‘The Wrens weren’t under military discipline. They could desert with impunity. But very few did. The army and air force took it more seriously.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I was a Wren too,’ said Ursula. ‘But I wore a three- cornered hat.’
III
Athens was grilling when Patrick got back to the city. He went into the Zappeion Gardens behind the Parliament Building and sat on a seat in the shade to think. At first his mind raced round in circles but after a while his thoughts steadied and began to take definite shape. Little incidents came back to him, each insignificant in itself but adding up to one thing. He got up at last and walked back to the central post office on Eolou to send some cables. Then he went to the Archaeological Museum where he looked at the objects from Mycenae; there was pathos in an ivory comb three thousand years old; who had used it? And who had wept at her death?
After that he went back to the hotel, bathed and changed, and then went across to the Hilton.
He went into the bar and ordered a beer.
He was sitting alone, drinking it and reading his Greek phrase book, trying to remember simple remarks like Hero poli in case he was introduced to a Greek, when George Loukas came up and slapped him on the back.
‘Hi, there. Lonesome?’
‘Kind of,’ said Patrick. Modes of speech were infectious.
‘Elsie’s still prettying herself. Women take so long, don’t they? She’s been in the beauty shop all afternoon, getting her hair dyed.’ He chuckled. ‘She thinks I don’t know that isn’t her real colour. She’s blonde really. Grey by now, I guess. No one’s seen the true colour of her hair for years.’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Fifteen years.’
‘Is that all? I thought it was more.’
‘No. I guess it took time to get over losing Freddie – her first husband. And Greeks don’t usually marry young, you know. We have to see our sisters settled first.’
‘Even in America?’
‘Some do.’
‘What will you drink, George?’ Patrick beckoned the waiter. George demurred, Patrick over-rode him and when George’s drink had come the little man invited him to join them for dinner. After some show of reluctance Patrick accepted.
‘How much longer are you staying in Athens?’ he asked.
‘Oh, just a few days. I’d like to make it weeks, I’m just getting to feel at home, but I guess Elsie’s had enough. Isn’t that right, honey?’ For Elsie had appeared as they talked. Her hair certainly gleamed as black as a raven; now that Patrick thought about it, jet black hair and freckled arms did not go together in nature’s scheme.
They planned to go to London, see the Tower and the Changing of the Guard, Oxford, Cambridge and Scotland. Patrick was entertained at this selectivity.
‘You said you’d be visiting Reading on your trip. The biscuits haven’t changed much in thirty years,’ he said.
‘The biscuits?’ George said, looking blank.
‘Cookies, you call them,’ Patrick said. ‘There’s a factory at Reading – surely you’ve told George that, Elsie? The town’s famous for it – and other things, of course.’
‘I’d forgotten,’ Elsie said.
How could she forget? The factory was a huge place, and central to the town.
They went in to dinner. George demanded steak. He was accustomed to American beef and said he was tired of all that damned mince. Patrick had steak too, and Elsie chose fish. They drank Demestica. Afterwards George and Patrick had a meringue concoction and Elsie had fruit.
‘I’ve got to watch my diet,’ she said.
‘You don’t need to diet,’ said Patrick. She was sturdy, big-breasted, with a broad frame but not fat; she could never be slim. He thought of how she had looked like Brunhilde in the shop in Crete, dressed in her gold-embroidered caftan.
‘It’s not her figure. She’s diabetic,’ said George, and earned a reproving frown from his wife. ‘Well, honey, it’s a common enough complaint. You’re a good advertisement for successful therapy.’ He turned to Patrick. ‘Changes of food tend to upset her. She has to regulate the insulin.’
Patrick remembered the boiled sweets Elsie had produced from her bag on Mikronisos and again on the drive to Delphi; he could not remember seeing her eat one herself. Diabetics had to carry a lump of sugar or something sweet in case of a sudden coma, he seemed to recall. The pieces of the jigsaw began to fit together at last. But why? And how?
‘You’re very courageous about it,’ he said. ‘Have you had it long?’
‘Oh yes – forever, you could say,’ she said. ‘It’s too boring. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘We’re going to Mycenae tomorrow, and Epidaurus,’ said George. He pronounced it Epidavros, in the Greek way. ‘Have you been there?’
Patrick had not.
‘We’re meeting up with Vera Hastings. She’s planning to go along too, and it’s lonesome for her on her own,’ George went on. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
‘I might at that,’ said Patrick. He’d done it again: lapsed into transatlantic idiom.
IV
The helpful clerk, Kostas, who had obtained Jill’s plane ticket, was on duty again when Patrick got back to the hotel. He gave Patrick two cables and a note asking him to telephone Ursula, no matter how late it was when he got in.
He went up to his room, took off his jacket, and stood on the balcony in the warm night air for a few minutes before dealing with the messages. The room opposite, where he had seen the exchange take place, was in darkness. Below, there were lights in some windows: rooms occupied by businessmen, tourists, lovers, he supposed. And haters too. How long could hatred last?
He read his cables before telephoning Ursula.
A cable from Colin said:
WILL BENEFITS MISTRESS AND DAUGHTER
WIFE JOYLESS BUT WEALTHY ANYWAY.
A second cable, also from Colin ran:
IMAGE VILLAINS IGNORANT ART EXPERT VIOLENCE.
So Lucy had been taken care of; and murder featured higher on the operations list of the island gang than their thefts. He had forgotten that Gwenda had money of her own; of course, her grandfather had been a sanitary engineer, making lavatory basins, baths, and a fortune. Gwenda, the third generation, had achieved social advancement by dint of her expensive education and judicious marriage.
He lifted the telephone and asked for Ursula’s number. She answered at once.
‘Patrick?’ Her voice was clipped, the tone urgent.
‘Yes. Sorry to be so late.’
‘Never mind. You realise the importance of what we discussed today? The discrepancy? Vera Hastings will have noticed it too, if she thinks about it.’
‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about that. She started to say something at Delphi and then changed her mind. Perhaps she wasn’t sure if she remembered accurately.’
‘There’s something else. Two more things. When did Elsie say her husband was killed?’
‘In 1941. Yes, I’m sure of that.’
‘And when did she go to Africa? You said she served there.’
They had discussed Elsie’s war-time career after Ursula’s disclosure that she had been an officer in the same service.
‘She was married there,’ said Patrick. ‘What are you getting at? She was only married a few weeks.’
Ursula told him.
‘And there’s something else,’ she said. ‘Something I noticed in Challika after you left. Some words in Greek scratched on the stone inside that old pill-box on the headland.’ She repeated what they said. ‘But how was it done? And why?’
‘I’ve got an idea about how,’ said Patrick heavily. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Are you going to the police?’
‘I haven’t any proof. What can they do? It’s all surmise even with what you’ve told me. But I’ve got a plan.’
‘Yes?’
‘I need some help. Vera is going to Mycenae and Epidaurus tomorrow. So are the Lo
ukases. She could be in danger, if she says anything to Elsie. I’m going too – as a bodyguard, and I want to set something up, but 1 can’t do it alone. Would you come too?’
‘What do you mean to do?’
‘It needs more thought, but roughly, this—’ He began to explain.
‘Yes,’ she said, when he had done. ‘It might work. I’ll help, and so will a friend of mine, Nikos Hadzmichalis. We’ll be with you for breakfast.’
V
They arrived at half-past seven and all three hatched their plan in the hotel dining-room over coffee, rolls and apricot jam.
Nikos spoke excellent English; he had lived in London for several years but never left Greece now. He did not have to explain why. He was an engineer and his skill was valuable. He had warm brown eyes which belied the austerity of his face with its aquiline nose; his profile could have come from a Greek vase, except that the faces on them were all youthful. There was no time now to find out his history or how he and Ursula had met. It was sufficient that he was a man of authority; Patrick was reassured when Nikos agreed with his judgement that there was not enough, yet, to tell the police.
‘I hope we’ve thought of everything,’ he said, with some diffidence, when they had gone over their plans thoroughly.
‘I think so, Dr Grant,’ said Nikos.
‘And remember, when we meet at Epidaurus, you two don’t know each other,’ said Ursula to the men.
‘If this doesn’t work, we’ll think up another scheme,’ said Nikos. ‘Today we must play for safety. I wish we could prevent this Mrs Hastings from taking the trip.’
So did Patrick, but they did not know how to get hold of her, except possibly through the Loukases, and that must not be done.
‘Well, I’d better go,’ said Patrick. ‘I must get to the coach terminal before the others.’ It was just round the corner; the invaluable Kostas had already made out his ticket.
‘Here’s a torch, for Mycenae,’ said Nikos, handing Patrick a small, neat pocket one. ‘You’ll need it. The tours don’t spend long there, but don’t fret when your guide takes you away. Ursula and I will take you back when this is all over.’
Patrick left them drinking more coffee. They were going in Nikos’s car; it would be quicker, and the people in the coach would not see them until the time for their meeting. He marvelled at them as he walked out of the dining room; they were like a couple who had been happily married for years, giving out a united strength, yet both had an aura of youthful excitement. Had they some permanent future arranged? He did not think so, from Ursula’s remarks about the vagueness of her plans; perhaps such a thing was impossible.
In the road he stopped at a kiosk and bought several small packets of boiled sweets, which he put in his pocket. Then he walked quickly along the street to where a row of coaches was drawn up outside the tour offices. Soon, more coaches bringing tourists from hotels all over Athens would converge here, and the passengers would be sorted into the right buses for their various destinations. There was always someone who misunderstood or got muddled, took the wrong coach, or was rude to the guide; yet somehow the couriers stayed patient throughout.
Vera Hastings arrived soon after Patrick, in a taxi. She paid it off, then stood looking rather bemused on the pavement in a crowd of Swedes all going to Hydra. Patrick approached her.
‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘You’re going to Mycanae and Epidaurus, aren’t you? Shall we sit together?’
‘Oh, that would be nice. The Loukases are coming too. Did you know?’ she said.
‘Yes, indeed. They told me last night.’
Even so early in the day, plump Vera Hastings was flushed and heated. Patrick, who wore a linen jacket because he needed its pockets, not for warmth, patted the torch, safely in his pocket; in another were the sweets, and a paperback copy of The Lion’s Gate. He took reading matter about with him wherever he went as another man would cigarettes.
‘I think this is our coach,’ he said, taking Vera’s arm and leading her through the Swedes who divided for them like the Red Sea before Moses. A group of Germans blocked the way next, and Patrick would not be baulked nor go round, when they did not move.
‘Bitte,’ he said, tapping a stout man. ‘Bitte schon.’ He forged a path, and checked their destination with a slim lad who stood by the coach door holding a list, although the vehicle was clearly labelled.
‘Your name, sir, please?’ The youth searched on his list and eventually passed them in. They picked a seat near the front and had been there for almost ten minutes before the Loukases arrived. By then the coach was filling up.
Patrick saw a middle-aged man in a flowered shirt eagerly join a younger one who gave him a sharp, calculating glance, then brightened; well, their day was made already.
Elsie and George had to sit near the rear of the coach. When it moved off at last, Patrick relaxed; there was nothing to do now but wait. Meanwhile he might as well enjoy the trip.
They stopped at Corinth, where the coach drew up outside a Sprawling modern kafenion and the passengers walked back to the bridge spanning the canal. The sheer rent in the earth, with its steep red sides and the brilliant blue of the sky above, was a dramatic sight, marred by one of the ubiquitous signs proclaiming the anniversary of the events of 1967 strung across the ravine in an eye-catching position. After observing the scene from both sides of the bridge the party trooped back to the kafenion for refreshments. It was a bad moment for Patrick when Vera Hastings went off to the cloakroom, he could not follow her there. But Elsie was sitting at a table with George drinking coffee. They had seen the canal before, they said, when they visited George’s cousins.
From Corinth they went on through beautiful rolling scenery among groves of orange trees and lemons, and little white villages perched on the hills. Mrs Hastings fell asleep.
One of the first things Patrick saw when the coach stopped at Epidaurus was Nikos’s car; he recognised it with relief. He had not seen it pass the coach, for Vera was on the window side. There was no sign of Ursula or of Nikos, but that was the plan. They were to be waiting, strategically positioned, in the theatre, having carried out a small experiment.
The beauty of the setting took Patrick by surprise; he almost forgot his grim mission as he looked across to the distant mountains. Here it was verdant and green; no doubt the natural attributes of the place helped Asclepius with his cures. Their guide led them along past the stadium, tiny by comparison with the vast area of Delphi, and on to the Tholos, where they learned of the snake-pit remedy; drastic indeed. After a short time in the museum, where Elsie Loukas found the ancient surgical instruments interesting, they wandered on towards the theatre. She had been a dental nurse when George and she met, Patrick remembered; such things would hold a professional appeal for her. Learning to give herself insulin injections must have been easier for her than for a lay person. She would have an expert knowledge of anatomy, if she were a fully-trained nurse.
She was walking along beside him and Vera now; George had gone on ahead and was filming the three of them as they approached. He retreated steadily as they advanced, holding the camera as it turned; behind him, as they reached the limits of the theatre, Patrick saw Ursula’s white head. She and Nikos were standing at the foot of the great semi-circular range of tiered seats. One other group of tourists with their guide were standing in a cluster on the stage; a few people on their own moved among the seats or wandered about, staring at the great theatre in its tranquil surroundings. The guide began to tell them about the annual drama festival held here; what a wonderful thing to attend, thought Patrick. But he was in the midst of a contemporary drama, and must forget Euripides for it was time to play his part.
‘Why look! There’s Ursula Norris,’ he cried, striking, as Ursula told him later, an attitude. ‘You met her on the journey to Athens, Vera. Do you remember?’
‘Yes – oh, how nice.’ Vera, always prim, was nevertheless pleased.
‘And you met her in Crete,’ Patrick reminded George
and Elsie.
‘Patrick! What a lovely surprise!’ exclaimed Ursula, and to his amazement, kissed him warmly. She gave his arm a little squeeze and breathed into his ear, ‘It’s fine.’ So their test had worked. ‘And Mr and Mrs Loukas,’ she went on, with almost no pause. ‘May I introduce Nikos Hadzimichalis?’
Nikos, looking bashful, stepped forward.
‘He speaks very little English,’ said Ursula.
Patrick blinked. This was new. What had they been plotting without him? But he seized the opportunity, put out his hand, and said firmly, ‘Hero poli.’
‘How are you?’ said Nikos, with an affected thick accent, gripping his hand.
George immediately broke into rapid Greek; soon the two men were chattering away, sounding excited; they could only be discussing trivialities yet their voices and gestures might lead the observer to suppose they were arguing about life and death, such was the Greek manner of conversation.
Life and death.
Vera Hastings was talking to Ursula. Nikos said something to George, who answered, ‘Nai, nai,’ in vehement tones, and the two began to ascend an aisle dividing the blocks of seats; while they climbed they continued to talk and gesticulate. Patrick moved close to Vera; Ursula stood on her other side; Elsie faced the three of them, a little apart. Only words could be used as weapons here, before so many possible witnesses, but the manoeuvre had psychological importance. The guide, with the rest of the group had crossed the stage to the further side and was addressing them.
Nikos and George had reached a considerable height now; Patrick glanced up, saw Nikos make a quick gesture to George for silence, and point below. It was time to begin.
‘How odd that you three ladies were all in the Wrens during the war, yet never met,’ he said.
Elsie’s head shot up.
‘Were you, too?’ she asked Ursula.
‘Yes. I was an administrative officer,’ Ursula said. ‘What were you?’
Mortal Remains Page 16
