‘Which island?’ Patrick asked.
In the end they told him.
He drove away still puzzled by their reticence.
III
The ruins of the palace of Phaestos shimmered in the heat. All around the plateau on which it had been built the land fell away into the surrounding fertile plain; what a vantage point, and the peaceful citizens had built no fortifications three thousand years ago. Patrick wandered about in the hot sun among the thick, ancient walls trying to imagine the scene as it had been in those days, but not succeeding very well. Around him, clustering on the heels of their various guides, were flocks of tourists in bright dresses and shirts. Patrick heard French, German, Italian and English, and other tongues he could not recognise. He stood for a while gazing across at Mount Ida, allegedly Zeus’s birthplace. And why not?
After a time he felt too hot to remain outside any longer, though he had not worked out the plan of the palace at all well in his mind. He had consumed a fair amount of ouzo with his new Cretan friends, for none of which had he been allowed to pay, and he had then driven on to the coast where he had found a taverna by the sea. There he had eaten fried fish and drunk iced beer. The effect of it all was soporific. He walked slowly back to the tourist building where he could have some sort of long, cool, non-alcholic drink.
He was sitting in the shade eating an enormous apple and drinking lemonade when Ursula Norris appeared from within the building and saw him. She was chuckling away to herself.
‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘So you got here. I am pleased to see you.’ She was choking with suppressed mirth. ‘Do you know, in this birthplace of civilisation, where there was an elaborate plumbing system three thousand years ago, the ladies’ loo today is still just a hole in the ground? What about that for the march of progress?’
‘No, really?’
‘Mm. One wouldn’t give it a thought anywhere else in Europe – but here—’ she grinned at him. ‘I’ve a childish sense of humour,’ she said.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ Patrick suggested.
‘I’d love one, but there isn’t time. We’ve got to go back to the coach,’ said Ursula.
‘Come back with me,’ said Patrick. ‘My car will be like an oven as I could find no tree to park it under, and the clutch is lousy, but you’re very welcome.’
‘Oh, that would be lovely. Could I?’ Her pleasure was genuine. ‘I’ll tell our guardian.’
She moved away, and Patrick saw her speak to an earnest-looking young woman with dark, glossy hair, wearing an orange dress. Then she returned.
‘That’s fine. Those couriers have a terrible job. There’s always someone who’s difficult, or keeps the coach waiting. How lovely to desert them.’
Patrick saw George Loukas and his wife looking at postcards. George said something to Elsie and took her elbow. They began to walk slowly towards the coach park.
‘Those two came with you?’ he asked. ‘I saw them waiting to be collected.’
‘Who? Oh, the American couple. Yes. Do you know them?’
‘I met him in Challika last night,’ said Patrick. ‘He’s of Greek descent. This is a sentimental pilgrimage for him.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ said Ursula.
‘He was talking away in Greek,’ Patrick said. ‘I was quite surprised that a second-generation American citizen had kept it up.’
‘It happens all the time,’ said Ursula. ‘They come back to retire, after working all their lives in the States, sometimes.’
They sat and talked about it while she drank lemonade and shared the remains of Patrick’s apple, and waited till the coach had gone.
IV
Their way back went through Gortys, and although two coaches were parked in the shade at the side of the road, there was no seething mob swarming among the ruins, so they stopped.
‘Modern stuff, this,’ said Patrick, surveying the theatre. ‘Even I can tell a Roman brick when I see one. What a nice place.’
The site, set among its olive trees, was a peaceful spot that afternoon.
‘They’ll excavate it thoroughly, one day, no doubt,’ said Ursula Norris as they walked towards the odeum, built of soft, rose-coloured brick, wherein the code of laws could be seen inscribed on the inner wall. ‘They were an enlightened lot, in those days.’
‘Yes.’ Patrick had read it up the night before in his Hellenic Traveller.
The ruined church of St. Titus drew them, and when they reached it, there was George Loukas wandering around saying, ‘My, would you believe it?’ to the lambent air. He hailed Patrick.
‘Hi, there. Isn’t this just great?’ he cried. ‘My, we’ve had a wonderful day, haven’t we, Elsie?’
Elsie was looking rather hot. She had a silk scarf tied around her head; her face was flushed; strong, freckled arms lightly covered with fine gold hairs emerged from her lime-green dress.
‘We’ve seen a heck of a lot of ruins,’ she said.
‘Say, honey, what am I thinking of? You haven’t met Dr Grant, have you?’ George said. ‘He’s the professor from Oxford, England, I was telling you about. Let me present Mrs Loukas, Dr Grant.’
Patrick felt unequal to explaining at this point that he was not a professor. He shook hands with Elsie and introduced Ursula Norris to both the Americans.
‘Did you read about the feller that found this place?’ George continued, enthusiastically. ‘He was drinking from a stream when he saw a stone in the water that had been carved some special way. So he covered it up and said nothing till he was able to buy the ground years later. What a guy.’
‘Archaeology is a patient profession,’ said Ursula.
‘It must be great when you make a find, eh?’ said George. ‘Good results are worth waiting for.’
‘Have you visited Knossos yet, Mrs Loukas?’ asked Patrick.
‘No. I guess it’s a whole lot better than Phaestos, though. Not so ruined,’ said Elsie Loukas. She sounded completely American; many years in the States might well erase the strongest British accent.
‘I can understand Sir Arthur Evans not wanting to go anywhere else, can’t you?’ said Ursula. ‘I’d be quite happy to set up camp here, for instance, and start digging.’
‘I guess it can be wet and cold in winter, Miss Norris, even in Crete,’ said George.
The Loukases had to leave them, as their guide was calling her flock together.
‘What a nice little man,’ said Ursula, watching them go. ‘She’s had her fill of ruins, I think, don’t you?’
Patrick agreed. They walked slowly back through the shaded grove to their car, which did not want to start. Patrick grumbled about it as they bumped over the grass where they had left it, back to the road.
‘Poor car. It’s doing its best,’ said Ursula. ‘I expect it’s had a different driver every week, all summer. I’m delighted to be in it, I can tell you. The coaches are comfortable, and it’s an easy way to get about – but what a long day. They haven’t finished yet – they’ll be stopping somewhere else on the way back, Mallia, probably.’
‘These trips just whet one’s appetite, don’t they?’ said Patrick. ‘Make one long to return.’
‘Yes. It’s all too quick. I’d like a whole day in the museum in Heraklion. I think the tour allows just over an hour. Even a day isn’t enough, from what I’ve heard.’
“The famous Linear B tablet,’ said Patrick. ‘What a story that is.’
They discussed the solving of mysteries from the past as they drove on, the road climbing soon, back up to the mountains. Ursula Norris felt that she was lucky to have met this cultured, not-so-very-young man, who was lonely enough to be glad of her company.
‘Crete, the modern bit – the war, and all that – keeps coming into my mind as much as the distant past,’ said Patrick. ‘An island of drama – ancient and modern.’
‘It’s typical of Greek history in general,’ said Ursula. ‘Perhaps it’s what’s given them their resilient characterThey passed a vine-growing area
where grapes were spread out on racks in the sun to dry into raisins, and through arid stretches where even goats must find cropping a livelihood hard. Occasionally they came upon a donkey carrying a black-clad woman, with often a goat or a sheep at its heels.
Back in Challika, Patrick suggested a drink, and said he wanted to buy a paper, so they parked the car and walked along to the newsagent’s where Patrick bought The Times and Ursula The Guardian. Then they went to Zito’s, where Ursula taught Patrick to order their ouzos with a whole sentence in Greek.
There was a small paragraph in The Times about Felix; it said merely that his body had been found on a beach in Crete and that he had died as the result of an accidental fall from the cliff while on holiday. There was no mention of the cruise. A few words followed about his academic achievements. Among the ordinary obituaries, Gwenda announced his death and the time of his funeral, four days hence.
‘Poor old Felix.’ Patrick shook his head. ‘Gwenda hasn’t wasted much space on him.’
Ursula thought eulogies, however well merited, over-doing things, and said so.
‘She must have had an awful shock,’ she pointed out.
‘I don’t suppose it’s interrupted her life much,’ said Patrick. ‘She’ll carry on just as before, but she’ll wear a martyr’s expression for a while.’
‘You don’t like her, do you?’
‘No,’ said Patrick flatly. Then he went on, changing the subject, ‘I had an interesting time this morning trying to track down the Greek godson of another friend of mine who’s just died.’ He described his morning.
‘Obviously Yannis has done something they don’t approve of in Ai Saranda,’ said Ursula.
‘Yes. But what? I thought he’d got himself into some sort of political scrape – that’s what Alec thought, I’m sure.’
‘The old men might have been prudently evasive about that, if it were so, but they wouldn’t have been disapproving,’ said Ursula.
“That’s what I thought. It was almost as if they were embarrassed,’ said Patrick.
‘When are you going to that island to look for him?’
‘How did you know I’d do that?’ Patrick looked at her in astonishment.
‘Well, you’ll soon be bored here, when you’ve been to Knossos and a few other spots. I’m sure you aren’t content to lie in the sun for more than a day or two. Besides, I don’t think you like loose ends, do you?’
‘Am I so transparent?’
‘No, but you’re a positive sort of person. More impulsive, too, than many academics.’
‘What about you?’ Patrick attacked back, shaken by such discernment.
‘Oh, I’m quite ordinary. I kept house for my father until he died last May. Now I’m having an indefinite holiday. I don’t know when I’ll go back to my job.’
‘Where is that?’
‘At the National Gallery.’
Patrick was about to ask her in what capacity, when his attention was distracted by a large black car which drove past and stopped outside the police station. Out got Inspector Manolakis, wiry and smart in his uniform. He spoke to the driver and disappeared within.
‘Is that the local police chief?’ Ursula asked.
‘I don’t know if he’s the chief. He’s the chap who’s been dealing with poor old Felix. It must be very trying for the local force when tourists die.’
‘Nice for the tourist, if he’s happy,’ Ursula said.
‘Yes – if it happens peacefully, while you’re sitting on the terrace looking at the sea. But not if you drown.’ He would never forget Felix’s appearance, ravaged by the effect of the water.
‘Hullo – your policeman has seen you. He’s coming to talk to you,’ said Ursula.
Sure enough, Inspector Manolakis had emerged from the police station and was walking towards them.
‘Good evening, Mr Grant. How are you?’ he said.
Patrick introduced Ursula, and the policeman repeated,
‘How are you?’ Greeks often used this greeting, Patrick had noticed.
‘Won’t you join us, Inspector?’ he suggested. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Thank you. I will have coffee, please,’ said Manolakis.
The waiter, seeing him, had at once appeared, and now, took the order with a sincere ‘amesos’, returning in a magically short time with the strong Greek coffee for the policeman.
‘Your friend, Mr Lomax – the matter is at rest,’ he said. ‘The body goes back to England tomorrow.’
‘Oh, good.’ Someone had been efficient. The unfortunate vice-consul, no doubt, summoned from Heraklion. ‘It’s reported briefly in the paper,’ Patrick said, indicating his copy of The Times.
‘So sad. You must forget it now and enjoy your holiday,’ said Manolakis. He was looking at Patrick, consideringly. ‘You are in Kriti for fourteen days?’
‘No. I’m going to Athens soon. Friday, probably.’
‘Ah – you have been to Athens before?’
‘Yes.’
They talked about Athens for a while, with Ursula and Patrick waxing lyrical and Manolakis proudly listening to their praises of the city, drinking his coffee.
‘I am glad you like,’ he said.
He left them then, and when he had gone, the waiter rushed over to see if they had more commands.
‘You’re a marked man now,’ said Ursula. ‘The policeman’s friend.’
‘It was nice of him to talk to us,’ said Patrick. ‘I wonder why he did?’
‘Just natural Greek courtesy.’
‘I thought he was pleased that I was leaving,’ Patrick said, slowly. ‘Now why? The business about Felix seems to be closed. They’ve decided it was an accident.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘I think Manolakis is convinced it was suicide.’
‘If it was—’ Ursula hesitated, choosing her words. ‘If it was, it’s a terrible thing to have happened, and surely better by far for everyone’s sake, to have it officially described as accidental. You said your friend had a tiresome wife.’
Patrick laughed shortly.
‘If every man with a tiresome wife killed himself the suicide rate would soar,’ he said. ‘I just don’t see Felix doing such a thing. Besides, a man suffering from vertigo would choose another way of doing it, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t throw himself over a cliff. And why here, anyway?’
V
‘He’d had a lot to drink,’ said Patrick.
They were sitting on the hotel terrace after dinner. Taped bouzouki music came from the softly-lit taverna bar outside which the tables were arranged. The scent from the flowers in the well-watered beds filled the air, and when briefly the bouzoukis stopped, the cicadas could be heard instead.
‘He might not have realised he was close to the cliff edge, in the darkness,’ said Ursula. ‘He might just have blundered over it.’
‘I’ve never seen a night in a place like this that was so dark,’ said Patrick. Both remembered that when they had arrived the harbour lights were brilliantly reflected in the sea; and now the sky above them was full of stars. ‘There’s a moon at the moment – it’s coming up to the full. And anyway, what was he doing here when he should have been sailing up to the Black Sea? That’s what I’d like to know.’ For by now he had told Ursula about Felix’s cruise commitment.
‘Had he no papers on him? Nothing that explained it?’
‘No. Only a wallet with some money, and his driving licence. And his passport.’
‘Have you got your passport on you now?’ asked Ursula.
‘No. It’s locked in my case in my room. I don’t carry it around all the time.’
‘Neither do I. That’s what I meant.’
‘That he was in transit, so to speak? The police found no record of his having booked in anywhere, nor any luggage. I suppose he could have dumped it somewhere.’
‘Are you going to tell Inspector Manolakis about his fear of heights?’
‘I don’t think so. Or not at the moment
.’
‘His wife must be satisfied with whatever explanation she’s been given, or she’d make a fuss and demand further enquiries.’
‘Mm. She may have had a letter from him, saying why he’d changed his plans.’
‘Do you think, if it really were suicide, that he might have decided to do it in the most challenging way he could find?’ By an act that terrified him in itself?’ asked Ursula.
Patrick considered this.
‘Interesting theory. It’s possible, I suppose. But why come to Crete for it? I still find it impossible to accept Felix as a suicide.’ He sighed. ‘Still, what do we really know about anyone? It’s all only guesswork. Maybe I just don’t want to accept that a friend of mine could be in a state of despair and I hadn’t noticed. Why don’t we stop thinking about it for now, and go down to the town? Have you been there in the evening? It’s quite lively.’
‘I haven’t, and I’d love to come,’ said Ursula. ‘I’ll just get a sweater, if you don’t mind waiting for a minute.’
She hastened off to her room, and while she was gone Patrick stood in the hotel foyer studying the notices which advertised trips to Knossos, Heraklion and so forth, and excursions by boat to various islands. It was pleasant to have found such a congenial companion; the little town was best enjoyed in company. How satisfactory to feel that there could be no emotional complications from their friendship.
Ursula soon returned. With her height and her striking white hair, she was a handsome woman.
He told her about Aphrodite’s, the shop where he had bought Jane’s waistcoat, and suggested she might like to go there before they had their drinks. Ursula agreed, and they parked the car near the foot of the steep steps leading to that part of the town. A few people were wandering about up there, but most of the activity was centred around the waterfront.
In the shop, they found the mother still knitting, but the girl was attending to an elderly couple who were choosing a rug. Ursula at once began to browse among the crochet-work, telling Patrick he was quite right to enthuse about it.
Mortal Remains Page 5
