‘I can,’ said the fat man.
‘Happily, those problems were resolved when the collection found its benefactor, as I told you.’
‘I remember,’ said the fat man. ‘I met the man today. I do wonder, though, at his motivation. A wish to improve the lot of one’s fellow men is sadly not too common. What are his reasons for giving his wealth away? Most men who have made money tend to keep it in the family.’
‘He has no family,’ said the professor. ‘At least, not close. The usual collection of aunts, and cousins, whom he does right by, though they see it as insulting that he would rather house a collection of antiques than be generous to them.’
‘How sad for him not to have close family to share his good fortune with,’ said the fat man. ‘A man’s family is his strength. Do you have brothers and sisters?’
The professor looked a little sad.
‘Your question shames me somewhat,’ he said. ‘Yes, I have a brother, but it’s been many years since we’ve spoken. We had a disagreement, a falling out, for which he’s never forgiven me.’
‘That is unfortunate,’ said the fat man. ‘As for this Vassilis Eliadis, I’m surprised that he’s not married. A man with his assets usually has all kinds of matches thrown in his way, and finds it difficult to remain a bachelor.’
‘Maybe he was too busy making his money,’ said the professor. ‘He’s one of those men who has the Midas touch, a man who sees opportunity in everything. They’re not a common breed in these islands, and certainly not in Mithros. He’s a man of energy, even though he’s not the man he was. He was the victim of a robbery some years ago, and the incident scarred him, physically and mentally, I think.’
‘I heard about the robbery.’ The fat man ate more of the aubergines. ‘Was it ever thought it might have been connected in some way to the bull?’
Professor Philipas drained his glass, and poured more wine for them both, though the fat man’s glass was still almost full.
‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘Possibly. Can I tell you something? You’ve shown such interest in the bull and the museum, and I feel I can trust you.’
‘Indeed you can,’ said the fat man. ‘If my trust is warranted, I would never betray it.’
‘Something I would never have expected has happened. We had a break-in, last night. As far as I can tell, only one item was taken.’
‘Which was?’
‘The bull.’
‘But the bull is a replica, surely?’
‘You know it is. And it states quite clearly on the cabinet that it is so.’
Now the fat man drank more wine, but only a little.
‘How curious,’ he said. ‘Why do you suppose anyone would go to the trouble of stealing a replica?’
‘I don’t know. It has some value on its own account, in its craftsmanship, and the gold work too, of course. But not enough value, I wouldn’t have thought, to make it worth the risk of stealing. We’ve no crime at all here normally, as I’m sure you’re aware, and I’d be surprised if there’s any local involvement. This time of year, though, all kinds of people come and go. Who knows who’s here, and what they’re up to? But I admit I’m baffled. There’s not much value in the gold hooves and horns, and if there are thieves in Mithros, it would seem more logical to set their sights on the jeweller’s in the harbour.’
‘It is curious, isn’t it?’ said the fat man. ‘Intriguing.’
‘It’s left me troubled,’ said Professor Philipas. ‘I wonder if the thief might have seen what else is there, and come back a second time. I’m thinking especially of the antiquities, the coin collection and the arrowheads. They’re worth a bit of money to collectors. I thought when we had eaten I’d go across there and make sure all’s well. You’d be welcome to join me, if you’d like.’
‘Gladly,’ said the fat man.
The professor fetched the keys from a hook on the kitchen wall, and led the way the short distance to the museum, lighting the dark lane with a torch. He used the torch beam to find the keyhole in a new padlock, and opened it with a shiny steel key.
‘I thought my precautions were sufficient,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think we had anything here to attract thieves. It was a clean job, at least, the locks picked and no damage to anything. Even so, it makes me uneasy. I put this padlock on, but there’s no reason it should stop someone any more than the other locks did last night.’
Inside the museum, the professor turned on the lights. He showed the unbroken display case, and the space where the bull used to be.
‘You know, I shouldn’t worry too much about the thief returning,’ said the fat man. ‘I think he knew what he wanted, and got it.’
‘Since he went straight to it, and left with nothing else,’ said the professor, ‘I think you’re right. I know the contents of these cases like the back of my hand, and nothing else has been touched.’
‘I’ll leave you to make the place secure. Please do thank your wife for an excellent dinner.’ They shook hands. ‘Might I return the compliment, and invite you to dine with me aboard my boat? I think you’d find Aphrodite comfortable, and Enrico is a passable cook. I expect to be here a couple more days at least; so why don’t we say the day after tomorrow? If you come down to the harbour-side at seven, I’ll send the launch over to collect you.’
Professor Philipas smiled his appreciation.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That’s very kind.’
‘Your wife is welcome to join us, of course.’
‘I’ll pass on your invitation, but I’m afraid she’s unlikely to accept,’ said the professor. ‘As you’ll have seen, she finds socialising stressful.’
‘Well, in that case you must come alone.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
When the fat man had gone, the professor sat down at his desk, where he stayed for some time, looking at the phone, until at last he seemed to find some resolve, and picked up the receiver. He dialled a local number.
‘It’s me,’ he said, when the call was answered. ‘I had to speak to you. Can you talk?’
Enrico was waiting at the quayside. When he saw the fat man approaching, he stood up in the bows and leaned forward to hold the dinghy steady as the fat man stepped aboard.
The fat man gave the signal to depart, but Enrico didn’t immediately start the engine.
‘With respect, kyrie,’ he said, ‘before we go, there’s something you should know. Whilst you were eating dinner, I learned there’s been something of a drama which will interest you.’
The fat man’s eyebrows lifted.
‘A drama? Of what kind?’
‘They’ve found a body,’ said Enrico. ‘They brought it round from Kolona, where we were this morning. They’re keeping it in a fridge at the butcher’s shop. I joined the crowd, of course, and went to see it for myself. I caught no more than a glimpse, but it wasn’t pretty.’
‘Whose body is it?’
‘Not a local man, by all accounts. What I heard was, it’s a man abandoned by his shipmates a day or two ago.’
‘Really?’ The fat man became thoughtful. ‘I saw him myself, this morning, and he was very much alive. How did he die?’
‘In the most bizarre fashion. They found him head-first down a well.’
‘Did they? That must have been the well I myself drank from, earlier today. It’s hard to imagine a man might fall down there accidentally. The opening is quite narrow. Did anyone have a theory as to what had happened?’
‘They were speculating, of course. But people often speculate, and make very little sense.’
‘The police were there, I presume.’
‘The police, the army, the coastguard, all trying to push responsibility on to each other. The scene was chaotic, as you can imagine. They called a doctor to certify the death, but it was hardly necessary. A man can’t be that black in the face, and still be alive. He made a grim corpse, what I saw of him. They’re keeping him in the butcher’s fridge until they find out who he is
. And with him having drifted in here, there’s some concern as to how they’ll find the next of kin.’
The fat man glanced at the gold watch on his wrist.
‘It’s too late to do anything tonight,’ he said. ‘The butcher’s will have closed some time ago. But we can assume the poor castaway won’t be going anywhere before morning. We’ll go back to Aphrodite now. Tomorrow will be soon enough to have a close look at the body, and ask some questions.’
Eleven
Ilias was yawning as he laid the table at the stern. Early for breakfast, the fat man wandered up to the prow. The deck was damp with mopping, and the smell of cedar wood and varnish mixed with the saltiness of the sea. The sky had not yet hardened into the day’s absolute blue, but blended the pinks of sunrise with the landscape’s dawn-pale greys. The sea was very calm, and within an hour or two would be tepid, even warm; but in this short time remaining before the sun’s full blaze, the water gave off a welcome coolness.
The fat man leaned on the deck-rail and scanned the harbour-side. In the market square, a man was spreading the awning of his stall; a woman at one of the tourist shops fastened back shutters. At the kafenion, an early customer took a seat, and the proprietor rose wearily from his chair and limped inside to brew the day’s first cup. Mounted on a wooden saddle, a rider kicked on his mule, disappearing down a lane. In civilian clothes, Spiros Tavoularis helped a woman and two children into his speedboat, and handed them picnic bags and beach towels from the quay.
Ilias brought out a glass of peach juice poured over crushed ice and announced breakfast, of which the fat man ate only lightly: sheep’s yogurt sweetened with a swirl of honey; a croissant with soft almond paste at its centre.
‘Tell Enrico I’m ready to go,’ he said, as Ilias cleared his plates. ‘And by the way, how are our repairs coming along?’
‘All done,’ said Ilias. ‘I guarantee there’ll be no more trouble there.’
‘Only a fool would guarantee anything in this life, and I have never taken you for a fool,’ said the fat man. ‘But I accept you believe you have done the best you can, on this occasion. When Enrico returns, take Aphrodite and refuel her. When it’s time to leave, I don’t want any delays.’
When Enrico left the fat man at the quayside, the day’s business was getting underway. The fat man made his way to a bus shelter – an unsound structure of corrugated sheeting and iron poles, with two damaged and dusty chairs in its shade. He lit a cigarette with his slim, gold lighter, and as he smoked, watched a white ferry move noiseless and noble towards its next port of call, an island which was a blur on the horizon. Up on the hillside, a church bell clanged its call to the devout. A young woman, slender-waisted and broad-hipped as a statue from Mesopotamia, passed by with a bag of bread loaves, and returned the fat man’s greeting with a shy smile.
He finished his cigarette. A taxi motored by, its driver unshaven and red-eyed from lack of sleep. The fat man picked up his bag, and walked along the harbour-side to where a hawker was selling watermelons from the back of a truck. The hawker had split a melon with a machete, and was displaying it on the tailgate to show its quality, the glistening redness of its wet flesh and the glossy blackness of its seeds. As the fat man approached, a woman with her hands full of shopping was eyeing the fruit.
‘I can’t carry it,’ she was saying, shaking her head. ‘I’ll send a boy down, later.’
But the hawker was too wise to risk losing a customer.
‘Maybe I won’t be here, later,’ he said. ‘If a ferry comes in, I’ll be on it. And you’re still a young woman. You look strong. Why don’t you take half? Which one do you fancy? This one? This?’ He pointed to one of the largest watermelons, and heaved it on to the pan of his scales, where the needle immediately settled past the end of its measured range. ‘We’ll call it ten,’ he said, and named a fair price; then he placed the melon on the tailgate, pushed the point of the machete through its dark-green skin and sliced the melon through. He bagged both halves, and put one to one side; the other he held out to the woman, who was searching in her purse for change.
The fat man stepped up to the tailgate.
‘I’ll take the other half,’ he said, handing over coins. ‘Tie up the bag to keep the wasps off, and put it in the shade to keep it cool. I’ll be back in a while to pick it up.’ He turned to the woman. ‘In the meantime, kyria, I have free time on my hands. Might I offer to be your beast of burden?’
‘That’s very gallant of you,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to take you out of your way. If you’d help me as far as Ayia Triander, I can leave the melon with my cousin, and collect it from there later.’
‘Where exactly is it that you live?’
‘I’m going to the Governor’s Villa, up there on the promontory.’
‘Then I shall be happy to accompany you the full distance,’ said the fat man. ‘It’s a beautiful house, and I shall be glad to get a close look at it. And I’m used to walking. My shoes are well suited to it.’ The woman glanced down at his tennis shoes. ‘I call these my winged sandals. It’s a little joke between my father and myself. He is a scholar of the classics, as is reflected in my name. Hermes Diaktoros, of Athens. Diaktoros is an ancient word for messenger. I’d offer you my hand, but with our bags, I think we would do better to dispose with any formal handshake.’
‘Lemonia Bousali,’ she said. ‘Chairo poli.’
They passed a yard where chickens scratched at hard-baked dirt, and a twitching dog slept on its side in the shade of the orange tree to which it was chained. She walked three steps ahead of him so there could be no eye contact between them, no suggestion of impropriety in their being together. She led him up a lane of steps, where a woman in rubber gloves sat on a milking stool, peeling the tough skins from a bowl of prickly pears.
‘Lemonia, kali mera,’ said the woman, ignoring the fat man as if she hadn’t noticed him; but her malevolent eyes followed them both after they passed her by.
Lemonia walked steadily as a pack animal, her shopping stretching the muscles of her upper arms. Her gait was smooth, as in one accustomed to the climb and the heat, and beneath her dress, her hips moved like a younger woman’s, with perhaps a little more sashay than if the fat man hadn’t been following. She was disinclined to talk, and respecting the over-interest conversation might provoke in her neighbours, he too kept silent, until they reached the cobbled lane where the Governor’s Villa was hidden behind its jasmine-draped wall. From the limp-leaved lower branches of a fig tree all the accessible fruit had been picked, though the lane was spattered with figs fallen from the higher branches, where the tree was laden with its developing crop, from lime-green buds to near-black, ripe orbs. At the arched doorway, she placed her shopping on the ground, and as she was hunting for her keys, thanked him for his help.
‘You’ve been very kind,’ she said.
‘It was nothing.’ He went a few steps to where the lane’s far end dropped away down the hillside, giving a view of the glorious sea and the distant islands. ‘And it is unforgivable of me to ask anything in return. But I have a yacht out on the bay, and now I appreciate the house’s marvellous position, it seems to be the perfect vantage point from which to take some photographs of her at anchor. I’m sure you have wonderful views from your windows. Might I come in just for a moment and take some pictures? I have my camera here.’ He held up his hold-all. ‘It would only take a moment.’
‘I’m afraid Vassilis doesn’t like strangers in the house,’ she said. ‘He keeps himself very private.’
‘I believe the house belongs to Kyrie Eliadis, does it not?’ asked the fat man. ‘I met him yesterday, so he and I are not strangers. Truly, I would take no time at all. A couple of snaps are all I want. I assume he’s not at home?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s not at home at this time.’
A silence fell between them which the fat man made no effort to fill, except by offering her a genial smile.
‘All right,’ she said, at last. ‘
But it stays between us. And you must be very quick.’
The courtyard was filled with roses, climbers which spread over the natural stone walls and bushes rooted in pots which were laid out with no regard to colour, so scarlet and ruby reds clashed with salmon pinks and peaches, and brash oranges and yellows clashed with them all. But whilst the display was unsettling to the eye, the scent of the blooms was sublime, sweet and heady, musky and seductive.
‘What beautiful roses,’ said the fat man. ‘Quite breathtaking.’
‘They’re Vasso’s pets,’ said Lemonia. ‘He chooses them for their scent rather than their colour, as you can see. His aim with this house is to honour the five senses. The roses are for the nose, and the views from here are feasts for the eyes. It’s restful for the ears to enjoy the peace and quiet of the place. Most of the time, at least, we hear nothing but the wind.’
‘That covers three of them,’ said the fat man. ‘What about taste?’
‘He has me for that. I enjoy cooking, and I know what he likes.’
‘And the fifth?’
She turned to him with a coquette’s smile which lifted years from her face, and gave no answer.
They entered a spacious kitchen, where strings of garlic bulbs and red onions plaited by their papery stalks hung from the beams. On the walls was an array of steel and copper pans, and in a rack, a range of sharp French cook’s knives. The shelves were filled with herbs and spices, some commonplace and others in quaint tins labelled in Arabic; there were bottles of oil with their flavourings still in them – whole chillies and peppercorns, sprigs of herbs, and in the smallest one, several pincered beetles, drowned and pale. There were bottles, too, of orange-flower water and rose water, and jars of preserves – damson and quince jellies, marmalades of lemons and bitter oranges, and fuchsia-pink rose-petal syrup. A cast-iron pot on the stove gave off an appetising steam carrying cardamom, cumin and chilli in a combination unknown in Greek cuisine.
At the centre of the kitchen was a pine table large enough to seat eight, and on it was a ledger open to pages filled with columns of names, dates and figures. She closed the ledger and pushed it aside along with the ruler, pen and pencil someone had been using to make entries, and put her shopping in the space where the book had been. The fat man placed the watermelon next to her shopping, and bent down to his hold-all.
The Bull of Mithros Page 15
