A Saint for the Summer

by Marjory McGinn

  I swiftly tapped out a reply.

  Sybil,

  Cones an utter disgrace! LOL. Australia’s a good idea. Go for it. I have just asked for an extension (again!) on the trip here & no, nothing to do with the doctor. If my ‘association’ with the doc were a news feature I’d say it hasn’t grown arms and legs yet! Not many, anyway. Much to tell you soonest.

  Grecian Hen

  I felt tipsy when I set off back to the house. The sight of Leonidas’s villa in darkness and the prospect of a night alone with Angus in Villa Anemos didn’t inspire me exactly. It was strangely quiet as well in the village. The next day would change that entirely.

  It was gunfire that woke me in the morning. It wasn’t the usual gunfire of the village hunters looking for songbirds to shoot and later pickle; a local delicacy. This was louder, nearer, like Myrto’s yard, and there was a screaming session in Greek, her and a male voice. Angus knocked on my door and poked his head inside the room.

  “Did you hear that racket?” he said, shaking his head. “Do you mind if I look out your window a minute. It’s closer to the commotion.” He opened the window and peered down over Myrto’s farm. I jumped out of bed and looked over his shoulder. We could see Myrto between the olive trees, with a rifle in her hand.

  “What the fuck!” said Angus. “Looks like she’s really gone doo-lally this time. I think that’s Hector down there.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “I’ll get dressed and see if I can suss out what’s going on.”

  I got dressed as well. I threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, wondering if we should call the police − or was that a funny idea in a Greek village? Angus had already slipped out of the house, though I didn’t think it was a very wise move. Hector probably had a gun as well. I hung around on the bedroom balcony to see if I could get the measure of things and call for back-up if needed. I could hear more voices now, another man shouting in Greek. I could see Angus between the trees. Things went quiet for a while, until the sound of a truck revving up, spitting gravel as it tore down the road. I waited for five minutes and decided to go down. When I opened the front door, Myrto and Angus were standing outside, with Angus holding a rifle. He rushed in and propped it behind the door.

  Myrto looked flustered, her eyes slightly wild. She was wearing a thick shirt, dark trousers and boots. She rushed up to me and squeezed my arm.

  “Bronte, I am so sorry for noise and craziness.”

  I looked at Angus. He rolled his eyes.

  “I think I’ll call Leonidas. We need advice,” Angus said, picking up his mobile. I smiled at the fact that in every crisis we called Leonidas, as if he were a magician with the power to solve all our problems.

  Myrto and I sat at the dining table.

  “What happened this morning?” I asked her.

  “Ach! I take a gun to that malakas at last.”

  “Hector?”

  “Yes.”

  Angus had no luck raising Leonidas. Perhaps he was at church, as it was Sunday morning. Angus took up the story. “Hector turned up this morning to tell Myrto that the German buyer has now put in an offer for the land and he wants to get things moving along quickly. Hector’s dropped the price quite a bit, so he’s keen as well. I understand, though, there is a dispute over the land boundaries. It’s a typical story with these village properties; the survey is old and hand-drawn, probably by Myrto’s grandfather, and the German says it doesn’t match the current boundaries, or what he thinks they are and what the neighbour on the other side thinks they are. It could take a while to sort and Hector is getting angsty. He came around this morning to tell Myrto to remove some of her goat troughs and other rural junk from the land, as if he hasn’t got enough of his own there. She just lost it with him and fired a shot.”

  “Whose was the other voice I heard?”

  “One of the men from the village happened to be passing and managed to talk Hector into leaving, which was lucky. That was Hector roaring off in his pick-up truck.”

  “Too bad I miss Hector. I learn to shoot in Aussieland with hunting rifle. Shoot a kangaroo once. I give Hector a good scare though.”

  She was scaring me too. I always thought Myrto was quite maverick. I could well see her in Australia, shooting at kangaroos, but I didn’t think she’d go mental in this village.

  “I lose my land soon. No trees to harvest. No income,” she said, her eyes imploring us. I could see tears glistening there.

  “I’m going to try Leonidas again,” said Angus.

  “Pah! He won’t care. He is tired of Myrto,” she lamented.

  Angus went onto the balcony to call Leonidas again. I could hear him talking finally, but briefly, and he returned. “He can’t do anything today. We have to call him if Hector keeps coming around or becomes threatening. He will talk to the police.”

  “Pah! What good are police. They not interested in villagers.”

  “I don’t think he was pleased, though, at the prospect of the land going to a German,” said Angus, his eyes flitting in my direction.

  “I wish we had the money to buy the land,” I said, more out of an idle wish to help Myrto.

  Angus laughed derisively. “I certainly don’t. Do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Mind you. I heard Hector was asking 40,000 euros for the plot now, which is very low. Is that true, Myrto?”

  She nodded, twisting her hands around on her knees.

  “You know, I always thought Leonidas might have put in a bid for the land. He’s pretty loaded,” said Angus.

  “He’s going to England. What does he want with more village land?” I said.

  “Is he really going? I thought it was a bit of a fantasy,” Angus said, looking puzzled, scratching his chin.

  “No, that’s what he said.”

  “He could have told me. I’m his tenant, after all. I hope I don’t have to find another place.” Who else would want this old house, I thought.

  Myrto sprang to her feet. “I go now. And I take my gun too, in case Hector comes back. I keep my gates locked now, all the time. He will like to push me out of my house too, if he can. Thanks be to God I don’ do something very stupid like sign over everything. Fotis, he push for that too. Gamoto! But I say ‘no’.”

  She left hurriedly, taking her rifle with her.

  Chapter 20

  The Spartan’s strategy

  Despite the threat of rain, Polly and I met at an outdoor café in the elegant 23rd of March Square, in Kalamata’s old sector. It had a surfeit of atmosphere, having been the place where freedom fighters like Theodoros Kolokotronis took on the Ottoman Turks in 1821, but it had another claim to fame as well. In one of the old buildings overlooking the square, famous English writer Lawrence Durrell had set up a school of English studies in September 1940. Six months later he had to abandon the project and escape from the Peloponnese to Crete by boat – just weeks before the German invasion of Greece.

  The weather had turned cooler now, with clouds banking up to the east of the city from the direction of the Ionian Sea. Angus had said that things would perk up later in October and we’d definitely have the Indian summer, the Little Summer of Saint Dimitrios. I don’t know why he was so sure, unless his coffee-cup divinations had told him so. But for now, a storm was brewing.

  We had come to Kalamata so that Angus could keep his appointment with the cardiologist and also his accountant, or so he said, because sometimes he seemed to just disappear on various errands that I wasn’t privy to, unless they were just boozing sessions with old mates. In the meantime, I met up with Polly. I had wanted to somehow engage her in a chat about Angus and where their relationship was heading, but not for any kind of mischief because I liked Polly a lot. However, there were too many other things to discuss. She was keen to hear about our expedition to Platanos and delighted that it had yielded a possible breakthrough, with the chance perhaps of meeting up with Dimitris Maneas on the feast day of Saint Dimitrios at the end of October. She
was also pleased that Leonidas had been so helpful to us. I mentioned our lunch, vaguely.

  Then something peculiar happened. Just as we were discussing Leonidas, it was as if our words had acted like a vibrant lure, and he suddenly appeared on the far side of the square. We stopped talking. He was holding hands with a tall woman with long straight hair, dressed in tight white jeans and an elegant jacket. They were talking and laughing with great ease.

  Polly and I looked at each other. “Well, my dear. That is so incredible. Just as we are talking about Leonidas…” she said quietly, her eyes engaging in a long, analytical stare towards the couple.

  “I hope he hasn’t seen us,” I said, trying to wriggle down in my seat.

  “Don’t worry, he only has eyes for Phaedra, it seems.”

  So! The famous Phaedra. I strained my eyes towards her. This was no bespectacled swot with a power drill. This was goddess material.

  “She must be back for her father’s name day this month. He is a Dimitris as well. I know the family slightly.”

  “But there is still 10 days to go until those celebrations,” I said.

  “Perhaps she has come earlier to spend time with her family. They have a large holiday home near the town of Koroni and they will celebrate there.”

  We watched them walk slowly through the square on the opposite side, past shops, not looking at anything in particular, mostly each other. I didn’t doubt now he’d be booking a flight to England soon.

  “So, there you see, Bronte. He invites you to lunch one day, and a few days later he’s in the arms of Phaedra. You can forget any fantasy you might have had about him,” she said with a motherly squeeze of my arm.

  “I didn’t have a fantasy, Polly,” I said, taking umbrage at her comment. “I was just being polite over the lunch invitation.”

  “Don’t be silly, my dear. Every Kalamatan woman I know has a fantasy about Leonidas.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t be surprised at his behaviour, Bronte. There is no mystery about Greek men. They are driven by their own sense of entitlement. They do exactly what suits them. That’s what I too have learnt, the hard way.” Her dark eyes followed the pair as they trailed slowly to the far end of the plateia. At one point, Leonidas put his arm around Phaedra’s waist and pulled her close. She inclined her head towards him. They looked more and more like a loving couple. I felt a tide of anger in my stomach because this made his behaviour on the beach a bit sleazy. I had thought better of him. Then they were gone, out of sight.

  The rain came later, in big gusts, driven over the gulf, followed by thunder and lightning. We went back to Polly’s apartment so I could wait for Angus to get a lift home, wherever he was. We passed the time watching the storm from her side balcony that had a view of the sea. Great forks of lighting were zigzagging down over the gulf and the thunder boomed like gunfire. Angus rang to say he had been held up and he would collect me when the storm died down, if it did.

  Polly suggested we have a bite to eat, as I might be staying a while, and warmed up a spinach pie with a golden pastry top, and made a Greek salad. We chatted while we ate and drank a few glasses of red wine. Despite everything, the afternoon was so pleasant that I would have been happy to stay, instead of returning to Marathousa.

  After the meal, her mobile rang. She got up and went into the bedroom to answer it. She was a while, and out of curiosity I looked again at her photo collection, especially the one with her and Angus on the beach. Perhaps I subconsciously set myself up to be caught, and that’s what happened when she left the bedroom soundlessly. Polly came and stood beside me. “Oh, we were so much better looking then, weren’t we?” she said, with a nervous catch in her voice.

  “Not that different, really. How long ago was this taken?”

  “Hm … six, seven years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I was prying. I couldn’t help noticing all your lovely photos.”

  “It’s okay. I like people to see them,” she replied, ignoring the fact that this particular photo had been hidden in the back row. I replaced the photo and we sat either side of the coffee table.

  I didn’t want to cause any upset after such a lovely afternoon but I couldn’t help asking if she and Angus had been an item. Hell, not an item, more like a whole damned shopping list! I thought.

  “Did Angus tell you that?” she asked.

  “No, he won’t talk about it, and I know it’s a very personal issue. But I can see the attraction between you is strong.” I shrugged, trying to seem casual.

  She leaned back into the sofa, her expression wary. “We don’t have a relationship now, Bronte, but we did. I won’t lie about it. We were lovers for a while, even before I divorced, but that was not the cause of my marriage break-up. That had started a long time ago. Angus gave me English lessons and we just became good friends and later more. We got on so well and he helped me a lot. He was a support to me in difficult times. He is a wonderful man.”

  I ignored that last comment. The jury was still out on that one. “I’m not surprised that Angus was drawn to you, Polly. You’re very attractive and good company.”

  “Thank you. And so is Angus – attractive − though a daughter doesn’t always see that perhaps.”

  “He used to be but he’s gone slightly wild in Greece − the long hair and so forth,” I smiled.

  “You are not angry then – about us?”

  “No, I’m not angry, not with you at least. You’ve been honest. I get angry with him for stubbornly refusing to talk about it, just like he refuses to talk about anything personal.”

  “He is ashamed because he left the family. Perhaps he thinks that you blame me, blame us, for the fact he stayed so long here,” she said, twisting her rings around on her fingers.

  “I suppose it didn’t help. Once he met you he fell even more out of love with my mother, Marcella.”

  “Perhaps. And I shouldn’t say this but he never told me a lot about Marcella and you and your sister. Or rather he did not imply that it was a problem for him living his own free life in Greece. I just accepted that. It’s not uncommon, Bronte, to find people who have escaped to Greece to live another life. Perhaps I should have asked him more about your family, but I didn’t. In any case, after I divorced, we stopped seeing each other. I needed time to think about my life, where it was going. I also wanted to spend more time with my daughter in Athens. By then, Angus had become more preoccupied with Kieran. Until you came, we had not seen each other for many months.”

  “Look, Polly, I’m not blaming you. We have to move on, right? It might surprise you, but I think that if you like each other still you should get back together again. What difference does it make now? My mother’s remarried anyway.”

  She smiled, out of relief, perhaps. “That is generous of you to say, but I do not think it will happen. We are better to have our own lives and just be friends, I think.”

  “Well, that’s up to you, of course, but thanks for talking about it.”

  “I am kind of relieved actually, that we have now. It was worrying me.”

  I was relieved myself that we had got things out in the open.

  “Would you mind if I use your wi-fi? I need to look at my emails. I’ve got my laptop with me.”

  “Sure, Bronte, whatever you want.” She got up to tidy the kitchen and left me alone for a moment.

  I sat on the sofa and checked my messages. Crayton’s was at the top of the list, sent that morning. He told me he was astonished I could ask for more time off, notwithstanding my father’s health issue. Didn’t I know the company was in a state of upheaval? He then summarised the recent changes, that I knew too well already. Then: “My sympathies for your father’s illness, but it’s like this, Bronte. While I and the company value your excellent work to date, I am afraid the managing editor is not prepared to offer more time out, given that your father does not appear to be in a critical condition yet, it seems. Might it not be better for him to return to Scotland f
or the tests, given the state of the crisis in Greece? We have been patient with you throughout but we feel that either you return as planned, which is the beginning of next week, or I will be forced to put your name forward for redundancy, and I am fairly certain you will get it, as we’re looking to cut back on our feature writers as well, unfortunately. Perhaps this is the best option for you now. Please let me know soonest. And by the way, I’d still like that piece on the Greek crisis. We had an agreement. Can you send it ASAP!”

  Regards,

  Crayton

  Could this day get any worse? I chewed away at my thumb.

  “Everything okay there, Bronte?” asked Polly. She must have been watching me from the kitchen.

  “More or less,” I said. Damn Crayton! That was the thanks I got for years of slavish loyalty. I quickly dashed off my response, telling him where to shove his job. I’d take the redundancy, and the feature wasn’t ready yet. I would need more time. No need to rush. Polly came out of the kitchen.

  “I am hearing a lot of furious typing, Bronte.”

  “Ach” I said, slamming the lid down on the laptop and leaning back on the sofa. “My boss at the paper is not giving me any more time off. He wants me to return straight away, or else he’ll put me forward for redundancy.”

  She looked shocked. “Oh, Bronte! This is terrible news.”

  “Well, yes and no. I’ve decided to take the redundancy. I love my job but it’s under threat now anyway.”

  “But you have come here to help your father, and look what has happened. Has your newspaper no sense of decency?”

  “No, Polly. But it’s the whole industry that’s in turmoil.”

  “You are taking it very well.”

  “Not really, but the timing is perfect. Now I can go to the yiorti for Saint Dimitrios, as planned. And let’s hope we find something out. If we don’t, all this will probably have been for nothing.”

  She tipped her head to one side in a gesture of sympathy and pouted sweetly. “I am so sorry for you.”

  When Angus eventually rang the buzzer below, ready to pick me up, I told her not to say anything about the redundancy. I would tell him later, after the yiorti.