The Moonspinners (13 page)

Georgi dumped my case with a flourish that effectively hid his relief, and was persuaded, without much difficulty, to accept five drachmae. His
pallikarás
dignity concealing his delight, he went staidly off, with Ariadne scampering beside him. But just before he was out of sight past the first cottage wall, I saw him break into a run. The news was on the wing already.

Georgi had abandoned me at the edge of a covered terrace which had been built right along the front of the hotel. In the shade of its trellised roof were set a few little metal tables, where the elders of the village sat. This morning three of them were there, two playing backgammon, the third watching in motionless appraisal. A youth sat on a table near them, swinging his legs and smoking; he looked up, and watched me with some interest, but the old men never even gave me a glance.

As I turned towards the main door – it had been that of the house on the right – the youth turned his head, and called something, and a man who had been busying himself somewhere at the back of the dining-room came hurrying out past the backgammon players.

‘You must be Miss Ferris?'

The voice was unmistakably English. This, then, was ‘Tony'. I looked at him with sharp interest.

He was young, somewhere under thirty, it was difficult to guess where; of middle height, slightly-built, but moving with the kind of tough grace that one associates with ballet. His hair was fairish, fine and straight, rather too long, but impeccably brushed. His face was narrow-featured, and clever, with light-blue eyes. He wore close fitting and very well-tailored jeans, and a spotlessly white shirt. He was smiling, a rather charming smile; his teeth were small and even, like milk teeth.

‘Yes,' I said. ‘How do you do? You're expecting me for tonight, aren't you? I know I'm a little early, but I was hoping for lunch.'

‘Early?' He laughed. ‘We were just going to put the police on your trail. You've no idea. Miss Scorby thought—'

‘Police?'
I must have sounded startled beyond all reason, and I thought I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes. My heart jumped painfully, then ground jaggedly into top gear. ‘Miss Scorby? What are you talking about? Is my cousin here already?'

‘No, no. She rang up last night. She said the boat was still held up in Patras, but that she'd gone by train to Athens, and managed to catch the flight after all.'

‘Oh, good for her! Then she'll get today's bus? She'll be here for dinner?'

‘For tea. She said she wasn't going to wait for the bus; she thought the vegetable caique might be more fun, and would get her here sooner.' The small teeth showed. ‘An enterprising lady. She should be here any time now. The boat's overdue as it is.'

I laughed. ‘I might have known Frances would make it! And
before
she was due, at that! That's marvellous!'

‘Yes, she did think she'd been rather clever. She thought she'd be catching you up in Heraklion – you were both to have got the bus today, weren't you? – but you'd gone. They told her you'd left yesterday, with a message saying you were coming straight here.'

He finished on a note of perfectly normal enquiry. I managed to say, I hoped naturally: ‘I did. I did leave Heraklion yesterday, and I fully intended to come on here, if I could. But I was offered a lift by some sweet Americans, and they decided to stay overnight in Chania, to look at the Turkish quarter. They'd offered to bring me on here today, and there was no hurry, as I didn't think you were expecting me.'

‘Ah, well, that explains it. We weren't really worried, you know, dear, we thought you'd have let us know if you were coming sooner, and, to tell you the truth, I doubt if we could have taken you before today.'

‘Full up?'

‘No, no, nothing like that. But busy, you know, busy. We're still only half in order here. Did you walk down from the road?'

‘Yes. I had some coffee near the bridge, and then Georgi carried my case the rest of the way.'

‘Well, come and sign the Golden Book, then I'll show you your room.'

The lobby was merely a wide passage running straight through the house. Halfway along it stood an old-fashioned table with a chair behind it, and a rack holding four keys. This was the reception desk. A door beside it was marked ‘Private'.

‘Not just the Ritz, you know,' remarked Tony cheerfully, ‘but all in good time, we're expanding like mad. We've got four whole bedrooms now. Not bad, for Agios Georgios.'

‘It's delightful. But how do you come to be here – you're English, aren't you?' The visitors' book was brand new, its blank pages as informative as a shut eye.

‘Yes, indeed. My name's Gamble, but you can call me Tony, everybody does. Gamble by name, and gamble by nature, to coin a phrase. There's money to be made over here, you know, with this tourist boom, and hotels going up everywhere like mushrooms; not so much just yet, perhaps, but when they build the road this way – real money. We want to be ready for that. And the climate's nice, too, for someone like me, with a chest.' He paused, perhaps feeling that he had been a shade over-eager with his explanations. Then he smiled, and an eyelid flickered. ‘
La dame aux camélias
, and all that, you know. That's really what persuaded me to settle so far from the dear old Vicarage.'

‘Oh?' I said. ‘Bad luck. Ariadne did tell me that you'd found London unhealthy. That must have been what she meant. Well, this seems a lovely place, so I wish you luck. Is this where I write, at the top?'

‘Yes, just there.' A beautifully kept finger indicated the first line of the virgin page. ‘Our very first guest, dear, did you know? One thing, you can be certain the sheets are clean.'

‘I wouldn't have dreamed of doubting them. But what about my Danish friend, the man who sent me here? You should have collected his signature – it's famous, in a mild way.' I gave his name.

‘Oh, yes, but he doesn't count. We weren't officially “open”, and Stratos only put him up for the publicity, and because there was nowhere else. We were still painting.'

I wrote my name with what I hoped was a casual flourish. ‘And the Englishman?'

‘Englishman?' His stare was blank.

‘Yes,' I picked up the blotting paper and smoothed it over my signature. ‘I thought those children said you'd had an Englishman here last week?'

‘Oh, him.' There was the tiniest pause. ‘I know who they mean.' He smiled. ‘He wasn't English; he was a Greek, a friend of Stratos'. I suppose those brats heard him talking to me?'

‘Probably, I hardly remember. There.' I pushed the book across to him.

He picked it up, ‘“Nicola Ferris”. A very pretty start to the page. Thanks. No, dear, he didn't count either; he didn't even stay here, just called on business, and left the same night. Well, come and see your room.' He flicked a key off its hook, picked up my case, and led the way back towards the front door.

‘You said the boat was due now?'

‘Any minute, but you know how it is. She'll certainly be here by tea-time.' He grinned over his shoulder. ‘And that's one of your worries away, let me tell you. I make the tea myself.'

‘Oh? Good. She loves her tea. Not me; I've had time to get acclimatized.'

‘Acclimatized? You mean you've been over here for a bit?' He sounded genuinely interested.

‘Over a year. I work at the British Embassy in Athens.'

I thought his glance was appraising. He swung my case as if it weighed no more than an ounce. ‘Then you'll talk the lingo, I suppose? This way, dear. We go up the outside steps; rather primitive, I'm afraid, but it's all part of our simple, unstudied charm.'

I followed him up the flower-bordered steps. The smell of carnations was thick as smoke in the sun.

‘I've picked up a bit of Greek.' I had had to decide on this admission when I met the children, and he would certainly find out – in fact, I had already implied – that I had talked to them. I added, apologetically: ‘But it's terribly difficult, and of course there's the alphabet. I can ask simple questions, and so on, but as for
talking
—' I laughed. ‘In my job we tend to mix, most of the time, with our own people, and I room with an English girl. But one day I really mean to get down to learning the language. What about you?'

‘Oh my dear, a little, only a little, and ghastly Greek at that, I do assure you. I mean, one gathers it
works
, but I never speak it unless I have to. Luckily, Stratos' English is quite shatteringly good . . . Here we are. Primitive, but rather nice, don't you think? The décor was my own idea.'

Originally, the room had been plain and square, with roughly plastered walls, a scrubbed wooden floor, and a small window cut in the thick wall facing the sea. Now the rough walls were washed blue-white, some fresh straw matting covered the floor, and the bed, which looked comfortable, was covered with a dazzling white counterpane. The sun, reaching round towards afternoon, already poured a slanting shaft through the window embrasure; the shutters were open, and there were no curtains, but outside there was a vine sifting the sunlight so that the walls of the room were patterned most beautifully with the moving shadows of leaf and tendril.

‘A shame to shut it out, don't you think?' said Tony.

‘It's lovely. Is
this
your “décor”? I thought you meant you'd designed it.'

‘Oh well, you could say I did in a way. I stopped them spoiling it. Stratos was all for Venetian blinds, and two colours of wallpaper, just like home sweet home.'

‘Oh? Well, I'm sure you were right. Is, er, “Stratos” your name for Mr Alexiakis?'

‘Yes, he's the owner, you knew that? Did your Danish friend tell you about him? Quite the romantic local-boy-makes-good story, isn't it? That's what all the emigrants from these poverty-stricken rabbit-hutches dream of doing – coming home after twenty years, buying up the place, and showering money on the family.'

‘Oh, he has a family?'

‘Well, there's only a sister, Sofia, and between you and me, dear, there's a little bit of difficulty about showering money on her.' Tony dumped my case on a chair, and turned confidingly, with very much the air of one who has been missing the pleasures of a nice, cosy gossip. ‘It would mean showering it on her husband, too, and dear Stratos doesn't, but
doesn't
get on with his brother-in-law. But then, who does? I can't say I just fell madly for him myself, and I'm fearfully easy to please, far too easy-going, really. I remember—'

‘What's wrong with him?'

‘Josef? Oh, first of all, he's a Turk. Not that I mind
that
, but some of these village types think it's just the
last
thing, next to a Bulgarian or a German. And the poor girl was left well off, respected papa and all that, just the job for a nice local Cretan boy, but she had to go and marry this Turkish foreigner from Chania, who's frittered and drunk most of it away – won't lift a finger,
and
rather pushes her around. Oh, the usual, you know,
such
a dreary tale. What's more, he won't let her go to church, and
that
, of course, is the last straw. Quaint, isn't it?'

‘Can't the priest help?'

‘We haven't one, dear, he only visits.'

‘Oh. Poor Sofia.'

‘Yes, well, things have looked up for her since brother Stratos got home.'

‘He must have done well for himself; he had a restaurant, didn't he? Where was it, Soho somewhere?'

‘Oh, you wouldn't know it, it wasn't big – though of course the locals think it was the Dorchester, no less, and give Stratos an income to match. Far be it from him to disillusion them. It was a nice little place, though; I was there myself for six years. That's where I picked up my bit of Greek; most of the boys were Greeks, made Stratos feel at home, he said. Ah well,' he twitched the peach-coloured tablecloth straight, ‘it's quite amusing here, tarting the place up a bit, though I don't know that little Tony'd just want to settle here for life. We're going to build, you know, on to the other end. Get a nice long, low block, facing the sea. Take a look at that view.'

‘It's wonderful.'

The window faced south-west, over one end of the land-locked bay. To the left, I caught a glimpse of the edge of a roof; that was all; the rest of the village was out of sight. Directly below me, through the masking vine, I could see a flat space of gravel where a few tables and chairs were set – this, no doubt, would be Ariadne's ‘beautiful garden'. What flowers there were grew in pots, enormous earthenware
pithoi
, like the old wine jars from the Cretan palaces. A clump of tamarisk trees stood where the gravel gave way to the flat rock of the foreshore; this, smoothed and fissured by water, burned white in the sun. In every cranny of rock blazed the brilliant pink and crimson sunbursts of ice daisies, and, just beside them, the sea moved lazily, silky and dark, its faint bars of light and shadow gently lifting and falling against the hot rock. Beyond the stretch of sea, at the outer curve of the bay, tall cliffs towered jaggedly, their feet in the calm summer water, and along their bases curled the narrow golden line of shingle that rings the islands of the tideless Aegean. Even this, if the wind stiffened from the south, would be covered. A small boat, painted orange and cobalt, rocked, empty, at anchor a little way out from the shore.

‘Next stop, Africa,' said Tony, behind me.

‘It's lovely, oh, it's lovely! I'm glad I came before you've built your new wing, you know.'

‘Well, I do see what you mean, not that I think we'll exactly put Billy Butlin out of business,' said Tony cheerfully. ‘If it's peace and quiet you want, dear, we've bags of that.'