“That sort of thing is all the rage in London,” Letty commented. “Milder tobacco—women like it … and fashionable, effete young men.” She gave the inspector a steady gaze. “You’ll remember our friend Mr. Melton selected a Passing Cloud from his boss’s box this morning?”
Chapter 27
Thought I’d bring the open-top Morris,” said Harry Perkins amiably, letting in the clutch. “Seeing as how we’re meant to be a couple of tourists out on a picnic. If you look in the glove locker, you’ll find a pair of sun goggles. With those on and your hat pulled down, not even your own mother’s going to recognise you. Your reputation won’t suffer being seen out with me.”
“I’m sure you can only enhance it, Harry!” She glanced admiringly at the young man. “Remind me where we’re headed … the Stewards’ Enclosure at Royal Henley-on-Thames? Can this be Regatta Week?”
He was wearing smart civilian clothes: fashionable light flannel trousers and a navy blazer bearing the crest of a Cambridge rowing club on the breast. A boater completed the nautical theme.
He chortled. “A bit over the top? You’re right! I hadn’t much time and I may have oversteered. I borrowed the blazer and hat the Governor keeps at the station for sporting and festive occasions. I thought I looked creepily like Maurice Chevalier. You know …” He began to growl in a convincing accent: “Elle avait de tout petits petons … Valentine, Valentine …”
“Stop right there, Sergeant!” Letty interrupted. “It gets very rude after the first line. I don’t wish to hear it.”
“Really? Oh. I heard him at the Hammersmith Palais after the war. Bought the record and learned the words. No idea what they mean.”
She didn’t believe him and decided the sergeant would bear watching.
“I’ll tell you when you’re a bit older,” she said with mock reproval, and opened up the glove locker. “Good! I like the effect,” she commented, putting on the dark glasses, “and more important—the folk at the garage won’t know me, either.” She took them off again to direct a straight look at him. “This is a distracting piece of nonsense, you know—a wild-goose chase. Had you worked that out?”
“Certainly had! Can’t tell you how much I resent being dragged away from the inspection and analysis of forty-two bags of assorted scrapings from the thickets behind the theatre!” He rolled his eyes. “And sent off into the wilderness with a pretty young lady in possession of a hamper! Who wouldn’t be distracted?”
“Well, don’t get too excited—the inspector told me it was all a bit of make-believe. The hamper could remain empty. But that’s the spirit, Sarge! May I call you Sarge? We’ll set out to enjoy it! First, though, I’d better brief you about what we’re to expect and what we’re to achieve at the garage …”
“Is that it? You’re sure that’s all? You’ve told me everything?” Perkins sounded doubtful and suspicious on hearing her account.
“Everything I know. It occurs to me that one carefully phrased phone call placed to an official in Eleusis might well have given the information we’re doing a round trip of thirty miles to seek. In a fraction of the time and effort. They must have the telephone there? And some sort of police station? Or Town Hall? I’d have just got Philippos to put on an official voice and say he was the … oh … census department asking for details of local inhabitants. What’s your boss playing at?”
He sighed and then smiled dismissively, reluctant to encourage her speculation. “Oh, well, let’s make the most of the trip anyway,” he said cheerfully. “Always good to get your hands on a steering wheel …” And, cheekily: “I’ll let you drive back, if you behave yourself.”
He wove his way skilfully through the thick Athenian traffic and began seriously to motor along when they cleared the northwestern suburbs and picked up the Corinth road. The sergeant looked back over his shoulder far more frequently than Letty would have considered necessary on a practically empty road. Police training, she told herself.
“That green valley we’re coming up to, miss … Do you see it over there ahead and to the left? Never seen that before. I don’t actually get much time to explore the country—between the job and the family I’m staying with … We seem to spend our Sundays in the Zappeion park. Taking tea.”
“That’s the Vale of Daphne, where there’s a spectacular monastery church with the most wonderful gold-leaf Byzantine mosaics. Try to get out and see it, Harry. And please—call me Laetitia for the duration—I’m not out and about with my chauffeur.”
“No, Miss Laetitia. Would you mind if I pulled off the road just round this bend? Took a few seconds to admire those trees over there?”
“Would you care to consult the Baedeker guide? I’ve got a copy in my satchel … They’re maritime pines. They are rather spectacular and incredibly ancient. The very essence of Greece, I’ve always thought. When I’m somewhere else and remembering Greece, it’s not the spiky green fingers of cypress trees against white crags, it’s not even the clotted-cream columns of the Parthenon I see in my mind’s eye, it’s those magnificent shapes, in full sail against a gemlike blue sky.”
They talked companionably of Surrey chestnuts and the plane trees of London, the policeman’s eyes scanning the road they had turned off to nestle in the shadow of a thicket of pomegranate bushes. He watched on as three motor vehicles passed by. Two sedans, one brown open-top containing four young men singing a sea chanty, one cream Delage struggling frantically to pass them, and a taxi loaded high with suitcases and bound for the port, Letty noted.
When they moved off again she picked up her topographical commentary, though she couldn’t be quite certain that her companion was listening. He seemed preoccupied.
“We’re halfway there. This is rich farmland hereabouts and a wonderful sight, they say, when the wheat’s waving all golden at harvest time. And this road we’re bumping along on was once, in ancient times, the Sacred Way, leading to Eleusis.”
“Sacred? And who would it have been sacred to?”
“The Mother Goddess: Demeter, the Goddess of the Harvest—of plenty—of animals and all living things.”
The sergeant grinned in delight. “Oh, I know all about her. My favourite book when I was ten … A Young Person’s Illustrated Who Was Who on Mount Olympus. Not much about in the way of ‘plenty’ in the East End when I was a nipper. She was my top goddess—smiling, thick red hair, and offering an apple to the lucky young person who turned the page.”
“Then you’ll like the description of her in one of the Homeric hymns: ‘Rich-haired, deep-bosomed Demeter.’”
“Just what a starving ten-year-old fancied for a mother!”
“And then there’s her daughter—trim-ankled Persephone …”
“Sad story! A case of abduction. Poor little girl, snatched whilst out picking flowers by a male relative, a gent called Hades. Uncle of some sort, I believe. It almost always is … Held against her will in false imprisonment in the underworld. But her mother was a stouthearted lady who was having none of that! Tracked her daughter down and after a bit of argy-bargy with the higher authorities, got her back aboveground.”
“Concessions were made, though. Persephone was let out on parole—she had to spend four months of the year back down in the underworld. And these are reckoned the bleak and fallow months of the agricultural year, the pause when nothing is growing. It’s a very ancient way of explaining nature and the cycle of the seasons … probably going right back to Stone Age times. But the religious rites—the Mysteries, they call them—held every year at Demeter’s temple at Eleusis were a highly sophisticated affair.” Letty paused, wondering how interesting this might be for a Metropolitan police sergeant.
“Mysteries?” he encouraged. “Go on! I like a good mystery!”
“Every year in the autumn, for two thousand years, the initiates followed this road on foot from Athens to take part in a secret ceremony in the temple. They were sworn to silence on the ritual and—do you know?—in all that time no one has ever revealed what went on
. It’s still a mystery! The greatest philosophers and scientists of their day—Aristotle, Sophocles, Plato … a selection of Roman Emperors … everyone who was anyone throughout Europe, in fact—underwent the five-day experience.”
“Entrance for nobs only, was it?”
“Not a bit of it! There was only one qualification you needed: You had to be innocent of having committed murder. That’s all. Women could present themselves, workingmen, slaves—even, in later years, foreigners. And of all that assorted clientele, not one man or woman ever revealed the details of the epiphany they experienced. The most anyone has confided is a few words about changed beliefs and widened understanding. We can get no nearer than the odd general comment from men like … oh … Cicero, the Roman lawyer, for instance. I learned by heart a sentence or two of his in which he talks about the gifts the Mysteries brought. Largely because it contains my name! Laetitia. Do you know what that means?”
“Some sort of herb?” the sergeant ventured. “Like angelica? Cassia?”
“No! It means happiness or joy. And here’s what he said: ‘… neque solum cum Laetitia vivendi rationem accepimus sed etiam cum spe meliore moriendi.’ It means roughly: ‘We gain from them not only a way of living in happiness but also a way of dying with greater hope.’ So—joy and hope of life after death. A gift worth having! And the ceremony certainly seems to have changed people’s lives. Something happened there, at night, in the darkness of the temple building at Eleusis, to sharpen the worshippers’ perceptions, convince them that an afterlife exists, open them up to an otherworldly experience, and send them on their way rejoicing.”
“We get that all the time when the Spiritualist Temple of the Trinity turns out after the Friday night séance! Corner of Boot Street in Balham. Next to the Flag and Lamb it is. Incidences of what you might call euphoria recorded every week. Er … there wouldn’t be any involvement with intoxicating substances, I suppose—it being an ancient ceremony? Alcohol or the like?”
“The like! You may have hit the nail on the head, Harry.” Letty knew when she was being teased, though the sergeant’s deadpan expression was hard to read. “Kykeon, they called it. A drink the celebrants were given before the rites. We think it was a brew of barley and mint … perhaps a pinch or two of something special only the priests knew of. Something available to them in large quantities at any rate, since we know the numbers attending to have been in the thousands.”
Perkins winced. “Thousands out and about on the roads, under the influence of intoxicating substances? Crowd control must have been something taxing!”
They drove slowly past, the sergeant’s eyes raking the ruins. “Duty first,” he told himself. “We won’t stop.”
“Two other cars there anyway,” Letty commented. “I hate crowds.”
They pressed on towards the unimpressive small modern town beyond. The smartest building was the brand-new garage and petrol station bearing the name of Thomas’s family. When they stopped by the pump, Harry got out and walked around the car kicking the tires. A middle-aged Greek man in overalls hurried from the gloom of the machine shop and stood by, wiping his hands on a cloth. He smiled hopefully at the sergeant and enquired if he might be of service. Harry complained of losing pressure in the rear near-side tire and the man bent to inspect it. He got up again, commenting that all appeared well. The rough road had probably forced a bit of air out but he had a pump that would rectify that. And petrol? Would they be requiring petrol? No more stations were to be found, he reported with pride, between here and Corinth. He called out, “Thomas!” and added: “My son will see to your needs, sir.”
A young boy dashed up and began to fill the tank. While they waited by the churning pump, Harry engaged in manly tourist conversation with him. The growing number of motorcars on the road, the comparative speeds of the train and the car, came up for comment. Harry got around to the demands of the job and the efforts called for from one so young. Such a blessing to have a big, strapping son in a physically demanding business—his father must have been so reassured to have his help following the accident …?
Thomas looked first pleased, then puzzled. But his father had never had an accident. His father was a very careful man. Where could the gentleman have heard such a thing?
Harry managed, by playing the confused tourist with very little Greek vocabulary, to recover himself. Petrol and air were duly pumped and paid for and, leaving a good tip, the sergeant climbed back behind the wheel and set off back towards the ruins.
“Well! That didn’t take long! I was almost embarrassed to ask the lad—his father looked as fit as a mountain goat—but I thought I’d better not cut corners.”
“You did that well. And better safe than sorry. Thomas was genuinely puzzled. No, I fear the inspector has it right—Demetrios is a plant. He’s a good listener, Dorothea said! At the door, I bet! Poor lamb! I liked him. The boy’s been used. Set up by his elders to spy out the household. Probably reported every move to his father lounging about at the front of the house smoking cigarettes. But why? Do you suppose the inspector has any idea?”
“Never short of an idea!” Harry’s voice had a note of pride. “I’ve seen the Guv juggle six! He’ll sort it out.”
“Well, I hope he manages to do it before some other member of the English community dies.”
“Don’t you fret! There’s none better at the Yard.”
“I’m sure. Fascinating man, the Guv,” said Letty agreeably, preparing to probe. “What a pity he’s still unmarried at his age.”
“Not sure about that.” Harry grinned and began to edge his way towards the temple ruins. “No woman would put up with him and the life he leads.”
“It’s probably too late, anyway,” said Letty. “Army men—they get set in their ways and the police service just reinforces an established pattern. I have one or two uncles who are much the same … Not the slightest interest in women.” She added confidentially: “Men’s men, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” the sergeant said, unwilling to hear, as Letty had calculated, even the slightest smear on his boss’s reputation. “He’s not, um, impervious to female charms.” Hearing his stilted Victorian expression, the sergeant gave a snort of self-mocking laughter and added, “Lord! You should see him sometimes on a Monday morning following a heavy weekend of worshipping at some goddess’s altar! Much the worse for wear but living in a state of joy and hope, you’d say.”
He fell silent, aware that he’d gone too far. Letty affected not to have noticed. “Good! So glad to hear he’s halfway human,” she said lightly. “I don’t think you’d much enjoy working with a virtuous Knight Templar, Harry.”
They sat for a moment following the line of the white marble pavement, pitted with ancient wheel tracks, along to the ruined temple. It led their gaze to a jumble of collapsed columns: the shrine to Demeter which stood upon a raised platform looking out over the slim calm crescent of sea separating it from the rocky island of Salamis.
Harry looked at his wristwatch. “Can’t get the car any closer than this. Hang on—I’ll just turn her round so’s we’ve got a clear run in case we need to take off in a hurry. We’re ahead of ourselves—I reckon we’ve got thirty minutes before we need to turn for home.”
Letty noted that he placed the car in shade with the stunning view behind them and a clear but dull view of the Athens road ahead. The midday sun beat down, striking a painful glare from their rocky surroundings. Perkins took off his boater and began to fan his face, eyes narrowed and watchful.
“We can see the extent of the site in that time but you’ll have to give the Zappeion Gardens a miss one Sunday and come back again to appreciate it properly. But first, Harry—the hamper! I spent a few minutes disobeying the Guv and shoved a few essentials in there. I thought we deserved it! Lemonade suit you?”
“Who needs barley broth when they can have lemonade?”
“And then I found some goat’s cheese, salad bits, and a good f
resh loaf. I could hack together a sandwich or two. There’s even a few digestive biscuits.”
His smile of pure joy would have rivalled an initiate’s, Letty decided, as he swung the hamper over from the backseat.
They’d gulped their way gratefully through the flask of lemonade and were sharing out the bread and cheese when the cream Delage drew level with the entrance to the site, hesitated, and then turned up the processional way towards them.
“Drat!” said Letty. “One car. A crowd at least you can ignore—a single tourist you’re obliged to exchange the time of day with. How sociable are you feeling, Sarge?”
She eyed the sergeant, who had hastily put away his drinking cup. His hand was reaching out to the self-starter and then he seemed to change his mind.
Letty decided to drop the pretence. The sergeant was a good man who deserved to know that he was not encumbered by a hen-headed female who was likely to swoon at the suggestion of danger and cling to his gun arm. She confirmed his suspicions: “That car’s got two more cylinders than we have. It’s faster and heavier than ours—he can outrun us or push us off the road.” She spoke tersely, unafraid, unflustered. “With the top down, we’re especially vulnerable. And there are plenty of nasty bends and remote places on the road back. It’s one of the cars that was parked up here when we went by earlier. It followed us out from Athens, and it’s a strange sort of tourist who doubles back and revisits a site within twenty minutes, don’t you think?”
“You’re right, miss. They’ve been tracking us all the way.” The sergeant’s face was grim. “And now they’ve decided to introduce themselves.”
They watched as the Delage manoeuvred to place itself sideways across the narrow bit of made-up road, blocking entrance or exit.
“There are two of them in there. Men. What do you want me to do, Harry?”
She reached down by her feet and pulled her satchel onto her knees.
A Darker God Page 23
