Strangers in Company

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  It was true. Without the professor, they were lost in this network of alleys that was, he had told them, the old quarter of Athens, the Plaka. With him, they were guided and felt protected. “Besides,” said Stella, “I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too.” The mezes had merely sharpened Marian’s appetite. “I wish we could eat here.”

  “I like it, too.”

  But they got an equally enthusiastic welcome at the restaurant, a few corners away, to which Edvardson presently led them. “It doesn’t look much of a place,” he warned them, and, indeed, here was no vine-covered courtyard, but a small, spare almost basement room, with the best smell of cooking Marian had ever encountered. And here, too, the proprietor hurried forward to kiss Edvardson on both cheeks, to call him “Thor” and to urge him and his guests to the best table.

  The food was Elysian. After three ouzos, Marian and Stella were glad to let the professor order for them, to eat the astonishing first course of garlic-rich cream cheese and highly flavoured cod’s roe; to sop up the last smears with tough, delicious bread; and to listen with approval as the professor ordered retsina.

  “God, I feel better,” said Stella.

  “Me, too,” said Marian. And yet some cautious corner of her mind warned her against telling the professor of the Furies that pursued them. This was a halcyon moment of safety, of happiness. She would take it as such—and take no chances.

  The first course was followed by a Platonic ideal of a shepherd’s pie, which the professor explained was moussaka made with artichoke hearts. “They use whatever vegetable is in season. And you must try your Greek salad, Mrs. F.” He poured retsina for them all as she plunged her fork into the extraordinary mixture of lettuce, herbs, olives, cheese and a few other things she never quite identified.

  After this came baclava, a confection of pastry, nuts and honey which cried out for more retsina, and strong Turkish coffee. Stella smiled across the professor at Marian and lit one of her rare cigarettes. “To celebrate,” she said. “It’s been a marvellous meal. I haven’t eaten so much for years.”

  “Or drunk so much.” Marian was feeling cheerfully muzzy. “You’ll have to steer us home, Professor.”

  “I wish you’d call me Thor.” He poured the last of the second bottle into their glasses.

  Drinking, Marian felt a long, cold shiver run down her spine. It was back, for the first time since Stella’s confession, that unspeakable feeling of being watched, spied on. And now she knew it for real. She looked round. The restaurant, half-empty when they arrived, was crowded now. But there was no one she recognised. Which meant precisely nothing.

  She reached down a hand that would tremble and picked up her purse from the floor. “I must go and powder my nose. And then, Thor, do you think we could possibly get a taxi back to the hotel? I feel as if I’d walked a thousand miles.”

  “Me, too.” Stella picked up her bag to accompany Marian.

  “Certainly,” said the professor. “I’ll ask Andros to send one of the boys out to get us one.” He laughed. “That poor Mike will be wondering whether you’re coming to Aegina or not.”

  “Goodness, so he will.” Marian looked round her. “Do you know where the ladies’ is?”

  “No.” He caught a passing waiter, and Marian recognised one of the basic words she had learned, toualetta.

  The man pointed to an anonymous door up two steps at the back of the crowded room, and Marian and Stella threaded their way through the closely packed tables towards it, while the professor moved across the room to where the proprietor was busy at his cash desk.

  The door opened upwards into a little yard that smelled deliciously of food and orange blossom. A small light over two doors facing them across the yard showed the usual little figures of a man and a woman. “You go first,” said Stella. “It’s probably tiny—Oh!” Her breath caught on the last syllable, and Marian, in the act of turning towards her, felt movement behind her, opened her mouth to scream and fell suddenly into blackness.

  The light hurt her eyes. She closed them tighter and felt something cold on her forehead. A voice above her said something brief, in Greek. Had she been in an accident? Was this a hospital? Her memory was fuzzy round the edges.

  “Drink this.” The voice spoke English. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”

  She opened her eyes and saw Mrs. Adams bending over her, glass in hand. Memory sharpened horribly. She pushed the glass away so violently that it spilled. “No!”

  “Stupid,” said Mrs. Adams. “It’s just water. We want you alive, remember?”

  Remember? How did they know she knew? Stella? She pulled herself up on the hard bed and looked round the little room. No windows. An ill-lighted basement kitchen of a rather primitive kind. A curious, horrible smell of burning, and, in the corner by a surprisingly modern electric stove, a bundle moving a little, sitting up. Stella, gagged, speechless, tears streaming out of her eyes, the arm nearer the glowing hot plate of the stove bare.

  “She told us.” Mr. Adams—not his name, but what did that matter? “Of course.” He was neither glad nor sorry. Everything was going, simply, as he had expected. “It saves time.” He kicked Stella aside as if she were a dog and came to stand over Marian. “We’ve not got a great deal. Those fools gave you too big a dose. I’d have thought the professor knew better.”

  “The professor?” She flinched, as from a blow. All her suspicions had been right then. She had indeed let herself be blinded by sex or, worse still, the illusion of it. Horrible. She could not face it. She must. She shut her eyes for an anguished moment and received an actual blow, sharp on her face.

  “Stupid!” Mrs. Adams was furious. “She’s got to look all right.”

  “So she has. Open your eyes, Mrs. Frenche. It will be where it hurts more, and shows less, next time. Or would you rather watch us do it to dear little Stella there, the double-crossing bitch? Yes—” He was smiling with satisfaction when Marian reopened her eyes. “The professor sent word that was the way to do it, and I bet he was right.” He looked at his watch. “Only a few hours till the bus leaves for Aegina. We’ve got to hurry. So, Mrs. Frenche, you’d better pay attention if you value your life—and Stella’s there. The professor says as little bloodshed as possible. I suppose it makes sense.” Grudgingly. “So, if you just cooperate with us, Miss Marten will be on the plane back to England tonight, though it’s more than she deserves, and you’ll be free tomorrow.”

  The professor. Always the professor. “Call me Thor.” The world swayed dizzily round her. Fool, fool, and fool again. And not only her own life lost by folly, but Stella’s.

  “She’s going to faint,” said Mrs. Adams.

  “Don’t let her.”

  Something strong and aromatic under her nose. The giddiness passed. What was the use of regretting it? Their situation, hers and Stella’s, had to be faced, sooner or later. With an effort, she sat up. It was better to be on a level with her captors. “What do you want me to do?”

  “That’s better.” Adams’ voice purred satisfaction. “I thought you were a reasonable woman. Well, you know the story, thanks to our little friend there. There’s a lady escaped from solitary confinement on Aegina tonight. Your double, or close enough.” He looked at her consideringly as a surgeon might before using the knife. “With a fond farewell from Mike, who’s above suspicion, and the rest of us gathering round her, she’ll get out all right on our charter plane. That fool Cairnthorpe wouldn’t notice if she was twice your age. And we all know what the passport inspection’s like on a charter that gets in in the small hours at Gatwick. That’s where Miss Marten comes in. I thought the prof. was nuts at first, but he’s often right So long as she doesn’t let out a squeak, no one else is going to fret And if she does”—he turned with sudden ferocity on Stella’s huddled figure—“well then, you spend the rest of your life in a cell on Aegina, Mrs. Frenche. What comes out can go in, and don’t think otherwise.”

  Across the horrible little room, with its smell of bur
ned flesh, Stella’s eyes met Marian’s What were they saying? What was there to say? To refuse meant more torture. And of Stella. As if to underline the point, Adams moved across the room and turned up the burner under the hot plate. Passing, he aimed another casual kick at Stella’s side. “Pity not to be able to mark her,” he said. “Believe me, Mrs. Frenche, I’d really enjoy going to work on her.”

  It carried its own horrible conviction. Perhaps, Marian thought, they really did mean to let Stella go. After all, it was true enough that her cooperation at Gatwick might make the whole difference to their plan. And true, too, that this tour could hardly afford another “accident.” “You promise?” she asked.

  “Yes. Do what we tell you, and she’s safe. Try to double-cross us and she’s a kippered herring. Literally.” A glance at the stove told its own tale.

  A quick knocking on the door took him over to it on silent feet. He opened it a crack, looked out, and said, “Yes?”

  “What the hell are you doing down here?” Mike’s voice. “The old bitch ought to be in her room by now.”

  “She’s ready. Right?” He looked across at Marian.

  “Right” That casual, insulting reference to her had made up her mind. She was not an old bitch, nor was she dead—yet. She would fight these gangsters to the last inch, and that meant, for the moment, giving in. Tomorrow, on the bus, on the ferry, on Aegina, surely somewhere there would be a chance for her? And for Stella? What chance for her? Once again their eyes met, and this time a message passed between them. Stella’s was plain. This was all her fault, those distended eyes were saying; Marian must save herself, if she could. Marian gave her a quick, brisk nod, as if of agreement, and swung her legs off the bed. “Good-bye for now,” she said. “Be good, Stella. I’ll see you in England.” Whether she believed them or not, she must make them think she did. The only chance for her and Stella was the police, whatever disaster it meant for the other woman, who had apparently already made her escape from the prison on Aegina,

  “Good.” Adams gave her one long, considering look, seemed satisfied and returned to the door. “Go get the lift, Mike. We’re coming. You and Stella there”—he turned back to Marian—“were in a taxi accident coming back to the hotel tonight with the prof. Stella’s going to stay in bed all day, resting up for the flight back. You’re a bit shaken, but you don’t want to miss Aegina. Understand?”

  “Yes.” It was diabolically neat.

  “So, you just go with the crowd, do what they do and say nothing to anyone. Not even the prof. Specially not the prof. He’s got enough on his mind without you looking daggers at him. ‘Call me Thor.’” His laugh mocked her. “Took you in good and proper, didn’t he? Fine little holiday romance you got yourself, I don’t think. Right?” Mike was at the door. “Then, here we go.”

  Marian went, without a backward glance. Even looks were too dangerous now. Adams had one of her arms, and his “wife” the other. The door clicked behind them. Stella was locked in there alone. Well, there was a certain temporary safety in that. Marian looked round her. They must be in the basement of the Hotel Hermes. Doubtless that horrible little kitchen belonged to a caretaker’s flat. Here was the familiar lift, confirming her guess.

  Once inside, Adams spoke. “Mrs. Adams has very kindly spent the night with you. Seeing as how you were a bit shaken up and all. Isn’t it convenient the rooms have all got two beds? Now.” The lift had stopped at her floor. “One word, one thought out of line, and the girl’s for it. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “I believe you,” said Marian.

  It was extraordinarily horrible to find her room looking just the same as ever, the bed neatly turned down for the night. “Better get undressed,” said Mrs. Adams. “Rest while you can; you’ve got a busy day ahead.”

  Her last? Marian changed obediently into her nightgown and climbed into bed, to lie there shivering, and trying to think, for what seemed little more than ten minutes. The telephone, ringing sharply, startled her into sudden hope. Dared she try anything? No; too soon. She lay there, inert, apparently cowed, and listened to Mrs. Adams take the routine morning call and then ring down to the restauant to order breakfast for two. “You’re not well enough to go down this morning.” She replaced the receiver and smiled sweetly at Marian. “Might as well stay in bed till it comes.” The suggestion was an order, and Marian obeyed it, saying nothing. She closed her eyes again and tried frenziedly to think. When would her best chance come? The answer was obvious. She remembered the confusion as they got on and off the ferry to Itea. The embarkation at Piraeus was her best chance, and going ashore at Aegina the second best. But it must be Piraeus if possible. There would be more and superior police there. The vital telephone call that would save Stella would be much easier than across from an island. She knew that when she made her bid for freedom, she would be risking Stella’s life, as well as her own, and knew that she had Stella’s free permission to do so. In the meantime, she would be every inch the subdued prisoner, in the hope that Mrs. Adams would begin to take obedience for granted.

  Breakfast came, and she ate coffee and rolls in silence. Mrs. Adams did likewise, merely remarking, “We’ll save the friendly bit till we’re on the bus. My ‘husband’s’ not coming today, so I’ll be able to sit with you. Lucky us. And if it’s any comfort to you, you bore me to tears.”

  “Thanks,” said Marian dryly, got a sharp look and regretted it.

  The coffee revived her a little, but in her state of fatigue it was easy enough to be passive, frightening to think that her chance might come and she be simply too muddled with exhaustion to recognise and take it.

  “Time to get dressed,” said Mrs. Adams. “You won’t do anything stupid if I let you in the bathroom alone, will you?”

  “No.” It was too easy to sound hopeless. “Why should I?” But what about when it was Mrs. Adams’ turn? Would it be worth a quick dive for the telephone?

  Mrs. Adams was looking at her consideringly. “I don’t rightly know what to think about you. But just in case you were thinking of trying anything silly, we’ve got a friend on the switchboard. We’ve got a lot of friends,” she added, and it rang, horribly, true. “Oh.” She turned at the bathroom door. “They’ve moved the girl, of course. Don’t kid yourself she’s in the hotel anymore. No one’s going to find her without our help.”

  It was a blow, and one she must not let show. “But she’s all right?” Marian asked, as if that was all she cared about.

  “Of course. We stick to our bargains. And besides, we need her in shape for the plane tonight.”

  Later, dressed and ready, she looked Marian over critically. “That bruise is beginning to show on your face,” she said angrily. “Damn fool of a man. He knew you mustn’t be marked, either of you. If anyone should mention it, you got it in the taxi accident. Hit the front panel, did you?”

  “I should think so.” Marian’s hand went up to the throbbing place below her cheekbone. “What kind of accident was it?”

  This won her a quick, suspicious glance, and she wished it unsaid. “Not stupid are you? Well, maybe it’s a good thing. So long as you’ve got some sense. Your taxi ran into a parked car on a blind corner. Nothing serious, but it shook Miss Marten up.”

  “I see. I just thought, if anyone asked.…” She let it trail off hopelessly.

  “Any other questions?” Mrs. Adams picked up her bag. “Because from now on I’m the ministering angel, and you’re my grateful protégê. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, and by the way,” casually. “They picked Andreas up out of Itea harbour last night. Funny thing, he must have got in a fight. His throat was cut.”

  “Oh,” said Marian.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rest of the Aegina party were already assembled in the hotel lobby, depressingly few of them. The schoolmistresses were gathered round Mike, all talking at once, and Marian remembered, with a new sinking of the heart, that he was in entire charge of their party for today. Davi
d Cairnthorpe was taking the Athens tour, so there was no hope of help from him. No hope from anyone. She found herself looking round for the professor, saw no sign of him, knew she should be relieved and could not, somehow, manage it.

  “You poor thing, how are you?” Meg and Pam had detached themselves from the little crowd round Mike at sight of her. “What with poor Andreas and your accident, I really do feel as if the Furies were after us. Have you heard about him?”

  “Yes.” All she could stand.

  “Some dockside quarrel, Mike says. But how are you, and Miss Marten?”

  “I’m fine, but she’s not too good, I’m afraid.” Marian was amazed how normal her voice sounded. “She’s spending the day in bed.”

  “What a shame to miss Aegina,” said Pam.

  “The professor can’t come either,” put in Meg. “He’s had to go down to the police station about your accident. Really, what bad luck!”

  “Isn’t it?” Marian’s feelings were beyond analysis.

  “To the police station?” asked Mrs. Adams. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Meg. “Mike told us.”

  And here was Mike, coming forward to enquire solicitously how Marian felt Was she really sure she was up to the long day on Aegina? “You wouldn’t rather spend it quietly with Miss Marten?”

  “No, thanks.” Again she was proud of her tone. “She says she’s just going to sleep all day. And I’m fine, thank you, really. They don’t need me at the police station, too?” It was, surely, a natural question to ask.

  “Of course not.” Something sharp in Mike’s tone made her wonder if, however natural, the question had been wise. “Who wants a woman’s word when they can have a man’s?” And then, as if aware of some failure of his usual suavity. “And naturally they know how badly you’d been shaken, Mrs. Frenche. They didn’t want to disturb you.”