‘You know your way around boats,’ I commented when he came back.
‘When I was a boy I used to go fishing with my father.’
‘He’s a fisherman?’
‘On the islands many families own fishing boats. Once it was necessary to feed themselves, but for most these days it is only a pastime. My father was a teacher. He is retired now.’
‘So how did you get into the travel business?’
He shrugged and lit a cigarette. ‘There are not so many opportunities for work on Ithaca. Many people leave to live somewhere else, but Ithaca is my home. For a long time I ran a small kefenio, but I did not want to do that for my entire life, so I decided to bring people here who are interested in the history of the island.’
‘That’s how you ended up in London?’
‘I needed to make contacts and to learn how to sell my ideas to the travel companies. I also needed to make some money to get started.’
I remembered that Dimitri had told me it didn’t matter to him that the Zannas family weren’t exactly enthusiastic about his relationship with Alex after they met. But that was in London, a long way from here. I told him that Kounidis had warned me that plenty of people on Ithaca would dislike Alex if they knew who she was.
‘It seems unfair to blame her for what happened.’
Dimitri gave a wry smile. ‘You are not Greek. You cannot understand how people here think.’
‘So explain it to me.’
‘The people of Ithaca did not resent Julia Zannas. They hated her. Such strong emotions spill over onto the innocent.’
‘Even after all this time?’
‘Families are close here. They remember.’
I thought about the resemblance between Alex and her grandmother, and the way the old man in Exoghi had reacted the day we went there. ‘Even though her name isn’t Zannas, I suppose it wouldn’t take long for people to make the connection.’
‘Perhaps,’ Dimitri agreed. He turned away and busied himself coiling a line over a winch. He was avoiding looking at me and I thought I knew why.
‘I expect it could make things awkward,’ I suggested.
He put the line down and turned to look at me. ‘Awkward for who?’
‘Somebody who might be tainted by association if you like. Maybe someone who needed local support, for a new business perhaps.’
‘What the hell are you trying to say?’ Dimitri demanded.
‘I’m saying that’s why you wanted her to go back to England isn’t it? You were afraid of how people would react.’
‘That is a lie!’
‘Is it? I don’t think so. That’s why you wanted her back when she told you about me. It must have really got to you. It’s ironic isn’t it? You really do care for her.’
He didn’t try to deny that I was right any more. ‘I love her. I only wanted some time. By next year my business would be a success and it wouldn’t matter so much.’
‘Why didn’t you tell her the truth?’
He looked away, ashamed of his actions but also angry that I knew. He didn’t have to answer. I knew why he hadn’t told her.
‘I’m not going to tell her, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ I said. ‘I’m just making an observation.’
He regarded me with hostile scepticism. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you kept your observations to yourself.’
Kalamos town was on the eastern coast of the island. We arrived early in the evening and entered a small harbour where a few yachts were tied up alongside the fishing boats. A couple of tavernas and restaurants on the waterfront catered to the passing boat trade, but the island itself was small and only lightly inhabited. After we had tied up at a berth, Dimitri went ashore to see if he could find out where Gregory lived. He returned an hour later with news that the old man lived with his sister a few miles away along the coast, but that he came into town every night to drink at one of the tavernas.
I waited until the light was fading and people were beginning to gather at the tables along the waterfront before I went to find him. Since Gregory spoke English and, according to Dimitri, he was taciturn at the best of times I went alone. I was glad of the chance to escape Dimitri for a while anyway. We had spent most of the afternoon avoiding one another.
I found the taverna where Gregory drank easily enough and as I approached, I saw an old man at a table outside gazing vacantly across the harbour, an empty glass in front of him. There was something vaguely familiar about him though I hadn’t seen Gregory for years. He looked to be in his seventies. Tufts of grey hair stuck out from his head as if somebody had trimmed it with a pair of garden shears.
‘Gregory?’ I said.
When he looked up I saw that one of his eyes was heavily bloodshot, the pupil milky-coloured. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded suspiciously in a voice roughened by years of smoking.
‘I’m Robert French. You used to work for my father.’
His eyes widened in vague confusion. ‘Your father?’
‘Johnny French.’
Comprehension leaked slowly into Gregory’s expression. ‘Ah yes. Johnny. I worked for him for many years.’ His mood abruptly soured. ‘Until he sent me here.’ He muttered something in Greek and picked up his glass, but when he remembered it was empty he slammed it down again irritably.
‘What do you want with me? Did your father send you?’ He looked around, craning his neck belligerently as if he expected to see him at any moment. ‘I expect he has told you to ask me to come back, has he? I knew he could not manage alone.’
‘My father didn’t send me.’ It hadn’t occurred to me that Gregory wouldn’t know that he was dead. ‘Look, can I get you a drink?’ I signalled to a waiter and ordered a beer for myself and another of whatever Gregory was drinking, which seemed to go a long way towards making him more amenable.
As I drew up a chair he peered more closely at me and then wagged a finger. ‘Now I remember you. You came with your father on the boat when you were a boy.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I remember,’ he said again. He lit a cigarette, striking a match with short thick fingers. The waiter brought our drinks to the table, pouring ouzo for Gregory from a bottle that I asked him to leave. Gregory downed the glass in a single gulp. ‘I drink more than I should.’
‘There’s something I should tell you,’ I said as he reached for the bottle. ‘My father died.’
The old man froze with his glass half-way to his mouth. ‘He’s dead?’
‘Yes. A heart attack,’ I added, not wanting to complicate things.
The news seemed to deflate the old man. His hand holding the glass dropped to the table again and he gazed beyond me. ‘Ah, I am sorry,’ he said heavily after a while. He shook his head regretfully and murmured some salute before raising his glass and draining it.
‘I’m trying to find out what he was doing before he died,’ I said.
Gregory appeared not to have heard me. ‘How did you get here?’
‘On the Swallow.’
‘Your father’s boat?’ He looked towards the harbour, but the boat couldn’t be seen from where we were sitting. ‘She is a good boat. Where are you taking her?’
‘I’m not taking her anywhere. I came here to talk to you.’
He filled his glass again with trembling fingers. ‘All this way. To talk to me? What for?’
‘About what my father was doing before he died.’
The old man shook his head. ‘He should not have sent me away. He said I was too old, but I am still here.’
‘He sent you away?’
‘Yes. Why else would I be here? He said I should help my sister. She is old. She wanted me to come after that husband of hers died. Your father said it was time for me to retire. He gave me some money. He was generous, but I told him I did not want to retire. To be honest with you I did not want to live with my sister. She complains that I drink too much.’
He eyed the bottle and, losing some brief internal battle, he fi
lled his glass again. ‘What does it matter what I drink at my age? I told your father he was the one who should stop working. I said I would live ten years after he was dead. And you see, I was right.’
A look of sly triumph crept into his eyes, but then it faded and was replaced with sadness. He raised his glass to me. ‘Your father was a good man. May he rest in peace.’ He tossed off his drink, but as he reached for the bottle again I stopped him, afraid that he would be too drunk to talk to me soon.
‘In a minute. First let me ask you a few things. When was it that you came here, can you remember?’
‘Of course I remember,’ he exclaimed with obvious affront. ‘I am old but I am not stupid!’
‘Sorry. Of course not. So when was it?’
‘In May. The beginning of the month.’
‘So that was after my father came back from Kephalonia. You remember he went there in April?’
‘Yes. Yes. I remember.’ He licked his lips, his eyes greedily fixed on the bottle in my hand.
‘When he came back, did he come alone?’
‘Alone?’
‘Somebody saw you and my father on the Swallow. There was another man with you.’
‘Ah, yes. I remember now. He was a man like your father. An archaeologist. We took him out on the boat. For a cruise, you know, so that he could see the island. He was on holiday.’
‘What was his name, can you remember?’
‘He was foreign. He said I should call him Johann. I don’t remember anything else.’
‘But you remember taking him out on the boat. How many times did you take him?’
‘Only one time,’ Gregory said, scowling. ‘Then your father gave me money and said I should retire. It was the same night. I told him I did not want to come to live with my sister. He should not have made me come.’
I wondered why my dad had done that to Gregory after he had worked for him for all those years. And why so suddenly? ‘When he came back from Kephalonia, how did he seem to you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, did he behave differently?’
Gregory shrugged. ‘He did not talk to me much. He talked to this other man. They talked about their work.’
‘Their work? Did you hear them? Did they mention the Antounnetta?’
The old man’s eyes slid back to the bottle. ‘Perhaps I could remember more if I had something to take away my thirst.’
I poured him another ouzo, a smaller one this time and watched while he drank it down. ‘So did they talk about the Antounnetta?’
‘Maybe. They might have mentioned it.’
‘When? When you were on the boat?’
‘Yes. On the boat I think.’
‘Where did you go to that day?’
‘To a bay in the south. Pigania. You know this place?’ I shook my head. ‘There is nothing there. You can only get to it by boat. It is very deep.’
I was surprised at this. The search pattern on the charts I’d seen on the boat covered an area toward the mainland, beginning at a point at least a mile off the coast of Ithaca. ‘What did you do there? Did you dive?’
Gregory looked surprised at the suggestion. ‘Why would we dive there? Besides, we are too old. When your father wanted somebody to dive, he hired young people. Students. Foreigners. We did nothing.’
‘Nothing at all? You mean you went to this place and then you just turned around and went back to Vathy again?’
‘Your father and his friend went ashore for a while. They wanted to go for a walk. I stayed on the boat. It was hot. Too hot for walking.’
‘How long were they gone?’
‘I do not remember clearly. I had a drink or two while I waited. The sun made me thirsty. An hour or two perhaps.’ He waved a hand in a vague gesture.
‘Did they say anything about where they went or what they were doing?’
‘No, I told you. They wanted to walk. This friend of your father’s, he liked to walk he said. Where he came from he walked every day.’
‘And you didn’t hear them talking about anything else?’
‘No. I heard nothing.’ Gregory’s face sagged and he shook his head. ‘Your father, he was a good man. A good friend. I am sorry that he is dead.’
His voice was becoming slurred, and his eyes were glazing over. I asked a few more questions, but it was clear that I wouldn’t get anything else out of him. Before I left I went to see the owner of the taverna to give him some money to make sure that Gregory got home safely. When I went back to say goodnight, Gregory didn’t appear to hear me. He was more than half drunk, lost in some silent memory.
We left Kalamos that night, planning to sail back to Ithaca by morning. We agreed to take turns to keep watch. I volunteered to stay up first and while Dimitri went down below to snatch a few hours’ sleep, I plotted a course and set the autohelm. There was virtually no wind, so we planned to make the journey under engine power. All I had to do was keep watch for other vessels and stay awake.
The night was clear and once we were out of the harbour I brought my father’s charts up to the wheelhouse. The pattern of crosses annotated with the dates of dives going back years clearly followed the likely course the Antounnetta would have taken towards Patras on the mainland to the south-east. But when I looked for the bay where Gregory said he and my father had taken Kohl, I found it at the bottom south-western tip of Ithaca, practically in the opposite direction. They must have gone there for a reason, though I had no idea what it had to do with the Antounnetta.
Later, I sat on deck with a cup of coffee and stared at the sky. The stars were mesmerising, vividly clear in the absence of any light from the land. I felt adrift in the universe, following a course among the planets instead of between two islands in the Ionian Sea. The moon rose above the horizon, a massive, hauntingly beautiful sphere which cast an eerie light over the swell.
The steady thump of the diesel and the constant suck of water gradually lulled my senses. A series of sleepless nights and the battering inflicted on my body had taken their toll. My heartbeat became attuned to the rhythm of the boat and the rocking of the sea. My eyelids fluttered closed and, without realising it, I fell asleep.
I woke abruptly, disoriented and uncertain where I was. Realisation hit me in a flood and, panicked, I scrambled to my feet instinctively sensing danger. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep. I half expected to see either a tanker bearing down on us or else the looming, rocky coast of Ithaca against which we were about to be smashed.
‘It is all right,’ a voice from the darkness said.
I spun around and heaved a breath of relief. There was no tanker or anything else, only the sea and the stars and Dimitri. I checked my watch guiltily.
‘I must have nodded off. It couldn’t have been for more than a few minutes.’
It must have been more like an hour. Belatedly I noticed the rifle which Dimitri was holding. The moonlight gave the metal a chilling grey sheen.
‘I woke up and couldn’t see you. I was worried,’ he said.
It was a plausible enough explanation, but something gave me the impression that he’d been there for a while, watching me sleep. A shiver ran up my back. For a few moments we regarded each other silently, then he turned and went back to the wheelhouse.
‘Your turn to get some rest,’ he said.
But after that I couldn’t sleep.
The wind came up later so we raised the sails and made better time. By four in the morning we could see the outline of Ithaca rising from the grey sea.
TWENTY-THREE
As Ithaca drew closer, first light streaked the horizon. The radio in the wheelhouse crackled into life. It was set to a local ship-to-shore channel and left permanently on at low volume, so I was used to hearing intermittent traffic, but this time I was sure I heard the Swallow mentioned. I turned up the volume and waited, and a few moments later I heard it again. Dimitri had heard it too and he came in from the deck and picked up the microphone to respond. There was a brie
f conversation.
‘It was the harbourmaster at Kioni. Alkimos Kounidis asked him to pass on a message to us to ask us to go to his house when we return.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘Only that it was important. We can anchor in the cove below his house.’
I left Dimitri to set the course and went out onto the deck. Since I’d woken earlier to find him standing over me holding the rifle, a state of unease had existed between us. I couldn’t really believe that he had been contemplating anything murderous, but at the same time I didn’t entirely trust him. Since I had suggested that the real reason he had wanted to cool his relationship with Alex was because he was afraid she would jeopardise the success of his business, I couldn’t help wondering how far he would go to make sure she never knew about it.
Within half an hour we had dropped anchor and were rowing ashore. When we climbed up to the house, Kounidis was waiting for us though it was still barely light. He told us the harbourmaster had phoned to tell him that we were on our way, adding that he was always awake early. ‘At my age to find it difficult to sleep should be regarded as a blessing,’ he observed wryly. ‘Soon there will be an eternity of sleep.’
Eleni was already preparing coffee and something to eat. Before we could discover what it was he wanted to tell us, Kounidis asked if we had found Gregory. I told him about our conversation and spread the charts I’d brought from the boat out on the table. Kounidis was as puzzled as we were to learn that my father and Kohl had gone to Pigania Bay, but he said that he had learned something that added weight to what Gregory had told me.
‘Yesterday I contacted the owner of the dive shop in Kioni. It seems that in May your father hired a young American to work for him.’
‘After he came back from Kephalonia?’
‘Yes.’
And after Gregory had been banished out of the way to Kalamos, I guessed.
‘The American spoke about another man on the boat, though he was quiet and kept out of the way. Apparently he stayed below for most of the time, except when they were diving.’
‘Because he didn’t want to be seen?’
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