Wife for a Penny

by Anne Hampson

  ‘You’ll be away a fortnight, and no longer,’ he murmured gently at last.

  Liz’s mouth tightened.

  ‘I’ll stay away just as long as I like!’

  A deep sigh from her husband.

  ‘Shall we continue the argument tomorrow?’ he suggested. ‘As I’ve remarked, we’re both tired.’

  The cloud sailed by, ferried by a high-altitude wind, and the moon shone brilliantly down again, immersing the entire landscape in a silver luminescence. Strangely, Liz had no difficulty in suppressing the irritation aroused by her husband’s rather testily-spoken words. But of course she could not allow him to think he had won even one small point.

  ‘Yes, Nigel, we’ll continue the argument tomorrow ... and there will be an argument,’ she added, sending him a smile - a smile that held no trace of humour.

  However, the argument was not to be continued the following morning. Immediately after breakfast Nigel announced his intention of going to Athens. He would be away about a week to ten days, he said. The decision appeared to have been made suddenly, after reading his morning mail.

  ‘If you’re away ten days then I’ll have left for England before you return.’ She expected a repetition of last night’s order that she stay away a fortnight and no longer. But he merely nodded absently and within a few minutes of leaving the breakfast table he had left the house.

  Later in the day she was on the lawn, a book beside her. Her eyes were half-closed. Bored to distraction, she was mentally cursing her great-grandfather when Nikos appeared to announce Nigel’s cousin. Liz’s swift smile of welcome was received with unconcealed pleasure as Spiros motioned to Nikos to fetch him the chair which stood a few yards away on the terrace.

  ‘You’re acquiring a lovely tan,’ he observed, slouching in the chair and resting his feet on a bar running underneath the wickerwork garden table. His attitude, which was one of sloth, brought a sudden frown to Liz’s brow, but she was glad of his company and, despite this petty annoyance, she was about to open a conversation with him when he spoke again. ‘Where’s Nigel? I have a message for him from my mother. There’s a christening coming up in the family and they want Nigel to be godfather.’

  ‘Nigel’s gone away this morning - to Athens, on business.’

  ‘He has? He’ll be back tomorrow?’

  ‘He’ll be away at least a week.’

  An odd expression entered his eyes.

  ‘Why didn’t you go with him? I thought you wanted to visit Athens.’

  ‘His time will be fully occupied with business,’ she said after a small interlude during which she sought vainly for some other excuse for her not accompanying Nigel to the capital. ‘I’d have been bored, walking about on my own.’

  ‘You’d have found more to do in Athens than you’ll find to do here. Are you going to stick in the garden all the time?’ She made no reply and Spiros added, ‘It’s a funny set-up, this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nigel ... to go off without his wife. It’s not natural, especially as you’re newly-married.’ Spiros shook his head, plainly puzzled by the whole situation. And because his mind was running along a particular line, plus the fact that he was completely without tact, he said, musingly, ‘Greta’s also in Athens ...’ And then he tailed off, realizing what he had implied.

  ‘She is?’ Liz felt a stab of anger and wondered at it. The natural thing was for her to feel satisfaction that Nigel had gone to Greta. Thus occupied he would not be turning his attention to his wife. That was what she desired, to be ignored - at least in that way. ‘When did she go?’

  ‘Two or three days ago.’ His face was flushed. ‘I say, Liz, I’m the greatest fool in all Greece! There’s no connection, believe me - there can’t be!’ He did not sound too sure, though, and added, as if to convince himself as much as Liz, ‘Nigel’s not the one to let you down, you can be sure of that. If he’s gone on business then he’ll keep his mind on business.’

  ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ she said, disconcerting him.

  ‘Didn’t he ask you to go with him?’ Spiros deliberately side-tracked her question.

  Liz shook her head absently. Nigel and Greta in Athens - and Nigel having previously said that she was not to go there with Spiros. Suddenly her fury was like a burning vapour encompassing her whole body.

  ‘As he’s going to be away,’ she said with determined control, ‘there’s no reason why you and I shouldn’t take that trip to the capital.’

  Spiros’s jaw dropped at her suggestion.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of Nigel?’ he blurted out.

  Liz’s blue eyes were hard as agate.

  ‘I’m not afraid of anyone.’

  Spiros shook his head.

  ‘I wish I knew what this was all about. There’s some mystery. Why did you two marry?’

  ‘That,’ she said brusquely, ‘is our business. Are you going to take me to Athens?’ This was deliberate defiance, Liz knew. And she didn’t care if Nigel should see her with Spiros. In fact, she hoped he did, for he himself would be with Greta, and so he would find himself in the galling position of being unable to voice an objection.

  ‘I’d love to take you.’ Spiros’s eyes became admiring and eager. ‘But Nigel would kill me.’

  A half sneer curved her mouth.

  ‘Don’t be melodramatic, Spiros. When shall we go?’

  ‘‘It’s convenient any time ... but ...’ He hesitated doubtfully.

  ‘We’re cousins. You said yourself that it would be quite in order for us to go to Athens together.’

  ‘I did say that,’ he agreed, but went on to remind Liz that Nigel had forbidden them to go to Athens together.

  Liz merely waited, aware that Spiros was almost ready to fall in with her suggestion. She smiled and for once felt grateful for her charms. Spiros would not be able to resist her request. And she was right. He was as putty in her hands, and although he did retain a troubled look he said he would call for her early the following morning.

  ‘Let’s hope we don’t run into Nigel,’ he added, ‘for if we do there’ll be the very devil to pay. I hope you’ll shoulder the entire blame?’

  Liz only laughed. She could deal with Nigel, she thought, chiding Spiros for his fear.

  He arrived at nine o’clock the following morning, his apprehension had entirely evaporated and he was intending thoroughly to enjoy the trip.

  It was a four-hour journey and they arrived in Athens in time for lunch, which they took at a restaurant in Omonia Square, after having the greatest difficulty in parking their car. The crowds Liz had seen in London were nothing to what she saw here. From the window of the restaurant she watched the policeman on point duty. The traffic arrangement was like a frustrating puzzle, yet Liz knew there was some system - some quite amazing system - and yet cars, buses, scooters and a dozen other assorted vehicles whizzed from every corner and merged miraculously without one huge pile-up - and then whizzed off again in their respective directions. Pedestrians stood, literally by their thousands, one eye on the little green man and the other on the policeman, who every minute or so, would blow a piercing blast on his whistle. When all traffic had come to a halt solid blocks of humanity would surge forward, like opposing armies bent on a head-on collision.

  Later, from the balcony of her hotel room high above the square she stood, fascinated, and watched the melee again crossing the roads. Where were they all going, these scurrying little ants with their brown, determined faces?

  ‘I’ve never ever seen such crowds,’ she said to Spiros later when, on entering the hotel lounge, she joined him. ‘It’s obviously going to be like this all the time. One won’t be able to move!’

  ‘We’re in the busiest part of the city,’ Spiros reminded her. ‘No, it won’t be like this all the time.’

  It was now early evening and, leaving the car on the hotel park, they wandered out into the city.

  They made for the Plaka, through a hodgepodge of alleyways and street
s with their tavernas and clubs from which emanated the pungent odour of burning flesh - kebabs cooking on the charcoal stoves. Bouzouki strains mingled with the rising crescendo of laughter and chatter and music from a discotheque. Through the open doors Liz caught sight of male dancers, leaping through the intricate performance of the syrtaki, or the more sober tsamiko.

  The lights and noise, the men sprawled at pavement tables playing cards, the flower-sellers pushing their blooms at every tourist, the doormen at the clubs inviting entry ... all this contrasted in modern abandon with the tranquil scene above, where softly-coloured lights moved imperceptibly to illuminate first one building and then another on the Acropolis, standing in high regal splendour and disdain above the mad whirl and disorder of the Plaka, the old part of the city which, because it carried all the charm of the East, was now being geared to tourism.

  ‘What a pity,’ breathed Liz as they slid on to the road to avoid an insistent woman trying to pin flowers on their clothes. Already many people looked like something out of a carnival. ‘It must have been marvellous once.’

  ‘It still is. The atmosphere during the day is totally different. We’ll come along in the morning if you like.’

  She nodded, thoroughly enjoying the new experiences despite her remark. Her eyes went again to the lights above - mauve and blue and a soft golden yellow. The set immobile faces of the caryatids seemed to frown on the frivolity down below.

  ‘We’ll find somewhere to eat,’ suggested Spiros. ‘Do you want to stay round here?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Spiros knew just the place. Its entrance was unpretentious, but once inside Liz had all the atmosphere she could have desired. A vine-covered trellis formed the roof which was criss-crossed with strings of coloured lights. On a dais dancers in native costume were performing the lively kalamatianos to the haunting strains of the bouzouki band, while the diners chattered and consumed enormous amounts of Greek food and wine.

  ‘Have you enjoyed it?’ Spiros asked on their way up in the lift.

  ‘It was wonderful, and exciting,’ she responded enthusiastically, and it wasn’t until she was in her bedroom that she realized that her first day in Athens had not been quite perfect. Why? Spiros was good company; he was witty and pleasant and fairly good-looking. Yet something had been missing, something vital. Opening the window, Liz stepped out on to the balcony; traffic continued to surge through the square and it seemed that one could not put a pin between the lights.

  Liz’s thoughts went automatically to her husband - who was somewhere in this city with his girl-friend. Obviously Greta was not troubled by the conventions and strict customs forbidding a Greek woman to consort with a man before marriage. Still musing, and staring with unseeing eyes down to the conglomeration of humanity and traffic below, Liz found herself admitting that, if Nigel had tempted Greta - and of course he must have done - then the Greek girl would have had to be exceedingly strong to resist him. Following on this came the recollection of Nigel’s assertion that all could remain white if temptation never came their way. He had gone on to remark that even the strongest could succumb to temptation ... The words had registered, true, and fairly strongly, but only now did Liz stop to analyse them - or, rather, endeavour to analyse them. Even the strongest of us ... Those were his exact words, and he had been caught up in reflection, she recalled. It was just as if he himself had been tempted ... and had succumbed. Did that mean he hadn’t really wanted to have an affair with Greta, but had been unable to resist her charms? It would seem so, and as Liz dwelt on this she suddenly became conscious of a strange uncomprehensible sensation of optimism, and frowned at the idea. Why should such a feeling enter into her? It reminded her of her childhood, and her excitement as a birthday drew near. But this present feeling? It was not even tangible. Let alone explicable. Restless, and for the first time in her life, bewildered, she turned at last and closed the windows, then the shutters, and the noise was considerably deadened. The big air-conditioned room was cool and fresh after the sultry night air outside and despite her teasing bewilderment of mind she fell into a restful, dreamless sleep.

  They had resolved to spend four days in the city and after an exhausting three days’ sight-seeing they decided to spend the last day in a more restful manner. Soon after breakfast they drove to Gape Sounion where, after lunching at the Tourists’ Restaurant, they found an uncrowded beach and spent the entire afternoon between swimming in the warm sea and sunbathing on the sands.

  The following morning they set out early for home, and although Liz had previously told herself that an encounter with Nigel would not have troubled her in the least, she found herself feeling immeasurably thankful that such an encounter had not taken place.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Although she enjoyed the trip Liz had experienced an unaccountable void and a subsequent feeling of unrest which detracted from a full appreciation of all she had seen. Unaccountable ...? Why try to disguise the truth? There was no one to deceive but herself, so she might as well confess that she would far rather have had her husband’s company than that of his cousin. A wry smile fluttered at the admission - had she and Nigel gone on that trip together the result would have been a prolonged slanging match from the moment they left home until they returned. It was strange, but she had never before contemplated a friendship with Nigel; he represented the male arrogance which in all other men she had known had struck her as pathetic because of the struggle they had to maintain it. She felt nothing but contempt for their struggles and failing pomposity; their weaknesses disgusted her.

  And that was one reason why she had never contemplated marriage. But she was forced to acknowledge the strength of her husband, in whom the very idea of weakness would be laughable, and in this compulsive moment of honesty Liz decided she would not be averse to entering into a friendship with her husband. Such an occurrence must inevitably require a burying of animosity on both their parts, she mused, and then accepted the fact that she was the only one to bear animosity. Nigel’s great fault was that maddening attitude of mocking satire he adopted towards her, which he very well knew brought out the worst in her.

  ‘You’re very quiet?’ Spiro’s voice at her side jerked Liz from her meditations and she turned her head. Having left Athens well behind, they were now driving through the Plain of Thebes, entering Dionysos country where in those pagan times long since dead the handsome young god would sport shamelessly with the nymphs of Mount Helikon.

  ‘I’m enjoying the scenery.’ She had no wish to open a conversation with Spiros and even though she had a twinge of conscience over this she fell silent again, desiring nothing more than to be left to appreciate her surroundings.

  The barren slopes of Mount Kithaeron looked stark and gruesome and Liz found herself drifting off into a contemplation of the scene when the infant Oedipus, his feet riveted together, had been abandoned on these fearsome rocks by his father, Laius, because an oracle had prophesied that when Oedipus grew up he would commit patricide. But the baby was found by a shepherd and named Oedipus because of his swollen feet. Later, Oedipus was told by the Delphic Oracle that he would murder his father and marry Jocasta, Laius’s wife, who was Oedipus’s own mother. The prophecy was of course to come true. Other dark deeds had been perpetrated hereabouts, as for example the orgiastic rites indulged in by women on the magpie-haunted moors below the mountain. These women would tear animals to pieces and devour their flesh. On one occasion Agave and her nymphs, in their wild frenzy, mistook Agave’s son for a wild beast. After he was dismembered and parts of his body devoured, Agave held up his head, blood running from her mouth and down her breasts. It was only when Cadmus, her aged father, spoke to her that she realized what she had done. Distracted by grief, she began to fondle the head and to voice the beautiful lament:

  ‘... Alas, no more my son ... O gracious form, that wondering men beheld ... O haughty brows before which Thebes bowed ... Tom, rent asunder, scattered, cast abroad.’

  ‘You’r
e miles away.’ Spiros spoke again, taking his eyes off the road for a second to slant her a smiling glance.

  ‘And ages,’ she laughed. ‘I was thinking of such people as Oedipus and Agave and her ill-fated son Pentheus.’

  ‘Pentheus? Some say he was her husband.’

  ‘So I’ve heard, but the lament definitely refers to Pentheus as her son. In any case, it was an unbelievably horrid murder.’

  ‘It’s all unbelievable,’ laughed Spiros. ‘You’re in the realms of mythology, remember.’

  ‘Quite literally,’ she returned, glancing through the window again. The Helikon range, haunt of the Muses, ran from east to west, its slopes a miracle of colour as the sun began to slant, giving birth to the shades of approaching dusk - luminous mauves and pearls and brilliant crimson and gold. A spread of pink satin cloud dropped gently over the mountain summit - enfolding the gods in sleep, Liz thought, smiling at her fanciful picture-making.

  Parnassus country now, with the wild savage mountain summits melting into a flame-licked sky.

  The wild country ... How it suited her! Liz’s spirit was kin to the untamed massif which, through turbulence and upheaval had been born - long, long ago, before its idol-worshipping peoples had evolved even beyond the stage of the single-celled protozoa from which they came into being. So many eons without man ... Would it see the extinction of man, and still raise its savage head to the primeval sky?

  Darkness fell, swift as a curtain, and on a lonely stretch of road the car engine began to give trouble, then stopped altogether.

  ‘What the dickens is wrong with it?’ Apologetic but also bad-tempered, Spiros got out and lifted the bonnet. ‘Can you shine the torch? You’ll find it on the shelf under the dash.’