A Saint for the Summer

by Marjory McGinn

  Early in the evening, we decided to go out to the Kali Parea taverna to thank Miltiades for helping us and to celebrate our good fortune on several fronts. We were all in high spirits, especially Angus and Polly. I sensed they had talked a lot about their relationship over the weekend and maybe it was back on track.

  Miltiades made sure our carafes of wine were overflowing, but it was Angus and I who drank more than our fair share, as Polly was driving back to Kalamata later. It was one of the best evenings I’d spent in the village. I felt wonderfully happy and carefree – just as well because the feeling wasn’t about to last.

  When we got home, Angus claimed he was suddenly dog tired, as if the excitement and drama of the past few days had finally caught up with him. We urged him to go to bed early and rest. Polly and I sat on the sofa to talk about the day’s developments.

  “It’s good news about Leonidas. I mean him not going to England,” she said. “I never thought it would last with Phaedra. He likes you. I could tell that day in Platanos. He was being incredibly attentive. I feel sure he will want to see more of you now.”

  “He doesn’t know about the redundancy yet and that I’m staying longer.”

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  I gave her a searching look. It was an odd thing to say; contradictory to her previous comments.

  “I know you have feelings for him. That was always clear to me,” she said, with a knowing smile.

  “I like him, sure, but it’s not as serious as you think.” I don’t know why I decided to be cautious and not confide in her the fact that I had begun to feel something much deeper for Leonidas since the trip to Platanos. Later, I would be glad I was guarded.

  “I am so relieved to hear you say that, Bronte, because I have something to tell you that could change everything.”

  “What?” I felt a rising sense of panic.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, but now I feel I must. So … on the way back to Kalamata on Friday, Dimitris and I had a long talk about the day. He told me he was so happy to have helped you and Angus, but there was one thing he hadn’t been able to mention before. You remember when we asked him who the villager was who betrayed your grandfather, and he said he didn’t know? He did know, but didn’t want to say it in front of everyone.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because that man who betrayed your grandfather was a relative of Leo’s.”

  “No! You’re kidding!”

  “I wish I was, but no. It’s quite true. And how ironic too … of all people.”

  “But that’s surely not so strange in a remote village, is it? Probably everyone was related in some way.”

  “Well, not quite. There were a few dozen different families living in the village at that time. This man was one of the brothers of Leonidas’s grandmother. His name was Nikos Pantazis. That side of the family originally came from the deep Mani. They were a quarrelsome family, tough Maniots, but Leo’s grandmother was a very decent woman, or so Dimitris Maneas says. Nikos was not a nice character and was not liked in the village. Dimitris said that the day after the Germans shot Kieran, Nikos’s body was found not far from the bottom of the kalderimi, hidden in bushes. It was what happened often to those Greeks who took money to betray someone. The Germans shot them to avoid paying the bounty money, or perhaps, with their twisted logic they didn’t like traitors.

  “When the villagers found Nikos’s body, they just assumed he had got on the wrong side of the Germans, somehow. They wouldn’t have known the exact reason at that time because they didn’t know about Kieran. It was kept quiet, remember. But Panayiotis knew why Nikos was shot. Dimitris said that his father had once seen Nikos sneaking around the ridge behind the house, claiming he was hunting birds, even though he lived in the centre of the village. That’s why Panayiotis warned Kieran to be careful not to be seen. Leonidas’s family would have suspected at the very least that Nikos had been up to no good, for him to be shot by the Germans. He was a natural troublemaker and they would have been ashamed of him. More so if or when they discovered he betrayed a British soldier. It may be why the whole incident seems to have been hushed-up.”

  She stopped talking to see how I was taking it. I was shocked. What a mess things were. I thought about Leonidas, how withdrawn he had seemed on Friday, and now I understood why. It wasn’t something he wanted us to know, or anyone to know. Now I understood when he confessed that the day had been traumatic for him as well.

  “How strange. Of all the people this Nikos should be related to, it had to be Leonidas,” I said, looking at Polly and feeling a bit faint.

  “Yes, but I suppose we mustn’t think badly of Leo, or his family. These things happened during that war, and then the civil war afterwards. People betrayed their neighbours, brothers killed brothers. All manner of horrible things. You don’t mind me telling you all this, do you, my dear? But I felt you should know.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. Why would I? It makes no difference to me,” I said, with an airy tone of nonchalance. But my stomach was twisting.

  She rubbed the back of my hand, like a consoling mother. “Are you sure, because if you really did like him a lot, you know … if things progressed … it could be a problem. Okay, it’s in the past, but it would still be there, like a little thorn in the foot. It could create mistrust. It would be a dark shadow over things.”

  “Yes, possibly it would. But I almost feel sorry for him. What a terrible thing to come out at this time.”

  “Well, I think we must make sure that it stays between us. And I don’t think we should tell Angus, not yet. It might upset him.”

  “It would. He admires Leonidas, especially after all the help he gave us in Platanos.”

  After Polly left, I went to bed with the windows and shutters open slightly. It was nice to have the room bathed in moonlight and hear an evening breeze toying with the olive trees and the sound of an owl nearby. It cheered me a little as I lay in bed agonising over Polly’s news. When Leonidas told me he wasn’t going to England after all, it put our ‘friendship’, and that day at Kitries, on a different level. It made me believe the passion we shared was more than just a ‘thing of the moment’ after all. But this news had scuppered everything. My grandfather, the handsome young man who had written that notebook, had been brutally killed moments after his last entry because of the actions of one of Leonidas’s family. If I really fell in love with him, it would, as Polly said, nag at me forever. How could it not? And why hadn’t he told me about this Nikos Pantazis by now. He had plenty of opportunity when he came to the house today.

  I decided that night that when Kieran’s burial was over and Angus had sorted out his health, I would return to Scotland without too much delay. It was time.

  Chapter 26

  Destiny goes large

  I had a restless night and awoke to the sound of gentle knocking at my bedroom door. I had become strangely used to this routine now. I saw Angus’s head poke through the gap. Because I feared the worst, I roused myself quickly.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  “Yes, love. Sorry to wake you. I’ve made you some coffee.”

  He came in, holding a mug, and set it down on the bedside table. He sat on the bed. I elbowed myself into a sitting position and plumped up my pillow.

  “We’ve hardly had time together since Friday to talk about the notebook. Well? What did you think about it?” he asked.

  “Ach! It’s amazing, and sad. I can’t believe our luck in finding Dimitris, and then finding the notebook. We’ve been blessed in that regard.” If not in others, I thought.

  “I know, Bronte. I can’t believe it either. I don’t mind telling you now I had no great hopes of finding out anything when we started.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I can’t stop looking at it. It makes me proud. What a brave lad Kieran was. But that last bit of the text, where he doesn’t finish the sentence, it just blew me away. I cried, Bronte, I don’t mind telling you. I felt gutted
.”

  “No wonder you had chest pains … but I know how you felt. I cried as well. I kept thinking what bad luck he had in the end. A few more days and he’d have left the village. Maybe he’d have made it the coast and escaped. But I guess his Aberdeen pal Raymond didn’t make it either. I’m sure he would have tried to contact our family after the war if he had survived.”

  “Aye, you’re right,” said Angus. “Poor Raymond. We’ll never know. Or maybe I could try to trace his family in Aberdeen one day.”

  We sat quietly a moment, each with our own thoughts.

  “I’ve been thinking. I definitely want to write about the Battle of Kalamata and Kieran as soon as I’ve got my health sorted,” he said.

  “A book?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well you always said you wanted to write one.”

  “Aye, so I did. There’s plenty to write about now and it’s a good yarn.”

  I nodded. He played with his ponytail. “Now that you’re out of a job − and a good bloody thing too, since the newspaper industry in Scotland is going down the pan – you might like to help me with the book, I mean co-write it. What do you say?”

  “Sounds like a great idea. We’ll talk about it later,” I said, thinking there was time enough to tell him I was returning to Scotland after we’d sorted his health problem.

  “I’ve got to go out soon to make those plans for Kieran’s burial with the papas. I’ve called Leonidas and he said he would be there too. He has some free time this morning. I’m thinking we should have the burial this Friday.”

  I flinched a bit when he said ‘Leonidas’. I wondered how he could still involve himself in our lives without telling us the truth.

  “Can the burial be sorted so quickly?”

  He laughed. “The Greeks may be slow with their fiscal spreadsheets but they can mobilise themselves in a heartbeat for a wedding or a funeral.”

  “Don’t overdo things. And remember to call the cardiologist today and sort an appointment for Athens for next week.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, but I could see that idea had flown in and out of his head like a dizzy bird. I would need to nag him about it.

  “By the way, don’t mention anything to Leonidas about my redundancy. I haven’t told other people yet.”

  “Oh, okay, if you want,” he said, with a puzzled look.

  “Have you talked to Polly, you know, about the two of you getting back together – maybe?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve talked but I don’t think we’re rushing into anything. We’re great friends. Why push it?”

  “At your great age. Yes, I kind of agree.”

  “I’m not completely passed it yet. I didn’t mean that. I can’t think that far ahead. I need to be Greek at the moment.”

  “Whatever!” I said, with a shrug and a windmill arm.

  Not long afterwards, I heard Angus leave the house. I got up and had breakfast on my own balcony, at the single table with my view of Myrto’s farm and the gulf beyond. Clouds were scudding across the sky and the sea was rippled with waves, each topped with a curl of froth. I loved to watch the gulf, the way it mirrored the winds and their different directions, and how it changed from hour to hour, from glassy to white-capped, and back again. There were so many winds in Greece, all tinged with romance and daring: the tramountanas, levantes, bonentes, even the mad one, sirokos. They were a template for the national character.

  In the early afternoon I walked to the kafeneio to check my emails, and passed Angus on his way home, just before I reached the village. He had spent some time with Leonidas and the papas, organising the details for Friday. He looked happy. I was glad, but I wondered what he would have said if he knew Leonidas’s dark secret.

  When I got to the Zefiros, Elpida came rushing over to see me. I knew the whole village would somehow know about Angus’s hospital visit and the upcoming burial. Angus had probably already enlightened her, but I offered her a few more details. She kept shaking her head in disbelief about Kieran.

  “Leventis, just like Angus. Marathousa will be proud of them both, Bronte,” she said, her dark eyes glistening with emotion.

  “Tell me something, Elpida. Did you ever hear any stories from your family about British soldiers hiding up in Platanos during the war?” I was just testing. She rolled her eyes around a bit, as if racking her memory.

  “No, Bronte. My poor old head never strays higher than the hills around Marathousa. It’s another world up there. Even I can’t be worrying about what the mountain folks do,” she said, with a massive shrug. I laughed. If there was ever an Olympic sport for shoulder-shrugging, Elpida would take the gold.

  While I was working at my laptop, I heard the sound of a chair scraping over the terrace. I looked up to see Leonidas, sitting opposite. Despite everything I knew about him now and his family, I could still feel my stomach turn over at the sight of him, with lust, and definitely not revulsion. But I needed to hold my nerve.

  “Always working, Bronte. I’m impressed.”

  “Just emails. Angus tells me you’ve helped him to organise the burial for Kieran. That was kind, thank you.”

  “It was no trouble. Everyone is happy to help. In the eyes of the villagers, Kieran is a hero and he should be honoured. The papas said he will also offer a small service in the church beforehand as well. It will be an important event for the village.”

  Elpida arrived to take his order, but he didn’t want anything. Her eyes swept over us several times, like a mine detector. After she left, he continued to go over details of the burial service and how the villagers had reacted to the news of Kieran. I wasn’t really listening properly. My mind was being stalked by so many opposing thoughts, I almost felt dizzy. When he stopped talking, he looked at me, his head tipped slightly to the side.

  “You are thoughtful today, Bronte.”

  “Yes, a little.” I closed my laptop and placed it in my shoulder bag. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about, but not here,” I said, looking towards Elpida, who was standing by the door of the kafeneio, her hands on her hips, watching us.

  “Okay. We can go back to my house,” he said.

  “Let’s go for a walk instead,” I suggested.

  I led the way up the steps to the Palios Dromos to a place I had discovered recently. It was beyond the end of the old road, where a dirt track continued through the fields to the hills. But first, it branched off to an olive orchard, where a small white chapel was set amid the trees. You couldn’t see it from the village, but it had a clear view over the orchards below and down to the gulf and Kalamata. It was one of the smallest churches in the village, named after Saint Konstantina. It was always open. But its main attraction was the narrow terrace in front and a wooden bench, where you could sit and enjoy endless solitude.

  “I’m glad you like this place, Bronte. It was always one of my favourites too when I lived in the village.”

  We sat side by side. I didn’t waste any time. I told him everything Polly had told me about his relative, the traitor. He listened and slumped sullenly back against the bench.

  “Were you never going to tell me about Nikos Pantazis, about what he did? Assuming you knew, of course.”

  He turned his dark eyes on me. In the sunlight, they were lustrous and his errant curls were springing as usual over his forehead. It was a pity I had to have this conversation today when he looked so appealing, and the dental queen was now well extracted.

  “Of course I knew the terrible story about how Nikos betrayed a foreign soldier in Platanos, but I have always kept it to myself. It is not something to boast about. But imagine my shock to discover on Friday the awful truth that the soldier was not just any soldier but your grandfather. It was devastating. And I am so sorry, and ashamed for that. But once I knew, when Angus read Kieran’s name in the notebook, there was no time to explain properly, and I had to leave for Athens.”

  “Couldn’t you have told me yesterday when you came to the hous
e?”

  “Yes, I should have. I put it off. I imagined what you would think of my family, especially when the sight of your grandfather’s remains in the ossuary was still fresh in your mind. My father years ago told us about what Nikos had done. Nikos had even bragged about his deed to others in the family and then he was shot himself. That was his punishment. But it disgraced the family and they preferred we didn’t talk about this to others. And that is how it has always been. When you and Angus told me weeks ago that you were trying to find out about your lost grandfather, I did not imagine then it would be the man Nikos betrayed. Why would I think that? During the war some soldiers were hidden in the lower villages and sometimes in the mountains further down the Mani. It wasn’t such a rare thing.”

  “But you haven’t answered my question. Were you never going to tell us the truth?” I said, more sharply.

  “Bronte, of course I would have told you. I was waiting for the right time. I did not realise that Dimitris would confess it to Polly, at least without talking to me first. I am surprised but perhaps he bears a grudge. The Maneas family liked Kieran. They were honourable people.” I reflected on the day of the yiorti at Platanos. After Leonidas introduced Dimitris to us at the table, I couldn’t remember the two men talking to each other again, as if there was some bad blood there.

  “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but then your father asked me to help organise the burial. How could I tell you all then? It would have been horrible. It would have spoilt things for you.”

  “It has spoilt them anyway, Leonidas,” I said, with a bitter edge to my voice.

  I saw him flinch. His eyes had a tormented blackness to them I had never seen before as they flickered towards me and then back towards the gulf. When he spoke, he sounded weary and defeated. “I am so very sorry, Bronte, it has all come out like this. It’s not what I wanted.”

  We sat in glum silence, staring at the broad stretch of scintillating water in the distance, as if it held the key to everything.