The Girl Under the Olive Tree

by Leah Fleming

  ‘It’s not that, it’s just they have plans for me.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those debutantes with feathers poking out of the back of your head, traipsing down to Buck House to curtsy to a cake? If so, we might as well stop right now.’ Miss Bushnell turned to leave.

  ‘No, please,’ Penny pleaded. ‘I don’t want to be a deb. I’d rather stay here. I love Athens. I have Greek ancestry. Papa’ll understand. I’ll write to him and explain. I really want to have a useful career, something that interests me. Someone once said to me, “Find what you love and do it well” and I’m trying to do just that,’ she continued.

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Miss Bushnell, turning back. ‘No education then?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ Penny sighed. ‘It isn’t thought necessary for girls like me. We can’t choose our parents, can we? They come from a different world and expect us to be just the same as them.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Miss Bushnell replied, and her eyes softened. ‘Forgive me for blaming you for something you had no control over. But now things can change if you take charge of your own life. Don’t expect miracles, it takes years to train the eye to really see and interpret what is in front of you. You need confidence and reference books and patience by the bucket-load.’ Miss Bushnell shot out a leathery hand. ‘See you next week, Penelope. At least your parents gave you a good Greek name.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Bushnel, but I prefer Penny.’

  ‘Then you can call me, Joan or Kyria Joanna,’ she laughed.

  As Penny watched her striding down the path she felt a surge of hope. With women like Joan supervising her studies, she might just succeed. She would not let her down.

  Evadne suddenly appeared from the orchard of citrus trees. ‘Goodness, what an old bluestocking!’ she exclaimed as they watched Joan striding down the steps in her long skirt and floppy hat.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Penny retorted, feeling oddly protective of her new teacher. ‘She loves her work. I’m going to visit the British School of Archaeology and its library,’ she boasted.

  ‘She’s very mannish. I hope she’s not one of those . . . well, you know.’

  Penny sensed what she was getting at. ‘She’s wearing an engagement ring. Stop now – I really like her. She’s coming back next week and she’s left me a list of things I’ll need.’

  ‘Goody, a trip to the shops, but rather you than me,’ Effy smiled. ‘Wait till I tell Mummy you’ve got a tutor . . . Come on, let’s have an early snifter.’

  ‘No, Effy.’ Penny grabbed her arm. ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell them, not yet, not until I’ve got something to show them. It’ll be a surprise. I don’t want them to think I’m just playing at this. I really, really want it to be our secret. Promise?’ she pleaded.

  ‘As you wish, but don’t forget we’re going home for Christmas and then you’ll be busy coming out . . .’

  No, I won’t, thought Penny, though that shocking thought gave her no comfort at all. If she stayed on here there would be all hell to pay and Effy would be blamed for leading her astray. Yet the rebellious seed, long planted in her mind, was now firmly rooted.

  On that first visit to the British School of Archaeology Penny was allowed to make her own way, with strict instructions to talk to no one and to take the tram straight there. Evadne was playing bridge with friends and so arranged to meet her later at Costas for dinner.

  The building was impressive, set high on the slopes of Mount Lycabettus, overlooking the grandeur of the city skyline. The Director’s house was in the classical style, surrounded by immaculate lawns, orchards and even a clay tennis court.

  Penny found her way to the student lodge at the side, built in the same style, and saw Joan waiting for her in the Penrose Library. Its walls were apparently lined with every book on ancient history known to man. How was she ever going to devour all this knowledge? For one agonizing moment she wanted to rush back outside, fearing her ignorance would make everyone laugh. Who was she to be attempting to join these serious students? What did she know that was worth knowing? But the students merely looked up and smiled at her entrance before turning back to their own projects.

  One face, however, continued to fix her with a grin. ‘Good Lord, it’s “the mountain goat”! So you made it here after all. Thought you would. I could see that steely look of determination in your eye.’

  Bruce Jardine smiled up at her, twice as large and handsome as she remembered him in Scotland.

  All eyes were now on her, everyone waiting for her response. Penny felt herself flushing, but Joan leaped to her defence, holding an armful of books she’d been picking out from the shelves.

  ‘Take no notice of our Kiwi friend; he’s always on the charm offensive with new arrivals. Do you know this bounder?’

  ‘We met at a ball in Scotland . . . he gave a slide show . . .’

  ‘Glad to know he takes his studies seriously. Miss George is joining us for some tuition this term so don’t distract her,’ Joan barked at Bruce. ‘Come on, Penny.’

  Bruce jumped up. ‘How’s the family, Penny? Fancy a game of tennis some time?’

  ‘She’s here to work, not thrash around the court.’

  ‘Slave driver!’ Bruce whispered loudly, and even Joan laughed as she and Penny made their way to the corridor.

  ‘He really is the limit. Has all the girls eating out of his hand, drooling over his muscular thighs in shorts, but it cuts no ice with me,’ she said, looking down at her ring. ‘My fiancé is back home and we’re getting married when I finish my scholarship out here.’

  They found their way to another common room with a huge stone fireplace and armchairs, the walls filled with yet more leather-bound books.

  ‘This is where we relax in the evening.’ Joan pointed out a dining room and stairs leading up to the study bedrooms. Penny was getting the full tour of the student quarters.

  Joan’s narrow room was as bare as a monk’s cell. There was no space here for their lesson. The whole hostel had an aura of study and academia, and Penny felt her confidence slipping as she wondered how she would fit in. But she sensed the students had fun too. They seemed lively, older than she was – teachers, researchers, graduates on tight budgets.

  ‘Everyone has their own project and digs to write up, finds to record, theories to argue. There are open meetings you must attend if you want to know where the latest excavations are heading. Our Director has one next week. Then we often go out for dinner later, somewhere cheap but lively. I think you might enjoy that side of student life but keep away from Jardine. He’s like an overgrown Boy Scout. He’ll have you racing over mountains as if they were hillocks. What’s all this about “a mountain goat”?’

  ‘Just a joke. I like stalking in the hills in Scotland. I’d enjoy a decent hike. I’m getting soft in the city.’

  ‘You toffs live in a different world. It’s all just a game to you, isn’t it?’ Joan sneered. ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering to take up a profession. You don’t need to work, do you? Jardine is just the same. Neither of you is made for the rough and tumble of life at all.’ Joan sat moodily smoking, looking out of the window. ‘You’ve no idea how hard it is for ordinary mortals to follow our dreams.’

  ‘And you have no idea how many lies and evasions I’ve had to make just to be sitting in this beautiful building seeing a world I can never be part of,’ Penny snapped back, waving her hands around at the books and pictures. ‘We’re not so different. At least you have an education and a world to go back to, whereas I am dependent on the whims of my family. I’m not even capable of striking out on my own. For me there is no prospect but of a suitable marriage, a gilded cage with the door shut.’ Penny felt tears welling up and slumped down in despair.

  ‘Steady on, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Joan whispered, putting her hand on Penny’s shoulder. ‘Sorry . . . Let’s just do the tour and then go into town. Better if we do our work in the villa in private. You’re going to
have to toughen up, though, you know, if you want to join us in the real world, young lady.’

  Penny tried to smile back. Joan was trying to be kind but she didn’t understand how much Penny was envying her life, her freedom, her knowledge. She resolved not to waste one hour of this wonderful opportunity. This was what she’d always longed for, and such a chance might never come again.

  Joan’s lessons became the highlight of the day for Penny. Effy got quite jealous when she was too busy studying to go shopping or to the beach. Penny took every chance offered and often found herself in the company of other students as they sat drinking coffee in a fug of blue smoke, spinning out their ouzo and meze, putting the world to rights, planning how they would fund their next excavations, studying for exams in a world that was looking increasingly unsettled. Everyone borrowed English newspapers to read about Herr Hitler and Mr Chamberlain’s attempts to find common ground. There was talk of appeasement and the rise of Fascism. Penny recalled the violence in the backstreet with the Blackshirts and their slogans. What if the unrest spread? She began to take an interest in the debates and read the dog-eared papers for herself. She looked around at the graduates, the teachers on secondment, the lecturers. What would happen to them if war came?

  Bruce offered to play her at tennis to make up foursomes, to escort her home to say hello to Walter and Evadne, but Joan’s words of warning rang in her ears. He was too old and worldly-wise for her. Now she felt shy in his presence, nervous and self-conscious. He was much darker, rougher than she recalled, with his jagged, rock-like features. In the cafés, he was often loud and half drunk, quick to argue and make jokes she didn’t understand. Then he disappeared into some mountain in the Peloponnese on an excavation, leaving her wishing she could join the other students on a dig, but Evadne wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘Look we’ve got to face the fact, it’s time you went home. We must make plans, though I don’t want to miss the Christmas ball at the legation. We must find you something decent to wear for that too . . .’

  Soon enough Evadne was distracted by talk of clothes and the subject was mercifully dropped. But Penny was all too aware that she was living on borrowed time.

  Evadne was never still, always out shopping, visiting friends, preparing to entertain. Penny noticed that as the time when her baby should have been born drew nearer Effy grew increasingly restless and snappy. Penny was outstaying her welcome but the thought of going home now was unbearable. She knew now that Joan’s down-to-earth dismissal of her Society world wasn’t sour grapes but welcome iced water thrown on all Mother’s fanciful plans for the coming season. Sometimes her words were challenging – ‘Who is she doing it for, you or her?’ – and Penny loved it when she argued so hard on her behalf. Mother would be appalled at Joan’s accent but she would be no match for her plain-speaking. Joan was becoming a close friend, one from whom Penny had so much to learn: how to interpret sculptures and art, how to study textbooks and write up reports, how to live on a shoestring, looking for bargains in the shops and markets. Life was never dull when Joan was around.

  Penny challenged Evadne about why she had to come out as a debutante, but Evadne just dismissed her arguments with a wave of her hand. ‘If I had to endure it so will you. It’s not that bad and it got me darling Walter and away from Mummy’s clutches. Just buck up and bear it.’ However, Evadne wasn’t rushing to leave either; there were so many parties and social events over the Christmas vacation.

  At one of these gatherings, at St Paul’s Anglican Church, Penny felt a sudden tightness in her throat, a blinding headache, and then the room began to swim. By the time she was taken home and put to bed she couldn’t raise her head from the pillow. Within hours Walter lay prostrate in the other bedroom and soon Evadne was crawling through on all fours, feeling ill. They’d all picked up influenza and were in no fit state to travel anywhere. Christmas was cancelled.

  As they lay pole-axed on their pillows, wishing they were dead, Joan called in with supplies, and Kaliope fed them fresh juices to keep up their strength. None of their fair-weather friends dared visit for fear of being struck down, though Bruce, who was up in the north, sent Penny flowers with a card promising to take her to see the Blessing of the Water in the New Year. This lovely surprise cheered her recovery. Here was something to look forward to, another chance to be in Bruce’s company. Perhaps he cared for her after all?

  A furious telegram arrived from England, saying how the girls had ruined all their mother’s house-party plans and Penny must return by air or ship immediately. She was needed for fittings in London or she would have to attend her coming-out party in last year’s frilly organza.

  Penny couldn’t even raise herself to reply, much less be concerned. For once in her life she was going to ignore the summons from Stokencourt. How could she go home when there was so much waiting for her here? If only she felt better. It was such a bore being sick and feeble with no appetite for anything but sleep . . .

  If Penny felt wobbly and weak-kneed at the sight of all the jostling crowds gathered by the old harbour in Piraeus, she was determined not to show it. This was her first outing since falling prey to influenza, and she still felt washed out, her joints aching and her head fuzzy. At the edge of her mind was the fear that her time was running out here and she didn’t want to miss anything. She was getting used to filling her days with what she wanted to do, not what was expected of her. How could she go back to the straitjacket that was Stokencourt?

  Then there was the delicate matter of Bruce Jardine. He had called in to see how the invalids were coping, charmed Kaliope into laying an extra place for him at dinner. Walter and Evadne were glad of his company. They chatted away, ignoring Penny as they caught up on family news. Why did he make her feel so awkward and silly, as if she was still a schoolgirl? He reminded her of his invitation to join him and his friends to see the Blessing of the Water and Effy was happy to let her go. So now Penny was standing at the harbourside, feeling wobbly and looking less than her best, among the throng of onlookers.

  ‘Watch your bag, put it under your arm, there’ll be pickpockets everywhere in this rugby scrum,’ Bruce yelled, grabbing her hand as if she were a child. Bruce guided her through the crowds as if she were his little sister, useful in the beginning when she was unsure of her bearings but strangely irritating after a while. She’d watched him flirting with all the other female students, teasing and joking, but with her he was always correct, polite and careful. Was it because he knew her world? Had Walter had a quiet word with him? Was he her chaperone, her protector from bothersome attentions? Oh, how demeaning!

  The Athenian crowds were gathering in every nook and cranny, climbing on lampposts to catch a glimpse of the archbishop in his golden robes as, at the climax of the ceremony, he raised his great crucifix over the harbour basin while everyone crossed themselves fervently. There was chanting and singing, and then he threw the top of his precious silver cross into the water. A scramble of bare-chested boys and young men dived into the chilly water to retrieve it. The crowds cheered and shouted as an arm came up – like Excalibur out of the lake, Penny thought. The lucky swimmer came out to receive his special blessing, which guaranteed a run of good fortune for the whole of 1938.

  ‘Cleansing the water of evil spirits is a very ancient ceremony, probably pagan,’ Joan whispered. It was good to have her company. She was trying to take pictures with her box camera. ‘Haven’t you noticed how superstitious they all are here?’

  Joan didn’t attend St Paul’s. She wasn’t interested in organized religion. This had shocked Penny, who’d always gone to St Mark’s in the village in Gloucestershire. It was what one did to show support for the village, to set an example, but the more she mixed with this metropolitan Athens crowd, the more she realized they didn’t observe Sundays much, preferring to lounge about the cafés with newspapers, lunching under the mulberry trees or on the pavements, drinking and dancing till all hours while she had to be back at the Villa Artemisa before eleven.
Walter’s orders.

  The Blessing celebrations went on all day, with dancing and singing in the restaurants to bouzouki music. Later she heard the guns rattling across the city, not guns of war but of celebrations as street parties and dancing got under way.

  Penny wanted this day to stretch out for ever even though she felt exhausted. The plan was to go to Zonar’s café and then on to a nightclub to meet up with the usual gang.

  Alexis, a stocky Greek American, over for a few months on sabbatical, introduced a young woman called Nikki, who looked as glamorous as a film star as she shook hands around the table. Her English may have been halting but her effect on the men was immediate. They instantly straightened themselves up, slicked back their hair and vied to sit next to her. It was as if she exuded a secret but hypnotic perfume into the air.

  She wasn’t exactly pretty, though dark-eyed, with black hair rippling down to her waist, but there was something in the way she moved and conducted herself, the way she glided onto the dance floor with each of the men in turn, that made people watch her. Penny felt stabbings of jealousy when she saw Bruce responding with all his usual charm to great effect.

  ‘Who is that?’ said Joan, sensing the change in the atmosphere too. ‘Quite the Mata Hari. She’s very exotic, probably Italian or Turkish. Just look at the poor blighters all with their tongues hanging out,’ she laughed. ‘She must be a dancer with that body.’

  ‘She’s Greek, from a good family. If the boys step out of line there’ll be trouble from her uncles. Her family have power in the city,’ whispered Sally, one of the students who helped Penny in the stratigraphic workrooms. ‘I didn’t think they let their girls out alone, as a rule, so they must be quite modern.’

  Penny didn’t care who she was, she just wished she would go home, but she was also curious about this girl who lit up the room. She made to sit closer but her path was blocked by Bruce and the others. ‘Like moths to a flame,’ Joan observed.