by Celia Scott
He paid no attention to this, but looked at her with growing dismay. 'What do you do here?' he asked abruptly, and when she looked at him uncomprehendingly, 'You work here, ne?' he barked.
'I'm part of the archeaological team. Yes.'
'Doing what!' he almost yelled.
She answered with dignity. 'I'm the official photographer.' Her gratitude was cooling with each peremptory question. Even when he'd just prevented her from a painful fall he managed to annoy her with his autocratic manner.
'You are the photographer? Mou theos!' he said, turning away. Before Lorna had time to question his peculiar reaction Professor Spanakis arrived on the scene.
'What has happened?' He peered over the rim of the upper wall. 'Has there been an accident?'
'It's nothing, Professor Spanakis,' Lorna assured him, 'my ladder fell over… that's all.'
'Fell over? On to the stairs?' He seemed more concerned about his stairs than his photographer.
'No. On to Mr Peritakis,' Lorna said drily, 'but we're both okay. Don't worry.'
'You must be more careful, Lorna,' the director said, mopping his face as he came down the incline to join them, 'we cannot afford to lose you. There is too much work to be done.' He halted in front of Jason. 'So you have already met Miss McCann,' he said.
'We have… bumped into each other… yes,' Jason drawled. Lorna looked at him sharply. Humour was not a characteristic she associated with this handsome Greek. But there was a twinkle in those strange green eyes.
'Did Mr Peritakis have a chance to tell you of his generosity, Lorna?' Professor Spanakis asked. Lorna shook her head, which was starting to ache again. 'He has offered a room in his villa for use as a dark-room,' the director told her triumphantly, 'and not only that. He has most kindly extended an invitation for you to stay there also. That way you will be close to your work, and there will be an extra place at the taverna for one of the new arrivals.' He beamed at them both.
Lorna found her voice. 'It's out of the question. I couldn't possibly stay at Mr Peritakis's villa,' she said firmly.
'Ah! Do not concern yourself my dear,' Professor Spanakis replied, 'Mr Peritakis's mother resides there also. It is quite proper.'
'That's not the point…' Lorna started to protest, but the director was already on his way to another part of the site and merely waved a genial hand in dismissal.
Lorna turned on her unwilling benefactor. 'Why didn't you say anything?' she snapped. 'You don't want me under your roof any more than I want to be there.'
He looked down at her, his well-cut mouth disdainful. 'It is quite true that I did not know you were the photographer when I made my offer,' he agreed, 'but now it is done. It cannot be undone.'
'Of course it can. I never heard of anything so stupid.' She was irrationally furious because he had not denied that he didn't want her at his villa.
He leaned closer to her, his eyes glittering like glass. 'It is you who are stupid,' he hissed. 'Stupid and ignorant. Do you not understand that in Crete it is unthinkable that an offer of hospitality can be withdrawn once it has been made.'
'Well, if you think I'm going to accept your invitation just so you won't look bad,' she said, her dirt-streaked face pink with indignation, 'you've got another think coming!'
'Do not be tedious.' His jaw was set as obstinately as hers. 'It is all arranged. Professor Spanakis agrees. It is the best solution to the problem.' She took a breath in order to protest further, but he held up an imperious hand. 'Not another word! In any case, I shall make a point of staying out of your way. You will hardly ever see me, I promise.'
'That suits me just fine!' she gulped childishly.
'Endaxi. It is settled then. I will send a car for you tomorrow. You can examine the room I suggest for your dark-room and make a list of all you will need.' He moved away from her and she noticed that he still managed to look elegant in spite of the dust that stained his immaculately cut breeches and red silk shirt. He picked up his riding crop from the ground and tucked it under his arm. 'I would suggest you wash your legs,' he said looking at her critically, 'otherwise those cuts may get infected.'
She looked down at her smooth tanned legs and noticed some scratches that were bleeding. She had been so involved in her argument she'd not noticed them before. Now several bumps and bruises began to make themselves felt, joining forces with her aching head.
She started climbing painfully up the hill to the base-camp hut. 'Let me help you,' Jason said, putting out his hand.
'No thank you. I'm quite all right,' she lied.
'Mou theos! Never have I met such a stubborn female.' He made a step towards her and firmly took her arm. 'Is it your North American emancipation that makes you so disagreeable. Or were you born that way?'
She was about to tell him that if he found her so disagreeable all he had to do was go away, when suddenly her ears started to buzz, the rise of cinnamon-coloured mountains started to swim before her eyes, and she was ignominiously forced to cling to him for support.
Sensing her distress he put his arm round her waist so that he was half-carrying her. 'Do you wish to stop and rest a moment?' He sounded quite gentle.
'N… no… I can… make it to the hut,' she faltered.
'I think not,' he replied, and scooped her into his arms in one strong movement. She pushed against his chest in a feeble protest but he ignored her, and strode up the hill as swift and sure-footed as a wild mountain goat.
Susan, writing a field report in the shade of the hut, looked up in astonishment. 'Lorna! What's happened?' she cried.
'It's nothing, Susie,' Lorna said weakly as Jason put her into the old garden chair that Susan had vacated. 'I had a little fall, that's all.' She took off her hat and dropped it to the ground. Her hair was lank, her clothes filthy.
'Do you have clean water and a cloth?' Jason asked the goggle-eyed Susan.
'We've got water,' Susan said, going into the hut and filling a basin from the water-bottles. Returning, she placed it on the ground beside Lorna. 'It's cold. Is that okay? But I don't have any kind of cloth… except kleenex,' she distractedly held out a wodge of pulpy tissues.
'No, no. I have something,' Jason said, drawing a white handkerchief from his pocket. He dipped it into the cool water and started bathing the scratches on Lorna's mud-streaked thighs.
She snatched the fine cotton away from him. 'I can do it,' she muttered, 'I'm not feeling faint anymore.' Realising that she was being ungracious she tried to make amends. 'This is the second handkerchief of yours that I've messed up,' she said. 'I'll get them laundered and…'
'Do not concern yourself,' he replied with a return to his former haughty manner. 'I shall see to it that I have a supply on hand during your stay here since you appear to be… how is it? Accident prone.'
'I'm nothing of the kind,' Lorna protested.
Jason turned a smile of such devastating charm on Susan that she turned scarlet and started to giggle for no reason. 'Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jason Peritakis,' he said. 'Miss McCann has recovered I think, for she contradicts me again. I will leave her in your care Miss…?' He raised his dark brows questioningly.
'H… Hunt… Susan Hunt.'
He took her plump little paw into his strong brown hand. 'Enchanted, Miss Hunt,' he purred. 'I think Miss McCann should rest this afternoon, but I am sure the suggestion should come from you rather than from me. Miss McCann makes a point of always doing the opposite of what I advise.'
'Oh! Sure… I mean… of course,' Susan stammered, awash in the Peritakis charm.
'Goodbye then, Miss Hunt. Herete.' The smile left his face and he turned to Lorna, nodded curtly, and strode away.
Susan sighed gustily. 'So that's Jason Peritakis. Wow! He's gorgeous!'
'I'm sure he'd be the first to agree with you,' Lorna said, slowly climbing to her feet and experimentally flexing her legs.
'You've got to admit he is handsome,' Susan remarked dreamily, a faint smile on her full-moon face at the memory of Jaso
n's overwhelming charm.
'Handsome is as handsome does in my book,' her friend said rancorously.
'He carried you up that hill,' Susan persisted, 'I think that's pretty handsome, don't you?'
'All that takes is muscle. Besides I was faint. He couldn't have left me to collapse at his feet and walked away. Even Jason Peritakis has better manners than that.'
The clatter of hooves on sun-baked earth interrupted her. Below them, Jason Peritakis, riding a magnificent chestnut saddle horse, galloped away at top speed. His horse's tail flying out like a red banner.
'Will you look at that!' Susan breathed. 'He's like a… a cowboy in a historical movie.'
'There aren't any cowboys in Greece,' Lorna snapped, thoroughly irritated. 'For heaven's sake, Susan let's quit talking about the wretched man. It's making my headache worse.'
Susan was immediately all apologetic concern. She found some band aids and produced more aspirin for her unfortunate room-mate. She then insisted on driving Lorna back to the taverna where it was agreed she would rest for awhile before developing today's pictures.
On the short drive back Lorna told her friend about her imminent move to the Peritakis villa. 'Oh! Lorna. You lucky thing!' Susan shrieked. 'The house looks fabulous. And it's cooler up the mountain.'
'And all my buddies are down at the taverna,' Lorna pointed out morosely.
'Yeah! But you'll be with us most of the time. Besides—the Peritakis villa!' she turned to look at her dishevelled companion. 'I'll miss you though, Lorna. I just hope my new room-mate doesn't turn out to be a creep.'
'I wish you were coming with me "Susie Q",' Lorna said, 'but it's all been decided over our heads.'
'I wouldn't worry about it,' Susan reassured her, 'I'll bet you have a great time. I envy you.'
Lorna smiled. 'No you don't, Susie. You're much too nice to feel envious.'
'Don't count on that,' Susan grunted. 'When I think of you under the same roof as that gorgeous man I feel quite jealous.'
'You don't need to.' Lorna reacted sharply. 'All Jason Peritakis and I feel for each other is hearty dislike.'
The older girl braked in front of the taverna before turning to her passenger. 'You may dislike him, Lorna,' she said, 'but he sure doesn't feel the same way about you.'
Lorna laughed weakly. 'You're suffering from a touch of the sun my friend,' she said, 'you've been out among the ruins too long.'
'Oh no!' Susan replied doggedly. 'He likes you a lot. Just you wait and see.'
'I won't hold my breath.' Lorna climbed out of the car. 'And let's make a pact, Susie. Let's try to stay off the subject of Jason Peritakis for at least twenty-four hours. Okay? He gives me a pain.'
'Where?' Susan screamed. 'In your heart?' And she drove away in a cloud of dust.
After a long night's sleep Lorna felt as good as new. She removed the band aids from her cuts and covered her scratches with a full skirt of multi-coloured cotton, which she teamed up with a favourite low-cut purple T-shirt. Her freshly washed hair was platinum bright in the early sunshine, and her eyes sparkled as blue as the cloudless sky.
When she came down to breakfast she discovered Nikos sitting under the plane tree drinking a cup of Greek coffee. He still looked faintly haggard from his recent debauch.
'Morning Nikos!' Lorna said cheerfully, sitting opposite him at the long table.
'Is it true what I hear?' he asked. 'That you go to stay at my cousin's house?'
'Quite true. Professor Spanakis arranged it yesterday.' She poured honey into the dish of yoghurt Vasily placed in front of her. 'So you'll get your fridge and your room back soon Vasily,' she said.
'I am already knowing, Miss Lorna,' her landlord told her, 'I have sadness to see you leave the taverna… but…' He shrugged his shoulders expressively.
'You'll still be seeing a lot of me,' Lorna assured him, 'I'll only be sleeping up at the villa.'
'Why did you not refuse to go, Lorna?' Nikos muttered, after Vasily had left them.
'Why on earth should I?' She stirred the honey around her bowl of yoghurt in amber swirls. She was damned if she was going to tell Nikos that she had tried to refuse, and had been ignored.
'You do not have to sleep under his roof,' he said slyly.
Lorna chose to ignore the innuendo. 'It was all decided between Professor Spanakis and your cousin. It's really none of my business how things were arranged… nor yours,' she added pointedly, applying herself to her breakfast. Nikos took the hint, and since the rest of their colleagues began to arrive at the breakfast table, she managed to avoid any more direct conversation with him.
Lorna's coming departure was now common knowledge, and she was the centre of much good-natured teasing… tinged in some cases with jealousy. She realised it would be futile to try and explain to them that she would much rather be staying on at the taverna, so she merely smiled and let their banter flow around her like sea foam.
When they arrived at the site for the morning's work it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. They were told by Professor Spanakis's assistant that they were to go to the shed where the cleaned shards and other finds were stored before being sent to the laboratory in Iraklion. The director was waiting for them there, and had something to say to the entire team.
After the bright sunshine it seemed gloomy in the temporary building, but although it was still early the corrugated roof gave off heat, so that Lorna felt like a cake in a bake oven. And the dirt floor, disturbed by their feet, rose in a haze of dust, stinging their eyes and catching at their throats.
Professor Spanakis stood, a grave portly figure, by the long trestle table on which freshly washed pieces of pottery and fragments were laid out on mats before being stored in boxes and bags for the journey to Iraklion. There was an uneasy murmur from the young fieldworkers, then the professor cleared his throat and silence fell.
He spoke first in Greek, and although Lorna was becoming more familiar with the language every day, it was too fast for her to follow. Whatever he said had a galvanising effect on the Greek members of the team. A gasp went round the stuffy little room, and people turned to each other in dismay. The director held up his hand for quiet.
'Now I will address the English-speaking members of the dig,' he said. 'You will recall the two seal stones that were discovered last week?' Lorna remembered them well. She had photographed them when they had been cleaned of their centuries-old crust of dirt. Exquisite examples of Minoan miniature work. One stone was chalcedony, carved with a tiny, perfect ship. The other, slightly chipped on one side, was cornelian and bore the impression of an olive spray on its oval surface. 'Last night, when I came to pack our latest findings for shipment to the laboratory,' the Professor continued, 'I opened the box containing the seal stones to find it empty.' There was a shuffling of feet on the dirt floor, and a collective sigh of shock. 'On closer inspection I noticed that the box had been carefully prised open, then re-sealed in such a way that the theft ... for I regret that it is undoubtedly a theft… would not be immediately noticeable. As you are all aware there is a black market for such antiquities. However,' he paused, and regarded his team with a stern face, his thick glasses glinting in the dim atmosphere, 'however, I am sure you are also aware of the penalties involved. The government of this country regards such crimes very gravely indeed. I do not have to tell you how I feel about it. Not only is it wilful plundering of our country's history, it also destroys the morale of the entire team. Because of the action of one… or several… of you, all are under suspicion. This, for me, is the most unfortunate aspect of the whole business. So I have decided to give the thief a chance… a chance he or she does not deserve.' He looked silently for a moment at his assembled workers. 'I will give the culprit forty-eight hours to return the seal stones,' he said finally, 'and I will keep his identity secret. But if the stones are not returned I shall call in the authorities, and when the criminal is apprehended,' he drew himself up, and in spite of his rotundity managed to look tall and imp
ressive, 'as he will be! I shall see to it that he receives the maximum punishment the law bestows.' There was a general stir, and one of the students coughed nervously. 'You may now go to your duties,' the director said, 'and I urge the guilty one to think over carefully what I have said.'
Very subdued they filed out of the building. Outside Lorna joined Susan and several other members of the team.
'What a mess, eh Lorna?' Susan's moon face was crumpled with distress. 'Who could have done such a thing?'
'Lord knows.' Lorna fell into step with the others, 'I just hope whoever it is has the sense to return the stones.'
One of the Swedish boys spoke up. 'Maybe they were taken for a souvenir only,' he said, 'and so will not be sold on the black market.'
'If people want souvenirs they can take discarded or duplicate shards at the end of the dig,' Lorna pointed out, 'they don't have to lift two of the most valuable small finds we've dug up so far. No. I'm afraid it's a mercenary theft, not a sentimental one.' She kicked at the dusty track with her narrow sandalled foot. 'But it's a rotten deal… for all of us. I only hope it sorts itself out.'
Gloomily the group went off to their various tasks— the Swedish and American boy to sieve for small objects trapped in the dirt, and the others to start work on clearing debris from a wall at the far side of the dig. Lorna had no particular photographs to do, so she offered to help her room-mate with a routine chore around the site. That of putting strings on tags. Necessary but boring. They were working on this when Lorna was told that a car had come to take her to the villa.
'Lucky beast!' Susan said, as Lorna hastily grabbed her camera, for she never knew when she might need it.
'Don't fret "Susie Q",' Lorna said, 'I'll bring you back a full description of the palace.' She put an oversize pair of sunglasses on her pert nose and made her way to the waiting car.
She was relieved to discover it wasn't the white Mercedes but a dignified black sedan, driven by a liveried chauffeur. They exchanged pleasantries in Lorna's cautious Greek, then drove without further attempts at conversation. The chauffeur drove fast, blithely seeming to ignore the hairpin turns in the road which climbed steeply beside stony fields that fell away from the mountain. On a far outcrop of rock she could see a church, whitewashed and dazzling against the sunbleached hillside. At some corners of the road she noticed small wayside shrines. Little boxes of stone or tin with a glassed front, through which she could see a small oil lamp burning, pale in the sunshine, like the white heart of a rose.
