The White Sea

by Paul Johnston

  The three nodded to him, shaking his bandaged hands being out of the question. There was also a dressing over the wound where his ear had been.

  ‘Idiot doctors,’ he said. ‘I told them they were wasting their time. Now I look like Vincent van Gogh after the piano lid crashed down.’ He glanced at Evi. ‘Did van Gogh play the piano?’

  ‘Oh, Pappou,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Anyway, these envelopes are for you. You deserve them, though my initial thought was that young Loukas had been seriously over-generous.’

  Mavros found a cheque for a quarter of a million more than he’d been promised. The looks on the faces of Yiorgos and Marianthi suggested they’d been well rewarded too. They all gave thanks, the Fat Man and taxi-driver signing confidentiality agreements.

  ‘Enough of that,’ Kostas Gatsos said, waving his arms. ‘Now we must get on with running this business. Fortunately all our shareholders are staying on board, except Santiago Rojas. And Eirini, Myrto and Nana, the treacherous bi …’ He looked at Loukas and Evi. ‘I’m sorry, but they went against the interests of the family. And now they’ve all left the country. Good riddance.’

  Evi blinked back tears, while Loukas’s chin was set firm. Soon afterwards, Evi took them to the lift.

  ‘I’m glad he’s back, but he seems even more driven than before. And he’s agreed to set up a charitable foundation with ten million of his own money. He said something about compensation too, I don’t know who for. It’s been a day of surprises.’

  ‘Life’s full of them,’ Mavros said, kissing her on the cheek.

  The young woman blushed.

  Out on the street a taxi pulled up and Laura got out.

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘In a big way,’ the Fat Man said. ‘Can we give you a lift?’

  ‘I’m sure Marianthi needs to get back to her kids,’ Mavros said, catching Yiorgos’s eye.

  ‘His place is on the way back to mine,’ the driver said, with a wink a pantomime dame would have been proud of.

  Laura kissed them both and waved as the taxi departed.

  ‘What now?’ Mavros asked. ‘I hope you didn’t say anything out of turn to the cops.’

  ‘I stuck to your story,’ Laura said solemnly. ‘I’ll talk to Kostas on the phone later. Come on, show me the sights.’

  ‘There’s a fish restaurant not far away that’s normally way above my pay grade.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, taking his hand after they’d got into a taxi. ‘I’ll pay.’

  ‘You will not.’

  Laura smiled. ‘OK, but when you come to Colombia everything’s on me.’

  ‘Including the llamas?’

  ‘Of course.’

  That evening they had the dinner of their lives. Then they took a room in the best hotel in Piraeus and made love for most of the night.

  The next day Laura flew to Madrid and on to Bogotá.

  ‘You let her go,’ Dorothy said.

  Mavros handed her another cup of tea.

  ‘She isn’t mine to let go, Mother. But we’ll be seeing each other again.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said softly.

  Mavros looked at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, dear. Decrepitude and departing vitality, that’s all.’

  The photographs of Andonis were behind her head. Mavros felt a strong urge to tell her that her elder son was alive, but the doorbell rang and the moment was lost. He went to undo the chain, realising that excessive security measures were no longer necessary. For the first time he felt relief at the Son’s death, though it meant he would never find out the extent of Kriaras’s knowledge of the kidnap. Perhaps it was minimal – after all, he had put Mavros in contact with the Gatsos family. But the brigadier may have had his strings pulled by shadowy establishment figures – such as shareholders – interested in the old man’s kidnap and ousting from the chairmanship of the group.

  ‘What happened?’ Anna said, as she kissed him. ‘Kostas Gatsos is free, but there’s no mention of you in the media.’

  Mavros put his finger to his mouth. ‘Confidential.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Nondas. ‘I already know more about the Gatsos group than anyone except the old pirate himself.’

  ‘Maybe I can be persuaded to drop a few nuggets. You’d better not follow suit, you Cretan lunatic.’

  Dorothy got up to greet them. She suddenly looked better.

  Mavros watched as she kissed her daughter and son-in-law. Dorothy lived for her family, even though she pretended publishing was her main interest. She hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic when he told her he could pump a lot of money into the business – and it was hers alone now, as he was going back to missing persons work. The financial crisis meant that bankrupt people were disappearing in droves. Not only that, his curiosity had been re-engaged by his brother’s reappearance. He desperately wanted to know the details of Andonis’s life.

  Mother cares so much for her children, Mavros thought. I have to tell her about Andonis. I have to tell Anna.

  He stepped forward, mouth half-open, then glimpsed a photo of his brother as a twenty-one-year-old – so inspiring, so much energy, such subtle intelligence. The thin figure he had embraced on Lesvos was very different, worn down by his experiences, saddened, the vitality sapped despite his decisive intervention. Would Andonis do as he’d said and get in touch?

  Mavros made up his mind. He would keep silent for a month. If Andonis didn’t make contact, he would tell his mother and Anna about him.

  He sat on the sofa next to Nondas and listened to the conversation. Then he remembered Laura’s almost forbidding beauty on the plane, her dark hair set against the white sea through the window, and felt more alive than he had done for years.

  AFTERWORD

  The usual warm thanks and raised glasses to the people who keep Mavros a going concern:

  Edwin Buckhalter, Kate Lyall Grant and all the team at Crème de la Crime; Broo Doherty, most diligent of agents; my esteemed mentor Dr J. Wallis Martin; my readers and social media friends, you happy band of brothers and sisters; my real sister Claire for hospitality and much else; my real brother Alan for raunchy rhythms – check out the Dark Rays; and, last but not least in the least, my beloved nuclear family, who rock, roll, jump and jive, each in their inimitable way – Roula, there would be nothing without you; Maggie, where’s Kevin Lip? Alexander, put the Tooth Fairy down NOW!