assignation—With Charles? With Mike? With David? She flicked an apologetic mental glance at Miss Oakland and Jobs Unlimited. But how in the world could she chaperone Stella's every waking minute? Besides, it had been coming over her since halfway through dinner, that old, horrible feeling from which she had been free since Epidaurus. Why, suddenly, here, should she be plagued by the illusion that hostile eyes were upon her? She drank the last of her wine quickly. Absurd to give way to it. But, “Let's go for a quick stroll—” Anything to get out of this crowded, hostile room. “And then bed.”

Since it was only a few miles from Sparta to Mistra, they made a blessedly late start next morning, but even so Miss Gear and Miss Grange failed to appear. The long drive the day before had, predictably, been too much for Miss Gear, and Miss Grange was staying behind to nurse her. “Poor thing,” Stella summed it up as they settled in the bus. “What on earth's going to happen to her when we go over the mountains tomorrow?”

“Let's hope a day's rest will fix her.” They were over the wheels today, and Marian was grateful for Stella's insistence that she take the most uncomfortable seat by the window.

“We're in luck,” Stella pointed out. “There's hardly any driving today, and tomorrow we'll be on the back seat.” She laughed. “It's really hopelessly unfair.”

“But restful.” The polite pushing and making way were tiresome enough, Marian thought, without an unspoken, perpetual battle for the best seats.

Mike had picked up the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, today you are on your own. I am a classical guide, and Mistra, as you doubtless know, is Byzantine. So—get out your guidebooks, or ask Mr. Cairnthorpe to tell you about the emperor who was crowned her in Mistra and which of all its many churches are worth visiting. He will tell you, I have no doubt, about Christ the
Pantokrator, and no one needs to tell you about the views of the valley and of Taygetus, for they are there for all to see. But as your loving and devoted guide, I do beg that you will be careful how you go. It is a long time since they repaired the roads in Mistra.” This was a joke; he waited for their laugh. “The walking is not easy. And when you get toward the top, watch yourselves; there are no guardrails there to protect the unwary. It is not a place to which I would bring my children.” He beamed at them. “If I had any children.”

The bus stopped outside a small café, where, Mike told them, they would all meet for lunch. “You are in luck. Most tours come from further; you have the place to yourselves, probably until about twelve o'clock. So, enjoy yourselves, my children.” He jumped out of the bus, was greeted warmly by the heavy-jowled proprietor of the café and disappeared into its kitchen with him.

“Mike's got a friend in every port,” said Stella.

“Poor Cairnthorpe.” It was restful being so far back in the bus and able to speak freely. “I wonder if Mike warned him.”

“It doesn't look like it.” Cairnthorpe, too, had alighted and was already surrounded by a small crowd of eager questioners.

“At least he's got a proper guide,” said Marian. “My Fodor only gives the place a couple of paragraphs.”

“Never mind.” They were out of the bus now, and Stella took a great breath of mountain air. “Why don't we just wander and enjoy ourselves, Mrs. F.? I don't know about you, but I feel unsociable today. And it's not going to break my heart if we never do see where that emperor was crowned.”